The morning broke quiet and gray, clouds blanketing the sky in a dull hush as Kitana tightened the last strap on her pack. The city of Khipia stirred around them—merchants setting up stalls, smiths lighting forge fires, and distant bells tolling the hour. She didn't trust the peace. Not in a place like this.
Lucian emerged from the inn behind her, muttering about cold tea and stiff beds, while Moira stood waiting in the shade of a crumbling archway, blind eyes lifted as if watching the clouds.
They turned down a cobbled road, their boots clicking against uneven stone, and that's when she heard it—a low, metallic hum, followed by a soft chug-chug-chug.
Kitana paused. Her gaze locked on a strange, squat machine rolling steadily past them. It moved on three wheels, its surface gleaming black and bronze. Small puffs of steam hissed from the rear as a young man steered it with a pair of copper levers.
Lucian didn't even look at it.
"What is that?" she asked, her voice lower than she intended.
Lucian turned. "That?" He gestured casually. "Steam-runner. Delivery thing. They've been using them in city cores since, what… five years ago? Maybe more."
Kitana said nothing, watching it trundle out of sight.
They walked further and passed a pair of city guards standing beneath tall metal poles, each topped with a glowing blue crystal. One of them touched a flat stone clipped to his collar, and a garbled voice crackled out. A moment later, lights blinked to life overhead, glowing faintly with arcane energy.
Kitana slowed again. Her brows knit together.
"Arc posts," Lucian said, noticing her hesitation. "You really are new to Khipia."
She forced a nod. "Yeah… still getting used to it."
But her stomach had gone cold.
She remembered the city from before. The flickering torches, the echo of horseshoes, the scent of oil and blood and rust. No arc-tech. No steam-runner machines. Nothing like this.
She clenched her jaw, pulse ticking in her throat.
She'd thought it had been ten years. Twenty at most.
But this?
This was a different age entirely.
The city gates loomed ahead, tall iron things reinforced with plates of shimmering metal etched with warding runes. A pair of hawk-eyed guards watched their approach from behind a barricade of crates and rusted spikes. Beyond, the road unfurled like a scar through the hills, vanishing into the misty horizon.
Lucian adjusted the strap across his chest and broke the silence. "We should talk about training."
Kitana gave him a sidelong glance. "Training?"
He nodded. "Your powers. Both of you." His gaze flicked briefly to Moira, who walked a step behind them, silent and calm as ever. "We've got a long road ahead. And after the last inn… let's just say places like that won't be the last time people treat you like monsters."
Kitana's lips curled. "Because we look different? Or because we are different?"
"Both," Lucian said without hesitation. "But that's why you need control. Strength." He looked at Moira again, softer this time. "Even if you don't want to fight, you'll need to defend yourselves."
Kitana scoffed. "I've been surviving just fine."
"But survival isn't the same as living." He looked at her, voice low. "And we both know you've been holding back."
She didn't answer. The wind caught her cloak as she strode forward. "I don't want anything to do with that part of me," she muttered. "Let it rot."
Lucian opened his mouth, then closed it again. He gave a half-shrug, as if deciding not to push. "Suit yourself. Just don't let that pride get us all killed."
Behind them, Moira said nothing. Her steps were soft, measured, her expression unreadable beneath the loose veil she wore now to cover her eyes. If she had thoughts on the matter, she kept them buried.
They passed through the gate without issue. The open road ahead was flanked by wild grass and rolling fields. Crows circled in the distance, their cries sharp and distant. A few miles down, the path would fork toward the mountains—but for now, the road was quiet.
Hours passed with the rhythm of travel—boots crunching gravel, leather creaking, the occasional murmur of passing traders. Eventually, they stopped beside a weathered stone bridge stretching across a shallow stream.
Lucian dropped his pack with a grunt and stretched. "Let's rest. Drink, eat something. Then we can talk."
Kitana sat on the bridge's edge, her legs dangling above the slow-moving water. Moira stood barefoot near the bank, her blind eyes closed, listening to the wind.
Lucian passed Kitana a strip of dried meat and settled beside her. "So. I've told you mine. What about you? What were you before… all this?"
She didn't answer right away. Her fingers traced the edge of her bracer. "I was a hunter," she said finally. "My husband and I lived peacefully. He killed animals to survive and for us too eat , I stayed at home most of the time learning the sword from him. He was brave and amazing. He wouldn't take coins when there wasn't a coin. Fought for the ones who couldn't."
"Arlo," Lucian said gently.
Kitana flinched, almost imperceptibly. "He died because of me."
Lucian frowned. "You sure about that?"
"I stood there when he said to run and I-I couldn't reach him in time." She looked at the stream. "That's enough to make it my fault."
Lucian let the silence breathe before speaking. "Sounds like you loved him. Deeply."
"I still do."
A quiet moment passed. Then Kitana turned the question. "And you? What else do you remember about your sister?"
Lucian smiled faintly, eyes distant. "Ilira used to sing. Not well, but loud enough to make the neighbors yell. She had a temper, too. Once threw a book at my head when I said her magic was just parlor tricks."
Kitana smirked. "Did it hit?"
"Square between the eyes." He laughed softly. "She always said if I ever got knighted, she'd enchant my sword to sing every time I drew it."
Kitana huffed a small laugh, then fell quiet. She watched Moira, who was now crouched beside the stream, trailing her fingers through the water like she was searching for something lost.
"She's not just blind," Kitana said. "She sees something we don't."
Moira crouched beside them silently, her fingers grazing the edge of a rock as if feeling its shape told her where she was in the world.
Lucian stood and looked at her. "And you? Got anyone waiting for you out there?"
Moira tilted her head. "No one living."
Kitana glanced at her, the simplicity of that answer settling like a stone in her chest.
They continued walking, winding through a narrow forest path dotted with ancient stones half-swallowed by earth. Vines crept up twisted trunks, and the air smelled of pine and loam.
At one point, Lucian stopped to adjust a piece of leather that had come loose from his boot, and Kitana lingered behind him while Moira pressed her hand to the bark of an old tree.
"You can sense things," Kitana said, watching her.
Moira nodded. "I can feel the echoes. Of what once was. Of what could be."
Kitana's brow furrowed. "That sounds… like magic."
Moira tilted her head. "It's memory. Magic is just the voice we give it."
They walked until the trees thinned again, giving way to an abandoned roadside altar—long defaced, the symbols chipped away, offerings reduced to broken vials and shriveled roots.
Lucian stepped past it without a glance. Kitana paused.
She looked at the ruined altar and touched the base where a name had once been etched. It was gone now. Worn by time.
Just like everything else she remembered.
Her voice was quiet. "The world moved on without me."
Neither of them replied, but Moira stood beside her, silent as the sky.
As they resumed walking, Moira finally spoke, her voice soft but clear. "Do you think it's a weakness? To run from power?"
Kitana stiffened.
Moira didn't wait for a response. "Because it always comes back. No matter how far you run. The only difference is if you kill or help someone with it"
Kitana didn't answer, but her fists clenched at her sides.
Lucian watched them both, but said nothing.