The gold medallion felt heavier than it should.
I kept it tucked inside my tunic, close to my chest, where its faint warmth reminded me that the past three days hadn't been a dream. Seventy-one tokens. Fourteenth place. Me—Roy White, the trashy side character who was supposed to die in Chapter 12.
The tent city outside Stormhold was already shrinking. Failed candidates packed their gear and slunk away, their dreams crushed. Successful ones celebrated loudly, already forming alliances, boasting about their rankings, planning their next moves. I walked through both groups like a ghost, unseen, unnoticed, and preferred it that way.
I found a quiet inn on the edge of town, paid for a week's stay with some of my remaining silver, and slept for sixteen hours straight.
When I woke, the sun was setting again. My body felt rested, but my core still hummed with that faint overuse ache. The Verdant Maze had taken more out of me than I'd realized. I needed time to heal before the journey south.
The innkeeper, a round woman with kind eyes and flour on her apron, brought me bread and stew without being asked. "Heard about you," she said, setting the tray down. "The one who saved the grove. My boy was in the Maze too—didn't make it past the first day. But he said everyone was talking about the white-haired kid who made the plants fight."
I stared at the stew. "I just... asked them to protect themselves."
She laughed, a warm, rumbling sound. "Asked them. Sure, love. You keep thinking that." She patted my shoulder and left.
I ate in silence, then spent the evening practicing. Small things—encouraging the potted herb on the windowsill to grow a little fuller, sensing the health of the old oak outside, feeling the roots of the grass beneath the inn's foundation. My control was getting better. Smoother. More instinctive.
The next morning, I bought supplies. A proper bedroll. Better rations. A map of the route to the Holy Dragon Lands—a journey that would take at least two months on foot. I had six months until the trials. Plenty of time, if nothing went wrong.
Something always went wrong.
---
Three days out from Stormhold, I found company on the road.
She was sitting on a fallen log at the edge of a small clearing, rubbing her ankle and cursing with impressive creativity. A scout's leathers, a short bow propped nearby, and a familiar face—the girl from the Maze. The one the bandits had attacked.
She looked up as I approached, her eyes narrowing. Then they widened.
"You're him. The one who—" She stood too fast, winced, and sat back down. "The shriek. The vines. That was you."
I stopped a few paces away, hands visible. "Your ankle?"
"Twisted. Stupid root. I've been sitting here for an hour like an idiot." She studied me with sharp, curious eyes. "I'm Mila. And I owe you my life."
"You don't owe me anything."
"The hell I don't." She gestured at the log. "Sit. I'm not going to bite. And I've got questions."
I sat. The forest was quiet around us, the afternoon sun dappling through the leaves. Mila was maybe fourteen, with sun-browned skin, short-cropped dark hair, and the lean build of someone who'd spent years running through wilderness.
"How'd you do it?" she asked. "The Maze. I was out cold, but the proctors talked. Said the grove itself defended me. Said they found the three who jumped me wrapped in vines like presents." She grinned. "I'd have paid to see that."
"I asked the plants for help."
She stared at me. Then she laughed—a real laugh, not mocking, just surprised. "You're serious. You actually talked to them." She shook her head. "I've met wood mages before. Earth shamans. None of them 'talk' to plants. They command them, or burn them, or ignore them. You're different."
I didn't answer.
"Anyway." She leaned forward, wincing at her ankle. "I was heading south. Dragon Academy trials. Failed the prelim, obviously—can't exactly collect tokens while unconscious. But I figured I'd still go. Watch. Maybe try again next year. You heading there too?"
"Yes."
"Good. Take me with you."
I blinked. "What?"
"My ankle's busted. I've got no coin for a healer, no friends in this region, and a long road ahead. You're heading the same way, you clearly know something about plants, and you're not a total bastard like most of the candidates I met." She held up a hand. "I can pull my weight. Hunt, scout, keep watch. Once this ankle heals, I'm useful. And I won't ask questions about your weird plant magic."
I should have said no. Traveling alone was safer. Traveling with someone meant exposure, questions, complications.
But I remembered her crumpled on the ground, the knife glinting. I remembered choosing to help, even when it risked everything.
"One week," I said. "You travel with me until your ankle's better. Then we go our separate ways."
Mila grinned. "Deal."
---
She was, as promised, useful.
Despite her ankle, Mila could still shoot—she'd propped herself against a tree the first evening and brought down a fat hare from fifty paces. She could start a fire without magic, read the stars, and identify which berries wouldn't kill you. And she talked. Constantly. About her village, her five older brothers, her dreams of becoming a scout for the Academy, her utter disdain for "pompous noble brats who think bloodline equals skill."
I mostly listened. It was... nice. Having someone fill the silence.
On the third day, her ankle was strong enough to walk on. On the fourth, she found a stream and caught fish with her bare hands. On the fifth, she asked the question I'd been dreading.
"So what's your story? White hair, weird plant magic, talking to trees—you're not exactly normal, Roy."
I considered lying. Then I considered the long road ahead, and the fact that she'd already seen too much.
"I'm half-elf," I said. "Wood elf mother, human father. I grew up in a noble house that didn't want me. Left a few years ago. Been surviving since."
She nodded slowly. "Nobles are bastards. Present company excepted, maybe." She poked the fire with a stick. "The plant thing—that's from your elf side?"
"Partly. And from... experiments. Trying to find my own path when the usual ones were closed."
"Huh." She tossed the stick into the flames. "Well, it worked. You're going to the Academy. I'm going to watch from the stands. Different paths, same destination." She stretched, wincing slightly at her ankle. "For now, anyway."
We traveled together for two weeks.
By the end, her ankle was fully healed, and we'd crossed into the central plains—rolling grasslands that stretched to the horizon, dotted with farms and small trading posts. The Holy Dragon Lands were still a month away, but the air felt different here. Charged. Like something was waiting.
On the last night before we parted ways, Mila asked me one more question.
"The Academy. What are you hoping to find there?"
I thought about it. Really thought.
"Answers," I said finally. "About who I am. About what I can become. About... whether someone like me can matter, in a world full of monsters."
Mila was quiet for a long moment. Then she nodded.
"Fair enough." She stood, dusting off her leathers. "I'm heading to a town called Oakhaven tomorrow. Got a cousin there who might put me up until the trials. You'll keep going south?"
"Yes."
She held out her hand. I shook it.
"Thanks, Roy. For the rescue. For the company. For not being a bastard." She grinned. "If you survive the Academy, look me up. I'll buy you a drink."
"I'll hold you to that."
She walked east into the dawn. I walked south.
Alone again, but not empty.
The road stretched before me, long and uncertain. Somewhere ahead, the Five were gathering. Somewhere ahead, my future waited.
I touched the gold medallion through my tunic and kept walking.
---