The Wrong Kind of Adventure

River stood at the center of the commotion, his gloved hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his violet eyes locked onto the scarred man standing across from him.

The mercenary sighed, shaking his head. “What happened, Ollie? Did the mercenary market run dry? Or did you like the robbing and killing way of life so much you wanna continue it in Eterna too?”

A low growl rumbled from Ollie’s throat, his one good eye burning with hatred. “Shut up, Crow. You’re no better.”

River exhaled, shaking his head. “I take offense to that, really. I always preferred my contracts with a little less bloodthirst and a little more coin.” His gaze flicked over the rest of them, sizing them up before adding with a smirk, “And a lot fewer dogs.”

A few of them bristled. One stepped forward, spitting on the ground. “The last crow. We should mount his head on a pike, boys.”

River tilted his head, exhaling through his nose. His grip on his sword remained loose, almost indifferent, but his stance shifted slightly—ready to move.

Ollie rolled his shoulders, the tension in his frame coiling like a snake about to strike. “Let’s not drag this out. You’re outnumbered, crow.”

River let out a dry chuckle. “So what else is new?”

Then, the square exploded into chaos.

Steel clashed against steel as River parried the first strike, twisting his body to avoid a wild axe swing from one of the Oath Chasers. The sheer weight behind the blow cracked the stone where he had stood a second earlier.

River moved like a shadow, his sword a silver blur under the lantern light. He kicked off a broken stall, twisting mid-air as he drove his blade through the throat of the first attacker. Blood sprayed onto the cobblestones.

Another came at him from the side, a dagger glinting in the firelight. River spun, catching the attacker’s wrist and twisting sharply—there was a sickening snap before he drove his knee into the man’s stomach, sending him sprawling into the canal with a splash.

Two down.

But there were too many.

Ollie was watching, waiting. His men swarmed River, pressing him back with sheer numbers.

A sword whizzed past River’s shoulder as he narrowly dodged another strike. He hissed, frustration creeping in. If it were just three or four, he could handle it—but a dozen? Even he had limits.

A flash of red caught his eye.

Fiora.

She was still standing at the edge of the square, fists clenched, her expression torn between fear and something else—something defiant. She wasn’t running.

“Get back!” River barked at her as he parried another blow, his sword ringing against the attack.

“Worry about yourself!” she shot back, eyes wide.

River scoffed, barely ducking under a swing meant to take his head off.

This is getting worse by the second.

He drove his sword into another enemy’s chest, ripping it free in one swift motion. Three dead. But it wasn’t enough. His body moved on instinct, calculating escape routes.

Then, his gaze flickered to an open path.

Time to go.

River lunged forward, grabbing Fiora’s wrist.

“What—?!” she barely had time to react before he yanked her into motion.

“Party’s over, missy. We’re leaving.”

“The crow’s trying to escape! Get him!”

Boots pounded against the streets as River pulled Fiora through the winding alleyways of Riena. The Oath Chasers were right behind them, their shouts and footfalls closing in.

“Where are we going?!” Fiora called out, breathless.

River didn’t answer immediately, leaping over an overturned cart and pulling her with him.

“Weren’t we staying in Riena for the night?!” she pressed.

River scoffed, vaulting over a low wall and landing smoothly. “Yeah, well, plans change when a bunch of bastards with swords wanna kill you.”

Fiora stumbled slightly but kept pace, her grip tightening in his. “And the festival? The people back there—?”

“They’ll handle themselves,” River cut in. “This isn’t their first time dealing with lunatics.”

Ahead, the road opened up to the outskirts of town. He spotted a narrow path stretching aside the riverbank.

Perfect.

River veered left, dragging Fiora toward it. The sounds of pursuit hadn’t faded. If anything, they were getting closer. The town’s winding alleys worked to their advantage, but they had to lose them fast.

Because if there was one thing he knew about dogs—

It was that they never stopped chasing.

✾

The flickering campfire crackled softly, sending golden embers drifting into the cool night air. The dense forest loomed around them, dark and unmoving, save for the occasional whisper of leaves rustling in the breeze.

Fiora sat close to the fire, her arms wrapped around her knees. She was still catching her breath from their earlier escape, exhaustion pressing down on her now that the adrenaline had worn off. She let out a long sigh, stretching her legs toward the flames for warmth.

“Well,” The girl muttered, tilting her head back to look at the sky peeking through the canopy. “That was…

River expected her to say a myriad of words. Dreadful. Terrifying. Sickening.

But instead the word Fiora chose was of a different nature.

“…fun.”

River, who had been tending to his sword with a whetstone, raised a brow.

“Fun?”

Fiora turned toward him, her expression distant but oddly content. “You know, back in my mansion, I used to read these old adventure stories—knights, mercenaries, runaway royals… life-or-death chases, daring escapes. Running for my life wasn’t exactly how I pictured it, but for a moment… it felt like I was in one of those stories.”

River scoffed, smirking as he slid his sword back into its sheath. Yet his smirk turned into something softer. It was quite special how she found the fun in every little thing, despite it being inconvenient.

“Can’t say I’ve heard someone call running from certain death fun before.”

“Well, excuse me for finding excitement in something new.”

River chuckled, shaking his head as he tossed another log onto the fire.

“If you say so, missy.”

Fiora frowned at the nickname but let it slide this time. Instead, she exhaled deeply, shifting against the hard ground. “Ugh. This again.”

River glanced at her. “What?”

She gestured to the dirt beneath her. “Sleeping outside. The damp ground, the cold air, the complete lack of comfort. It’s dreadful.”

“What, you miss your silk sheets?”

Fiora threw him a glare. “I miss sleeping without feeling like my back is going to snap in half, yes.”

River crossed his arms. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, this part of Vermillia has bigger things to worry about than back pain.”

Fiora narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

River’s smirk widened slightly. “This stretch of forest is crawling with monsters. Some say the worst of them come out when the lanterns go out.”

Fiora tensed. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” River’s voice was teasing, but his expression gave nothing away. “Vermillia’s forests are famous for being home to all sorts of creatures. Ironclad scorpions, giant river maulers, things with way too many teeth.” He started counting on his fingers. “Then there are the Wealdkin—walking trees that snatch people away in the night. Oh, and let’s not forget the Lantern Wraiths and the apparitions. Ghosts so to speak.”

Fiora shivered before she could stop herself. “Those are just a myth.”

River laughed. “Yeah? Try telling that to the poor bastards who’ve seen them.”

Fiora swallowed, hugging her arms a little closer to herself. The Lantern Wraiths were an old tale, whispered in noble circles as a bedtime story to keep children from wandering at night. They were spirits—lost souls who carried dim, flickering green lanterns, luring the living into their light, who mistake them for fellow travelers, only to steal their souls.

“They can’t be real,” she said, more to herself than to River.

“Trust me, monsters don’t care if nobles think they’re myths.”

Fiora pursed her lips, clearly uneasy now.

Realising her restlessness, River tried to change the subject. “Nobles do have magic don’t they? Can’t you use that to save yourself from the scary monsters?”

“I do know a bit, yes…” Fiora exhaled through her nose, clearly reluctant to admit the truth. “But my magic was never meant for combat. It was… mostly for appearances. Status.”

River leaned forward slightly, resting an elbow on his knee. “Figures. What kind of spells did you learn from your very-capable teacher then?”

Fiora crossed her arms. “Well, I can create a floating light—useful for reading at night. I can move small objects with telekinesis, nothing heavier than a goblet. And I can conjure a weak barrier, but it shatters with a good hit.”

River stared at her for a long moment before letting out a low chuckle. “Impressive. If we get attacked by flying teacups, I’ll be sure to call on you.”

Fiora scowled. “Oh, shut up.” When she lowered her gaze towards the fire, she spoke once more.

“What about you then? You were born into combat, right? Where’s your magic?”

“I don’t have much affinity for it, but I do know some basic spells that will get me out of a pinch. The exhaustion and headache after using them are a major pain, though.”

“Great, then we’re both useless on that front, aren’t we?”

River’s laughter lingered, but there was something softer in his gaze as he looked at her.

“Relax, missy. For the time being you don’t have to worry about that. That’s why I’m here.”

Fiora blinked, caught off guard by the way he said it—so matter-of-fact, like it was simply a given that he would protect her. A warm feeling flickered in her chest, though she quickly smothered it with a huff.

“Well, good,” she muttered. “That’s what I hired you for, after all.”

River smirked but said nothing more.

The fire crackled between them, sending warm light dancing across their faces. The tension eased, and exhaustion slowly weighed down their limbs.

“Tomorrow,” River said, leaning back, “we start our journey to Montevio. It’ll be 10 tough days, but if you really want to make use of those noble connections, that’s where we have to start.”

Fiora nodded, lying down on the uncomfortable ground with a sigh. “Montevio… right.”

It was the biggest most illustrious and rich city of the Vermillia region, and Fiora would finally get to see it. The noble girl crossed her eyes, fantasising how everything might look.

With that, silence settled over the camp, the flickering flames casting their shadows against the darkened trees.

Despite the ache in her back and the lingering chill of the night, Fiora found herself smiling as she drifted off to sleep.

Maybe, just maybe, this journey wouldn’t be so bad.