Morning came, soft and golden, the village stirring slowly under a sky streaked with pale clouds. Rebecca walked the familiar dirt path, cloak pulled tight against the lingering chill, boots kicking up small puffs of dust with each measured step. The air carried the scent of woodsmoke and baking bread from distant hearths, mingling with the faint, earthy smell of dew-soaked grass.
The path curved past low stone fences and thatched roofs until the rhythmic clang of hammer on anvil reached her—steady, metallic, like a heartbeat. Ehis's smithy squat, smoke-blackened, its open front glowing orange from the forge within. Sparks danced in the shadows as she approached.
She stepped inside. Heat washed over her in a thick wave, carrying the sharp tang of hot iron and charcoal. Ehis broad-shouldered form came into view, face streaked with soot—raised his eyes from the anvil. The hammer paused mid-swing, then lowered slowly. He studied her for a long moment, expression unreadable.
Without a word he turned, walked deeper into the workshop, and returned carrying a long bundle wrapped in oiled cloth. He held it above the scarred wooden counter between them.
Rebecca reached out. Ehis placed the bundle in her grasp, fingers lingering a second longer than necessary.
"Be careful," he said, voice low and rough. "I couldn't make the scythe any lighter. Tried my best to balance it—shifted the weight, reworked the curve—but it's still heavy. Awkward for most folk."
Rebecca took it fully. The cloth fell away in her hands, revealing the weapon: a long, curved scythe blade of dark steel, edge honed to mirror brightness, haft reinforced with iron bands. She adjusted her grip—fingers curling naturally around the wood—and lifted it with effortless ease, as though it weighed no more than a walking stick.
Ehis's brows rose.
She stepped back into the open space of the forge yard, boots scraping lightly on the dirt. A single, fluid motion: she swung the scythe in a wide, controlled arc—air whistling past the blade—then reversed it, letting the momentum carry through without strain. The weight shifted perfectly in her hands, balanced to her strength. She transitioned smoothly to the two smaller sickles, unfolding them with a soft metallic click. Holding them crossed before her, she raised them toward the sun; light flashed off the edges in twin blinding arcs.
Ehis stared, jaw slack, the hammer forgotten in his grip.
Rebecca folded the sickles back into place, secured the entire weapon across her back with practiced motions, then tied a wide cloth belt around her waist to hold it firm against her spine. She looked up at him, head tilted slightly.
"What's wrong?" she asked, genuinely puzzled. The question hung in the hot air between them.
Ehis blinked, then let out a short, disbelieving laugh that turned into a cough. He shook his head, wiping soot from his brow with the back of one massive forearm.
"Nothing," he muttered. "Just… thought it'd be heavier for you. That's all."
Rebecca gave a small nod, the faintest curve touching her lips.
"Thank you, Ehis."
He grunted, already turning back toward the forge, but his eyes lingered on her retreating back as she walked away.
She made her way to the caravan staging area at the village edge. Wagons stood in loose formation—horses stamping restlessly in their traces.
As Rebecca arrived the caravan staging area, the low murmur of voices and the creak of wagon wheels reached her first. The merchants' carts stood in a loose circle, horses chewing idly, crates and canvas secured with ropes. A small group of mercenaries lounged nearby—armed, watchful, their presence a quiet promise of protection on the road.
She walked straight toward the man who clearly led them: tall, broad-shouldered, a well-used longsword sheathed at his hip, stance relaxed but alert. As she drew near, her eyes passed over the figures behind him.
A larger man—built like a wall, heavy plate armor strapped across his chest and shoulders—leaned against a wagon wheel, arms crossed, face impassive. Beside him stood a female elf archer, slender and poised, longbow slung across her back, blonde hair braided tightly. The moment her sharp eyes met Rebecca's, her lip curled in barely concealed disgust—ears twitching slightly, fingers flexing around the bowstring.
Inside Rebecca's mind, Ora stirred—a ripple of bright, almost childlike excitement flooding the connection.
*An elf… the first I've seen. This world is full of wonders—so many races, so many forms. I want to explore them all.*
Rebecca kept her expression neutral, ignoring the look.
The leader noticed the exchange immediately. He stepped forward, raising a hand in a placating gesture.
"Sorry about that," he said, voice low and even. "She isn't always this way. Just… cautious around strangers."
Rebecca inclined her head slightly.
"I understand. Would you show me to the merchant?"
He nodded once, gesturing for her to follow. The elf's gaze tracked her the entire way, cold and unblinking.
The leader led her to a larger wagon at the center—canvas sides rolled up, a portly man inside sorting ledgers and coin pouches. He looked up as they approached, round face breaking into a practiced smile.
"Welcome, welcome," he said, setting the ledger aside. "I'm Tobin. This humble merchant, at your service."
Rebecca stopped at the wagon's edge.
"I'd like to join your caravan," she said simply. "Where are you headed?"
"Batong town," Tobin replied, wiping his palms on his vest. "Three days if the weather holds, longer if bandits or storms slow us. You're welcome to ride along, but there's a fee—protection, food, space on the wagon. Standard rate."
Rebecca reached into her cloak and drew out a small pouch of silver coins. The weight clinked softly as she held it out.
Ora's voice surged suddenly in her mind—sharp, urgent.
*Haggle… now. Lower… the price.*
Her hand froze mid-motion. The pouch hovered just above Tobin's outstretched palm.
She met the merchant's eyes, expression unchanging.
Tobin blinked, smile faltering slightly.
"…Something wrong?"
Rebecca let the silence stretch a moment longer, then slowly pulled the pouch back.
"Perhaps we can discuss the rate," she said quietly.
Tobin gestured toward a small side tent for privacy.
Later, she stepped out of the tent with a heavy sigh, shoulders rising and falling as she released a breath she was holding. The thought of another punishing night—of Ora's relentless thrusts—still clung to her with vivid recollection. She shook it off, straightening.
The team leader emerged behind her, wiping his hands on a rag.
"I'm called Muel," he said, offering a small nod. "Looks like you'll be traveling with us. I look forward to the journey."
Rebecca met his gaze.
"Likewise."
She glanced toward the wagons, then back at him.
"When do we set off?"
"Tomorrow morning, most likely," Muel answered. "Dawn, if the villagers cooperate. We'll be ready."
Rebecca nodded once.
"Tomorrow morning, then."
Rebecca turned to leave.
But before she did, she felt it again — that steady, unblinking stare.
The elf had not stopped. Her eyes followed her without warmth.
Rebecca met her gaze only briefly before walking away.
If she wishes to measure me.
Tomorrow, the road would decide.