The east gate of town was less impressive than Dylan had expected.

  Just a gap in the wooden palisade with a bored-looking guard leaning against the post, picking his teeth with what appeared to be a splinter. He glanced at Dylan as he approached, taking in the leather armor, the cloak, the carefully concealed ears, then waved him through without comment.

  Apparently, armed travelers leaving town was unremarkable enough not to warrant questions.

  Dylan stepped through the gate and found himself on a dirt road that stretched east into rolling hills. Trees dotted the landscape, their leaves just starting to turn with autumn colors. The morning air was crisp and clean, carrying scents of grass and earth and distant rain.

  It was beautiful.

  It was also deeply intimidating.

  Dylan had never been much for outdoor activities. His idea of "roughing it" involved a hotel with spotty WiFi. The closest he'd come to camping was that one disastrous Boy Scouts trip in middle school that had ended with him getting poison ivy and vowing never to trust nature again.

  And now here he was, about to spend two days traveling through wilderness with a stranger, pretending to be a competent guard.

  "This is fine," he muttered. "Totally fine. Just two days. What could possibly go wrong?"

  His ears twitched nervously under his hood, cataloging every sound, birds, insects, wind through grass, his own heartbeat hammering away like it was trying to escape.

  "Lyria!"

  Dylan turned to see Marcus approaching from the town, leading a horse loaded with saddlebags. The courier looked significantly more prepared than Dylan felt, travel-worn boots, a practical cloak, weapons positioned for easy access.

  "You came," Marcus said, and he sounded genuinely pleased. "I wasn't sure you would."

  "I wasn't sure either," Dylan admitted.

  Marcus smiled. "Honesty. I appreciate that." He patted the horse's neck, a sturdy brown mare who looked like she'd seen her share of roads. "This is Maple. She's not fast, but she's reliable. I hope you don't mind walking, I only have the one horse, and she's carrying our supplies."

  "Walking is fine," Dylan said, which was true. His new legs could probably walk to the next kingdom without complaint. "I'm used to it."

  "Good." Marcus adjusted one of the saddlebags, checking the straps. "We should make decent time today. The road to Millbrook is well-traveled for the first day, we'll reach the waystation by evening. Tomorrow gets more remote, which is where I'm expecting trouble if it comes."

  "What kind of trouble?" Dylan asked, trying to sound professional rather than terrified.

  "Bandits, mostly. There's a group that's been hitting travelers on the eastern stretch. Nothing organized, just opportunistic thugs looking for easy targets." Marcus glanced at Dylan. "Which is why I wanted backup. Two people are a lot less appealing than one."

  "Right. Makes sense." Dylan's hand drifted to the short sword at his hip, a weapon he'd equipped because it looked appropriate, not because he had any idea how to use it.

  Sure, his stats were maxed. His muscle memory was probably divine-tier. But knowing intellectually that you could fight and actually fighting were very different things.

  "You look nervous," Marcus observed.

  "First job in a while," Dylan said, which was technically true if you counted his entire existence in this world as "a while."

  "You'll be fine. Most of the time, just looking capable is enough to discourage trouble." Marcus started walking, Maple plodding along beside him. "Come on. Daylight's burning."

  Dylan fell into step beside him, his legs eating up the distance with easy strides.

  The road stretched ahead, and Dylan's new life, whatever that was going to be, stretched with it.

  ***

  For the first hour, they walked in companionable silence.

  Marcus seemed content to focus on the road, occasionally murmuring to Maple or adjusting their pace. Dylan was too busy trying not to panic to make conversation.

  His senses were on high alert, cataloging everything. Every rustle in the grass. Every bird call. Every shift in the wind. His rabbit instincts treated the open road like a threat assessment exercise, constantly scanning for predators or danger.

  It was exhausting.

  "So," Marcus said eventually, breaking the silence. "You're not from around here."

  It wasn't a question.

  "No," Dylan admitted. "I'm from... very far away."

  "How far?"

  "Different continent. Different... everything, really."

  Marcus nodded like this was a perfectly normal answer. "Explains the accent. It's faint, but it's there. And the way you hold yourself, like you're not quite sure how things work here."

  Dylan's ears flattened slightly under his hood. "Is it that obvious?"

  "Only to someone who's been paying attention. Most people wouldn't notice." Marcus glanced at him. "You running from something?"

  "No. Yes. Maybe?" Dylan sighed. "It's complicated."

  "Usually is." Marcus was quiet for a moment, then: "I'm not going to pry. Everyone's got their reasons for moving on. Just wanted you to know, whatever you're running from or toward, you're safe with me. I don't gossip, and I don't judge."

  The words settled something in Dylan's chest. "Thank you."

  "Don't mention it." Marcus pointed ahead. "See that marker? We're making good time. Should reach the waystation well before dark at this pace."

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  They walked on, and slowly, very slowly, Dylan felt some of his tension ease.

  The road was peaceful. The weather was perfect. Nothing had jumped out to attack them. Maybe this would be okay. Maybe he could actually do this.

  "Can I ask you something?" Dylan ventured after another stretch of silence.

  "Sure."

  "You said you've been a courier for fifteen years. That's... a long time. Why do you do it?"

  Marcus considered the question. "Money's decent. Work is steady. And I like the travel, seeing different places, meeting different people. Every delivery is a little different." He smiled. "Plus, I'm not really suited to staying in one place. Tried it once, nearly went mad with boredom."

  Dylan could relate to that more than he wanted to admit. His apartment had been one place, and look how that had turned out.

  "What about you?" Marcus asked. "What brings a rabbitfolk warrior to this part of the world?"

  "I'm not really a warrior," Dylan said automatically.

  "You're armed, you're wearing armor, and you move like someone with combat training. What would you call that?"

  "Lucky?" Dylan tried.

  Marcus laughed. "Modest, then. That's rare in fighters. Most warriors I know can't go five minutes without telling you about their greatest victories."

  "I don't really have any victories to talk about."

  "None?"

  "None worth mentioning."

  Marcus gave him a curious look but didn't push. "Well, everyone starts somewhere. Maybe this will be your first."

  "Maybe," Dylan said, hoping desperately that "this" wouldn't involve actual combat.

  They crested a hill, and the road stretched out before them, winding through autumn-touched landscape. In the distance, Dylan could see what might be a building, probably the waystation Marcus had mentioned.

  "Pretty, isn't it?" Marcus said, following his gaze. "I never get tired of this view."

  It was pretty. Beautiful, even. The kind of scenery that would make a perfect desktop wallpaper or an establishing shot in a fantasy film.

  Dylan just wished he could enjoy it without his prey-animal instincts screaming that open roads meant no cover and no cover meant vulnerability.

  "Yeah," he managed. "It's nice."

  They walked on, the sun climbing higher, the road unfolding beneath their feet.

  And for a little while, just a little while, Dylan almost felt like he knew what he was doing.

  ***

  The waystation appeared around midday.

  It was a simple structure, wooden walls, a thatched roof, a stable for horses, and a well. The kind of place designed for travelers to rest, water their animals, and maybe grab a meal before continuing on.

  A handful of other travelers occupied the space. A merchant with a cart. Two elves who looked like they were arguing about a map. A dwarf sleeping under a tree with his pack as a pillow.

  Normal. Unremarkable. Safe.

  Dylan felt some of his tension drain away.

  "We'll stop here for lunch," Marcus said, leading Maple to the stable. "Give the horse a rest, refill our water. There's usually someone selling food."

  Sure enough, an enterprising halfling had set up a small stall near the well, selling travel rations, dried fruit, and what appeared to be sandwiches.

  Dylan's stomach rumbled at the sight.

  "Go ahead and grab something," Marcus said, tending to Maple. "I'll join you in a minute."

  Dylan approached the stall, eyeing the options. The halfling, middle-aged, cheerful, with the kind of permanent smile that suggested she genuinely enjoyed her work, noticed him and waved.

  "What can I get you, friend? Sandwiches are fresh this morning. Got vegetable and cheese, or if you're feeling adventurous, there's a spiced lentil spread that'll change your life."

  "The lentil one sounds good," Dylan said.

  "Excellent choice!" She wrapped up a sandwich and handed it over. "Two copper."

  Dylan paid, managing to pull the coins from his inventory without fanfare this time, and found a spot to sit under a tree.

  The sandwich was, as advertised, excellent. The lentil spread was rich and flavorful, the bread fresh and soft. His body accepted it enthusiastically, no complaints, no revolt.

  He was halfway through when Marcus joined him, carrying his own lunch and a waterskin.

  "Good?" Marcus asked, settling down beside him.

  "Really good," Dylan admitted.

  They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, watching other travelers come and go.

  "Question," Marcus said eventually. "That sword at your hip. You know how to use it?"

  Dylan's hand drifted to the weapon. "I... have some training." A lie, but a necessary one.

  "How much training?"

  "Enough to not cut my own leg off?"

  Marcus snorted. "That's a start, I suppose." He finished his sandwich and leaned back against the tree. "Here's hoping we don't need to find out. Most bandits are cowards, they see two armed people and move on to easier targets."

  "And if they don't?" Dylan asked quietly.

  "Then we deal with it." Marcus's hand rested casually on his sword hilt. "I've been in scrapes before. Usually ends with everyone walking away alive, if not particularly happy. The trick is not to panic."

  Don't panic, Dylan thought. Great. My one signature move is the thing I'm not supposed to do.

  "You'll be fine," Marcus said, as if reading his thoughts. "I've got a good feeling about you, Lyria. You're more capable than you think."

  Dylan wished he could believe that.

  They rested for another half hour, then packed up and continued on.

  ***

  The afternoon passed quietly.

  They made good time, the road staying level and clear. Marcus pointed out landmarks, a distinctive rock formation, a creek that was good for fishing, a tree that had supposedly been split by lightning but refused to die.

  Dylan listened, learning, cataloging. Every piece of information was another thread connecting him to this world, making it feel more real and less like an extended dream.

  His ears had stopped twitching quite so much, adjusting to the ambient sounds of travel. His body had settled into an easy rhythm, walking without thought or effort.

  For the first time since arriving, Dylan felt almost... normal.

  "Storm coming," Marcus said suddenly, breaking the peaceful silence.

  Dylan looked up. The sky ahead had darkened, clouds gathering on the horizon.

  "How far out?" Dylan asked, his enhanced senses picking up the smell of rain on the wind.

  "Hour, maybe two. We'll make the waystation before it hits if we pick up the pace."

  They walked faster, Maple breaking into a trot to keep up. The clouds crept closer, the wind picking up, carrying the promise of rain.

  Dylan's ears swiveled backward, tracking a sound that made him pause.

  "What is it?" Marcus asked, noticing.

  "I don't know. I thought I heard..." Dylan strained to listen. There it was again, voices. Multiple voices. Coming from behind them on the road.

  Marcus's expression shifted, becoming more alert. "How far back?"

  "Maybe half a mile? They're moving fast."

  "Can you tell how many?"

  Dylan focused, his rabbit hearing picking apart the sounds. "Four, I think. Maybe five. Horses."

  Marcus's hand moved to his sword. "Could be nothing. Could be other travelers trying to beat the storm."

  "But you don't think so."

  "No," Marcus admitted. "I don't."

  They kept walking, faster now, but not quite running. Dylan's heart rate picked up, his prey instincts screaming at him to move, to find cover, to hide.

  Behind them, the voices grew louder.

  "Oi! You there! Travelers!"

  Marcus muttered a curse. "Here we go."

  Dylan turned to see five riders cresting the hill behind them. Rough-looking men, weapons visible, moving with the casual confidence of people who knew they had the advantage.

  Bandits.

  Of course it was bandits.

  Dylan's first real encounter in this world, and it was the exact scenario he'd been dreading.

  "Stay calm," Marcus said quietly. "Let me do the talking. They might just be trying to shake us down for coin. We give them something, they move on."

  "And if they don't?" Dylan's voice came out steadier than he felt.

  "Then we see just how good you are with that sword."

  The riders approached, spreading out to block the road ahead. Their leader, a scarred man with a nasty grin,urged his horse forward.

  "Afternoon, friends," he said, his tone suggesting they were anything but. "Nice day for a walk, isn't it?"

  Marcus's hand stayed on his sword hilt, casual but ready. "It was."

  The bandit leader laughed. "Right to the point. I like that. Here's how this works, you hand over your valuables, we let you pass. Simple. Clean. Nobody gets hurt."

  "And if we decline?" Marcus asked.

  "Then things get complicated." The bandit gestured at his companions. "There's five of us. Two of you. Math says you should cooperate."

  Dylan's ears were flat against his skull under his hood. His heart hammered. His hand trembled slightly on his sword hilt.

  Every instinct screamed at him to run.

  But Marcus was standing firm, calm, waiting.

  And Dylan was supposed to be his guard.

  His protection.

  His backup.

  "So, what's it going to be?" the bandit leader asked. "Easy way or hard way?"

  Marcus glanced at Dylan.

  Dylan looked back, seeing the question in the courier's eyes.

  Can you do this?

  Dylan had no idea.

  But he was about to find out.

  "How about," Dylan heard himself say, his voice surprisingly steady despite the panic screaming through his veins, "you move along and pretend you never saw us?"

  The bandit leader's grin widened.

  "Hard way it is."

  And everything went sideways.