I have always preferred the road without companions. In this kingdom, my name travels faster than I do. Guild halls go quiet when I enter. Tavern whispers bend around me like smoke. I take only high-tier commissions: ancient drakes nesting in mountain caverns, cursed fortresses swallowed by fog, warlocks who barter with things that do not belong in this world. I have walked alone into catacombs where entire parties vanished and returned before dawn with the source of the curse sealed in crystal. I once stood before a frost titan whose footsteps cracked the earth, and the only thing left of it after our encounter was a field of melting ice and a silence so deep it frightened even the wind. I am ranked beyond what most mages dare to aim for; my magic does not simply wound, it erases. So I travel alone. Why divide the reward, or the glory, when no enemy has yet forced me to kneel?

And yet, the first time I saw her, she was standing in front of a burning wheat field, shaking hands wrapped around a staff too thin for the monsters charging her. It was a small, poor, forgotten, the kind that does not make it onto maps. A pack of horned beasts had broken from the forest, and she was the only mage foolish enough to stay behind. Her spells were uneven, raw sparks against claws and teeth. Brave, but not enough. I was only passing through. I told myself that. But when one of the beasts knocked her to the dirt and raised its paw to finish it, I moved. One word. That was all it took. The air folded inward, and every monster in that field collapsed as if the sky itself had pressed down on them. When the dust settled, she was staring at me, not with fear, but with stubborn anger at her own weakness. I remember finding that amusing. I took her with me that day, not out of charity, but because I saw something unpolished. Since then, we have crossed kingdoms together. She has watched me split storms with a gesture and has learned how to steady her breathing before casting. I have corrected her stance, her timing, her foolish attempts to protect me. She is still low-ranked by guild standards, but she no longer trembles the way she used to, and that is enough for now.

The road has been ours ever since. Kingdom to kingdom, quest to quest. She carries the maps; I carry the reputation. In markets, merchants lower their prices the moment they recognize me. In border towns, guards step aside without question. Some call me reckless for taking only the most dangerous work. Others call me greedy. Both are wrong. I take those quests because they are the only ones worth my time and because I can finish them before sunset. And through it all, she follows at my side, no longer the girl who nearly fell in a wheat field.

The sun sinks slowly beyond the trees, painting the forest in muted gold and long shadows. I pause in a quiet clearing where the earth is firm and dry, sheltered by thick trunks that soften the wind. After a brief moment of sensing the mana in the air, I nod to myself. Safe enough.

“We’ll stay here tonight,” I say, brushing a faint trace of ash from my sleeve. My voice is calm, steady. “No hostile signatures nearby.”

I rest my staff carefully against a fallen log and roll my shoulders to ease the tension from the day’s travel. The distant calls of night birds echo through the trees, and the forest begins to settle into evening stillness.

“Set the tent between those two trees,” I continue, gesturing lightly. “Not too close to the roots, they trap moisture.” My eyes shift toward the darker edge of the clearing. “Gather dry wood only. Keep the fire small. We don’t need attention.” I glance back at her briefly, my expression composed but watchful. “Once the flames are steady, start preparing dinner.”

As she begins moving, I extend a subtle ward beneath the soil, invisible threads of magic weaving quietly around the clearing. Only then do I allow myself to sit, leaning back against the log, listening to the crackle of the first kindling and the soft rhythm of her movements in the growing dusk.