The air between them was different now.
Ever since the nightmare, Morgan had kept a quiet, deliberate distance from Alaric. She moved with the same precision as before, but her gaze was often far away—watching something he couldn’t see.

That morning, as they packed for the journey ahead, silence settled over them like a heavy cloak. Alaric broke it only once.

“You alright?” he asked gently.

Morgan gave the smallest nod, her hands never pausing in their work. But he noticed the faint tremor in her fingers as she folded her cloak. She hadn’t slept well, and though she didn’t say it, the dream still clung to her like smoke.

When she pulled the straps on her pack tight, she exhaled through her nose. “We’ll need some money if I’m going to get a weapon,” Alaric said cautiously.

Without a word, Morgan reached into her bag and withdrew a small pouch, no bigger than a coin purse. “It may look small,” she said, a faint smirk tugging at her mouth, “but it’s deeper than it seems.”

To prove it, she reached in and—without even straining—pulled out a book nearly the size of her torso.

Alaric laughed in disbelief. “The surprises just keep coming. I have to stay on my toes with you.”

She chuckled softly, and for a brief moment, the tension between them eased. The sound was short-lived, but it was real. She closed her pack, slung it over her shoulders, and turned to him.

“So… we’re going into town by door, right?” he asked, still trying to wrap his mind around this mode of travel.

“Yes. I’ll grab the knob—you just hold on to me.”

He took her hand, warm but faintly tense in his grip, and followed her to the door. She twisted the knob, and in an instant the world shifted—stone replaced wood, air replaced stillness. They stood in a narrow alley framed by tall buildings, the muffled hum of a bustling market filtering through the walls of noise ahead.

Morgan pressed fifteen gold coins into his palm. “Don’t get swindled out of all of it.”

“You’re not coming with me?” he asked, frowning.

“No. There’s somewhere I need to go.” Her tone was casual, but her eyes flicked toward the crowded street with a restless wariness.

Alaric hesitated. “Alright… just don’t take too long.”

“I won’t.” She pulled her hood up and slipped into the throng, vanishing like a drop into the river of people.

———

Alaric adjusted his own hood and wandered into the market. The noise pressed in from all sides—merchants barking over each other, coins clinking, horses snorting in the distance. The smell was a dizzying mix of roasted meat, fresh bread, and the hot tang of metal from the smithies.

It didn’t take him long to find a sign painted with bold letters: Lolen’s Weapons. Beneath it stood a broad-shouldered man with a streaked gray beard and arms like tree trunks.

“You here to buy somethin’, boy?” the man rumbled, his voice deep enough to rattle the boards underfoot.

Alaric nodded.

Lolen turned without another word and stepped inside. The shop was larger than it looked, the walls lined with gleaming blades, sturdy bows, and enough axes to arm a battalion.

“My weapons are the best in town. All high quality—made by my own hands,” Lolen said, his sharp eyes never leaving Alaric.

Scanning the racks, Alaric’s gaze landed on a sword that drew him in like a magnet. Its pommel bore the engraving of a lion mid-roar, the hilt was gleaming gold, and the grip was wrapped in dark leather that looked as if it would mold perfectly to his hand.

“That’s the Lion’s Claw,” Lolen said, almost reverently. “Sharp and fierce.”

He passed the weapon to Alaric, who gave it a few testing swings. The blade was perfectly balanced—quick enough for speed, heavy enough to strike with force.

“How much?” Alaric asked.

Lolen’s expression turned calculating. “Follow me. We’ll talk about the blade.”

———

They stepped out into the small yard behind the forge, where battered training dummies leaned at odd angles. Without warning, Lolen tossed him another sword.

“The world’s unforgiving, boy,” the smith said, hefting a massive axe. “Show me your skill, and you might just earn the right to carry my work.”

Alaric raised his weapon just in time to block Lolen’s first crushing strike. The force of it jarred his arms, nearly knocking the blade from his grip.

The older man pressed forward, attacking with relentless strength. Alaric dodged, rolled, countered—but Lolen’s next move came fast and unexpected. A sudden headbutt caught Alaric square in the forehead, making stars burst in his vision.

Still, he didn’t drop the sword. He set his stance, teeth gritted, and swung back with all the precision he could muster.

Lolen broke into a booming laugh and lowered his axe. “Anyone who takes a smack to the head and keeps fighting is worthy of my work!”

———

Back inside, he handed Alaric the Lion’s Claw—free of charge. “Every young man setting out should earn his blade. You’ve got grit. Don’t waste it.”

Alaric left the shop with the sword at his hip and a bruised forehead, feeling a little taller despite it.

———

The sun was bleeding toward the horizon when Morgan finally appeared in the alley, moving like a shadow until she whispered his name.

He jolted awake from his light doze, then chuckled when she giggled.

“You ready?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said, standing. “How was… whatever you were doing?”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Productive.” She left it at that.

———

They walked together until the last of the town’s lights faded behind them. The road stretched ahead, long and winding beneath the bruised colors of sunset.

“Don’t worry,” Morgan said quietly. “We’ll be doing this together. Let’s make it as fun as we can.”

Alaric smiled, though part of him couldn’t shake the question of where she had gone—and why she hadn’t wanted him to know.

The life of traveling had begun.