The image of her face still clung to the edges of his thoughts. He had to find out who she was. But dwelling on it wouldn’t help—not now. Not when it could get him, or worse, the others, killed. He stayed in the chair, staring at the book on the desk, until the sun began to peer through the window.

  Shaking himself awake, River muttered under his breath. He couldn't afford distractions—not anymore. He stood, walking over to the bed where Callum and Albert were still sleeping soundly, sprawled out like children. They didn’t have the luxury to waste time. Channeling a small amount of water essence, River formed two spheres above their heads—and dropped them.

  Both jolted awake instantly, sputtering and swiping at their soaked faces. Their eyes squinted up at him, first with confusion... then amusement. Albert groaned. "Gods, what was that for?" Before River could answer, Callum cut in, a wide grin spreading across his face.

  "I'm guessing the boss doesn't want us sleeping all day." River smirked. "Sometimes even stupid gets things right." He crossed his arms. "Grab your things. Meet me downstairs in ten minutes. We’ll stock up on supplies and get moving before anyone recognizes us." They both nodded reluctantly, stretching and groaning as they stumbled toward the bathroom, shoving each other at the door. "You stay on your side," Callum said through a laugh. "No funny business." "Shut up," Albert muttered, slamming the door behind them. River chuckled quietly. Despite everything, their banter cheered him up a little. He headed down the hall toward Amalia’s room, heart thudding against his ribs.

  He knocked once, loud and firm. No answer. Inhaling deeply, he unlocked the door with the key he'd been given, swinging it open cautiously. The water was running inside the bathroom. She was already awake. He knocked loudly on the bathroom door. "Meet us downstairs in ten minutes! Don’t forget anything we’re shopping before we leave." The water stopped abruptly.

  Before River could react, the door swung open and there she was. Amalia stepped out, towel slung loosely around her torso, her wet hair clinging to her skin. River’s face went beet-red. He spun around instinctively, staring hard at the wall.

  "You scared of a little skin?" Amalia teased, laughter rich in her voice.

  River opened his mouth but no sound came out. His tongue was completely useless.

  Flustered and embarrassed, he all but bolted from the room, the sound of Amalia's soft laughter trailing after him. He didn’t know what scared him more—Amalia, or the fact that he hadn’t wanted to leave. Outside, the fresh morning air hit him in the face like a slap. He stood in the street, trying to cool off, letting the breeze steady his racing heart as he waited for the others. Planning the next steps. It would make the most sense if Albert went to find medicinal herbs and supplies—they’d need things for minor injuries. Callum could handle food, especially since he loved cooking. As for him and Amalia, they could tackle sleeping gear and weapons. River still hadn’t figured out how Lud’s tent contraption worked... better to stick to basics for now. When the others arrived, River split the gold evenly.

  Albert and Callum each received five gold pieces, while he and Amalia kept the rest. Their purchases were bound to be more expensive. They agreed to meet back in an hour and split up.

  As River and Amalia made their way down the market road, scanning signs and stalls, Amalia broke the silence. “So…” she said, voice playful. “Do you expect to see me naked again now that we’re alone? Because that’s as much of me as you’re gonna get.” River choked on his spit and coughed violently. “What the hell? No! Callum loves food, and Albert knows healing stuff. It just made sense.” Amalia raised an eyebrow. “Suuure it did.” River didn’t respond, unsure whether she was flirting or just messing with him. Probably both. Either way, he shoved the thought out of his mind as they reached a storefront with large, blocky letters: “Hunter’s Hunting Store.” They stepped inside. River walked ahead, hoping to hide his flustered expression. A tall, broad-shouldered man stood behind the counter, dark-skinned and lined with old scars. His presence was commanding, but his eyes weren’t unkind.

  River approached. “We’re traveling. We need gear—sleeping equipment, a bow and arrows, a knife... maybe a few daggers.” The man nodded. His voice was low and rough, but calm. “We’ve got what you need. I’ll show you.” He walked them through his modest selection. River felt out of his depth, but the man didn’t rush them or act annoyed. He explained the pros and cons of each item with patience.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  River went for the cheapest options:

  Two simple daggers and one butcher knife—four gold.

  Three basic sleeping bags—another five gold. He winced internally at the total but said nothing. They needed the equipment. Amalia, meanwhile, examined the bows like she knew exactly what she was doing—which, apparently, she did. River watched as she tested the draw of each one, her arms taut with strength, her movements practiced and confident. It was, frankly, impressive. She finally settled on a steel crossbow, sleek, reliable, and deadly. It cost five gold, with another two gold for a quiver and ten bolts. That stung. They were down to two gold coins if the others used all their money. Still… River didn’t regret a single purchase. Good gear could be the difference between life and death. As they made their way back toward the meeting point, something was wrong. The streets had emptied. Shops, once bustling, were now quiet. Through open doorways and windows, River caught glimpses of faces peering out — whispering, pointing.

  He turned to Amalia. She closed her eyes briefly, then nodded. She felt it too. Their pace quickened, almost to a jog. When they finally reached the plaza, Albert and Callum were already there, looking uneasy. Then a voice rang out.

  "Stop!"

  They froze. Six knights in gleaming armor, green-and-gold crests shining on their chests, stood blocking the street. Swords drawn. The lead knight stepped forward, his voice cold and commanding. "By order of the King, you are to face trial in the capital. Charged with murder and attempted murder." River’s stomach twisted. Alerus hadn’t cleared their names. Someone else was pushing the story—and hard. The knight’s leader turned, bowing slightly toward Amalia.

  "Your Majesty, if you come with us willingly, we will ensure your friends are not harmed. And your name will stay... clean." River blinked.

  Your Majesty? What had just happened? It didn’t make sense—and yet, it did. The composure, the confidence… it all lined up. But not once had she looked down on him because of his background. How had she kept it hidden? He looked at Amalia—and saw the truth in her eyes. Hatred burned there, sharp and wild. In that moment, he realized it wasn’t the knights she hated most—it was the title itself. To her, it wasn’t a crown to be admired, but a shackle to be feared. "That’s not what I want," she said, her voice low and fierce. "That’s my father’s wish. We have somewhere else to be.

  We have somewhere else to be." The knight grimaced. "I can’t let that happen." For a moment, no one moved. The tension hung heavy. And then, with shocking speed, he lunged—armor clanging as his boots struck stone.

  Before River could think, the knight was almost on them—blade flashing toward Amalia. River reacted. He dropped into his connection with the earth and pushed. The ground beneath him and Amalia liquefied, then moved them backward, lifting them and sweeping them away from the knight’s blade like a rolling mud wave. At the same time, River dragged moisture from the air and soil, wrapping the knight’s legs in heavy, clinging sludge to slow his strike.

  "Get them!" the knight roared, thrashing against the magic. River caught a glimpse of Amalia beside him, her arms lifted, essence flaring bright around her. Above the knights, a large, dense sphere of water shimmered into existence.

  "FIRE!" Amalia shouted.

  The ball shattered, and dozens of smaller orbs hurled downward like cannonballs.

  Each impact sent a knight stumbling, armor clanging. Not enough to injure them—but enough to buy a few seconds.

  "RUN, GODDAMMIT!" River yelled. Albert and Callum, still frozen in shock, snapped into motion. They sprinted for the edge of the town—running until the last buildings fell away behind them, leaving only endless rolling plains. But wide open spaces had their own dangers. River knew they wouldn’t get far if they stayed visible.

  "Stop!" he barked, pulling them into a tight huddle. "Stay still. I’m going to cast an illusion." He closed his eyes, reaching into the fragile threads of light and air around them. It wasn’t his strongest skill—but it would have to do. Slowly, carefully, he bent the light, wrapping them in a shimmering cloak of warped air. They moved slowly, breathing shallowly, every step measured. Behind them, they heard the thunder of armored boots. Chainmail clinking. Voices shouting. River’s heart pounded against his ribs as he felt the knights sprint past—mere meters away. But no alarms sounded. No blades swung down.

  They hadn’t seen them.

  Thank the gods. Minutes later, out of sight, River let the construct collapse and dropped to the ground, chest heaving. His essence had been stretched too far. Illusions weren’t his strength, not yet. There was still so much to learn.

  Everyone gasped for air. Clearly, they’d all been just as tense as River. They had been moments away from a real fight. He looked at his friends, each of them near collapse. Their eyes met. And then, unexpectedly, they laughed. Not because anything was funny, but because they’d come far too close to being caught.

  Sometimes, laughter was easier than fear.