Pickled redroots smelled exactly like what they were—vegetables that had surrendered their dignity to vinegar in exchange for longevity. Their aroma filled the wagon with a tang sharp enough to wake the dead, or at least keep five interdimensional travelers thoroughly alert during the first leg of their journey.

  "This is not," Cinder stated with the finality of someone choosing an epitaph, "what I imagined when I pictured my first grand fantasy adventure." She sat cross-legged atop a barrel, somehow managing to look both dignified and thoroughly put-upon.

  The wagon lurched over another rut in the road, sending her scrambling for balance. A small yellow flame danced along her hand, providing just enough light to see the others in the twilight-shadowed interior.

  "What's not to love?" Pyra hung half-out the back of the wagon, her wild orange hair streaming behind her like a banner. "We've got transportation, pickled whatever-these-are for company, and look at that view!"

  The view in question revealed rolling hills fading to purple shadows as the sun dipped toward the horizon. The three moons—which they'd learned were named Laris, Mendin, and Sor—were beginning to assert their presence, the largest already a pale silver disc visible in the darkening sky.

  "I could name several things not to love," Cinder replied, gesturing to the barrel beneath her. "Starting with our aromatic accommodations and ending with the complete lack of cushioned seating."

  Ember, practical as always, had arranged their meager belongings into something approximating a nest. "It's four days. We've endured worse."

  "Name one worse thing," Kindle challenged, bouncing slightly on her makeshift seat of empty grain sacks. The motion sent golden sparks dancing from her hair, small brief stars extinguishing before they could ignite the wagon's contents.

  "The time we got trapped in the sewers chasing the Rodent King?" Ember suggested.

  "That was kind of fun," Pyra protested. "We got to see actual mutant alligators!"

  "The dimensional stabilizer accident that literally tore us from our reality and dropped us into another plane of existence?" Cinder offered dryly.

  Kindle considered this, then shrugged. "I mean, sure, but now we get to be in a fantasy world! With magic and monsters and mysterious quests!"

  "And redroots," Ash murmured from the corner where she'd wedged herself, trails of smoke curling around her like curious serpents. "The humble vegetable, transformed by pickling, becomes something other than itself while retaining its essential nature. Much like us."

  The others exchanged glances.

  "That's... actually kind of profound," Kindle admitted.

  "I was simply observing that they smell terrible," Ash clarified, her smoky wisps contracting slightly.

  The wagon hit another bump, this one forceful enough to lift them momentarily from their seats before gravity reasserted its authority with vengeful enthusiasm. Further up the line, they heard Marta's voice calling the caravan to a halt. The six wagons rumbled to a stop, creating a loose circle in a flat clearing beside the road.

  "Evening camp," a burly guard announced, pulling back the wagon's canvas flap. He paused, eyes widening slightly as he took in the five identical women with flame-colored hair in various states of disarray. "Uh. Marta says you're to help with the fire and evening meal."

  "On it!" Pyra vaulted over the wagon's edge, narrowly missing the guard's head.

  "She means all of you," the guard clarified, stepping back warily as the other four climbed out with varying degrees of grace. "And try not to burn anything down. Marta's particular about her wagons."

  "We would never," Ember assured him with a smile that somehow managed to be both warm and diplomatically restrained.

  "Except that one time," Cinder muttered.

  "That was an accident," Kindle protested. "And the warehouse was mostly insured."

  The guard's expression suggested he regretted every life choice that had led to this moment. "Just... help Brin with the cookfire." He pointed toward a young woman arranging stones in a circle nearby.

  The camp assembled itself with the easy efficiency of long practice. Teamsters unhitched the massive beasts (which they learned were called "kraal") and led them to a nearby stream. Guards established a perimeter, checking weapons and setting up simple wards. Merchants secured their wares and prepared for evening business with other travelers and the small hamlet visible a half-mile distant.

  Brin, a wiry young woman with a no-nonsense demeanor and a patchwork of faded travel clothes, glanced up as they approached. Her brows lifted nearly to her hairline.

  "Well," she said after a moment, "you're certainly... identical." She gestured to the fire pit. "Marta mentioned you'd help with the cooking. Can any of you actually cook, or are you just fire-starters?"

  "Both," Ember replied, already kneeling to inspect the arrangement of kindling. "Though our methods might be a bit... unconventional."

  "Unconventional how?" Brin asked, then lifted a hand. "No, wait, let me guess. You're going to conjure flames from thin air instead of using flint and steel like ordinary folk."

  Pyra grinned, already summoning a dancing ball of orange fire above her palm. "That was a really good guess. Are you a mind-reader?"

  "No, just observant," Brin said, eyeing the flame with interest rather than alarm. "And not easily impressed. Master Vale in Amaranth can conjure fire that sings drinking songs."

  "Our fire doesn't sing," Kindle admitted. "But it does come in different colors!" She demonstrated by shifting her own flames from their usual gold to a deeper amber.

  "Charming." Brin's tone suggested it was anything but. "Now, can we please light the cookfire before the merchants start complaining about delayed supper?"

  Ember nodded, focusing her attention on the carefully arranged kindling. With a gesture of practiced control, she sent a thin stream of flame spiraling into the wood, igniting it with barely a whisper.

  "Not bad," Brin conceded. "Most mage-fires burn too hot or too cold for proper cooking." She turned, rummaging through a nearby sack. "Now, who knows how to chop vegetables?"

  As it turned out, running a caravan kitchen was not unlike running a small military operation—a concept Cinder embraced with particular enthusiasm.

  "This is potatoes to the left of me, carrots to the right of me," she sang tunelessly as she wielded her small knife like a general's baton. "Into the stew I put them, for that's what supper must be."

  "I'm almost certain that's not how the song goes," Ember observed from her station by the fire, where she was tending a sizzling skillet of meat and herbs.

  "Shush," Cinder hissed without looking up from her work. "Artistic interpretation is no joking matter."

  She organized their efforts into a smooth production line, with Brin offering grudgingly impressed commentary on her efficiency.

  By the time the sun had fully surrendered to night, a savory aroma far more appealing than pickled redroots filled the camp. Travelers gathered with bowls and spoons, forming a line that wound between wagons.

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  "Not terrible," Marta announced after tasting the stew, which from her constituted high praise. She eyed the five with a reassessing gaze. "Where did you learn to cook?"

  "A coffee shop kitchen," Ember replied with a smile. "And some experimentation."

  Marta raised an eyebrow but didn't pursue the point further. Instead, she gestured to the line of waiting travelers. "Help serve," she instructed. "Earn your meal."

  "Come get yer vittles!" Pyra called cheerfully from her position by the bubbling cauldron. "Fresh stew, served with a side of snarky banter!"

  "You really don't have to provide the snark," Brin muttered as she scooped portions into outstretched bowls.

  The line progressed, faces appearing in the firelight, eager for a meal that wasn't travel bread and dried rations. Some were curious about the unusual cooks, others focused solely on their hunger. A few even offered small coins in thanks.

  One man lingered after receiving his serving, eyes traveling thoughtfully over the five. His dress and manner set him apart from the rest—clothing well-made if travel-stained, bearing himself with the self-assurance of someone accustomed to attention.

  "Might I ask your names, ladies?" he inquired, his voice pleasant but with an underlying expectation of compliance. "I find it unusual to encounter such... beautiful cooks on the road."

  His gaze, particularly attentive on Kindle, sent a ripple of tension through the group, subtle as a blade drawn behind a cloak. Cinder felt Ash stiffen beside her; Ember's smile took on a shade of winter. Pyra's eyes narrowed. And Kindle...

  Kindle batted her lashes and struck a pose that accentuated her... assets. "Why sir," she exclaimed, laying on a thick country drawl, "ain't you just the sweetest thing! Call me Kindle, and these are my sisters—" she gestured at them each in turn, "Cinder, Ember, Pyra, and Ash."

  The man raised an eyebrow. "Interesting names."

  "Yes, we's from a place where we name our girls after cookin' things," Kindle explained, maintaining her breathless, ditzy persona. "I had a sister named Oven, but she died."

  Pyra nearly choked at that, but Ash—ever the improviser—stepped in smoothly. "She was too hot to handle," the melancholy girl said, "and burned herself out."

  Cinder kept her expression perfectly neutral. Clearly, Kindle had decided to go on the offensive.

  "Well, now, that is truly fascinating," the man said, his gaze lingering on Kindle. "You should share more of your... customs... with me. Say, after the evening meal?"

  "We're not much for socializing with strangers," Ember said mildly, slipping between the man and Kindle. Her posture was relaxed but her eyes were cold. "Our time is spoken for."

  "Perhaps another time," the man said, clearly not willing to escalate the situation. He sketched a bow, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Until then, ladies." With that, he departed, winding his way through the campsite.

  When he was gone, Ember turned to Kindle. "Please tell me that was a ruse, and not you actually flirting with that obnoxious excuse for a gentleman."

  "Oh, absolutely." Kindle shuddered. "His aura was as slimy as his smile. I can practically smell the sleaze. But better the obvious villain than the quiet one, no? And he did call me beautiful."

  "He called us all beautiful," Cinder pointed out. "Though it felt more like an insult than a compliment." She gazed in the direction the man had departed. "I don't like him."

  "Agreed," Ash murmured. "Beware the fool who seeks power, for he will claim what he cannot hold."

  The cryptic pronouncement earned a raised eyebrow from Brin. "I think you're giving him too much credit. He's just a brash adventurer trying his luck with pretty strangers." She returned to stirring the stew with a small shrug. "Though his luck is bound to be bad with you lot."

  "We're a package deal," Pyra affirmed, throwing her arms around Ember and Kindle. "Nobody flirts with one without flirting with all of us."

  "I prefer not being flirted with at all," Cinder grumbled, scraping the remnants of stew from the cauldron into a bowl for herself and the others.

  After supper, the camp settled into evening routines. Some gathered in small groups, exchanging stories or playing games with carved bone pieces. Others retired to wagons or small tents erected nearby. Guards took up positions at the perimeter, their vigilance casual but evident.

  The five found themselves welcomed into the central gathering, where a stocky man with an impressive mustache was recounting a harrowing encounter with "mountain shifters."

  "...teeth like daggers, I tell you! And the ability to change their skin to match any stone!" He emphasized this with a theatrical gesture that sloshed his drink perilously close to the fire. "Would've had me for certain if not for my silver dagger and quick thinking!"

  "Mountain shifters?" Pyra whispered to Brin, who had proven surprisingly willing to tolerate their company after the cooking demonstration.

  "Likely just rock goblins," Brin replied quietly. "Dorgin tends to embellish. Last month this same story featured ice serpents instead."

  "Are there many dangerous creatures out here?" Kindle asked, her eyes bright with interest.

  Brin shrugged. "Depends what you consider dangerous. Bandits are the most common threat—desperate folk with more greed than sense. Occasionally, we'll see predators if the winter was harsh—blackwolves, mainly, hunting in packs. The truly dangerous things stay away from traveled roads." She nodded toward the darkness beyond their fire. "Out there, in the deep woods and high valleys, that's where the old magic lingers."

  Ash leaned forward, her eyes glowing softly in the shadows. "What manner of old magic?"

  "The kind sensible people avoid," Brin replied flatly. "Wild magic from before the founding of Amaranth, before the Magisterium established control. Unpredictable. Transformative." Her expression grew distant. "My cousin wandered into a wild magic pocket when we were children. Came back speaking in rhymes for two weeks."

  "That doesn't sound so bad," Kindle commented.

  "Try having a conversation with someone who can only speak in limericks," Brin countered. "Especially when they're trying to tell you something important."

  As the evening progressed, the five drifted between conversations, absorbing information about their new world with the hungry enthusiasm of tourists in an exotic land. They learned about the geography of the region, the political dynamics between settlements, the subtle ways magic infused everyday life.

  By the time the gathering began to disperse, they'd collected a respectable foundation of knowledge and, perhaps more valuably, begun to establish themselves as unusual but not threatening additions to the caravan.

  "So," Ember said as they settled back into their redroot-scented wagon for the night, arranging themselves as comfortably as possible among the barrels, "what have we learned?"

  "That caravan stew is surprisingly good?" Pyra offered, flopping down on their makeshift bedding.

  "That Marta runs this operation with an iron fist and an iron will," Cinder added. She'd commandeered a corner for herself, legs stretched out before her.

  "That Dorgin can drink an impressive amount of ale while maintaining the structural integrity of his mustache," Kindle observed.

  Their giggles filled the wagon, mingling with the crackle of campfires and rustle of night wind. Outside, they could hear the soft sounds of the night watch moving around the perimeter. It felt cozy, protected.

  "That we walk between worlds already known and unknown," Ash murmured, eyes closed as if in meditation, "treading the border between what was and what might be." She opened one eye, regarding her companions. "But seriously, that stew was excellent."

  Laughter overtook them again, warmer this time, tinged with the shared memories of strange and exciting beginnings.

  Ember studied the others, a soft smile playing at her lips. "And that Amaranth is a city of strict magical regulation, which might complicate our efforts to understand our curse."

  "Minor detail," Pyra waved this away with a flutter of her fingers that left brief orange trails in the dim light. "We'll figure it out when we get there."

  "That approach has worked so well for us historically," Cinder noted dryly.

  "We did save an entire village from Tinderlings," Kindle pointed out.

  "After destroying a wizard's prized vegetable garden."

  "Details, details."

  The wagon fell silent except for the creaking of wood and the distant sounds of the camp settling. Through gaps in the canvas, they could see the three moons—Laris large and bright, Mendin a deeper shade of silver, and Sor barely visible, a sliver at the edge of the sky.

  "It's strange," Ember said after a while, her voice quiet in the darkness. "I keep expecting to feel out of place here, but something about this world feels... I don't know. Compatible, somehow."

  Ash exhaled a plume of smoke that curled through the moonlight. "Perhaps we are echoes of this world, cast adrift on currents of the abyss between realms." She paused. "Or perhaps the pickled redroots have expanded our minds."

  A soft chuckle rippled through the wagon.

  "I'm still waiting for the obligatory dragon encounter," Pyra sighed. "What's fantasy without dragons?"

  "Aren't they immune to fire?" Cinder asked. "We might not have the advantage we're used to."

  "Who cares? Imagine riding a dragon."

  "I'd rather not," Cinder replied, pulling her cloak tighter around herself. "There are less vertigo-inducing modes of transport, thank you very much."

  Ember smiled softly. "Let's table the dragon discussion for another day."

  "Agreed," Kindle murmured sleepily. "Dragons in the morning. Sounds like a great breakfast conversation."

  Silence reigned briefly before Pyra piped up again. "You know what would be cooler than dragon riding? Being a dragon."

  "Not helping," Cinder retorted without opening her eyes.