Chapter 23: The Refugee Road
POV: Adam
The refugee column stretched along the forest road like a serpent made of broken dreams and desperate hope, hundreds of people carrying everything they owned in bundles that spoke of lives reduced to what could be lifted and transported. Adam walked beside the merchant's wagon while his eyes cataloged faces that bore the hollow expression of those who'd learned that safety was an illusion and home was a memory.
Safety in numbers. That's the theory. In practice, we're a slow-moving target that's visible from miles away.
Ciri walked beside him wearing clothes that transformed her from princess to peasant with disturbing effectiveness. Her ash-blonde hair had been cut shorter, dirt strategically applied to her face, and her posture deliberately hunched to disguise the royal bearing that had been drilled into her since childhood.
She's learning to be invisible. Good. Invisibility might be the only thing that keeps her alive.
"Tell the story again," Marcus whispered to his sister, his eight-year-old voice carrying the forced cheerfulness of someone trying to maintain normalcy in a world that had abandoned such concepts.
Elena's responding giggle was pure childhood innocence, unmarked by understanding of why their comfortable life had suddenly become a matter of walking until their feet bled while adults spoke in whispers about things that hunted in the darkness.
They're adapting. Children adapt faster than adults. Sometimes that's mercy.
The stories shared around evening campfires painted a picture of systematic conquest that made Adam's knowledge of future events feel like a burden carved from lead and regret. Village after village fallen to black-armored soldiers who killed resisters and conscripted survivors. Farmland burned to deny resources to anyone who might oppose Nilfgaardian expansion.
Total war. They're not just conquering territory—they're erasing everything that came before.
"This is because of me," Ciri said quietly as they settled beneath the merchant's wagon for another night of abbreviated sleep. "They want me."
They want what you represent. The power you carry. The bloodline that could legitimize their conquest or threaten their empire.
"They want what you represent," Adam replied, his voice carrying the careful neutrality of someone offering truth without blame. "That's not your fault."
"Isn't it?" Her green eyes reflected starlight in patterns that spoke of guilt weighing heavier than it should on someone her age. "If I'd never been born—"
"Then someone else would be carrying this burden. Power exists, Ciri. It doesn't care who wields it. The only choice is whether good people or evil people get to make the decisions."
Philosophy delivered in whispers while hiding under a wagon. Our lives have become very strange.
She leaned against him with the easy trust that had become their primary source of comfort, her warmth solid and real against his shoulder while hundreds of other refugees settled into sleep that would be interrupted by nightmares and patrol schedules.
Growing codependency. We only have each other. That's dangerous, but it's also what keeps us sane.
The Nilfgaardian patrol appeared with the dawn, black banners visible long before individual soldiers could be distinguished. Adam felt his heart rate spike as Air Sense detected the emotional signatures of professional military personnel moving with the confidence of people who expected cooperation rather than resistance.
Inspection. They're going to inspect the refugee column.
"Stay calm," he whispered to Ciri, his hand finding hers beneath the concealing blanket they shared. "You're my sister. We're orphans from a farm near Cintra. Our parents died in a fire. We know nothing about anything important."
Rehearsed story. Simple enough to remember under pressure.
The soldiers moved through the column with bureaucratic efficiency, checking identity papers that most refugees didn't possess and asking questions that seemed designed more to intimidate than to gather information. Their leader—a sergeant whose scarred face spoke of combat experience—paused near the merchant's wagon with professional interest.
He's looking at something. Someone. Please don't let it be Ciri.
"You," the sergeant said, his gaze settling on Ciri with attention that made Adam's blood turn cold. "Come here."
No. Not her. Anyone but her.
Ciri rose with carefully controlled movements, her posture slouched and submissive in ways that went against every instinct her royal training had developed. She approached the sergeant with downcast eyes, playing the role of terrified peasant girl with Academy Award-worthy conviction.
Good. She's good at this. But if he looks too closely...
The sergeant studied her face with the methodical attention of someone comparing features to a description he'd memorized. Adam felt sweat beading on his forehead despite the morning chill, his hand moving instinctively toward the knife concealed beneath his cloak.
If he recognizes her, I'll have to kill him. Kill him and probably die in the process.
"What's your name, girl?"
"Cira," Ciri replied, her voice carrying the timid tone of someone who'd learned that speaking too loudly attracted dangerous attention. "Cira Mayerson, sir."
Close to her real name. Easy to remember, hard to catch unless you know what to listen for.
The sergeant's gaze lingered on her features, professional suspicion warring with the assumption that important fugitives wouldn't be found among common refugees. Adam triggered Air Gust with surgical precision, blowing dust from the road directly into the soldier's eyes at the moment when recognition might have crystallized.
Distraction. Just enough to break his concentration.
The sergeant blinked and rubbed his eyes, the moment of clarity lost as minor irritation replaced focused attention. He waved Ciri away with casual dismissal, his interest already moving to other potential sources of information.
Safe. For now. But that was too close.
[Experience Gained: 50 XP - Successful Evasion]
[Mission Progress: "Evade Pursuit" - 5/7 days completed]
The refugee column resumed its slow movement south, participants carrying the shared understanding that survival depended on maintaining group cohesion while avoiding anything that might attract unwanted attention. Adam walked with muscles tense from adrenaline that had nowhere to go, his mind racing through contingencies for their next near-discovery.
We can't keep doing this. Eventually our luck runs out.
But looking at the faces around them—families who'd lost everything except the hope that somewhere ahead lay safety and the possibility of rebuilding—Adam understood that the refugee column was more than just camouflage. It was a community of people who'd chosen to face uncertain futures together rather than die alone in familiar places.
We're all refugees now. All of us running from the same thing.
The Temerian border lay somewhere ahead, marked by nothing more substantial than lines on maps that might not matter to conquering armies. But it represented possibility—the chance that somewhere in this world, civilized authority still existed to protect people who couldn't protect themselves.
Keep walking. Keep blending in. Keep Ciri safe.
As afternoon shadows lengthened across the road, Adam felt the accumulated weight of constant vigilance settling into his bones like exhaustion that no amount of sleep could cure. But he also felt something else—pride in how well Ciri was adapting to circumstances that would have broken people with less inner strength.
Princess to survivor in less than a week. She's stronger than anyone gave her credit for.
The refugee column stretched ahead toward whatever tomorrow would bring, a river of displaced humanity flowing south toward borders that might or might not provide the sanctuary they desperately needed.
Together. We face it together.
[LEVEL UP! 12 → 13]
[Free Stat Points: +5]
[Allocation: +2 AGI, +2 STA, +1 STR]
[New Stats: STR 25, STA 35, AGI 31, HP 250, MP 350]
MORE POWER STONES == MORE CHAPTERS
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