The weather was cool and overcast, the sky painted in shades of gray that hinted at the encroaching winter. A crisp chill carried on the breeze, rustling the sparse foliage that remained on the trees and biting gently at Vivienne's skin. The signs of the changing season were undeniable, and her thoughts wandered as they trudged along the road. Would war come to Serkoth in the dead of winter, with its icy winds and barren ndscapes? Or would the leaders of this world hold their battles until spring, when the nd was easier to traverse and supplies were more readily avaible?
Vivienne wasn’t sure if she wanted a stake in it at all. She didn’t owe this world anything—not its rulers, its conflicts, or its fragile peace. And yet, the idea of standing apart from it all felt... wrong. Serkoth had a strange allure to her. Its rugged beauty, its hidden dangers, its tenacious people—all of it stirred something in her. She liked what she had seen of the pce so far, even if her experience was limited. And, perhaps more than anything, she knew she liked Rava.
That was probably the biggest factor, if she was being honest with herself.
Rava had been a constant since the moment Vivienne first opened her eyes on this strange pnet, a familiar figure amidst the chaos of her arrival. The stoic warrior had guided her, challenged her, and—though she’d never admit it aloud—grounded her. It was hard not to feel drawn to her. The lekine’s quiet strength and unshakable resolve made her a natural leader, someone Vivienne couldn’t help but respect. But it was the moments between the battles, the rare fshes of vulnerability and humanity, that had cemented Vivienne’s affection for her.
She’d noticed the way Rava’s subtle smiles had become more frequent as their time together stretched on. To most, the expressions might have seemed insignificant—a barely perceptible curve of the lips or a softening of her sharp features—but to Vivienne, they spoke volumes. What might be a frown on anyone else’s face was a beaming grin to her. She took pride in eliciting those rare reactions, teasing and prodding Rava with pyful barbs just to see that faint flicker of amusement in her eyes. It was a game, perhaps, but one with meaning beneath the surface.
Vivienne smirked to herself at the memory of Rava’s most recent “smile.” It had come after one of Vivienne’s more pointed jabs—something about Rava’s impossibly straight posture making her look like a noblewoman pretending to rough it in the wilderness. The lekine’s lips had twitched ever so slightly, and Vivienne had pounced on the moment with a triumphant ugh. Rava had simply shaken her head and muttered something about an “incorrigible beast,” but there had been no mistaking the warmth in her gaze.
The st confirmed sighting of Rava’s second-oldest brother, Tarric, had been in the west, near a cluster of fallen ruins deep in the steppes. The ruins were ancient, older than the oldest known kingdoms of Serkoth, their origins swallowed by time. Stories painted them as pces of mystery and danger, where whispers of the past lingered in the howling wind and the earth itself seemed to hum with forgotten power. It was a perilous pce to venture alone, even for someone as capable as Tarric. If he had gone there willingly, his purpose must have been dire.
Their group still had several days of travel ahead before they could hope to reach the area. The vast expanse of the steppes stretched endlessly around them, a sea of rolling grasses and rocky outcrops under an overcast sky. Tonight, they would camp under the open sky, with only the occasional jagged hill or crumbling cairn for shelter. The biting wind of the season’s change was relentless, carrying with it a chill that promised the coming winter. Tomorrow would bring more of the same: long hours of trudging through the grassnds, the monotony broken only by the occasional sight of distant wildlife or the remnants of a forgotten battle.
Their route would eventually lead them to a small town perched at the edge of the ruins. It was one of the st settlements in the region, a pce clinging to life despite the harshness of its surroundings. The town would serve as their final waypoint before venturing into the unknown. One night in a bed—no matter how uncomfortable—and a warm meal would be a welcome reprieve before the journey's end.
From there, it would be a half-day’s trek to the ruins themselves. The terrain was expected to grow harsher, with the rolling grasses giving way to broken ground littered with ancient, weathered stones. The air would grow heavier, charged with the loam aether that seeped from the ruins’ depths. Aetherbeasts were drawn to such pces like moths to a fme, their presence an inevitable hazard. Yet, Vivienne suspected those beasts might not be the only danger awaiting them there.
She cast a gnce at Rava, who sat on the wagon behind her, reins in hand despite little need for them other than appearances. The stoic lekine rarely showed much emotion, but Vivienne had caught glimpses of something in her expression when she spoke of Tarric—something softer, more vulnerable. Rava hadn’t shared much about him, but what she had said painted the picture of a man rger than life: the most skilled, the most focused, the most driven of their family. If anyone could survive in the wilds of the steppes and brave the dangers of the ruins, it was him. But even Rava’s confidence couldn’t mask the quiet worry that lingered in her voice.
The following evening passed in a quiet, subdued rhythm. They set up camp with the practiced efficiency of seasoned travelers, each person falling into their respective roles. Renzia moved with her usual unnerving precision, ying out supplies and silently assisting with the tents. Kivvy grumbled about the cold, her ears twitching irritably as she dug through her pack for extra yers. Rava, ever composed, methodically arranged the cooking supplies, her movements betraying none of the fatigue Vivienne suspected she might feel.
Dinner was a simple affair, hearty but unremarkable. Vivienne noticed the way Rava’s gaze lingered on her throughout the meal, a quiet but pointed concern etched into the lekine’s features. When the time came to settle in for the night, Vivienne made the decision she’d already been mulling over: she would stay outside the ward’s protective barrier.
The magic of the ward hummed faintly in the air, a subtle pulse that made Vivienne’s skin crawl. To the others, it was a shield, a sanctuary. To her, it was a cage, and the gnawing hunger that lurked at the edges of her mind only made the sensation more suffocating. She offered a casual expnation—something about being better equipped to deal with any aetherbeasts that might approach—but she caught the flicker of disappointment in Rava’s expression. It was subtle, a slight downturn of her lips, the barest hesitation before she nodded in understanding.
Vivienne brushed it off with a forced grin and a wave, but the look lingered in her mind as she settled herself just outside the ward’s perimeter. She leaned against a rge stone, its surface cool against her back, and let her senses stretch out into the night. The steppes were alive with sounds: the rustle of wind through the grasses, the distant howl of something wild, the occasional skittering of small creatures in the dark. Above, the sky was a bnket of heavy clouds, hiding the stars and casting the world in a dim, silver-grey light.
She didn’t need sleep, and in truth, the thought of closing her eyes while the hunger churned within her was almost unbearable. Instead, she passed the hours in restless vigince, her mind wandering as her cws idly traced patterns in the dirt. The faint energy of the ward pulsed behind her, a reminder of the boundary she’d chosen to stay outside of.
Aetherbeasts were more active at night, a fact she’d noticed before but hadn’t had much time to ponder. Something about the dark seemed to stir them, to draw them out of whatever hidden corners they nested in during the day. She mused over the reasons, considering the possibilities with idle curiosity. Perhaps it was the absence of sunlight that emboldened them, or maybe the stillness of the night allowed them to better sense the lingering aether that called to them.
Whatever the reason, Vivienne found herself almost grateful for it. Every beast that wandered too close was another opportunity to sate the gnawing emptiness inside her, if only for a fleeting moment. She dispatched them swiftly, her movements efficient and almost mechanical. There was no joy in the hunt, no satisfaction in the kill—only the brief, fleeting relief that came with the taste of their aether-rich flesh.
The night wore on, and the cold seeped into her bones, but Vivienne barely noticed. Her mind drifted back to Rava’s expression at dinner, the quiet disappointment that had been so unlike her usual stoicism. It nagged at her, an unfamiliar guilt that she didn’t quite know how to process. She had made the choice to stay outside the ward for practical reasons, but now she couldn’t help but wonder if there had been a part of her that wanted to distance herself. From what—or who—she wasn’t entirely sure.
The hours stretched on, and the hunger ebbed and flowed, always present but never fully sated. As the first faint light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, Vivienne stood and brushed the dust from her clothes. The camp behind her remained silent, the others still lost in their own uneasy slumber. She cast one st gnce toward the ward, its faint glow a reminder of the boundary between her and the others, and then turned her gaze back to the open expanse of the steppes.
The night had been uneventful, in a way, but the questions it stirred within her lingered, as restless and insistent as the hunger she carried.
The next day and evening unfolded much the same as the st, the seemingly endless expanse of orange grass swaying in the cool breeze. The horizon stretched wide and uninterrupted, broken only by the occasional stand of woodlock trees or a boulder weathered smooth by the elements. While the steppes held a raw, rugged beauty, the monotony of the ndscape wore on Vivienne.
For her, the weight of the wagon and the people it carried was not the challenge; her form was well-suited to the task. No, it was the sameness of the terrain that gnawed at her patience. There was nothing to break the rhythm of her steady pace but the dull crunch of packed dirt beneath her paws and the occasional murmur of conversation from those behind her. The steppes were mesmerizing, but their vast uniformity made time stretch endlessly.
Each ndmark she passed—the sparse trees, the distant boulders—became points to count, small victories against the tedium. By the time the day faded into another chilly evening, she had cataloged dozens of these features, her mind grasping for anything to anchor her focus. Even the occasional gust of wind that sent ripples through the grass felt like an event worth noting.
The following day began much the same. The crisp morning air carried a hint of frost, a promise of the coming winter, and Vivienne resumed her position at the front of the wagon. Her cws dug into the dirt as she pulled, her muscles working methodically as she followed the road. She had begun counting boulders again—eighty-five, eighty-six—when Rava’s ears twitched, her expression sharpening.
“Travelers, ahead,” Rava said, her tone calm but certain.
Vivienne raised her head in curiosity, scanning the horizon beneath the pale autumn sky. Her sharp bck eyes darted across the ndscape, but there was nothing visible—not a cart, not a figure, not even the faintest trail of dust in the air. “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice tinged with skepticism. “I don’t see anyone.”
Rava’s lips curved into a knowing smirk as she tapped her ear lightly with one gloved hand. “I can hear them,” she replied. “Sounds like a caravan. Multiple carts or carriages. They’re still a ways off, but they’re coming this way.”
Vivienne tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “How far?” she asked, gncing down the winding dirt road.
“Not far now,” Rava said, her voice confident. “They’ll come into view soon enough.”
Vivienne’s pace slowed just slightly as her mind wandered to the possibilities. Travelers out here on the steppes weren’t uncommon, but caravans meant trade—and trade meant stories, news, and supplies. The thought of encountering others after the retive isotion of the past few days brought a faint flicker of anticipation. Even so, the idea of interacting with strangers made her bristle slightly. She’d have to shift back into her humanoid form, and while she preferred her smaller frame, the hunger that lingered in the pit of her stomach made the idea of being around people feel like a gamble.
As they continued forward, the faint sound of wheels creaking and the steady clop of hooves reached Vivienne’s ears. Her heightened senses picked up the rhythmic noises, though they were still distant. She gnced at Rava, who nodded in silent confirmation.
“Stop the wagon just on the side of the road.” Said Rava as the caravan approached.
Vivienne obeyed, lowering herself onto her haunches with exaggerated casualness. On a whim, she decided to add to the act, panting like a friendly dog after a long run. Her tongue lolled slightly, and her tail gave a zy wag, though the glint in her bck eyes was anything but canine. As the caravan approached, she took in the details with silent curiosity.
Now close enough to make out individual faces, Vivienne noticed that most of the travelers were lekine, their distinct features standing out against the cool tones of the steppes. Interspersed among them were a few humans, a siren with an androgynous air, and a pair of goblins who scurried near the rear, their sharp eyes darting around. The carriages were being pulled by quocha—canine-like beasts of burden with shaggy fur and long, curved tails. Their heavy paws kicked up small clouds of dust as they plodded along.
At the front of the caravan sat a portly lekine man cd in deep blue robes, a striking contrast against the earthy hues Vivienne had grown accustomed to in Serkoth. Blue was rare here, an unusual spsh of color in the muted palette of the steppes. His robes bore intricate embroidery, and the emblem painted on the side of the wagons and carriage—a crescent entwined with a stylized vine—was unfamiliar. It clearly marked them as foreigners.
The lekine man pulled the quocha to a halt and stood up slightly on his seat, his round face breaking into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Ho there, travelers!” he called, his voice booming yet carrying a practiced politeness that hinted at years of trade dealings.
“Hail,” Rava called back, her tone measured and authoritative. She stepped forward, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her sword, a stance that projected both caution and confidence.
As the caravan came to a full stop, the merchants and guards began to dismount or step closer. Vivienne caught the flicker of unease in their expressions almost immediately. Their eyes were fixed on her massive frame, their gazes lingering on her harness and the wagon she pulled. Whispers began to spread among them, low but unmistakably anxious.
“That’s no quocha,” one of the goblins muttered, his sharp voice cutting through the murmurs. His companion nudged him, but his wide eyes stayed locked on Vivienne.
“What kind of wolf gets that big?” a human guard whispered to another, his hand tightening around his spear. The siren stayed near the middle of the group, their gaze sharp and calcuting as they studied her, their posture tense.
Vivienne flicked an ear at their chatter, her amusement growing. To them, she must have been a sight straight out of a tale meant to frighten children—a wolf rge enough to rival their beasts of burden, casually sitting by a wagon as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
The portly lekine cleared his throat, attempting to regain control of the moment. “Quite the... impressive beast you have there,” he said, his voice faltering slightly as his eyes darted between Rava and Vivienne.
“Agreed.” Smirked Rava. “Viv is well trained, and a very good girl, so no need to worry about her. What brings you east?”
The man cleared his throat and tore his gaze away from Vivienne, his fingers fidgeting with the reins as if grounding himself. “Trade, of course! The Thalrynn family chose not to participate in the war directly, but after hearing Elrin Serkoth’s tale, I thought it best to bring what aid I could to Serkoth nds. Supplies, tools, food—it’s not much compared to soldiers, but every bit helps, doesn’t it?”
Rava studied him for a moment, her gaze steady and unreadable. “It seems my little brother is making good use of his time then.”
The merchant’s posture straightened, and his expression shifted as realization dawned on him. His eyes widened as he took her in—her bearing, the subtle scars marking her lekine features, and the unmistakable air of authority. Surprise fshed across his face, quickly followed by a look of awkward reverence. “Oh! You must be Lady Ravanyr, then. My deepest apologies for not recognizing you sooner! It is an honor. I am Lorrik Dunwaith, my dy.”
Rava inclined her head slightly, her stoicism never wavering. “No offense taken, Lorrik Dunwaith. I imagine it isn’t every day you come across a member of Serkoth’s family.”
Lorrik chuckled nervously, his gaze darting briefly back to Vivienne before returning to Rava. “True enough, my dy. Though I must admit, I wasn’t expecting to see anyone quite so... grand.” His eyes flitted again toward Vivienne, and his voice dropped slightly as he added, “Or so... unique.”
Vivienne, still sitting on her haunches, tilted her massive head and let her tongue loll out in a panting, exaggerated mimicry of a friendly dog. Her eyes glimmered with amusement at the man’s obvious unease, though the effect only seemed to make him shift in his seat.
The guards and caravan crew murmured among themselves, casting wary gnces at her hulking wolf form. A few whispered comments floated through the air:
“Never seen a beast like that before...”“Is she really pulling that wagon herself?”“Can’t be natural—look at the size of her!”
The quocha hitched to the caravan stamped their cwed feet and huffed, uneasy in the presence of such a predator. One of the guards, a wiry human man gripping a long pike, tightened his hold and muttered something to a goblin beside him, who nodded nervously.
Rava noticed the growing tension and raised her hand to calm them. “She’s not a threat,” she said evenly, her tone brooking no argument. “Vivienne is with me.”
Lorrik blinked, his earlier apprehension shifting to cautious curiosity. “Vivienne, you say? Is she... a guardian beast of Serkoth?”
Vivienne huffed a low, guttural sound that might have passed for ughter, her sharp fangs glinting in the fading light. “I’m not a beast,” she said dryly, her voice a deep, resonant growl that rumbled like distant thunder. The guards flinched, their grips tightening on their weapons, and the quocha let out nervous whines. “And I certainly don’t belong to anyone.”
“It speaks!” one of the goblins cried out, his voice high-pitched with arm. He stumbled back a step, nearly tripping over his own feet as he pointed a shaky finger at her.
Vivienne’s dark eyes gleamed with amusement, but she didn’t reply. She tilted her head, letting her gaze sweep zily across the caravan, as though sizing them up. Her silence only seemed to unnerve them further.
“Vivienne,” Rava said, her tone a mix of exasperation and command, “stop scaring them.”
The wolf-like form gave a low, dramatic sigh before shifting her attention to her lekine companion, her amusement fading to something more neutral. She didn’t particurly enjoy frightening the travelers, but their reactions were a predictable response to her monstrous appearance.
Rava turned back to Lorrik, her expression softening slightly. “We’ll let you pass. You still have time before the snow begins to fall, but the weather can change quickly out here. Best you make the most of the daylight.”
Lorrik’s gaze lingered on Vivienne for a moment longer, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and apprehension. Finally, he tore his attention away and gave Rava a stiff nod, visibly collecting himself. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Lady Ravanyr,” he said, his voice regaining its merchant’s polish. “We’ll move on then. And... good luck to you as well.”
With a quick wave of his hand, Lorrik signaled to his drivers, and the caravan lurched into motion once more. The quocha pulling the carts needed little urging, their cwed feet kicking up small clouds of dust as they eagerly moved away from Vivienne’s looming presence. The guards at the rear cast wary gnces over their shoulders, keeping their weapons ready until they were well beyond earshot.
Vivienne watched the caravan roll away, her sharp eyes following the st of the carts until they disappeared into the horizon. Her ears twitched at the faint echoes of creaking wheels and hushed voices, remnants of their unease lingering on the air. “Friendly lot,” she muttered dryly, more to herself than anyone else.
“Dogs don’t talk,” Rava replied ftly, not even gncing her way.
Vivienne tilted her head, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. “Woof?”
“Better,” Rava said, her tone unchanging, but the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at her mouth.
SupernovaSymphony
