Five stars, wouldn't travel again

Corin flopped into the cart like a fish on dry land.

“Celestia~,” he said, like he was trying it on for size.

She flinched. Not outwardly — just enough to feel it in her spine. That name belonged in school registers and courtroom summons, not here.

“How’s the bump-wagon treating you?”

She blinked. “The what?”

He thumped a palm against the cart’s side. “This thing. Official name’s ‘mobile splinter dispenser,’ but we just call it the cart.”

Tia snorted. “I’m doing fine. You?”

Corin gave her a thumbs-up. “Still got all my limbs. Balthan didn’t glare me into dust. That counts as a good morning.”

He flopped down across from her, beside Rika. She sat with one boot propped on the edge, tail flicking idly behind her, chin resting in one hand as she watched the passing grasslands. She didn’t look their way, but her ears twitched – still listening.

Right. Dog person. But calling her that felt… reductive. Especially with those amber eyes in the morning light.

Corin leaned in, curiosity dancing in his eyes. “So, Celestia~”

“Tia,” she corrected, automatic.
“You always say it like that,” she muttered.

“Like what?”

“Like it’s not my name. Like it means something else,” She said.

“It does,” Corin replied, brows raised. “It’s one of the old names. One of the high ones – Gods or saints or… I don’t know, holy people.”
He leaned back against the rattling crate. “Nobody really uses names like that. Not unless they’re making a point.”
Then he shrugged. “Maybe your parents just had a weird sense of humor.”

He blinked, suddenly sheepish. “Sorry. It’s just… it’s kind of a loaded name, you know? Celestia’s not exactly your average neighbour.”

“Yeah I figured that much. Thanks,” she said, trying for dry – not defensive.

That’s when Rika cut in. “So, Tia. Where is home for you? And… do you know where you're heading next?”

Tia hesitated, bracing against a bump in the road. “That’s a big question.”

“We’ve got time.” She gestured at the rolling horizon. “Not much to do until lunch unless you’re planning to nap… or throw up,” she chuckled.

Tia hugged her knees. “I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t even really know where I am. I just kind of… landed here. Woke up. That’s it.”

“You’re not from the coast, are you?” Corin tilted his head.

“She’s not from anywhere near here,” Rika said, more curious than skeptical.

Tia looked at her, “How can you tell?”

She shrugged, voice calm. “It’s just little things. Your clothes. Your words. How you hold yourself.”

“Huh. Guess that’s fair.”

Then Corin fished out a wooden-leather card – hand-carved, worn smooth with age, and stamped with a faint metallic crest that shimmered gently in the morning sun. Something about it tugged at Tia’s memory.

“Ta-da!” He held it out like a prize. “My Binding Mark, stamped by the Guild Circle, filed with Seeker’s Hall – all proper and boring.”

Tia blinked. The script was strange – half-symbol, half-word – but under his name, one line stood out:
Pathbound: Royal Guard – First Circle.

He grinned somewhere between proud or annoyed. “Got it when I was ten. Been stuck with it ever since.”

“...Like a school ID?”

Corin made a face. “It’s like a fate license. It’s supposed to tell you where you belong – what you’re meant to be. Everyone gets one.” He nodded at Rika. “Hers is way cooler – Court Mage, Third Circle.”

What–“Mage”? And what’s with those circles?

“And Balthan’s?” Rika added with a smirk, “That one’s a state secret”

From the front of the cart, Balthan chuckled like it was inevitable.

Tia muttered, “Of course everyone has a job.” Then, louder: “So… what happens if you don’t have a card?”

Corin blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Like, if you… never got one. Somehow.”

Rika tilted her head. “Most villages, even tiny ones, file by twelve.” She added gently, “It’s just… how it’s done.”

A beat. Corin leaned forward. “Wait. You don’t have one?”

Tia hesitated. “I… maybe? I mean. I don't have one on me. But I think I saw one once. Somewhere.” She tapped her chin, frowning.

Ugh, Déjà vu. Where did I see one?...

“My village is tiny, and I still got one,” Corin said quickly. “A boring one at that… Just the usual. Farm duty. Nothing special.” He grinned, but it felt a little stiff.

Then, after a beat too long: “Wish I could lose mine and pick whatever. Magic is way cooler~”

With a dry chuckle Tia asked, “What do you mean by magic? Like that look-I-lost-my-thumb trick? Because I’ve got that one down.”

Corin and Rika both stared at her.

Not in offense. Not in disbelief.

Just… baffled. Like she’d asked if water was a government conspiracy.

“…You’re joking, right?” Corin asked.

Tia blinked. “What?”

Rika tilted her head, brows lifting. “You’ve never seen magic before?”

“I mean – no? Not real magic. Like, actual magic-magic?” She gestured vaguely. “With sparkles and chants and fireballs and whatever?”

Corin looked at Rika. Then back at Tia.

He leaned forward, squinting like she might be pulling a really long con.
“You seriously don’t think magic is real?”

Tia opened her mouth. Closed it.
“I just… haven’t seen any.”

Corin’s expression lit up.
“Well then.” He grinned. “Let me fix that.”

Slightly annoyed Rika sighed, though her tone stayed soft. “Corin, you promised you wouldn’t show off again-”

But he pulled out a small wand anyway.

Tia clearly confused as he began to speak weird incantations and waved around his stick.

Then she caught some words from the two up front.
Vesh spoke again – quiet, clipped. “You heard the name.”
“Celestia,” Balthan murmured. “Not a coincidence.”
Rika didn’t seem to hear – or she was pretending not to.

Tia turned her attention back to the boy chanting some strange spell.
Soon small sparks erupted out of thin air, like he had some invisible sparklers from new-years.

“What the fuuuck.”

Tia leaned back, as if the sparks might leap at her.
They didn’t. They hovered – slow, weightless – trailing faint lines of gold before winking out like dying stars.

She stared at them. At Corin. At the space between his hand and the air.
“You just…” She swallowed. “That just happened.”

“Cool, right?” Corin said, clearly trying to stay modest and failing spectacularly.

Rika rubbed her forehead, now more amused than annoyed. “Really smooth, Corin. Let’s see if she ever trusts us again.”

“I showed her something new, it’s the first spell you showed me too, remember?” he corrected, beaming. “That’s education.”

Tia pointed. “You did actual magic. You – how?! I thought that was just stories. Or like, metaphors or something. You’re not wearing runes or crystals or even a dumb pointy hat-”

“I’d rock a pointy hat,” he said with confidence.

“Be serious,” Rika said. “Magic isn’t a party trick. It’s studied. Learned. Regulated.”

“And,” Corin added, “for people like me, forbidden.”

Tia turned to him. “Wait, what?”

He held up the wand again, then quickly tucked it back into his belt like it might bite him.
“Yeah. I’m not supposed to be learning this stuff. Royal Guards aren’t trained in magic. We’re supposed to hit things. Be strong. Be stoic. Serve with honor, blah blah destiny, blah blah oath.”

“But you want to learn it, right?”

Corin gave a crooked smile. “More than anything.”

Tia frowned. “Then why not just… do it?”

Rika blinked. So did Corin.

Tia shifted, suddenly self-conscious. “What? It’s a genuine question.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Rika said quietly. “But there are consequences, Tia.”

“Yeah, well,” Tia muttered. “Maybe there shouldn’t be.”

Tia stared, reaching out to the air where they’d just fizzled out. “I thought… I don’t know what I thought. I didn’t think it’d be real.”

He grinned.
“Bet you feel kinda silly now, huh?”

“Corin,” Rika’s voice was soft, but firm.

Tia didn’t answer. She just looked past the cart rails, out where the sky kissed the far grasslands.
“If magic is real…”

She paused, trying to pull the right question out of her chest.

From the front of the cart, Vesh and Balthan spoke in low tones. Tia couldn’t catch the words, but now and then she saw Vesh gesture back toward her, thoughtful, almost wary. Balthan’s voice was harder to hear – slow, gravel-soft – but he didn’t look surprised. Kethra plodded along steadily. Her massive shoulders rolled with each step

Tia narrowed her eyes. Were they talking about her?

...Probably. She’d be doing the same.

“…What can it do? I mean, really?”

Corin whole face lit up
“Anything! Fireballs! Healing! Some folks can even levitate!”

His joy was contagious – but not exactly helpful.

Rika chuckled, ears flicking with the motion. Tia caught the faint flush on Corin’s cheeks, then turned back to Rika.

“There are two ways to cast,” she explained. “Most people learn through schools. Then there are rules. Boundaries. Magic can shape. Bend. Heal. But not simply undo.”
She gave a crooked smile. “But yes – you can shoot fireballs.”

Tia’s thoughts spun.

If this was real… then maybe she wasn’t trapped. Maybe – with enough of this magic bullshit – she could escape this place. Go back.

A single match lit somewhere inside her –
just one.
But it caught on something dry.

She tried to sound casual.
“So… can you control someone’s mind?”

Rika raised a brow.
“It’s possible. Dangerous, illegal, but possible.”

“What about time?” Tia asked, eyes narrowing. “Backwards? Forwards?”

The match flared brighter.
“Could you… move across worlds? Or teleport home?”
Her voice dipped without her meaning to.
“...Even if home’s not on a map?”

Rika inhaled like she might answer – then stopped.
Tia’s last question hung in the air, unanswered.

“Hmm, what? What do you think, Rika?”

No one rushed to speak. Not even Corin.

She glanced up, expecting a laugh or some exaggerated “well technically” – but Rika had gone still, eyes locked ahead. Balthan sat rigid, one hand on the reins. Even Corin had stopped bouncing.

The silence didn’t settle. It coiled.

Tia turned on her spot – and saw it.

What remained of the cart barely resembled one. Splintered wood. One axle cracked straight through. The canvas covering had been shredded down to flapping ribbons, stained rust-red. Claw marks scarred the sides like some monster had raked through it. A wheel lay ten feet away, gnawed open like a fruit rind.

No bodies.

Just a boot. A child’s doll. Dried blood in long drag lines.

Tia’s stomach churned.

She opened her mouth, closed it. Not even the wind seemed to breathe.

They passed the wreck in silence, the cart’s wheels crunching over gravel in what sounded like old bone.
Tia hugged her arms around herself.

That could’ve been them.

That could’ve been her.

Torn open, bones scattered across the road. Forgotten. Eaten by things that didn’t leave names.

The cart rolled on.

Tia didn’t know how long they rode in silence.

Her thoughts circled the ruined cart like vultures – the boot, the doll, the blood.

The wreck vanished behind them, but the silence didn’t.

They kept moving through roughening terrain – grass now shorter, flecked with stone and stubborn patches of thistle. Overhead, clouds shifted, no longer soft or harmless. Some hung heavy, bruised at the edges, threatening rain but never committing.

Tia sat with her arms folded, watching the landscape shift. For a moment, the glowing arch, the one that hummed at the edge of knowing, slipped from her mind.
Then she realized it wasn’t gone – just hidden. Smothered behind a cloudbank and distance like a ceiling painted over.

With the clouds thickening, hiding the sun and sky alike, the forgetting felt deliberate – as if the world were tucking it out of sight.

She couldn't see the arch, but she felt it all around, inside her bones.

A gentle, pressing wrongness. A reminder.

She was still here. And this wasn’t home.

Somewhere up ahead, a river murmured, winding fast and cold through the hills – a clean, steady break in the silence

They passed a lone arched bridge – narrow, crumbling at the edges, built for people long gone.

It was the first sign of real civilization. And then it, too, was behind them.

The sound of the water faded. The silence came back…

Then the smell of broth. The soft clatter of cloth being unpacked.

Lunch.

Someone dropped a crate with unnecessary force. Tia flinched at the crack of wood.

Kethra snorted and scratched her scales with a lazy grunt.
Somewhere nearby, birds chirped like nothing had ever gone wrong.

The broth had been cooking for some time, but it didn’t smell the same as this morning’s.
The meat sizzled faintly over the fire – familiar, but joyless.

Balthan handed Tia an extra hunk of drybread. It felt like a rock in her hands, just extra weight.

He didn’t say anything – just gave a nod. A quiet one, but not cold.

It didn’t help much. But she noticed.

Tia mumbled, “Thanks,” then poked her stew like it owed her money.

Balthan ladled it out, one wooden bowl at a time. No words. No jokes. Not even a sigh of effort.
Only when everyone else had been served did he take his own and sit, folding low beside the fire.

Tia sipped. Watery broth. Overcooked root. Tough meat.
She forced it down with loud gulps, like swallowing something jagged.

It had tasted good before – she remembered thinking that.
But maybe that was just the adrenaline. Or denial.

Now it tasted like the world was wearing her down. One bite at a time.

“Balthan,” Corin said, raising his spoon with exaggerated suspicion, “you slip up the herbs today?”

It was too light. Too fast. Like a balloon let loose in a funeral.

Balthan didn’t answer. Just gave him a flat look – not angry. Just… done.

Corin’s smile wilted. He lowered his spoon, letting his arm drop back to his side, shoulders folding inward like he wanted to shrink out of sight. He didn’t say anything else.

The silence felt heavier now, not lighter.

Rika sat beside Tia, setting her own bowl down untouched.
Her hand rested gently on Tia’s shoulder – warm, but trembling faintly.

“Are you alright?” she asked, voice barely louder than the wind.

Tia didn’t look up. “Yeah. I’m fine…” she murmured.

Neither of them believed it. But Rika didn’t push.

Across the fire, Vesh sat cross-legged at Kethra’s flank.
He bowed his head briefly, muttering something in a language Tia didn’t know.

A quiet blessing. Or a farewell.

“For those taken too early,” he said, mostly to himself.
Then he began to eat.

Balthan took one bite. Chewed.
His brow creased.
He looked into his bowl like the fault lay in the broth, but didn’t say anything.

Tia caught it – the faint twitch of his jaw. A quiet frustration.
Not just with the food.

He stirred it once, sighed through his nose, and kept eating.

No one asked for seconds.

When the bowls were empty, they stayed seated, staring into the fire or at their hands.

The silence wasn’t heavy anymore.

It just… lingered.

Eventually, someone stood. Cloth rustled. A pot clinked against a crate.
The quiet sounds of packing began – slow, reluctant.
Like no one wanted to be the one to break whatever moment had just held them all still.

Tia didn’t help.
She just climbed into the cart and sat back down in the same spot, arms around her knees, chin to chest.
She didn’t offer to fold blankets or stow gear. Didn’t meet anyone’s eyes.
She just waited.

Corin noticed first.
“You, uh… taking the day off? No help at all?”
He offered a half-smile, unsure if it would land – but winced even as he said it, already regretting it.

His tone wasn’t cruel. Just confused.

She offered a tiny, lopsided smirk – but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Balthan straightened from tying down a crate.
“Let her be,” he said gruffly, with a glance at Tia.
Then, quieter, almost a sigh:
“Just for today.”

Corin blinked. Nodded. And went back to packing.

No one said anything else.

Soon, the cart lurched back into motion. Every bump a small punch to the gut.

She peeked through her folded arms.

Tia spaced out. Time slipped past like a half-remembered dream. The land blurred – green, then grey, then nothing but shadow.

When the sun finally set, it wasn’t gentle or golden. It just sank. The sky dimmed like a dying screen, clouds swallowing the last of the light.

The air cooled. Someone handed her a blanket – coarse, scratchy, smelling faintly of burnt herbs and lizard hide.
She thanked them, but maybe she didn’t say it out loud.

So she just curled on the wooden planks, arms wrapped around herself, eyes half-lidded.

Sleep didn’t come.

Her thoughts spun – around the wreck, the blood, the arch. Around home.

She slipped her phone from hoodie and cupped it in both hands, shielding it like a flame. Just a little glow. Just enough.

Old messages. A group chat full of birthday memes. A missed call from her mom.
She hit redial. Listened to the hollow ring. Nothing.

The clock, at least, was more or less aligned now.
But the battery...
13%. She stared at it. Then turned it off.
Every percent felt precious.

The boards dug into her back. The borrowed blanket scratched. Her ribs ached. Her brain wouldn’t shut up.

Tia kept hoping she’d wake up. But this wasn’t a dream anymore.
The soup had been too hot. Her fingers too numb. The blood too real.

No bed.
No T-rex plushie.
No mom.
Just the stars. The cart. The monsters out there. The arch. The girl named Celestia.

Kethra snorted nearby, like she’d been listening the whole time.

Tia pulled her coat tighter. Watched the sky.

And waited for sleep to come. If it ever would.

And in the dark she waited.

Still here. Still not home.