The first day beyond Selam felt almost deceptive.
The road facing south was solid stone and packed earth, wide enough for two carts to pass without slowing. It cut cleanly through farmland that stretched farther than the eye could follow—fields of grain already harvested, stubble glinting faintly under the sun. Farmers worked in quiet rhythm, tools rising and falling, their movements practiced and unhurried. No one stared. No one cared who passed.
For once, the world didn't feel like it was holding its breath.
Tyke walked ahead, swinging a thin stick he'd found along the way, tapping stones and counting under his breath. He stopped often, crouching to inspect beetles or bits of broken shell, then sprinted forward again as if afraid he'd be left behind. His energy hadn't dulled since Selam.
Lyla followed him at an easy pace. Her armor was lighter today, helmet tied at her waist, cloak loose around her shoulders. She looked almost relaxed—almost. Her hand still rested near her sword when carts passed too close, her eyes still scanned the tree lines without thinking.
Laxyie walked a step off the road.
Not because he needed to—but because habit had taught him that the safest place was rarely the center. His gaze drifted constantly: horizon, shadows, movement in tall grass. Sensory Veil flickered in and out without conscious effort, a low hum in the back of his mind rather than a sharp focus.
Nothing answered it.
By midday, the air cooled. A wind rolled down from the distant hills, carrying the scent of damp earth and crushed leaves. The sky remained clear, but the warmth faded fast.
That was when Lyla slowed.
At first, it was subtle. A half-step behind Tyke instead of beside him. A pause before rising after they stopped to drink at a stream. When Laxyie glanced back, she waved him off.
"Just stiff," she said. "Slept wrong."
He didn't argue. But he watched.
Another hour passed. Then another. Her steps lost their rhythm. Her breathing grew shallow, uneven. When they reached a bend where the road narrowed between low hills, Lyla stopped altogether.
"I need a minute," she said.
She didn't sit.
Her knees buckled.
Tyke dropped his stick and rushed forward, panic flooding his face. "Lyla!"
Laxyie caught her before she hit the ground, lowering her carefully. Her skin was hot beneath his fingers, far warmer than it should have been. Sweat clung to her hair despite the chill in the air.
"This isn't a cold," he said quietly.
Lyla forced a smile, teeth clenched. "I've fought worse."
"I know," he replied. "That's why this worries me."
They couldn't keep moving like this.
Not far ahead, tucked against the slope of a shallow valley, stood a small farm. Stone house. Weathered barn. Wooden beams hung with drying herbs, leaves twisted into unfamiliar shapes. Smoke curled lazily from a chimney. An old man repaired a fence nearby while an older woman sorted roots into woven baskets.
The woman looked up first.
"She's sick," Laxyie said while carrying her, wasting no words. "We need shelter."
The woman was already moving. "Bring her inside."
They laid Lyla near the hearth, heat radiating softly from the coals. Tyke hovered close, biting his lip, eyes darting between Lyla and the strangers.
The old man knelt, watching Lyla's breathing, then leaned closer and inhaled lightly near her collar. He frowned.
"Alcohol," he said.
Tyke blinked. "She didn't drink today."
"Doesn't matter," the woman replied gently. "Body remembers what the mind ignores."
She pressed two fingers to Lyla's wrist, then her neck. "Flu of poisoning," she said. "Common among warriors who push too hard and drink harder."
"How bad?" Laxyie asked.
"If untreated?" The woman exhaled. "Fever will worsen. Muscles weaken. Organs suffer. Could cripple her if she keeps fighting through it."
Laxyie didn't hesitate. "What do we do?"
"We can make the potion," the old man said. "Most ingredients are here."
"Except one," the woman added. "Khōrbah."
Laxyie nodded. "Where?"
She gestured beyond the house. "Other side of the valley. Grows high. Steep climb."
Laxyie turned immediately.
He knelt beside Lyla, lowering his voice. "Rest. Don't move."
She cracked one eye open. "You going alone?"
"Yes."
Tyke stepped forward. "I'll come—"
"No," Laxyie said firmly. "Stay. Watch her and tend to her."
Tyke swallowed, then nodded. "I will."
Laxyie left before the sun dipped behind the hills.
The valley was deeper than it looked. Loose stone gave way beneath his boots as he descended, then climbed again through thick brush. He moved carefully, conserving energy. Halfway up, Sensory Veil whispered.
Voices.
Goblins.
Seventern. Maybe eighteen. Crude weapons. Poor formation.
He adjusted his path, slowing his breath, stepping where stone met stone. He slipped past them cleanly—or so he thought.
At the top, the Khōrbah stood out clearly. Pale leaves curled inward like claws, faintly luminescent in the dimming light.
He reached—
Air shifted.
He twisted.
A spear skimmed past his shoulder. Another goblin lunged.
Before Laxyie could counter—
The ground shook.
A massive shadow fell across the clearing.
MÛ.
The beast crashed down like judgment, crushing two goblins instantly. It roared—low, thunderous—and tore through the rest without hesitation. Bodies scattered. Bone snapped.
Silence followed.
Laxyie stood frozen.
MÛ didn't look at him.
Then it turned.
They locked eyes, it was still healing from the previous fight they had.
Time stretched.
Then the beast turned away and vanished back into the valley.
Laxyie stood there, heart pounding, asking himself what that was all about. Then he came back to his senses.
After that slowly, he plucked the Khōrbah.
While plucking the Khōrbah he thought to himself that maybe the Beast had remembered him.
And maybe a debt was paid .