Inside the carriage, Abraham sat surrounded by goods and merchandise that filled every corner of the modest space. Up front, Belfin held the reins as coachman while Ashrel sat beside him, keeping a watchful eye on the road ahead as their appointed guard.
Belfin was the first to break the silence, his voice carrying that easy warmth of a man who had spent decades talking to strangers. "Sir Ashrel, where exactly are you two headed? Are you traveling with your son?"
Ashrel smiled faintly at the assumption. "My son? No, no. Abraham is more like my nephew. We have some business to settle down south, in Caelvar."
"Oh," Belfin replied, sounding genuinely surprised. "You two look so alike, and you seem so protective of him. I just assumed."
From behind the curtain dividing the carriage interior, Abraham had been quietly listening. He pushed the fabric aside and leaned forward to join the conversation. "sir Belfin, roughly how long before we reach the center of Worin?"
Belfin stroked his chin. "About a week, I'd say, young Abraham. We're carrying quite a load, so the horses can't push too hard."
"Don't worry," Ashrel said, glancing back with a reassuring look. "Think of it as a chance to see the world. You'll have plenty of new things to take in along the way."
Belfin caught something curious in those words and shot Ashrel a puzzled look. Ashrel read the expression easily and explained without being asked, "The boy grew up deep in the forest. Never set foot outside until now. This is his first real journey."
Understanding crossed Belfin's face immediately, and he turned to give Abraham a warm, unhurried smile. After that, the conversation settled into a comfortable quiet. The only sounds were the steady rhythm of hooves against packed earth and the soft rustle of trees along the road, until evening came and wrapped their little company in its darkness.
Belfin's carriage was a proper merchant's wagon, spacious enough to carry a generous haul, pulled by two sturdy horses that had clearly made this kind of journey many times before. When night fully set in, Belfin guided the carriage to a wide, flat clearing suitable for making camp. Abraham and Belfin worked together to raise the tent while Ashrel disappeared into the surrounding trees in search of firewood.
While the two wrestled with tent poles and canvas, a conversation quietly found its way between them.
"How are you holding up, Abraham?" Belfin asked, driving a stake into the soft ground. "Sitting crouched inside a carriage all day isn't easy on the body. You should stretch a little before you sleep, or you'll wake up stiff as a board."
"Just Abraham is fine, Belfin no need for the formalities. You're older than me," I said with a small smile. "A little sore, honestly. But it beats walking for hours on end."
Belfin laughed. "Fair enough! Oh, and I noticed you carry a sword. Are you a knight, like Sir Ashrel?"
"A knight?" I shook my head. "Not at all. The sword is just for self-defense if things go sideways. Fighting isn't really my strength. I've studied more along the lines of medicine herbs, remedies, that kind of thing." I paused, then shifted the subject. "What about you, Belfin? How long have you been a merchant?"
His expression brightened, the way a man's does when asked about something he genuinely loves. "A long time. I started following my father on trading routes when I was still small. That was thirty years ago now."
"So you've traveled all over the world?" I asked, curiosity creeping into my voice.
"Not quite," he admitted with a quiet laugh. "I've gone far, yes, but I keep to my own routes the same ones my father taught me, passed down from his father before him. I wouldn't say I've seen the whole world. I buy goods from smaller villages and sell them in the cities, matching what's needed, what's trending, what's been ordered. It's a rhythm, once you learn it."
The night stretched on pleasantly around us, the sky above scattered with stars. Then, without quite meaning to, I asked something I hadn't planned on saying.
"Are you close with your father, Belfin?"
The question caught him off guard. He was quiet for a moment before answering. "Yes... close enough, I suppose. It's hard to describe. We were always talking business more than anything else he was teaching me, I was learning. But the bond was real." He looked over. "What about you, Abraham?"
I was quiet for a beat too long.
"We didn't see each other much. He was always working." I focused on the tent rope in my hands. "But whenever he was home, he showed he cared in his own way. Small things." My voice dropped a little. "It doesn't matter now. Both of them my father and my mother they died in an accident."
Belfin set down what he was holding. "Abraham... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."
"You didn't do anything wrong," I said. "Thank you for saying that."
My eyes burned faintly at the corners. I blinked it away before it became anything more. But before the quiet between us could deepen into something heavier, a rustling from the dark tree line announced Ashrel's return arms stacked high with firewood, completely unaware of the mood he was walking into.
"Hey! Why the long faces? Did something happen?" he called out, nearly tripping over his own haul.
I let out a short laugh despite myself. "You startled us, Ashrel."
The tension dissolved just like that. Ashrel arranged the firewood and coaxed a fire to life, while Belfin took over the cooking. Before long, the smell of a warm meal drifted through the cool night air, and the three of us settled around the fire eating, talking, letting the warmth do its work.
At some point between bites, Belfin spoke up again. "So, Sir Ashrel you said you're Abraham's uncle on his mother's side, correct?"
"That's right. His mother was my elder sister," Ashrel replied evenly, threading the lie together without hesitation.
Abraham listened quietly, filing the details away, making sure he'd remember which threads to pull if the story unraveled later.
It did, almost immediately.
"Then why does Abraham call you by your first name?" Belfin asked, his tone not accusatory just genuinely curious. "It's a little unusual, isn't it? For a nephew to address his uncle so casually." He paused. "Look, I'm not trying to cause trouble. If there's something you two need to keep private, I'm not the sort to talk. I just want to understand."
Abraham and Ashrel exchanged the briefest of glances. Then an answer came to Abraham naturally, slotting into place like a key finding its lock.
"You're right, and I apologize I should be more respectful." I set my bowl down. "The truth is, I barely knew Uncle Ashrel until recently. He showed up after my parents passed, and I was alone. I didn't grow up with him around, so calling him by name just... became a habit I never thought to correct."
Ashrel picked up the thread without missing a beat. "I last saw Abraham when he was still an infant. After that, I left to travel I was gone for years. When I finally made my way back to the village, I found out my sister had died. Her husband too. And Abraham had been left on his own." He stared into the fire for a moment. "I couldn't walk away from that."
A heavy silence settled over the campfire. Belfin stared at the flames, his jaw working slightly, visibly moved by what he'd just heard. "That's... a lot to carry," he said softly. "For both of you."
Sensing the weight growing too thick, Ashrel straightened and clapped his hands together. "Alright. It's late, and sentimental old men crying into their campfires won't make the road any shorter tomorrow. Everyone get some sleep."
Abraham retreated into the tent, where Belfin soon joined him. Ashrel, as was apparently his habit, settled himself just outside the entrance leaning against the wheel of the carriage, eyes half-open, watching the dark.
But the night had something waiting for Abraham.
He woke up or thought he did to find himself sitting on a sofa he knew by feel alone, even before his eyes adjusted. The room was warm. Familiar in a way that reached past memory and into something deeper.
Why am I here?
"Abraham, you're awake. Still sleepy?"
He froze.
He knew that voice. He had spent months trying not to think about it too carefully, because thinking about it too carefully made it harder to function.
It was his mother.
Before he could breathe, another voice followed.
"Finally up, sleepyhead."
His father.
Abraham didn't decide to cry. His eyes simply filled without his permission, and then the tears were falling, and there was nothing he could do to stop them. Years of practiced composure collapsed in an instant, swept aside by something he couldn't name grief and relief and longing all folded together into a single, wordless ache.
"Mom," he managed. "Dad."
Then a blinding light filled his vision. A crash. The sharp, violent sound of impact.
Abraham lurched awake in the dark tent, heart hammering, breath ragged. He lay still for a long moment, staring at the canvas ceiling above him while his pulse slowly came back down to something manageable.
The dream clung to him warm, vivid, painfully real. He could still almost hear their voices.
He pressed the back of his hand against his eyes. Blinked. Exhaled slowly.
Then he pulled on his calm like a coat, fastened it carefully, and stepped outside.
"Good morning, Your Highness," Ashrel called from across the camp, already folding up the tent with practiced efficiency. His grin said he was very pleased with himself. "Sleep well, did we?"
"Morning, Abraham!" Belfin waved from beside the small cooking fire, looking as cheerful as if the world had never had a single problem. "Come eat everything's ready."
We ate together in the gentle quiet of early morning, the air still cool and carrying the faint scent of dew and woodsmoke.
"Belfin, this is genuinely good," Ashrel said, and he meant it. "You can really cook."
"It's nothing special," Belfin said, looking pleased despite himself. "I've been cooking on the road long enough that it comes naturally. The spices help merchant's advantage." He laughed softly.
Abraham chewed thoughtfully and said nothing aloud. But somewhere in the back of his mind, a quiet and entirely inappropriate voice piped up: It's good... but it's missing something. Could use more seasoning. I miss my instant noodles. He nearly smiled at himself for thinking it.
Once breakfast was finished, Belfin packed the camp supplies back into the carriage with the efficiency of long practice. Ashrel went over the remnants of the fire with careful attention, smothering every last ember until he was certain nothing remained that could catch and spread. When everything was secured and accounted for, they set off again down the road.
The morning passed at an easy pace. Fields and forest traded places outside the carriage, and the world felt, for a stretch of time, uncomplicated.
Then something appeared in the distance.
Abraham pulled the curtain aside and leaned toward the gap in the carriage wall. A massive stone bridge came into view, arching wide across a deep river gorge below. Even from this distance, it was a striking sight solid and ancient, built by hands that clearly intended it to last.
This was the crossing that connected Worin's forest territories to the hillside regions beyond two different worlds joined by a single span of stone. The wind picked up as they drew closer, carrying with it the smell of rushing water and open land.
Abraham stared at the bridge without saying anything.
He had never seen anything like it before.
And somewhere just past its far end, the road ahead was waiting.