Chapter 20 - Stop looking.

I stare out the small window, watching the landscape crawl by. Fields give way to sparse woodlands, then back to fields again. Monotonous. Predictable. Nothing to analyse, no threats to assess, no escape routes to calculate. Just endless rolling terrain under a grey sky.

The wagon's rhythmic clanking and hissing fills the silence. Steam escapes in regular bursts, punctuating the journey like a mechanical heartbeat. I shift on the hard bench, my back already stiff from the rigid posture.

Across from me, Elefn's eyes track something outside—a bird, perhaps, or just an imaginary target. Her fingers twitch slightly, thumb and forefinger forming a phantom trigger. She raises her hand imperceptibly, following the movement of whatever she's pretending to shoot. When she catches me watching, she doesn't stop, just gives me a half-smile and continues her silent practice.

"Simulating trajectory compensation for wind drift," she explains without prompting. "You never know when you'll need to make a clean shot in less-than-ideal conditions."

I grunt in acknowledgement and return to staring out the window.

Aite's voice carries from the front of the wagon, warm and conversational as he chats with the drivers.

"So, how long have you been running this route?" he asks.

"Going on three years now," the primary driver responds. "Started right after the border disputes settled down."

"Must see all sorts of interesting folk, I imagine."

"That we do. Last month had a diplomat from the Southern Isles—insisted on bringing a crate of live crabs with him. Said they were a gift for some official's wife."

Aite laughs, the sound genuine and easy. "And how did that go?"

"Let's just say we had crab for dinner that night after one crate broke open. Nasty little buggers, but tasty."

Their conversation continues, mundane and normal. Talk of weather patterns, road conditions, bandit activity in the region. The kind of small talk I've never had patience for, but Aite navigates it effortlessly, drawing out information while appearing merely friendly.

My attention drifts to Sihx. His head rests against the metal wall, eyes closed, breathing steady. Is he actually sleeping? During our escape from Egozia and the journey afterwards, I'd only seen him sleep twice—brief stretches while we camped in the wilderness between cities. Even then, he seemed to wake at the slightest sound, instantly alert.

Tough bastard. Has to be, to survive as long as he has. Whatever else I might think of him, I can't deny his resilience.

A movement catches my eye—the secondary driver glancing back at me through the metal grate. Not the first time, either. He's been stealing looks since we departed, quick, furtive glances when he thinks I'm not paying attention.

I meet his eyes directly the next time he looks. He startles slightly, then quickly returns to adjusting some valves on the control panel.

Five minutes later, he's at it again. This time, I don't look away.

"Something interesting?" I ask, my voice cutting through the wagon's mechanical ambience.

The conversations stop. Elefn's hand drops to her side. Even Sihx's breathing changes rhythm, though his eyes remain closed.

The secondary driver clears his throat. "Just... haven't seen anyone quite like you before."

"Like me?"

"Your stature, eye colour, skin tone." He gestures vaguely at my face. "Unique combination. Not common in these parts."

I hold his gaze a moment longer. "Right."

"No offence meant," he adds quickly. "Just... you stand out, is all."

I don't respond, just continue staring until he turns back to his controls, shoulders tense.

Elefn nudges me with her elbow. "You've got an admirer," she whispers, amusement dancing in her eyes.

I ignore her, returning my attention to the window. The landscape continues its endless, boring procession, but now I'm more alert, more aware of the eyes occasionally glancing my way through the metal grate.

I can't shake the feeling that something's off about this driver. His eyes linger too long, his interest too specific. I've seen this kind of calculated attention before—not the casual curiosity of strangers, but the focused assessment of someone with an agenda.

"Your stature, eye colour, skin tone." Interesting.

I shift my position, angling myself to keep both drivers in my peripheral vision. The secondary driver's hands move efficiently across the controls, but there's a deliberateness to his movements that feels rehearsed. Is he just a driver who noticed something unusual, or something more? Someone from the Academy? A bounty hunter? Someone who recognizes what I am and knows there's profit in it?

My fingers trace the outline of my concealed knife. Just in case.

Funny how this is the first time I've thought about Anja since fleeing Egozia. She and Cain and even that nervous wreck, Wentworth. The Gang, as Cain insisted on calling us. For a brief moment, they'd been something close to... not family, but something.

Anja would've laughed at my paranoia right now. "Not everyone's out to get you, tribal boy," she'd say, punching my arm. "Some people just haven't seen a walking mountain with red eyes before."

But she's not here. I left her behind without so much as a goodbye. Left them all.

What if she'd been with me that day? If we'd gone to the courtyard together instead of me storming off alone? She wouldn't have let me brood in silence. Would've dragged me back to the others, insisted we figure things out together. We'd never have ended up on that airship.

Or maybe we'd both be dead. The shadow mage wasn't playing games.

I glance at Sihx, his face impassive even in apparent sleep. He saved my life, but to what end? To drag me across the continent toward some unknown purpose that apparently requires teaching me about powers I never asked for?

This is why I hate being idle. Too much time to think. Too many paths to consider, none of them leading anywhere good. Maya taught me to focus on the immediate—the next meal, the next target, the next camp. "The past is dead weight," she'd say. "The future's a distraction. Live in the now or die dreaming of what might be."

The wagon hits a rough patch, jolting us all. Elefn steadies herself with a hand on the bench, looking annoyed at the interruption to her imaginary target practice.

"Everything alright up there?" Aite calls to the drivers.

"Just a bad stretch of road," the primary driver answers. "Should smooth out soon."

The secondary driver uses the moment to glance back at me, again. Our eyes meet. This time, he doesn't look away.

"Where'd you say you were from again?" he asks casually.

"I didn't," I reply.

"Right, right." He nods, turning back to his controls. "Just making conversation."

My jaw tightens. Definitely not just curiosity.

I catch Sihx watching me now, one eye open just enough to observe. He gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Not now.

I exhale slowly, forcing my muscles to relax. Whatever game is being played here, I'm not the only one who's noticed. Better to wait, to watch. To be ready when—not if—something happens.

But part of me wonders if I've made a terrible mistake. If somewhere back in Egozia, Anja and the others are in danger because of me. Or if they've simply moved on, forgetting the tribal outsider who disappeared without a trace.

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I shift my position for the tenth time in as many minutes, trying to find some semblance of comfort on this rigid bench. Sleep tugs at me, a persistent weight dragging at my eyelids. It's been nearly thirty hours since I last closed my eyes properly.

The secondary driver glances back again. His eyes flick to mine, then away.

I could sleep. Perhaps I should. My body craves it, muscles aching with fatigue. But sleep means vulnerability. Means trusting these people I barely know in a metal box controlled by a man who can't stop staring at me.

At least staying awake is my choice. My decision. Small comfort, but it's something I control in this situation where I control almost nothing else. They can drag me across the continent, but they can't force my eyes closed.

Sihx appears to be sleeping, though I doubt he truly is. Aite has finally stopped his endless chatter with the drivers and sits with his head leaning against the wall, eyes half-closed. The wagon's mechanical rhythm continues, hypnotic in its consistency.

I fight against it, focusing on the discomfort of the bench, the bite of the knife handle against my ribs, anything to keep my mind alert.

A tap on my shoulder nearly makes me jump. I turn to find Elefn watching me, her ice-blue eyes bright with boredom.

"You look like you're fighting a war with your eyelids," she says.

I grunt in response.

"Not much for conversation, are you?" She shifts, angling her body toward mine. "I've been wondering something about you."

"What?"

"Those tribal markings Sihx talks about—do they hurt when they activate?"

I stare at her, surprised by the directness of the question. "Sometimes."

"Hmm." She nods, as if confirming a theory. "And can you feel the snake? Like, is it a separate consciousness, or just an extension of you?"

I consider ignoring her, but the monotony of the journey has worn down my resistance. At least conversation might keep me awake.

"Both," I answer finally. "It's... part of me, but also its own thing. Hard to explain."

She leans forward, suddenly more interested. "So it talks to you? Actually communicates?"

"Not in words. More like... impressions. Feelings."

"Fascinating." She taps her fingers against her knee. "I've seen all sorts of magic in our travels, but nothing quite like what you've got. Most mages need external focus objects, or at least hand gestures."

I tense at the mention of mages. "I'm not a mage."

"No, you're definitely not." She grins. "You're something else entirely. That's what makes you interesting."

I look away, uncomfortable with her scrutiny.

"So," she continues, undeterred, "what was it like growing up in a tribe? Did you hunt? Live off the land? All that primitive lifestyle stuff?"

My jaw tightens. "We weren't primitive."

"Poor choice of words," she concedes, though her tone suggests otherwise. "Traditional, then. Did you have some coming-of-age ritual where you had to kill a beast with your bare hands or something equally dramatic?"

"No."

"Really? That's disappointing." She sighs dramatically. "I imagined all sorts of exotic ceremonies. Dancing around fires, drinking mysterious concoctions, communing with spirit animals."

I almost smile at how wrong her assumptions are. "We were warriors, not mystics."

"But you do have magic," she points out.

"It's not the same."

"If you say so." She shrugs, then tilts her head. "One more question—completely different topic. Have you ever been with a woman?"

I blink, caught off guard. "What?"

"You know." She makes a suggestive gesture. "Intimately."

I stare at her, incredulous. "That's none of your business."

She laughs, a bright sound in the dreary wagon. "Just curious. You're so serious all the time, I wondered if you ever let loose."

"I'm not here for your entertainment."

"Clearly." She sighs again. "Worth a try, though. Aite never answers my personal questions either. Such prudes, both of you."

I catch myself about to retort and stop abruptly. What the hell am I doing? I've just revealed more about my tribe and my abilities to this stranger than I've told anyone since Maya found me. Even Anja, whom I'd actually started to trust, never got this much out of me.

And here I am, blurting it all out to Elefn—someone I've known for less than a day, someone whose loyalties I can't begin to guess, all while trapped in a wagon with a driver who keeps eyeing me like I'm a prize stag during hunting season.

"Something wrong?" Elefn asks, noticing my sudden silence.

I look away, jaw tight. "No."

She watches me a moment longer, then shrugs and returns to her imaginary target practice, apparently bored with me now that I've clammed up.

My thoughts race. What's happening to me? My mental discipline has always been iron-clad. Maya made sure of that. "Your mind is your first and last line of defence," she'd drill into us. "Break your body, they can still get nothing from your mind if you've trained it right."

And I had trained it right. Eleven years of conditioning. Eleven years of maintaining control, of revealing nothing, of keeping my thoughts ordered and my emotions in check. Even in the worst moments—ambushes, torture, betrayal—I'd never broken like this. Never found myself casually discussing the most private aspects of my existence with someone I had every reason to distrust.

Yet in just these few weeks away from Maya's company, my discipline has cracked. First with Anja and Cain, then with Wentworth, and now with Elefn. It's like I'm becoming someone else—someone weaker, more vulnerable, more... human.

The thought sends a chill through me. Is this what happens when you're cut off from everything familiar? When your foundations are stripped away? Do you just... dissolve?

I glance at Sihx, wondering if he's noticed my lapse. His eyes remain closed, but there's a tension in his shoulders that wasn't there before. He's listening. Of course he is.

The secondary driver steals another look at me, and I meet his gaze coldly this time. If he's a threat, I need to be ready. I can't afford these mental slips, especially not now.

I force myself to focus, to centre my thoughts. I need to regain control. The harsh environment of the mercenary life never made my mind this unstable. There were moments, yes—after particularly brutal missions, or when we lost people—but those were rare exceptions in eleven years of unwavering discipline.

Now, in just weeks, I'm doing things completely counter to my training. Revealing personal information. Trusting strangers. Following someone else's lead without verifying their intentions.

Maya would be disgusted.

I close my eyes, not to sleep but to rebuild my mental walls. I visualize them as I was taught—stone by stone, mortar filling the gaps, rising higher and stronger with each breath. I shut away the confusion, the doubt, the strange pull toward connection that I've been feeling since the Academy.

When I open my eyes again, Elefn is watching me with a curious expression.

"You know," she says quietly, "it's not a weakness to talk to people."

I don't respond, but something in her tone makes me wonder if she's more perceptive than I've given her credit for.

"Whatever," she continues when I remain silent. "Retreat back into your shell if you want. But just so you know—" she leans in slightly "—Sihx didn't just randomly find you. He's been looking for someone like you for a very long time."

Before I can ask what she means, the wagon lurches violently, throwing us all forward. Metal groans as the vehicle tilts at a dangerous angle. I brace myself against the bench, muscles tensing for whatever comes next.

The secondary driver turns fully around now, no longer pretending disinterest. His eyes lock with mine as the wagon continues its precarious tilt.

The wagon rights itself with a final groan of metal, settling back onto all wheels. My heart hammers against my ribs, body tensed for an attack that doesn't come.

Instead, the secondary driver—the one who's been watching me this entire journey—simply turns in his seat and announces, "We'll be arriving at the Checkpoint shortly. That's as far as we go, as per the transportation clause."

I stare at him, thrown off balance by the mundane statement after that moment of panic. Had I imagined the significance of his attention? The wagon hit something—a rut in the road, perhaps—nothing more.

"Finally," Elefn sighs beside me, stretching her arms overhead. "I was beginning to think this trip would never end. My backside has forgotten what it feels like to not be sitting on this bench."

Aite stirs from his half-sleep, blinking slowly as he orients himself. "Are we there already?" He rubs at his face, erasing the last traces of drowsiness.

I can't shake the feeling that something's wrong. The secondary driver's sudden turn, the way his eyes locked with mine during that lurch—it wasn't just to deliver a simple announcement. He was about to say or do something else. I'm certain of it.

My hand inches toward my concealed knife, muscles coiling in preparation.

"Relax," Sihx says quietly.

I glance at him, surprised to find him fully alert, his eyes sharp and assessing. He must have been awake the entire time, just as I suspected.

"Your face gives everything away," he continues, his voice low enough that only I can hear. "Whatever you're thinking, whatever you're planning—stop. Now is not the time."

"He's been watching me," I mutter, keeping my voice equally low. "The whole journey."

Sihx's expression doesn't change. "Of course he has. You're worth looking at."

I scowl at the non-answer. "That's not what I meant."

"I know what you meant." Sihx shifts slightly, his posture casual but his eyes vigilant. "Trust me when I say there's no threat here that I haven't accounted for."

Trust him. As if it were that simple. As if trust were something you could just hand over to someone you barely know, someone who's dragged you halfway across the country for reasons still unclear.

"We'll be stopping soon," Sihx continues, ignoring my silence. "The Checkpoint is just a formality. Once we're through, we'll be heading into areas where the Academy has less influence. You'll be safer there."

Safer. Another concept that feels foreign now. Was I ever truly safe? Even with Maya's company, safety was always relative, always temporary.

I feel a cold plunge in my gut as I look back at the secondary driver. He's returned to his controls, but there's something in the set of his shoulders that bothers me. A tension that wasn't there before.

"I don't like this," I say.

"You don't have to like it," Sihx replies. "You just have to get through it."

The wagon begins to slow, the mechanical hum of its engine dropping in pitch. Through the small window, I catch glimpses of a fortified structure ahead—the Checkpoint, presumably.

"When we stop," Sihx says, his tone shifting to something harder, more commanding, "stay close to me. Don't speak unless spoken to. Let me handle any questions."

I bristle at being ordered around, but before I can respond, Aite leans forward.

"Checkpoint guards can be difficult," he explains, his tone gentle but firm. "They're looking for any excuse to extract additional fees or cause trouble. The less attention we draw, the better."

"And you," Elefn adds, poking my arm, "with your tribal look and red eyes, are practically a walking invitation for extra scrutiny. So try to appear less... you."

I don't know whether to be annoyed or amused by her bluntness. "And how exactly am I supposed to do that?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. Look boring. Slouch a bit. Think non-threatening thoughts."

The wagon comes to a complete stop with a final mechanical sigh. The primary driver calls back to us, "Checkpoint inspection. Everyone will need to disembark with identification papers."

I freeze. "I don't have any papers."

Sihx reaches into his coat and pulls out a small leather folder. "Yes, you do."