The Eastern Road

It may not be the best one, but at least it’s quite promising for us.

The morning we left the Whisperwood was draped in a thin, grey mist, as if the forest itself was reluctant to let us go. The scent of damp earth and old leaves clung to the air, an aroma that should have been calming, but to me, it was merely another set of sensory data to be filed away. Asverta, with an almost unnerving efficiency, had already prepared everything for our departure. Mu, on the other hand, practically vibrated with a quiet excitement, his white eyes gazing eastward as if he could already see the distant, unknown city. A ridiculous contrast. Foolish joy, in the face of an inevitably disappointing reality.

"We're heading east," Asverta's voice broke the silence, her snow-white eyes fixed on me. "A big city. Lenspear. We need supplies, and I have a few errands to run. Perhaps even meet some old friends."

Old friends. The words hung in the air, meaningless. What use are friends in a world that will eventually betray you or be taken from you? Every connection is merely a rope that will eventually tighten around your own neck. Still, I said nothing. I just gave a small, insignificant nod. This journey was simply a shift in variables in an endless game I never asked to play.

"Don't think so much, Mori," Asverta smiled faintly, as if she could hear the cold machinery of my thoughts. "Sometimes, it's enough just to observe. This world has its own way of teaching you."

I merely observed. Mu carried his small bag, bouncing lightly with every step, as if the burden of existence had never touched him. Asverta, her purple robes gently fluttering, walked ahead, leading the way. We left the false tranquility of the cabin, heading towards a path that promised more chaos.

The trail gradually widened, transforming from a faint indentation among the trees into a more frequently traveled path. The air changed, carrying the scent of burning wood and, occasionally, the faint tang of scorched metal. Signs of civilization, or at least, signs of human intervention.

Hours passed, and the landscape began to change drastically. The dense forest thinned, replaced by more open grasslands, dotted with rolling hills. In the distance, thin plumes of smoke rose, not from village hearths, but from something larger, more ferocious.

"Look at that, Mori," Asverta gestured with her chin towards a thicker cloud of smoke on the horizon. "Signs of life. Or, more precisely, signs of conflict."

"A logical assumption," I replied, my voice flat. "Conflict is the most common form of human interaction on a large scale."

She glanced back at me, a flicker of amusement in her white eyes. "You say that as if you're not one of them."

"I am an observer of the system," I stated. "Not a participant in its flaws."

She just chuckled, a soft, melodic sound that seemed out of place in this broken world.

We approached an area that looked like a small, recent battlefield. The ground was scorched, several trees toppled, and the faint, coppery scent of dried blood still lingered in the air. There were no corpses, only the remnants of a hastily cleared battle. A torn flag, with the emblem of an eagle clutching a sword, lay on the ground, trampled in the mud. A new faction. A new conflict.

"Bandits?" Mu asked, his voice slightly trembling as he moved closer to Asverta's side.

"More than that, Mu," she replied, her eyes sweeping the surroundings with a practiced, analytical gaze. "Bandits are disorganized. This was a tactical engagement. Look at the blast patterns. That was magic. And the footprints... these belong to armored soldiers."

I observed. Patterns of violence. Shallow motives. Humans, in all their foolishness, always found reasons to destroy each other. A tiresome spectacle, yet unavoidable. I saw different footprints, inconsistent attack patterns. Not just bandits, but organized groups with differing tactics. Perhaps more than two factions had fought here. This world was an absurd stage play, and we were merely incidental spectators.

Soon after, we encountered a group of travelers. They were merchants, their heavy cart's axle snapped, its contents spilled across the dusty road. Their faces were pale masks of fear and exhaustion. One of them, an old man with a gray beard and desperate eyes, approached us, his hands held up in a gesture of peace.

"Mercy, travelers," he pleaded, his voice hoarse. "We were set upon. Not by bandits... by Knights. Royal Knights. They took our supplies, claimed it was for the 'war effort'. Said we were lucky they didn't conscript us."

Theft, rebranded as patriotism, I thought. Einar's voice was a cold, precise whisper in the back of my mind. A common tactic in failing states.

"The road ahead... dangerous," the old man continued, his gaze flicking nervously past us. "They're fighting the Arcane Order. A big battle just over that ridge. We barely made it out alive. The world's gone mad."

Royal Knights. Arcane Order. New names, new factions. A narrative growing more complex, yet its essence remained the same: a futile struggle for power. The old man didn't ask for help, merely warned. Asverta nodded, a faint, unreadable smile on her lips. "Thank you for the information, sir," she said, her voice calm and reassuring. "May your road ahead be safer."

We continued our journey, leaving the merchants to their fate. I noted the information. The "noble" Knights were no different from common thieves. Their struggles, like all struggles, would eventually end in defeat for one side, or perhaps both. A meaningless cycle.

As the sun began to dip towards the west, the silhouette of a large city became visible in the distance. Its walls rose high, piercing the twilight sky, far larger and grander than Raven. A golden light emanated from countless towers. A center of power, a nest of intrigue.

"That is Lenspear," Asverta said, her voice calm. "The largest trading city in the east. Governed by the Merchant Council, but the influence of other factions is strong there too. An interesting place, Mori. Full of opportunities... and dangers."

Opportunities? Dangers? Merely variations of the same illusion. I contemplated the new fragments of reality gathered from this journey. The fragmented chaos of conflict, the looming shadow of inevitable threats in the coming city. The "game" felt increasingly complex, increasingly tedious. Yet, I kept walking. For what else was there to do?