The sun had climbed higher now, its warmth spilling across the winding dirt road. The wagon creaked steadily along, and for the first time in days, the air was fresh and clean — carrying the scent of pine and wildflowers.
Lucas sat on the edge of the cart with his legs swinging, letting the wind wash over his face. Somewhere ahead, the sound of rushing water grew louder, and soon the group reached a wide, clear stream that cut through the forest like a silver ribbon.
A handful of villagers were already there, pulling up nets heavy with fish. They glanced up as the wagon rolled to a stop, offering easy smiles. One older fisherman waved them over.
"Travelers! You look like you could use a good meal. Come, the stream's generous today."
It didn't take much convincing. The boys clambered down from the wagon, and the locals handed them fishing rods and an extra net.
Lucas took to it quickly, standing knee-deep in the water with the net in his hands. When the first tug came, he pulled hard — and nearly toppled backward as a massive silver-scaled fish thrashed in the mesh.
"Ha! Look at this monster!" Lucas shouted, hoisting it high.
Dante, who had been fiddling with his rod, glanced over with narrowed eyes. "Beginner's luck. Watch this."
He planted his feet, gripping his rod with the fierce determination of a man about to win a war.
From the bank, Nolan simply shook his head and waded in with his sleeves rolled up. "You two are wasting time. There's a better way."
He raised his hand over the water, murmuring a short chant. A faint golden glow spread across the stream's surface, and in seconds, fish began leaping toward him as if the current itself had turned in his favor. In less than a minute, his basket was overflowing.
Lucas and Dante stared, dumbfounded.
"...He cheated," Lucas said flatly.
"Absolutely cheated," Dante agreed.
Nolan smirked. "I call it using my resources."
From the shore, John leaned against the wagon with his arms crossed, watching the entire exchange with quiet amusement. A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Boys, I don't care if you catch them with a net, a rod, or a prayer — just make sure they taste good when we cook them."
The argument over "proper fishing" continued long after they packed up the catch, but the air was filled with laughter, the sound of running water, and the easy joy of a journey that, for the moment, felt far from danger.
The days that followed passed in an easy rhythm.
They rolled through green valleys where the air smelled of fresh grass and wild mint, and into shaded forests where the sun flickered through the leaves like gold coins spilling from a chest. Whenever they crossed a bridge, Lucas would lean over the railing to watch the water flash by beneath them, his eyes wide like a child seeing magic for the first time.
One afternoon, they stopped in a hilltop village famous for its cheese and sweet bread. John insisted they try both. Nolan analyzed every flavor like a scholar dissecting a rare text, while Dante just tried to see how many rolls he could fit in his mouth at once. Lucas declared it "the greatest food in the world," only to say the same thing again the next day when they discovered roasted chestnuts from a roadside vendor.
They stayed a night in a small farming settlement where John traded a length of fine leather for a round of ale and a place to sleep in the barn. Lucas and Dante ended up helping the farmers herd sheep back into their pens at dusk, laughing as the animals stubbornly darted around them. Nolan, naturally, stayed clean, claiming he was "maintaining efficiency" by counting the sheep instead.
Evenings were spent around campfires, John often telling stories from his "merchant days" — though the details always seemed a little too strategic for mere trade. He spoke of roads that were safe one month and dangerous the next, of how to judge a man's character in three sentences, and of the fastest way to pack a wagon for travel. Lucas listened closely, not yet realizing how much of it would matter later.
---
On the sixth morning, the road widened, and the villages grew richer. Fields were neatly partitioned by stone walls, and fine houses replaced wooden huts. A patrol of armored soldiers appeared ahead, their armor polished, their stance rigid.
John slowed the wagon. "We've reached the edge of Grates territory," he said, his voice calm but carrying a certain weight.
The soldiers approached, hands resting on the hilts of their swords. Lucas climbed down and produced the sealed mission scroll from the church. The captain studied the wax imprint carefully, then gave a curt nod.
"You're clear to proceed to the estate. Follow the main road — the lord is expecting you."
John turned to the boys, his smile tinged with something that wasn't quite sadness, but close. "Well, this is where our paths part. You've got important business ahead, and I've got… other roads to travel."
Lucas frowned. "You're not coming with us?"
John shook his head. "Not this time. But remember what I told you — pay attention to more than just what people say. You'll see more that way."
Dante clapped the merchant's arm. "Thanks for the ride, old man. And for not letting us die under that sun."
Nolan gave a respectful nod. "Safe travels, Sir John."
John grinned at them all, then flicked the reins. The wagon rolled away, his broad frame still visible on the driver's seat until the road curved out of sight.
---
The Grates estate rose ahead like a fortress wrapped in elegance. Tall stone walls surrounded sweeping gardens, and a grand iron gate stood between them and the courtyard. The guards on duty stepped aside once they saw the church's seal.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of roses and polished wood. Servants moved briskly about, and somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of a piano echoed through the halls.
A tall figure emerged from the main doors — a young man in a finely tailored coat, his dark hair perfectly combed, and an easy smile on his face.
"Welcome," he said smoothly. "I am Alaric Grates — and you must be the church's envoys."
His voice was warm, but there was something in his eyes… a sharpness that suggested the smile didn't tell the whole story.