The new day, a new destination, Hanara Forest didn’t mess around. It swallowed the sun whole, leaving jagged shadows to claw at the dirt path. The air hit like a damp slap—moss and rot tangling in your throat, sharp enough to make you wince.


    Aaron’s carriage jolted along, wheels grinding leaves to dust, the horses puffing white clouds into the chill. Shortcut or not, it was a gamble—two weeks hacked down to one, sure, but this stretch had teeth. Bandits, thieves, the usual scum. Aaron didn’t flinch. ‘Let ‘em try,’ he thought, one boot propped on the dashboard, eyes half-shut. ‘Boring bastards.’


    And there they were, right on cue. A dozen or so, slinking from the trees like they’d rehearsed it. Grubby faces, makeshift swords, axes chipped from too many bad swings. One—a wiry prick with a scar splitting his lip—laughed, a sound like breaking glass. “Well, look here! A family outing—papa, mama, and the brats.”


    Another, a barrel of a man with a face like dough gone wrong, leered at Lucy. “Those melons’ll bounce nice when we’re done. Bet she squeals pretty.”


    Aaron’s lip curled. ‘Stupid as dirt.’ He flicked his gaze to Lucy, who was already grinning—sharp, hungry, like a kid eyeing a toy chest. Her fingers twitched, begging for the green light. He sighed, mouth opening—“Go easy on ‘em”—but something stopped him cold. A prickle, a shift, like the forest held its breath.


    ‘BANG!’


    The ground buckled as an armored figure crashed down, a giant sword slamming into the earth. Bandits scattered like roaches, but the warrior didn’t pause—blade arced, blood sprayed, bodies hit the dirt. No mercy, just a blur of steel and silence where screams used to be.


    One bandit, arm a stump, spat through gritted teeth. “You’re dead! Our boss—he’s a special grade warrior, he’ll—”


    A woman stepped up, mage’s robes swirling, staff slung across her back. She tossed something at his feet—a head, eyes wide, mouth gaping like it still had something to say. “Your boss,” she said, voice flat as a frozen lake.


    The bandit’s fight drained out. In a last gasp, he chucked a dart—green-tipped, nasty—but it pinged off an invisible shield, useless as a broken promise.


    More figures spilled from the trees: guards, adventurers, a whole damn crew. Aaron leaned back, arms crossed, a grin tugging at his mouth. ‘Finally, some fucking entertainment.’


    One of the guards clocked the carriage. “Lady Tanya! Over here!”


    Tanya turned, and Aaron’s grin locked up. Blonde hair, blue eyes, armor gleaming—mythril and adamant, stuff you couldn’t buy even if you sold a city. Noble, adventurer, and—’shit, the future hero of Danville.’ He knew her, or would, in a life not yet lived. ‘What are the fucking odds?’


    She strode over, a scared girl glued to her side—rescued, probably, from whatever hell these bandits had brewed. Tanya’s voice cut through, calm, polite. “Apologies for the disturbance. We didn’t mean to rattle you.”


    Lucy stepped up, smile stretched thin. “No, no, you saved us actually. Thank you so much, warrior.” But her eyes darted to the corpses, a flicker of something sour—’my toys, snatched away’—and her knuckles went white on the reins.


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    Tanya nodded, then glanced at Aaron. Their eyes locked, just a beat, and something sparked—recognition, maybe, or a question she didn’t voice. Then she turned, guiding the girl back to her group.


    Aaron watched her vanish into the trees, mind chewing slow. ‘A hero, half-baked,’ he thought. ‘Does she even know it’s coming?’


    The forest closed in again, swallowing the noise. Lucy climbed back into the carriage, grip tight enough to crack leather. Amelia poked her head out, brows up. “What was that about?”


    Aaron shrugged, slumping into his seat. “Just a sideshow. Nothin’ to sweat.”


    The forest exhaled into dusk, shadows stretching long and thin, like fingers brushing the dirt. Aaron slouched against the carriage wheel, ember humming soft through his forehead—no need for statuesque meditation now, just a steady pull he could feel in his bones. Lucy had waved off Tanya’s offer through gritted teeth—“We’re fine on our own, thanks”—but Tanya wasn’t having it. Her blue eyes scanned them, sharp and kind, landing on what she must’ve seen: a ragtag family, happy-go-lucky, bumbling through the woods. She insisted they stick together ‘til the forest spat them out. Protection, she figured. Aaron caught her gaze, then flicked it to Amelia—quiet, glued to his side—then to Lucy and Susi, bickering over a tent pole. He snorted. ‘Yeah, we look like a damn picnic.’


    It weirded him out, the way it fit too easy. Lucy, 200-something, Susi pushing 400—grannies in spirit, if not skin—chatted up Tanya’s crew like it was nothing, tossing out “Lucy” and “Susi” without a flinch. Smart. They’d learned quick—say the old names, and Aaron’s leash would snap tight. He smirked, a little proud. ‘Good pets.’


    Amelia stayed close, her breath a soft rhythm against his arm. Not a talker, never was—unlike Tanya, all warm words and humble nods. Even in her hero days, Amelia had been a shadow with a blade, beauty carved in silence. Aaron liked that about her. Always had.


    Tanya’s voice floated in, cutting through their quiet bubble inside the carriage. “Oh, you’re not family? I’m so sorry—I misread.” Her tone wobbled, genuine, a crack in her polished armor.


    Aaron waved it off, half-listening. “No harm,” he muttered, but his mind was elsewhere—on Amelia’s steady grip, on the ember weaving through his sels, small and alive.


    Dawn broke slow, painting the camp in streaks of pink and gray. Tanya barked orders—tents up, fire stoked—her crew snapping to it like well-oiled gears. Aaron did jack shit, as usual. Lucy hauled crates, muttering curses under her breath; Susi wrestled with ropes, his sliced ears twitching at every snap. Amelia trained alone, wooden sword slashing air, her focus a blade of its own. Aaron had told her weeks back—’“You’re slow on the follow-through”‘—and she’d nodded, no fuss, no questions, just went at it. Pure trust. It tightened something in his chest. ‘Hope I didn’t make her too soft.’


    He was lost in that thought, ember buzzing, when a shadow loomed. The armored warrior—Henry, they called him—stood there, giant sword propped like a taunt. His face was all hard lines, eyes narrowed, sizing Aaron up. “Heard from Tanya you kids were guards,” he rumbled, voice like gravel under boots. “How’s a lazy runt like you pull that off?”


    Aaron tilted his head, smirk tugging his lips. Henry didn’t bite—just kept going. “Since we met, you’ve done nothin’ but sit there. No discipline, no grit. A man your age oughta learn some honor.”


    The warrior dropped his sword with a thud that shook the dirt, then pulled two wooden blades from a sack, tossing one at Aaron’s feet. “Pick it up,” he said, firm but not cruel. “I’ll teach you somethin’. Go easy on you, even.”


    Tanya watched from the sidelines, arms crossed, her silence loud. She’d seen it too—Aaron lounging, ordering his “elders” around. The Iron Warrior, they called Henry, his blade a storm of ruin. She turned to Lucy and Susi, voice low. “Forgive him. It’s for the young ones’ sake.”


    Lucy grinned, tight and sharp. Susi’s lips twitched, a flicker of amusement. No fight there—just a shared, quiet ‘whatever’. Aaron caught it, almost laughed.


    “Come on,” Henry pressed, stepping closer, blade loose in his grip. “Don’t be scared.”


    Then—’whoosh’. A wooden sword streaked past, grazing Henry’s cheek, a hair’s breadth from blood. He jerked back, eyes wide, as Amelia materialized—boots planted, hair wild, anger blazing in her glare. “Why don’t you train ‘me’ first huh?”