The cliffs where Senvia once rested stretched far north along the shore of the Ardent Sea, from the hollow point where the city once stood to the peninsula where the province of Kore was located. The expanse alongside the cliffs was covered much like the area outside of Senvia, with deep, spongy mosses covering a craggy rocky base, with short, dry grasses growing out above them. Near Senvia, the grasses were common, but as you moved north, they became increasingly replaced by moss and wildflowers.

In the summer months, those flowers blanketed the fields with mostly yellow, but also shades of blue not found anywhere else in nature. I've been all over, and I have never seen anything like it, except in arcane dyes in the clothes of high nobility. The natural dyes in those flowers couldn't be extracted by mundane or magical means, a mystery that long eluded the fashion artists of the continent of Avengard.

Most of the animals were birds, often unique and with brightly-coloured beaks, and they dived in and out of ever-present mists, vanishing entirely from view in a heartbeat.

It was a stunning place, if difficult to turn into a home. The winds that crashed over the ocean turned the area a frigid cold. There were no trees that close to the ocean, and even further away from the coast, forests dwindled the farther from Senvia you went. It was breathtakingly beautiful, but harsh and rough, even for a traveller just passing through.

It was why Kore had so few visitors, and why Senvia had never formed a stronger presence there. Lucky Lake was the furthest north anyone not preferring a notably colder climate would settle, and it was filled with the summer homes of nobility who could afford it. Lyana had a small cabin at Lana's Perch, a village on the north side of the lake that sheltered in an alpine forest, under a large cliff outcrop from the steep hills that surrounded the lake. It was lit in the winter by dozens of wrought-iron gas streetlamps, giving the village and its snow-covered rooftops and cobblestone streets a warm, ornate glow. Cozy, was the proper, accurate word. Silent. She only took me once, and I wanted to spend the rest of my life there, without ever a change in seasons.

Further east from the ocean, Eaden Helm was positioned as far north as one could go before entering the Plains of Refiriem, the wildlands that only champions dared to enter.

I had left this behind. The biome had shifted as I ran from the city when it vanished. The inn at the crossroads was surrounded by a forest that gradually adjoined those grassy fields, but no longer strictly alpine. Most of the trees dropped their leaves in autumn, and decorated the road with brilliant hues of orange, pink, and red. But it was spring, and instead there were buds and fresh sap that lit up the forest with a thousand delightful scents. The first insects had climbed out of their holes in bark and soil, and danced around the skies, too early in the season to pester our ears and noses over and over again. At that moment, they were welcome, and made everything feel like it was brimming with new life, even though the leaves hadn't quite come out yet.

Our path to Bell Haven was not direct. It set out straight east from the inn at the crossroads, which marked the halfway point between the two cities. The road curved and twisted as it went. Our trek would first take to the Lakeside Inn, a reasonable halfway point on the shore of Ghost Lake, and then dip into Durn for less than a day before re-emerging and continuing to the city. The entire thing would take two weeks.

For two weeks, I'd have to put up with his mewling.

He didn't complain as much as my words imply, nor was his voice annoying. If anything, it had a pleasant gravel to it. If he were a singer, and he chose to sing softly, he'd attract crowds. He'd have made a brilliant storyteller, too.

Three hours after we crossed into the deep woods that poked out the northwestern peak of Durn, before we dipped into the province itself, Eskir insisted on a break. It was the fifth one he'd insisted on since we'd left the inn, and his breaks were long.

"We've been riding for two days," he insisted. Apparently, his ass was hurting from all the sitting and doing nothing he'd been faced with.

"We can keep going," I said. "The horses can continue. We'll break when they do."

"Seriously, Xera."

"Seriously, Eskir. You're not the one pulling the wagon. You're not even pulling yourself."

He moved from the back of the wagon and placed his head next to mine. "And I am ever so grateful," he said sardonically. "So how about we give the horses another break, to let them really relax and..." He had to pause to think, unsure of how to make his point. "... appreciate the ride..."

"No."

"I'll give them a carrot!" he bribed.

"I'm not the horse," I said, shoving him back into the supplies. My Kindred strength was enough to topple him over with little effort.

"If we stop..." he thought out loud, "I'll..."

"Shut up?" I suggested.

"Sure!" he said, raising his finger. "That! If we stop for a break, I'll stop pestering you. If we don't, I'll pester you more! I'll nag and nag and nag until your ears bleed."

"You're a child."

I stopped the wagon in a small clearing that had formed around the road.

He leapt in soundless joy out of the wagon and began to stretch.

"You know," I said, "you could always just walk alongside the wagon. You don't need to ride."

"Stretching is nice," he said, "but sometimes I just need to stop moving and listen to the world. It's part of my Path."

I rolled my eyes loud enough for him to hear.

"You were in the Emperor's Guard!" he said. "How can you have such dismissive thoughts towards the Paths?"

"I've never been one much for religion," I said.

"Clearly."

"What was that?"

"Nothing!" he insisted. "How long is this trek to Bell Haven, anyway? I haven't walked the road directly before."

"At your pace? Look at a map."

He shrugged. "I just mean, the road curves. It twists and turns. I have a map with me, but it must be a decade old, possibly outdated. Wait, what do you mean at my pace?"

"You're slow," I chuckled.

"I'm not slow!" He sounded offended.

"We're being pulled by horses," I explained. "That's only a little faster than a walking pace. This is slow."

He stared at me. "How much faster do you expect to go? Break the horses into a gallop the whole way there?"

I gave him a sarcastic look, and said honestly, "I ran from Senvia to the inn."

His jaw hung open. "You did what now?"

"The emperor's speech was at dawn. The city vanished in early midday, before the sun even hit its peak. I collapsed in front of the inn in the dead of night. It took me days to recover."

He slowly climbed back onto the wagon and perched himself on the edge of the railing. "You're being serious?"

"Do you expect me not to be?"

Eskir sat down beside me and placed a hand on my shoulder. I looked at it. "You ran... okay, Xera, listen to me, I just travelled that distance. I came to the inn from Senvia. It took me two weeks on foot."

"Yes," I said, still eyeing his hand. "As I said, you're slow."

"Humans don't travel that fast!"

"I'm not human." I removed his hand. He didn't seem to notice. "I'm Kindred."

"Nothing travels that fast!" he shouted, his arms swinging around to demonstrate how outlandish of a concept he thought this was. "What are you, a swift?"

I stared at him, confused.

"It's a bird," he said with a tone of exasperated disbelief. "They travel really far in a day. Never mind, I'm saying that you can't have done that. No way. Not a chance."

"You don't seem to know much about Kindred," I suggested.

"Xera, I am telling you, there's no way you did that. Maybe in your dreams, or it's been so long that your memory isn't sitting quite right. You must have slept.