The morning after their Tinderling adventure unfolded like a fever dream—partly remembered, partly embellished, and surrounded by the vague sense that something monumental had shifted. Thaddeus had greeted their triumphant return with a grunt that might have been approval if you squinted at it sideways in favorable lighting.

  Pyra woke first, sprawled across the floor in a tangle of limbs that belonged to at least three different selves. She extracted herself with the delicacy of someone removing the middle card from a house built by an irritable giant.

  "Rise and shine, fellow fragments of my glorious consciousness!" she announced, throwing open the shutters to reveal a sunrise so breathtaking it could only exist in a fairytale world or an advertisement for antidepressants. One of the moons still hung, translucent as a ghost against the dawn light. "We have officially survived our first heroic adventure in fantasy land!"

  A groan emanated from the blanket pile where Cinder had barricaded herself. "Is it absolutely necessary to be this enthusiastic before the sun's fully up?"

  "Yep!" Pyra flopped onto Cinder's makeshift fortress, earning a muffled curse. "We're adventurers now! Real ones! With actual quests and grateful villagers and everything!"

  "We helped pest control. Let's not oversell it." Cinder emerged from her cocoon, hair sticking up at angles that would've intimidated a porcupine. "And good morning to you, too."

  Ember sat up, already somehow looking composed despite spending the night on a reed mat. "Actually, I'd say it's significant. We took initiative, utilized our unique skills, and solved a problem. That's a solid foundation for... whatever this is becoming."

  "Adventure therapy," Ash mused from her own corner. "Externalizing our metaphorical demons through literal conflict. A transference of our collective fears onto enemies we can challenge and defeat."

  "You lost me at therapy." Kindle yawned, rolling onto her stomach. "But I'm all for defeating things. Preferably in the afternoon, when I've had caffeine."

  "No time for lounging! Today we plan our next glorious escapade." Pyra leapt to her feet, summoning a fiery aura that painted the walls in hues of gold and scarlet. "With me as their fearless leader, naturally."

  "Naturally," Cinder repeated dryly, nudging Pyra aside with the gentleness of a freight train. "And by 'plan', you mean follow Ember's strategy while you charge in flailing, correct?"

  Ember simply smiled, the serene expression of someone used to corralling their more impulsive counterparts. "I'm fine supporting from the background. My plans, your flair—that's how we work."

  They made their way downstairs, still bantering as they stepped into the kitchen where Thaddeus was bent over a simmering pot. Aromas of spices unfamiliar to their modern palates wafted through the room, overlaying the more familiar scents of butter and oats.

  "The messenger arrived," he announced without preamble, gesturing to a sealed parchment on the table. "Marta Koval's caravan will pass through Fendale at midday. If you're still determined to reach Amaranth, this represents your most practical opportunity."

  "A caravan?" Kindle's eyes widened. "Like with merchants and guards and interesting travelers from distant lands?"

  "More like with turnips, textiles, and traders who haven't bathed since the last full moon convergence," Thaddeus corrected, though his beard twitched in what might have been amusement. "Marta runs the most reliable merchant route between the southern farming communities and Amaranth. Her reputation for punctuality borders on the supernatural."

  Cinder lifted the parchment, examining the wax seal—a stylized wagon wheel with a dagger through its center. "Not the most reassuring emblem."

  "The dagger represents protection of goods," Thaddeus explained, "not highway robbery. Marta's honest, which in the merchant world makes her practically a mythological creature."

  "How long would it take to reach Amaranth with the caravan?" Ember asked, practical as always.

  "Four days if the weather holds. Six if it doesn't."

  Pyra choked on her tea. "Six days? We could run there in—"

  "You could," Thaddeus interrupted, raising a gnarled finger, "if you knew the way. If you understood the terrain. If you recognized the natural and unnatural dangers. If you had any conception of how to navigate the political territories between here and there." He lowered his hand. "Which you don't."

  Five identical faces fell in unison.

  "Besides," the wizard continued, "arriving in Amaranth as part of Marta's caravan grants you a degree of legitimacy. Magical registration is strictly enforced in the city, and five unregistered flame-wielding identicals appearing without context would attract... uncomfortable attention."

  "Uncomfortable attention," Cinder repeated dryly. "A phrase no hero ever wants associated with her, um, heroism."

  Thaddeus set a platter of buttered toasts onto the table. "Make no mistake—the Magisterium has seven distinct classifications for fire mages, fourteen sub-classifications, and one hundred twenty-three recognized technique variants. None of which will adequately explain you."

  "One hundred twenty-three?" Kindle wrinkled her nose. "That's so unnecessary. Fire is fire. It burns things."

  "That attitude," Thaddeus sighed, "is exactly why you need Marta's help."

  Fendale's weekly market sprawled across the village square, a riot of colors against the backdrop of whitewashed buildings. Farmers displayed vegetables in careful arrangements, craftspeople hawked their wares from wooden stalls, and the delicious fragrance of freshly baked goods wafted from the baker's tent.

  The five women moved through the market with the collective wonder of tourists discovering a theme park designed specifically for them.

  Each gravitated toward different attractions—Pyra immediately drawn to a blacksmith demonstrating decorative fire-hardening techniques, Cinder examining a display of methodically arranged dried herbs, Ember engaging with a weaver about fabric durability, Kindle cooing over handcrafted jewelry, and Ash finding kinship among the village elders reminiscing about the 'good old days' of famine and goblin infestations.

  "We need supplies," Ember reminded them, producing a small pouch of copper coins—payment from the village council for their Tinderling solution. "Practical items first."

  "But look at this!" Kindle held up a delicate bracelet woven from copper wire and tiny crystals that caught the light. "It's so pretty and we've never owned jewelry in this world before!"

  "We've never owned anything in this world before," Cinder pointed out. "But I suspect food and weapons might prove marginally more useful than accessories."

  "We already have weapons." Pyra ignited a small flame above her palm, earning startled looks from nearby shoppers. "Built-in and everything."

  Ember extinguished Pyra's flame with a quick gesture. "We discussed this. Low profile, remember?"

  They compromised, as five fragments of one consciousness must perpetually do. Practical supplies formed the bulk of their purchases—a water skin for each, dried fruits and journey bread, simple replacement clothing, and basic tools.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  But Kindle got her bracelet ("For morale purposes!"), Pyra acquired a small knife with a dragon-shaped handle ("In case our flames don't work!"), Cinder selected a booklet and charcoal stick ("For recording observations"), Ember chose a sturdy cloak that could double as a blanket ("The nights get cold"), and Ash purchased a small black river stone with a natural hole through its center ("A window between realms").

  They were debating the merits of stackable pots and pans when a ripple passed through the market. Conversations quieted, then resumed at higher volume. Heads turned toward the eastern road, where dust rose in a thin cloud.

  "The caravan approaches," a nearby farmer announced, hastily rearranging his root vegetables into a more appealing configuration.

  "Already?" Kindle checked the position of the sun. "It's barely past breakfast."

  "Marta's punctuality is her signature," explained an elderly woman arranging knitted goods. "Twenty-seven years she's been running this route, and never once arrived outside a quarter-hour of her projected time."

  The dust cloud resolved into a procession of wagons—six in total, each drawn by a pair of massive creatures that resembled oxen but with spiral ridges running along their flanks. The lead wagon stood out from the others, its wooden frame painted in bold red and blue geometric patterns, with metal chimes hanging from the corners that produced faint, pleasant tones as it moved.

  At the reins sat a woman whose copper-streaked hair and weathered face suggested decades of sun exposure. She held herself with the straight-backed posture of someone who considered slouching a personal failure, and her sharp eyes scanned the village square with experienced appraisal.

  "Marta Koval," Thaddeus confirmed, appearing beside them with his usual gift for materializing precisely when his commentary would be most appropriate. "Mind your manners. She values directness but dislikes dramatics."

  The girls' heads swiveled toward Pyra, who placed one hand over her heart in theatrical offense. "Why is everyone looking at me?"

  "Because you've never met a dramatic moment you didn't try to marry," Cinder replied dryly.

  The caravan rolled to a precise halt at the edge of the marketplace. Villagers immediately converged, some bearing goods to trade, others simply eager for news from beyond their small community.

  Marta descended from the lead wagon with the casual confidence of a monarch surveying her domain.

  "Goods fair, prices fairer!" she called, her voice carrying without seeming to shout. "Southern fabrics, Eastern spices, Northern tools! Trading begins in twenty minutes, after my people have watered the haulers."

  The five approached cautiously, Ember naturally taking the lead. Thaddeus followed, using his staff to gently clear a path through the excited crowd.

  "Thaddeus Thornbriar," Marta acknowledged with a nod that contained neither warmth nor coldness—just professional recognition. "Still haunting these hills, I see."

  "Still charging double for goods worth half, I observe," Thaddeus replied with the same professional neutrality.

  Marta's weathered face creased in what might have been a smile on someone less austere. "Only to those who can afford it." Her gaze shifted to the five, and one copper eyebrow lifted fractionally. "Your garden finally producing something interesting, old man?"

  "Planar travelers," Thaddeus explained with a dismissive wave, as if such occurrences were common enough to warrant little comment. "Crash-landed in my prize vegetables. They require passage to Amaranth."

  Marta's evaluating stare intensified, moving methodically from face to identical face. "Five of you," she stated, though it sounded like a question.

  "Five of us," Ember confirmed. "All equally in need of transportation." She smiled, a closed-lipped expression that somehow combined politeness, professionalism, and a clear signal of don't ask, we won't tell.

  "Hmm." Marta's grunt conveyed neither agreement nor rejection. "Accommodations are limited," she continued, "but five coppers apiece will secure you space in the back wagon."

  "That's—" Cinder began hotly, but Thaddeus silenced her with a sharp cough.

  "A generous offer," he assured Marta. "My...guests can certainly afford the fare." He cast a warning glance at Cinder, who subsided with ill grace. Clearly, haggling was not on the agenda.

  "And the destination?" Marta inquired, her eyes still roaming across their odd assortment.

  "Amaranth," Ember affirmed. "Specifically, the Magisterium."

  "The wizard school?" Marta's professional mask slipped for a fraction of a second, but discipline quickly reasserted itself. "Hm. Should've guessed from the oddness. Well, I can take you into the city, but the mage quarter is their own jurisdiction. You'll be on your own from there."

  "Understood," Ember nodded. "Your help is greatly appreciated."

  With a satisfied grunt, Marta turned away, dismissing them from her attention. Thaddeus guided the group off to the side, finding a quiet corner near a spice merchant's stall.

  "Now what?" Pyra asked, eyeing the bustling scene. "We just...wait?"

  "In essence," Thaddeus agreed. "Once Marta has completed her business here, the caravan will depart. As her passengers, you'll be expected to load any new cargo and lend a hand as needed."

  "Sounds...mundane," Kindle sighed, casting a wistful glance back at the market.

  Ash trailed her fingertips through a hanging display of dried herbs, releasing an aroma like autumn bonfires. "Experiences beyond our reckoning lie in wait, yet we linger in the shadow of the commonplace."

  Cinder patted Ash's shoulder consolingly. "Easy for you to say. You're already in a perpetual state of 'experiences beyond our reckoning'. The rest of us are having to work for it."

  Thaddeus left them to their banter, rejoining Marta as she made her way from stall to stall.

  The five settled in to observe the marketplace, sipping watered wine from a shared jug and absorbing the scene. Fendale's inhabitants seemed generally cheerful despite—or perhaps because of—their rustic circumstances.

  Thaddeus returned as the sun reached its zenith.

  "Marta and I have come to an accord," he informed them, gesturing with his walking staff. "You'll ride in the last wagon alongside barrels of pickled redroots from Chervin. Not the most luxurious transport, but the smell is...acquired."

  Pyra stuck out her tongue. "Pickled roots? Gross. Why not ride with the fabrics or spices?"

  "Because pickled roots require the least attention," Thaddeus replied. "Spice wagons must be secured against dampness, fabrics monitored for moth damage. Redroots? Once they're pickled, they keep."

  "So we're traveling with the vegetables no one cares about," Cinder summarized dryly.

  "Precisely." Thaddeus favored her with one of his rare smiles. "Consider it a reflection of your comparative worth. At least for the journey. Also, I told Marta you'd lend your muscles to any necessary lifting."

  Ember sighed. "You volunteered us as pack animals?"

  "You did cart off those Tinderlings rather handily," Thaddeus pointed out. "I assumed strength was among your...attributes."

  "Lifting heavy things isn't the issue," Ember explained. "It's the idea of doing it because someone else tells us to."

  Thaddeus scratched his beard. "Hm. Consider it a favor to me, then. Marta's goodwill is valuable; I'd prefer not to spend it frivolously."

  "That's different," Pyra said, sitting up. "If it's a favor for you, we'll do it. Free labor, free muscles, whatever you need."

  "Capital." Thaddeus eyed the lead wagon, where Marta was engaged in animated discussion with the blacksmith. "Now, stay out of trouble until she's ready to depart. There are matters I should attend to, and it would be unfortunate if my... guests... had mishaps while unsupervised."

  "You're not gonna see us off?" Kindle's pout could have melted a heart less desiccated than Thaddeus's. "What if we never meet again?"

  The wizard snorted, already turning to depart. "You've already demonstrated your supernal speed. It wouldn't surprise me if you showed up in my garden tomorrow, looking to borrow tea."

  "We'll repay you," Ember promised. "For the food, the shelter, the guidance."

  "Consider the debt settled by removing those Tinderlings," Thaddeus replied gruffly. "Besides, my cabbages are growing back stronger where you landed. Something about the dimensional residue."

  Pyra launched herself forward, wrapping the startled wizard in an enthusiastic hug that lifted him momentarily off his feet. "We'll miss you, you grumpy old spellslinger! Like, a lot. Like, we'll probably write really sappy letters that make everyone else embarrassed."

  "Unhand me this instant, you flame-headed menace!" Thaddeus sputtered, though he made no actual attempt to escape.

  One by one, the others joined the embrace—even Ash, whose melancholy dissolved into a gentle smile, and Cinder, who wore her typical expression of exasperated resignation.

  Thaddeus endured the assault with surprising patience, waiting until the last hugger stepped back before straightening his robes. "Harrumph. There's gratitude, and then there's gratuitous affection." He nodded to the girls. "Farewell. Try not to die."

  And with that, he strode away, leaning on his staff. They watched him vanish into the crowd.

  "Well, he's probably the closest thing we'll get to a fantasy quest-giving NPC," Ember mused, propping her chin in her hands. "He could have at least given us an inspiring speech."

  "Or something sparkly," Kindle agreed. "Jewelry, maybe. Or tiaras."

  "Magic swords?" Cinder suggested.

  "A mystic amulet that points toward danger?" Pyra offered.

  Ash ran her fingers across her black river stone, tracing the smooth hole. "A whisper from beyond the stars that hints at secrets yet undiscovered."

  Everyone turned to stare at her.

  "You know," Ember said, shaking her head, "you make that sound almost rational. It's a gift."

  Chapters will be released from Monday through Friday for the first month!