Two Weeks Later

The path had started to widen.

The trees weren't so clustered anymore, and the dirt beneath Nyx's boots had shifted from soft forest soil to hard, cracked stone.

That could only mean one thing.

She was getting close.

Finally.

The journey had been long.

Too long.

She'd lost count of how many nights she'd slept on cold ground, how many meals were just dried rations and water that tasted a little too much like moss. Her cloak smelled like the road, and her limbs moved on habit more than energy now.

The silence was dull. The wind was dry. Even the occasional monster that wandered too close barely left a mark on her mood.

She wasn't impressed anymore.

Just tired.

"Would it really hurt," she muttered aloud, "to stop for one night?"

"No," came Uriel's ever-smug voice, "but it will make us late."

Nyx didn't stop walking. "We're not on a schedule."

"I am."

She snorted. "You're not even bound by time."

"I enjoy efficiency."

"I enjoy not sleeping in a cave," she said flatly. "Seems like we both want things we can't have."

Uriel sighed—or made the closest sound to a sigh a voice in her head could. "There's a village to the east. But if we detour, it'll add a full day to the journey."

"So?"

"So," Uriel said, "that's one more day walking. And another night in the cold after you leave it."

Nyx rolled her eyes under her veil. "I'll take my chances."

The idea of a roof—even a crooked one—was worth it.

She was done curling up in trees. Done brushing spiders off her pack. Done pretending the stars were comfortable company.

Just one night. That's all she wanted.

But it didn't happen.

Because the road began to curve.

And not just anywhere.

Ahead, the peaks of obsidian cliffs rose in the distance. Smoke curled lazily into the sky. The air felt different—drier, heavier, charged.

And there, in the far stretch of the horizon, barely visible through the heat lines—

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Draconia.

She stopped walking.

The wind tugged at the hem of her cloak, carrying the scent of iron and stone and fire.

The mountains loomed in the distance, not unwelcoming, but not warm either. The city was carved from rock and pride—sharp lines, steep towers, banners that clung stubbornly to the wind.

Uriel didn't speak.

Neither did she.

Because something in her chest shifted again.

Not pain. Not fear.

Readiness.

Another kingdom.

Another Will.

Another challenge.

She didn't know what would wait for her past those walls.

But whatever it was—

She would face it.

Head on.

After what felt like an eternity of walking, the road finally led her to it.

Draconia.

The air shifted the moment she stepped over the last ridge.

The towering black stone gates rose in the distance, carved into the mountain itself—an entrance that looked more like a fortress than a welcome. Beyond it, the city climbed and curled along jagged cliff edges, glowing faintly with forges, lanterns, and the heat of life packed into every level.

It was massive.

Far bigger than anything she'd seen.

Bigger than she'd imagined.

Nyx stood still for a moment, just staring.

Her legs ached. Her shoulders hurt. Her eyes stung from the sun.

But she sighed—long and full, the kind of breath that let her body finally loosen.

She made it.

She didn't move right away.

Letting her heart settle, she walked a little ways off the main road and found a flat stone beneath the shade of a nearby tree. Her back hit it with a quiet thump, and she tilted her head back toward the sky.

The sun felt less sharp now.

Her pulse began to slow.

"Just a few more steps," she murmured to herself.

After a while, she rose again—quiet and steady—and adjusted her cloak, brushing dust from the folds.

No need to rush.

The gates weren't going anywhere.

She followed the path that led toward the city's main entrance. It wasn't empty.

A small line had gathered, spaced unevenly. Travelers. Traders. Young people with hopeful eyes and blades strapped too tight to their backs.

Some were nervous. Shifting on their feet. Whispering to one another.

But not her.

Nyx walked in silence, her boots soft against the stone, her silver veil catching just a touch of wind as she moved.

This was the kingdom of change.

The kingdom of purpose.

And now… it was her turn.

By the time she reached the back of the line, her steps had slowed again—not from fatigue this time, but intention.

She had no need to rush forward.

She was already here.

She folded her hands in front of her, letting the heat wash over her skin.

Her fingers twitched lightly as she remembered the first time she stood at a kingdom gate—Tindara—scared, uncertain, barely holding herself together.

But now?

Now she stood straight. Her shoulders didn't shake. Her thoughts didn't scramble.

A small smile touched her lips.

Not loud. Not proud.

Just… real.

She'd come a long way.

And she knew how to speak for herself now.

The line moved at a crawl.

Not that Nyx was in any rush. She rocked lightly on her heels, arms loosely crossed beneath her cloak, and watched the people ahead inch forward, one by one.

The guards at the gate were thorough. Asking questions. Checking bags. Some kind of document was being shown—maybe proof of purpose, maybe travel history.

"I guess they need a lot of information," Nyx murmured under her breath.

Uriel didn't respond, for once.

She didn't press.

It didn't matter.

The line shifted again. A few more steps.

Then the sound reached her.

Wheels. Fast ones. Heavy.

She glanced over her shoulder as the steady rhythm of hooves and the rattle of a fine-built carriage echoed across the stone road.

There was room—plenty of space carved into the entrance road, wide enough for nobles or merchants to pass without ever needing to wait in line.

And that's exactly what this was.

Polished wood. Dark, sleek. Gold trim on the doors. Enchanted lanterns on each corner that flickered faintly even in daylight.

It passed without slowing.

As the carriage rolled past, Nyx kept her stance still, but something nudged her to lift her head just slightly.

Her gaze—hidden behind the veil—settled on the window.

And there—inside the carriage—eyes met hers.

Emerald green. Sharp. Focused.

Not a passing glance.

A direct, unwavering stare.

Nyx didn't flinch.

Neither did they.

The moment stretched longer than it should have.

Silent. Still.

Like neither of them wanted to be the first to look away.

Then the carriage rolled past, wheels clicking back into rhythm.

The gaze broke. The window disappeared. And the sound faded down the path.

Nyx didn't say anything.

She didn't need to.

But her hand brushed her cloak just once—absently, almost as if to steady herself.

Then she stepped forward with the rest of the line, as if nothing had happened at all.

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