You Move On

You look away from Sarah’s pleading grey eyes, the weight of her offer pressing heavily on your chest. “I’m sorry,” you say, your voice soft but firm. “I can’t stay here with you.”

A look of sadness and resignation washes over her face, but she nods, her expression understanding. “I figured as much,” she says, her voice tinged with regret. “Just know I’ll always remember what we had last night.”

As you turn to leave, she calls out, her voice carrying across the yard. “If you’re looking to find out what became of the warrior queen, your best bet is to head to the capital city. It’s about three days south on foot. It isn’t much, but it’s somewhere to start.”

You nod, grateful for the advice, and make your way back to the farmhouse to gather your things. As you step outside, you catch sight of Sarah watching from a distance, her figure silhouetted against the morning sun. You can just make out the glimmer of a tear rolling down her cheek before she turns back to her work, her shoulders slumping slightly.

Wondering if you’ve made a grave mistake, you turn away from the small farmstead and begin walking toward the capital, the road stretching endlessly ahead.

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Your first day on the road passes uneventfully. The landscape is a patchwork of rolling fields and dense forests, the air filled with the chirping of birds and the rustle of leaves. By evening, you find a small stream to camp beside, dining on wild raspberries and a fish you manage to catch. Who knew your skills as an archaeologist would translate so well to living off the land?

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Around noon on the second day, the rhythmic sound of hooves against dirt reaches your ears. Turning, you see a line of green-cloaked soldiers riding in tight formation, their brightly burnished breastplates gleaming in the sunlight. As they near, you notice their cloaks are emblazoned with a stylized golden sun, its rays radiating outward like waves.

“Make way for the Queen’s Guard!” the captain bellows, her voice sharp and commanding. Startled, you scramble off the road, but in your haste, you stumble and land in a ditch.

The captain raises her fist, signaling the troops to halt, and shakes her head in exasperation. “I said, ‘Make way,’ not ‘roll into a ditch,’” she mutters, though there’s a hint of amusement in her tone.

One of the soldiers snickers, earning a withering look from the captain. “I sometimes forget how silly men truly are,” the soldier quips, her voice dripping with mockery.

The captain is a mature woman in her late forties, her face marked by a scar that runs from her temple to her jaw. Her polished armor catches the sunlight, making it hard to look directly at her, but her presence is commanding nonetheless.

“What are you doing out here by yourself?” she asks, her voice gruff but not unkind. Perhaps she feels a twinge of guilt for startling you.

“I’m trying to reach the capital,” you reply, brushing dirt off your clothes. “Am I on the right path?”

“It’s the way to Ariavel,” she nods. “On foot, you should reach it by midday the day after next.” She pauses, her gaze narrowing slightly. “Be warned, though: while there aren’t any bandits this close to the capital, a handsome thing like you might still be in for a rough night if you run across the wrong woman.”

“I’ve been fine so far,” you tell her, though her words give you pause. “I’ll stick to daylight travel and keep my distance from other travelers.”

She shrugs, her expression indifferent. “Suit yourself. But if you catch the eye of a lonely farmer who decides to take you for a tumble in the bushes, don’t come crying to me.”

You nod, and with a flick of her reins, she heels her horse back into motion. The troops fall in line behind her, their discipline evident in their precise movements. Despite their professionalism, you notice a few of the soldiers eyeing you like a piece of meat as they ride by. Their lingering gazes leave you uneasy, and you can’t help but wonder if you should be more cautious.

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That evening, you find a secluded bush to sleep under, the captain’s warning echoing in your mind. Sleep eludes you as you lie there, the rustle of leaves and distant animal calls keeping you on edge. Every sound feels amplified, every shadow a potential threat.

At first light, you rise and make your way back to the road, beginning the final leg of your journey to Ariavel. The capital looms in your thoughts, a beacon of answers—and perhaps more danger.