Stepping into the caravan, Solas found himself in a tightly confined space. The only window sat at the front near the driver's seat—barred and partially covered, allowing only a sliver of light to filter through. The rest of the interior was shrouded in darkness, the air stale and still. A pair of benches lined either side of the cramped compartment, leaving little room to move.
Solas settled onto the left bench, understanding now why the space was so compact—it was designed to disorient, to keep prisoners subdued. The door behind him remained open for now, casting faint light across the floor, the only real source of visibility.
Moments later, to his surprise, Rowena was forced inside. He had expected them to separate them, especially given how the knights spoke of him—as if merely being a man warranted isolation.
Clink.
The door slammed shut behind her, snuffing out most of the light and plunging the space into near-total darkness.
Outside, the muffled voices of the knights continued—orders shouted, gear packed. Inside, silence. Tension.
Rowena's voice broke softly through the dark, trembling. "S-Solas… are you here?"
"I'm right here," he said gently, reaching out. His hand found hers, and he gave a light squeeze to guide her to a seat.
Instead of sitting across from him, she slid onto the bench beside him, her shoulder pressed to his. She clung to him as though he were her shield, the only thing grounding her in the fear and uncertainty of it all.
"I-I knew I shouldn't have taken you in… it's my fault. I'm sorry…" Her voice was soft, sincere—full of guilt, as if she were the cause of everything unraveling.
"Do not worry," Solas replied calmly. "This is where great things begin."
Her fingers trembled slightly against him, the warmth of his body anchoring her in the suffocating dark. Solas didn't pull away. Instead, he welcomed it, allowing her to hold onto him tighter.
For a brief moment, there was only silence—until the caravan wheels groaned to life beneath them, beginning their journey.
Rowena kept her head low, eyes fixed on the floor. Her thoughts had calmed, no longer spiraling like they had before. There was something in the way Solas spoke—in the quiet strength he carried—that brought her comfort. No… maybe it was something more than that.
The word friend echoed in her mind, lingering like warmth in the cold. He had called her that. A friend.
Most of her life, Rowena had lived on the fringes—an outcast not because she was cruel or strange, but because she was kind. Clumsy with her words, always too eager to help. The world didn't reward softness. It ignored it, or punished it.
Just like the night she met him.
She hadn't been meant to be on patrol. That duty belonged to two others, but they pawned it off on her. They always did. She never complained. And maybe… maybe if she had, none of this would've happened. Maybe Solas would've stayed a stranger in the dark.
But he wasn't. He was here. And somehow, despite everything… he made her feel seen.
Solas felt the weight of her against him—light, trembling, but full of unspoken trust.
This wasn't the first time someone had clung to Solas for comfort. Nor would it be the last. Back in his old world, people had followed him, even revered him. Some were drawn by his presence, others by his appearance.
He had surpassed every academic and physical standard expected of him. And yet, none of it ever truly satisfied him. He was a man who could achieve anything he desired, but those achievements never filled the void in his heart.
But this world—this strange, primitive world—was different. New. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he found himself intrigued. By its systems, its people… and by the mysterious woman who had brought him here.
He would understand it all.
The sound of galloping hooves echoed outside the caravan, knights riding in formation on both sides as they advanced across an open, grassy field. The dirt path beneath them stretched endlessly ahead, wind gently brushing against armor and hair alike.
At the front of the formation rode Vaelira, her posture firm, eyes sharp, scanning the horizon for any sign of trouble. Goblin ambushes were common along this route—twenty reported cases this month alone, and the month had barely begun.
Still, despite the tension, her eyes drifted back toward the caravan behind her—the one carrying Solas. There was something about him. Something strange… magnetic. She couldn't explain it, but it tugged at her thoughts like a whisper she couldn't ignore.
She shook her head, forcing the distraction away. Focus. The word repeated in her mind like a mantra. She had a job to do.
For nearly four years now, goblins had been a persistent threat in this region. The kingdom's efforts to locate and root them out had failed—every time a nest was discovered and knights dispatched, the creatures vanished without a trace, slipping away before the steel ever reached them.
Since then, merchants, traders, and all traveling caravans were required to hire guards. And still… most ended up outnumbered.
Vaelira let out a quiet sigh. It would be at least another hour, maybe two, before they reached the Capital. It was going to be a long ride.
A wooden carrage, tilted on its side, supplies strewn across the dirt path. Just beyond it, across the road, stood a tree—tall, still, and unnervingly quiet.
As they drew closer, she spotted a figure near the wreckage—a girl, frantically waving them forward.
Vaelira squinted, now able to make out more details. The girl had orange hair, and wore a tattered brown garment. Her expression was twisted with fear, her movements desperate.
Something was wrong. Too wrong.
Vaelira raised a clenched fist. "Halt!"
The driver turned her head, confused. "What is it?"
Vaelira's eyes flicked from the girl to the tree. Her voice was low and tense. "Something's off."
Then she saw it.
There was movement in the tree, the branches rustled—her eyes widened as she realized what she was seeing.