The spring sun had finally begun to warm the land, banishing the harsh bite of winter from the fields. The once-frozen earth had softened, the snow slowly melting to reveal patches of fresh grass. A woman sat atop a grassy knoll, the wind tousling her long, dark hair as she tilted her head back, enjoying the rare quiet. A wooden tankard of ale sat in her hand, the earthy scent of the brew mixing with the crisp, cool air that drifted from the nearby trees.
Her eyes closed for a moment, savoring the brief freedom the day offered. The world beyond the keep felt different now—more alive, more open. After weeks of watching over the lands she governed, moments like these were few and far between. She could almost forget the weight of responsibility, the constant reminder of what lay ahead.
But then, her peace was shattered. From the far end of the field, she noticed them—figures moving with purpose across the horizon. Riders. Strangers. She squinted, the light catching the glint of their armor and the distinct shapes of their cloaks, still thick from their journey. A Southern party, no doubt.
She stood, her boots crunching the earth beneath her, and carefully took another swig of ale before wiping her mouth. As they drew closer, she noted the fine quality of their clothing—new, well-made. They didn't belong here, and the thought stirred her suspicion.
With a practiced calm, she slipped into the underbrush, hidden from their view. She knew these lands better than anyone. She knew the safest routes, the quickest paths, and, most importantly, how to observe without being seen. Her eyes narrowed, and she watched them, waiting for the right moment to reveal herself.
Meanwhile, Killan's party noted that the bitter winds of winter in the North had begun to give way to the first stirrings of spring, though the landscape still clung to the remnants of the colder months. The hills were now dotted with green shoots pushing through the melting snow, and the once-frozen rivers had begun to trickle with the promise of warmer days ahead. But the northern kingdom was still unforgiving, even in its thawing state.
Killan's party had traveled through the winding hills and forests of the North, far past the southernmost reaches of the Kingdom. They were well beyond Stuenia now, the last town where they had any sense of direction. After purchasing new clothes and getting their horses tended to, they continued on. The path had become uncertain, tangled with the overgrowth of spring's early bloom and the remains of winter's retreat.
The map had proven unreliable; the land had changed since it was drawn. And they were lost.
"Killan, we've wandered off the path," Harlan said quietly, concern seeping into his usually steady tone. "This doesn't look right."
Killan's sharp gray eyes swept over the terrain. The tall grasses swayed lazily in the breeze, the sky clear but stretching endlessly above them. Ahead, the edge of a forest. "We keep moving forward. The Capital's not far."
"Not far?" Vignir scoffed, his brow furrowing. "We've been walking in circles."
"Not far," Killan repeated with steel in his voice. "We push on."
Before another word could be said, a figure appeared ahead of them, standing at the edge of the forest. The figure moved with an assuredness, stepping lightly through the spring-grown underbrush. A woman, fair and slim, her cloak of earth-toned furs hanging loosely from her frame, blending with the wilds around her. Her dark hair peeked from under a hood, and the bow on her back seemed like a natural extension of her form.
She watched them, quiet but deliberate, as though she had been waiting for them to appear.
"We've found someone," Santi muttered, his hand instinctively hovering over his sword.
Killan's gray eyes narrowed. She didn't look like the typical locals they'd encountered so far. Her stance was too confident, her movements too deliberate. "I see her."
The woman spoke before anyone else had the chance. Her voice was steady, almost too calm for the unfamiliar land they had found themselves in. "I would suggest you keep to the known road," she said, her gaze sweeping over the group. "Passing through here is difficult when you're not a local."
"And where is this known road?" Killan asked, his tone wary but polite. His eyes scanned the fields beyond, the new growth, and the unfamiliar landscape stretching ahead.
She tilted her head, gesturing toward a winding path that seemed to weave between the trees. "That direction. Further back."
Killan raised an eyebrow, a slight frown pulling at his lips. "And who are you supposed to be?"
"A local," she answered flatly, her eyes glancing briefly over their group, her gaze lingering on their unfamiliar clothing.
Vignir stepped forward, more curious than cautious. "How did you know we're not from here?"
The woman's gaze shifted from Vignir to the rest of the party, noting their attire with a critical eye. "Your boots and cloaks are too new, the material stiff and foreign. Likely bought in Stuenia, south of here." She paused, her eyes flicking over their layers of clothing. "And while this land is warming, your shirts beneath are still too light. You might think you can bear the spring chill, but trust me, you'd freeze at night." Her lips twitched into a small, knowing smile.
"Your Southerners, aren't you?" she asked, the question soft but pointed.
"We have business in Vetasta," Killan replied, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her.
"Sounds official," she remarked, her voice steady but with a hint of something harder beneath. She didn't seem too impressed, but that didn't surprise him.
"I don't want to know and I won't ask." She lowered her hood and let them see her face, a gesture to assure them she's not planning anything that invites concern. "Do you need help to get to the Capital?"
Killan studied her carefully. She seemed to be harmless for the most part, her smile plain and polite.
"Do we need her help?" Santi grumbled, shifting his weight. "She looks suspicious."
"All rangers look suspicious," Vignir said airily. "And we do need help. Our maps are useless at this point."
"If you pay me, I'll guide you to the safest and fastest way to the Capital." The woman's voice floated towards them.
The sudden shift in the air was palpable. They were strangers in an unfamiliar land, and trust came at a cost. But Killan knew they couldn't afford to wander aimlessly any longer.
He nodded curtly. "Agreed."
Without another word, she turned and started down the path towards the forest, her movements swift and sure. "Follow me, then," she called over her shoulder. "I don't waste time."
The party exchanged looks, but the decision had been made. They fell into step behind her, the spring air thick with the scent of damp earth as they made their way through the forest. The world around them seemed to breathe with the rhythms of the season—new growth, fresh air, the promise of change. Yet, despite the calm, Killan couldn't shake the feeling that they were walking into something much darker than the bright day seemed to suggest.
Santi muttered under his breath, "I don't like it. She's too calm, too… knowing."
"She's a ranger," Vignir replied, his voice low and steady. "She knows this land. Probably better than we ever will."
At a comfortable distance, Aya glanced back over her shoulder at them, her sharp eyes briefly meeting Killan's before she turned her gaze forward again, the faintest shadow crossing her face. She was a stranger to them, and she knew it. But in the North, survival often meant hiding more than just your true name.
As she led them through the winding path that would take them toward the Capital, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. The Southern party—dressed in fine, unfamiliar clothes, their accents thick with the sound of distant lands—had to be up to something. She had no doubt their journey wasn't just about trade or a simple passage through the North.
They don't look like messengers either. She remembered the distinct way the brown-haired man's hand had hovered over his sword earlier when she made herself known to them.
The man with the piercing gray eyes, their leader, lingered in her thoughts the most. There was something about him that set her on edge, something that didn't quite sit right. The way he carried himself with such purpose, and the quiet authority that radiated from him. He wasn't just any foreigner. No, there was more to him than that.
Aya's gaze swept over the flowers blossoming shyly at the edges of the path, and the air, though still cool, no longer bit at her skin with the same cruel intensity. Yet even as life slowly returned to the land, a nagging feeling clung to her thoughts.
What business did these Southerners have in Vetasta?
She heard their boots crunch softly underfoot as she continued forward, her mind racing. She had been trained to observe, to read between the lines, to listen for the quiet whispers beneath the surface of words. These strangers, their purpose, the weight of their journey—it was all too calculated to be as simple as they made it seem.
With a final glance over her shoulder at the group trailing behind her, Aya's fingers tightened around the handle of her tankard, still heavy with the weight of ale. She didn't trust them, not yet. The South was too far away, too foreign, and Vetasta was too close to the heart of the North to let anyone meddle without reason.
But one thing was certain: this meeting—this moment in time—was no coincidence.
Aya's heart gave a small, wary flutter. She hadn't been this close to a storm in years.
And yet, she knew the winds of change had already begun to stir.