The preparations were quiet.
Not solemn—just practiced.
Leather straps were checked, clasps tightened, cloaks adjusted against the morning chill. Elira stood near the edge of the clearing, rolling her shoulders once as she watched the others move. The Wayfarers didn't rush before a hunt; they flowed into it, each motion measured, unspoken habits settling into place.
Pria stopped in front of her.
"No weapon?" she asked, glancing at Elira's empty hands.
Elira shook her head. "Never used one."
Pria studied her for a heartbeat longer, then nodded once. No judgment. Just acknowledgment. "Stay close to Arden."
"I planned to."
Elira turned her attention to the carrier the Wayfarer had given her. The fabric was sturdier than it looked, reinforced at the seams, built for movement. She shifted Kaid carefully, the infant barely stirring as she wrapped the carrier around her torso and secured him against her back. His warmth settled between her shoulders, familiar, grounding.
Two weeks old—and already part of the road.
She pulled on a pair of gloves, flexing her fingers, then adjusted the Wayfarer uniform over her clothes. It fit well enough. Functional. Meant to disappear into the trees rather than stand out against them.
Pria stepped back and gave a short whistle.
Brad was already moving.
The two of them slipped into the forest ahead, fast and light, their forms breaking apart between the trunks until only the rustle of disturbed leaves marked their passing. Scouts first—always.
Mucas followed next, staff resting easily in one hand, his pace steady and unhurried. He offered Elira a quick glance and a small smile before disappearing down the path the others had taken.
That left Arden.
He waited until the forest settled again before moving, falling into step beside Elira without a word. His presence was calm, solid, like the ground beneath their feet. Not leading. Not following. Just there.
They walked slower than the others, deliberately so.
Branches were pushed aside, not broken. Footfalls placed carefully to avoid snapping twigs. The forest here was dense, older than the paths that cut through it, and Arden treated it with the kind of caution one reserved for things that did not need to announce their danger.
Elira adjusted the strap across her shoulder as Kaid shifted faintly.
"You all move like this every time?" she asked quietly.
"When it matters," Arden replied.
"And today matters?"
He glanced at her then—not sharp, not suspicious. Just observant. "If it didn't, we wouldn't have brought you."
That settled something in her chest. She nodded and kept walking.
Behind her, Kaid's eyes were open.
Wide. Watching.
The forest stretched ahead, layered in green and shadow, unaware—or uncaring—that something had begun to move through it.
The movement steadied.
Not comfort—just rhythm. The rise and fall of Elira's steps, the quiet shift of her shoulders as she adjusted to uneven ground. Cade felt it without effort, the way you noticed gravity only when it changed.
The forest passed in fragments.
Green layered over shadow. Trunks too thick to wrap arms around. Undergrowth pressed close, not wild enough to be untouched, not tamed enough to feel safe. This wasn't imperial land. The Midgar Empire carved its presence into the world—straight roads, cleared sightlines, order forced where it did not want to settle.
This place had been left alone.
Which meant the village was close.
Greenveil.
The recognition didn't arrive as a name at first. It came as alignment. Border pressure easing. Authority thinning. A settlement that endured by sitting between things larger than itself—too small to claim, too inconvenient to erase.
He had been born under Midgar rule. Kaid knew that with the same certainty he knew how to breathe, even if this body had learned the act only days ago. The memory wasn't visual—just weight. Structure. Control.
None of that reached this far.
Greenveil existed on the edge of permission.
They weren't adventurers. Adventurers(venturers changed for easier understanding) followed coin and notice boards, gathered where rank could be earned and names could spread. They avoided places like this—too small, too quiet, too little return for the risk.
These ones moved differently.
They didn't posture. Didn't hurry. Their presence shaped itself around the land instead of pressing against it. Routes memorized. Habits refined. The kind of people who stayed long enough to learn which dangers never announced themselves.
Kaid watched without blinking.
Understanding came easily. Accepting it did not.
He had woken into this world without warning. Without context. One moment ending everything he was certain of, the next wrapped in cloth that smelled of unfamiliar hands, carried by strangers who spoke a language his mind understood before his mouth ever could.
Too aware. Too small.
A hand shifted against his back as Elira adjusted the strap. The pressure was gentle, practiced. Something in her responded before thought—Orscu. Not concern. Not fear. Just awareness.
She felt him.
Not him, exactly. The presence. The weight that wasn't physical.
Kaid let her keep that illusion.
The forest ahead thickened, shadows deepening where the canopy closed. The path narrowed. Somewhere farther forward, the others were already threading through spaces that hadn't existed until they stepped into them.
This was a place where people like him disappeared.
Not erased—absorbed.
Good.
He needed time. Not answers. Not direction. Just space to exist without being noticed.
Greenveil could offer that, at least for a while.
His eyes remained open, tracking the quiet shifts between branches, the subtle ways the forest watched without intent.