The town faded into the horizon behind them, a distant silhouette swallowed by the ever-stretching road. Deserter and Overon moved with steady strides, the clinking of their gear a quiet reminder of the battles behind them. The journey ahead, though, seemed absent of conflict—just endless miles toward the city, where larger threats and deeper mysteries no doubt waited.

  For hours, they walked without incident. The landscape rolled by in an uneventful haze of trees, distant hills, and the occasional abandoned farmhouse. Overon, always eager for conversation, kept the silence at bay with musings on their next steps, but even he seemed to sense the monotony of the road. Deserter, ever stoic, said little, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The lack of obstacles was almost unsettling.

  By the time the sun began its slow descent, the two made camp in a small clearing off the road. Overon gathered firewood while Deserter set up their meager shelter. As flames flickered to life, casting shadows against the darkening woods, the quiet of the evening wrapped around them like an old, heavy cloak.

  Then—movement.

  Deserter’s senses flared. A rustling came from the pile of gear beside his pack, too deliberate to be the wind. In one swift motion, he reached for his weapon, but before he could draw, a small figure stumbled into the firelight, arms raised in surrender.

  The girl.

  She had been tailing them. The recognition was instant, but disbelief still crept into Deserter’s expression. Overon cursed, already anticipating the trouble ahead. The girl, dust-covered and wide-eyed, took a cautious step forward, hands still raised.

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  “I had to come,” she blurted, her voice firm despite the situation. “I—” Her gaze darted to Deserter, desperate and searching. “I think you’re my father.”

  The words settled over them like a sudden frost.

  Deserter’s eyes narrowed. “Um no....wait a minute. Explain.”

  She hesitated but then spoke with urgency. “I don’t know how, but I feel it. Ever since I saw you, something in me just—clicked. Like I’ve known you forever. Like I was meant to find you.”

  Overon groaned, rubbing his temple. “This is either the start of something incredible or an absolute disaster.”

  Deserter studied the girl. There was something in her voice—an unshakable conviction that made it difficult to dismiss outright.

  “We’ll see about that,” he said, reaching into his pack.

  With a flick of his fingers, he pulled out a small, glowing crystal. The air around them shifted as he activated an appraisal spell, its light washing over the girl in waves. If she was lying, if she was mistaken, if she was something else entirely—this would reveal the truth.

  As the light pulsed, Deserter’s expression darkened.

  The girl wasn’t human.

  A low-level pureblood demon—an extreme rarity. Demon-kin were already uncommon, but a pureblood, even if she was a low-rank one, was nearly unheard of. More unsettling, though, was the reason she had latched onto him.

  Overon leaned in, reading Deserter’s face. “She’s a demon, isn’t she?”

  An echo of silence was heard before Deserter responded.