Kaleva's market square smelled of spiced meat, smoke, and damp stone. Lanterns swung overhead on braided ropes, casting gold light on the cobbled paths below. Jake walked between stalls with Emma and Eric, trying to absorb everything—leatherworks, shimmering cloaks stitched with fine thread, dried herbs bundled into fragrant wreaths.
They'd already traded a small pouch of silver coins—thanks to the pelts and ore James had sent them with—for warmer clothing, basic provisions, and a spare knife. Emma carried a satchel full of salves and dried rations, while Jake had a new cloak wrapped around his shoulders, thick and deep green, clasped with a brass wolf-head pin.
"Still feels weird," Jake muttered, adjusting the hood. "Wearing all this. Like I'm playing dress-up."
"You'll feel less out of place once it's covered in mud," Eric said dryly.
Emma laughed. "I think you pull off 'mountain rogue' quite nicely."
Jake gave her a faint smile—until a jeering whistle cut through the crowd.
They turned as a group of men approached from near a blacksmith's stall. Five of them. Rough-looking, armored in patchwork gear, eyes gleaming with the kind of confidence that only came with too much drink—or too many easy fights.
One of them stepped ahead. Broad, with a nasty scar cutting through his eyebrow and a grin like cracked stone. He looked at Emma first.
"Well, hello there," he said, sweeping off his dented cap with a theatrical bow. "Didn't know they grew roses up in the frost."
Jake stepped forward, but Emma touched his arm.
"I'm not interested," she said coolly. "Walk away."
The man's grin widened. "Oh, but we just started talking."
Another of the mercenaries—a lanky one with rings on every finger—snorted. "Don't be so cold, love. You'll hurt our feelings."
Jake's jaw tightened. "You heard her."
The scarred one turned his eyes on Jake, amusement fading into something heavier. "And who are you supposed to be?"
Jake didn't answer. He didn't need to.
The moment hung still until Eric stepped between them.
"I'd walk," he said simply. "While you still can."
The mercenaries sized him up. One took a step forward, then hesitated. Something in Eric's stillness, in his gaze—calm but ancient—made them pause.
Scarface spat on the ground. "Come on, boys. Let's not waste time on tree-huggers and wannabe heroes."
They turned away, but not before Scarface threw a final look over his shoulder. "See you out there, pretty boy."
The group disappeared into the crowd.
Emma exhaled slowly. "Well… that could've gone worse."
"They'll follow us," Eric said, voice low. "They're not used to hearing 'no.' Especially not in front of an audience."
Jake nodded grimly. "Then we keep our pace steady. Don't give them a reason to catch up."
They finished their supply run quickly after that—filling packs with salt-meats, waterskins, maps, and extra arrow shafts. Jake bought a leather-bound notebook and some charcoal sticks, a habit he picked up from reading his father's notes.
That night, they gathered in their room above the inn, tension still hanging in the air like smoke.
"Do you think they're mercenaries for hire or just drifters?" Jake asked.
Eric rubbed his chin. "Probably both. Men like that move with war. They feel it before it happens. And something's coming."
Emma sat on the edge of the bed, arms crossed. "You think it has to do with the veil?"
Eric nodded. "It's breaking. Or bleeding. The frostmaws, the shifting magic, the stories from the north—none of it is coincidence."
Jake looked down at his father's torn map. The spot marked "Kor Vareth" looked impossibly far. But he knew now they weren't just looking for a doorway.
They were walking straight toward whatever his father had found—and whatever was waking up because of it.
They set out at first light.
Kaleva shrank behind them, its towers swallowed by pine and mist as the mountain trail wound eastward. The rising sun cast amber light across the frost-tipped trees, and a wind carrying the scent of pine needles and wet stone stirred Jake's cloak.
For a while, none of them spoke.
Jake walked just behind Eric, with Emma beside him. The steady rhythm of boots on dirt and the quiet creak of leather packs made the world feel… grounded. Real.
His eyes moved constantly. To the trees—taller than anything he'd ever seen. To the birds with vivid colors he didn't recognize. To the stones along the path, half-covered in moss and carved with faint symbols that even time hadn't worn away.
This place is ancient, he thought. Older than anything back home. Older than his father's stories.
He spotted a stag in the trees once—massive, antlers covered in faint shimmering lines that pulsed in rhythm with its breath. When Jake blinked, it was gone, vanished like mist, as though it had never been there.
Magic wasn't just something people used here. It was part of the world. In the air. In the light.
"You're quiet," Emma said, breaking the silence as they crested a ridge overlooking a wide valley.
Jake nodded. "Just taking it all in."
"You like it out here?"
He gave a slow smile. "I feel like I'm walking through a dream. It's beautiful—and dangerous. I don't know how to explain it, but… it feels more real than anything I've known before."
Emma looked at him, a touch of curiosity in her expression. "You sound like someone who's been trapped somewhere for a long time."
He didn't answer. Not directly. He just looked out at the horizon.
The road ahead curled down into a forest broken by glowing crystal outcroppings—soft blue light pulsing like breath. Somewhere in the distance, a bird call echoed that sounded more like a flute than any animal.
"I used to feel that way too," Emma said softly. "Until I got used to the silence."
Jake raised a brow. "You don't like the town?"
"I like it fine. But out here, there's no pretending. No playing nice, no smiling when you don't mean it. Just you, the world, and whatever comes out of the dark."
He looked at her and nodded slowly. "I get that."
Behind them, the wind shifted. Somewhere deeper in the trees, something cracked a branch.
Jake's hand instinctively went to the hilt of his new hunting knife. The tension lasted only a second, but Eric glanced back, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"We're being watched," the older man said under his breath.
Jake didn't look back. He just pulled his cloak tighter and kept walking.
Let them follow.