Location: Branhal → Midgardian Roads Time: Day 44-48 After Arrival
The road curved like a slow, deliberate thought — ancient and worn, flanked by highland oaks and heather-strewn hills. Alec rode near the center of the column, seated atop a borrowed mount named Fennel, a stubborn brown gelding with an uneven gait and a tendency to ignore commands unless Alec whispered them like equations.
They had left Branhal before sunrise. Mira hadn't come to see him off. Neither had Harwin. But Jorren had placed a short-hafted smithing hammer in Alec's pack — no words, no ceremony, just a tool. Simple, weighted, purposeful.
Alec understood the meaning.he was sure when and if he would be returning anytime soon but he was sure of one thing, he would never forget them.
And so he rode eastward, toward the court of Duchess Vaelora, toward the unknown engine of Midgard's power — Armathane.
The Escort
The escort consisted of seven riders, all in Midgardian livery — deep forest-green cloaks, leather brigandines stamped with the sun-and-crown insignia. Their captain was a woman named Sir Kaelyn Dros, late thirties, hard-eyed, with short-cropped copper hair and a voice like tempered iron.
She addressed him sparingly.
"How long would the journey take" he asked her after a short while.
"This road will take us through Rhosten Vale and into Ethelmark by the third day. From there, we ride the King's Spine."
Alec had simply nodded.
No further questions.
He preferred to observe.
And they noticed.
Day One – Rhosten Vale
Rhosten Vale was pastoral — open fields broken by stone fences and red-lichen walls. Sheep grazed under the eyes of boys with sticks, and crows danced overhead like court jesters.
They passed no fewer than six villages. Each one poorer than Branhal had been before Alec's arrival. Mud roofs, collapsed granaries, irrigation no better than ditches.
Alec took note of every flaw.
"The land is fertile, but abused," he murmured once, half to himself.
Sir Kaelyn, riding beside him, didn't look over.
"Speak louder or not at all," she said.
Alec obliged. "Your roads are old. The bridges sag under unregulated weight. Timber rot. Stone erosion. And yet Midgard thrives. That tells me something."
She finally glanced at him. "What does it tell you?"
"That your duchess rules by something other than roads."
"She rules by control."
"Control," Alec echoed, "is brittle if not reinforced."
Sir Kaelyn said nothing for the rest of the day.
Day Two – Ethelmark Outpost
The second night, they camped near the Ethelmark waystation, a small Midgardian garrison built from blackwood and slate. The outpost commander greeted them stiffly and offered supplies. Alec listened closely to the exchange — how the soldiers deferred to Kaelyn but did not respect her. She wore a title. She did not wear fear.
Interesting.
That night, he sat near the fire, legs crossed, eyes scanning a rough map Kaelyn had handed him. It was old — a merchant's rendition of Midgard and surrounding lands.
"Why the interest?" one of the riders, a younger man named Varen, asked him.
"I like to know how things fit together," Alec replied. "Maps are like gears. Every city, river, mountain… they move together. Misalign one, and the whole thing fails."
"You're not a noble."
"No."
"But you sound like one."
"I'm worse," Alec said. "I'm new."
They stopped to rest at dusk and sat for dinner which was bread and pottage. Alec sat observing his surrounding while listening to side talks by the escorts gleaning more information about this new world except the captain who sat apart from the rest watching him.
Day Three – The King's Spine
By the third day, they joined the King's Spine — a broad, cobbled road stretching toward Armathane like a buried serpent. Traders passed more frequently now. Some bore Edenian flags. One group wore colors Alec didn't recognize — sky blue with gold rivets.
They whispered as they passed the Midgard column. They looked at Alec.
Some recognized him.
Already.
He turned to Kaelyn as they stopped to water the horses.
"How far has my name traveled?"
She shrugged. "Depends who's asking. The farmers think you're a fallen god. The court thinks you're a living threat. The duchess thinks you're an investment."
Alec stared at her.
"And what do you think I am?"
Kaelyn didn't flinch. "A storm. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But you're going to turn the sky upside down, and no one knows if it'll rain gold or blood."
Internal Thoughts
That night, Alec lay beneath a pine tree, staring at a sky that still didn't match his old constellations.
He hadn't told anyone yet, but he'd begun keeping two separate mental logs: one for this world's natural mechanics — rainfall patterns, magnetic anomalies, wind shifts — and another for socio-political currents.
Midgard was stable.
But it wasn't strong.
Its economy thrived on consistency, not growth. Its roads were decaying. Its outer villages feared both change and taxes. And its duchess ruled by the sharp edge of anticipation, not oppression.
She would understand him.
But understanding did not mean trust.
And trust did not mean safety.
Day Four – Nearing Armathane
As the fourth day bled toward dusk, the forests gave way to more refined signs of civilization: managed farmland, stone walls with patrol crests, the distant shimmer of Armathane's copper-roofed towers far on the horizon.
Kaelyn rode up beside him.
"You'll meet her tomorrow."
Alec nodded. "Any advice?"
"She's smarter than you think."
"I'm counting on that."
Kaelyn looked at him sidelong. "What are you hoping for?"
"I'm not hoping."
"Then what?"
"I'm measuring."
He slowed the horse slightly, letting the rest of the column move ahead.
He looked out over the Midgardian valley — ordered, rich, vulnerable.
This wasn't just a meeting.
This was a test.
And Alec never walked into a test without knowing who wrote the questions.