"How much?" El asked, pointing at the strange, oversized fruit sitting at the front of the merchant's stall. It was round about the size of a small pumpkin and covered in smooth orange-pink skin that glistened under the late morning sun.
"Six gallion," the vendor replied without looking up, already deep in negotiation with another customer.
She hesitated. Six gallion... for a fruit? Her hand brushed against the coin pouch at her waist, the faint clink inside reminding her of how little they had left after the last round of shopping. Still, she nodded and handed over the coins. "I'll take it."
The heavy fruit joined her growing collection a basket filled with small jars of herbs, wild peppers, a wrapped bundle of dried root, and two glass vials of dark brown liquid: soy sauce and vinegar. The weight tugged at her arms, and the spicy tickle of crushed pepper lingered in her nose as she stepped back into the crowd.
Axbrid's market district bustled with life. Vendors shouted over one another. Colorful awnings fluttered in the breeze. The cobbled ground echoed with the clatter of cart wheels and boots. The air was a heady mix of roasted meat, sweat, spices, and the sharp scent of fresh-cut wood.
El moved with grace, her green eyes scanning the rows of stalls. Her long linen dress swayed with each step, the faded floral patterns bouncing lightly. A kerchief tied over her golden hair kept stray strands from falling into her face. Though her clothes were plain, there was something almost regal about her stride poised, confident, yet distant.
"El!"
She paused at the sound, the name cutting through the noise like a familiar melody. She turned, already knowing who it was.
Leo pushed through the crowd, a grin spread across his face and his arms full of wrapped meat. He wore a simple woolen tunic in earthy tones, its sleeves rolled to his elbows. The wind had tousled his black hair, and his dark eyes lit up when they met hers.
"Did you get what I asked for?" he asked, a little out of breath.
El shifted the basket on her hip and let out a sigh. "Salt, pepper, soy sauce, vinegar... all here." She raised a brow. "Do you know how hard it was to find soy and vinegar? Not to mention how expensive they are in this place?"
Leo rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling. "Yeah, yeah... I'll make it up to you."
"You'd better," she muttered, though her voice had softened. "Don't go wasting money. We need to stretch every coin before we leave next week." She turned and resumed walking. "Besides... what's with all this, anyway?"
Leo caught up to her, smiling. "It's for Old Man Tavon. I wanted to cook something for him—something from home. My mom used to make it when I was a kid."
She glanced at the bundle of meat in his arms. "Did you buy pork?"
He nodded. "I wanted the ingredients to be exact. Can't risk the flavor changing just because we used meat from that... scorpion-wolf thing we hunted yesterday."
El gave a short laugh but didn't argue. "Just make sure this is the last time you spend for wants." She turned to face him, pointing a finger at his nose.
Leo raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening. "I know, I know."
Her glare slowly gave way to a smile. She knew he was right. Of all the things Old Man Tavon had done for them, this was the least they could do in return.
Five Months Earlier...
The parchment map lay sprawled across the old wooden table, its edges curled and worn. Candlelight danced across the surface, casting long shadows over hand-drawn lines and strange symbols. It was the only map they had and it didn't even show where "home" was. Just endless forests, jagged mountain ranges, scattered settlements, and names none of them could pronounce.
Matt leaned over the map with furrowed brows, both hands pressed against the table. "What are we supposed to do?" he muttered. "It'll take years to get home... if we even know where that is."
The room was quiet, save for the ticking of a brass wall clock and the faint chirping of night insects just outside the wooden shutters.
El sat by the window, arms crossed and face unreadable. "And we don't have the resources to even try venturing out," she said. Her voice wasn't cold, just tired.
Leo leaned against a shelf lined with dried herbs, rubbing his eyes. "You mentioned something earlier. About slavers and traders roaming around these parts?"
El nodded slowly. "And monsters. Wild creatures. Even people you can't trust. This land isn't some fantasy adventure, it's chaos. Survival."
Matt's hands curled into fists. "Stop making it worse. That's not helping."
"I'm not here to sugarcoat," El snapped, rising to her feet. "You'd rather we walk out there blind? Better to face the truth than die pretending."
Silence settled over the room. None of them could argue El had spent more time out in the wilds than either of them. She knew this world better.
Then, a gravelly voice cut through the tension.
"Ahem."
All three turned at once. None of them had noticed the old man sitting in the armchair across the room, half-hidden in the low firelight and cloaked in his usual stillness.
Old Man Tavon regarded them with calm, heavy eyes. "You know, lads... with my age, it's hard to tend to everything around here. And I've got some extra space."
The three stood frozen, the remnants of their panic still lingering. His voice carried the weight of stone, low and certain.
He leaned back and rested both hands on his walking stick. "What I'm saying is I can give you a hand."
El stepped forward, hesitant. "We couldn't possibly ask that of you, Mr. Tavon."
He waved her off. "Call me Old Man Tavon. And besides who said it'd be free?"
And that was how it began.
They started working with him. Helping in the fields, cleaning, doing odd chores, and making regular trips to Axbrid for supplies and deliveries. In return, he paid them—not out of pity, but principle. "Earn your keep," he told them, "and your gear will feel lighter when the day comes."
The money came from his harvest vegetables, herbs, dried roots and small trinkets he bartered or made. At first, they were reluctant to take anything. Living under his roof, eating at his table, and learning from him already felt like too much. But he insisted.
"If you're going to survive out there," he had said, "then every coin in your pocket should remind you of your own sweat."
Eventually, they agreed. Most of their earnings were saved for the long journey ahead; the rest went toward blending in. They sold their old clothes fetching a surprisingly good price from a local trader enamored by their "foreign fashion" and bought sturdier outfits, proper satchels, boots, and, finally... weapons.
Old Man Tavon, a former soldier, quiet and watchful, taught them the blade.
Mornings began before dawn. They trained in the open field behind the house, swinging wooden swords until their arms trembled and their footwork steadied. Leo struggled at first his muscles ached for days, and his steps lacked rhythm. Matt, with his athleticism, adapted quickly graceful and agile.
But El... El moved like someone who had always known how.
"Where'd you learn to fight like that?" Matt once asked during a break, sweat dripping from his brow.
"I had a teacher," she replied simply, adjusting her stance. "Started when I was eleven."
She offered no more.
Her style was sharp—precise steps, clean angles, and fluid strikes. Yet not even she could land a clean hit on Tavon. The old man, despite his age, moved like smoke quiet, quick, and unyielding. He never scolded. He just expected more each time.
That only pushed El harder.
Weeks passed. The training grew more brutal. Longer sprints, faster parries. Wooden swords gave way to steel. Then, one morning, Tavon gave them a new order:
"Pack light and bring your weapons," he said, eyes fixed on the treeline beyond the fence. "We're going into the Jurra Forest."