Chapter 63 The Road and the Wagon

Kai woke to silence.

Not the silence of peace, but the smothering hush that follows violence. The trees around him were split and broken, jagged trunks jutting up like ribs from a carcass. The earth bore scars where roots had been torn loose, and the smell of burnt wood and old blood lingered faintly in the air. He pushed himself upright, his body groaning as if it had been left for years instead of hours.

His hand curled around something in his palm. A pendant. Cold against his skin, though it must have been clenched there the whole time. He didn’t remember where he’d gotten it, or why he was holding it. Only that it mattered. His thumb dragged across its worn surface, searching for memory, but none came.

Feelings lingered, though. Ghosts of them. A warmth in his chest for… someone. More than one. Faces wanted to take shape in his mind, but each time they blurred away before they could settle. Whoever they were, he was sure they were important. That absence hurt more than the bruises throbbing through his ribs.

But he couldn’t stay here.

Kai forced his legs beneath him and stood. The world tilted, then steadied. He looked down at himself—his shirt torn and streaked with dirt, but there, stitched faintly into the fabric, one word: Kai. It was all he had. His only name.

He began to walk.

The forest stretched endless in every direction. Shafts of pale morning light filtered through broken boughs, touching the fog that clung low to the earth. His boots crunched across fallen branches. Every mile pressed down on him, but he kept moving. He didn’t know where he was headed—only that standing still felt like dying.

Hours passed before the trees loosened their grip, giving way to a dirt road. Ruts cut deep by wheels. Claw prints where talons had pressed into mud. Signs of life. He followed it, dragging his feet until the sound of creaking wood and leathery wings folding low reached him.

A wagon rolled into view, pulled not by horse but by a wyvern. The beast was smaller than the war mounts Kai faintly recalled, scaled in patches of dull bronze and gray. Its wings were bound close to its sides with harnessing straps, and it walked with the steady plod of something long broken to labor. Each step pressed talons deep into the earth, the tail swaying behind like a counterweight. Its breath steamed in the morning chill.

The man holding the reins slowed as soon as he caught sight of Kai. He was broad-shouldered, with a weathered face and a trimmed beard that had gone more salt than pepper. His eyes narrowed, not unkindly, more in concern than suspicion.

“You need help, stranger?” the rider called.

Kai opened his mouth. Nothing came. His mind was a haze. Finally, he glanced down at his chest, fingers brushing the stitching. “Kai,” he said, his own voice sounding foreign. “That’s all I know.”

The man raised his brows. “That so? Well, Kai, I’m Elijah. This here’s my wagon. My wife and girls are in the back. We’re headed to the next town over—looking for a place to settle. If you’re going that way, you’re welcome to ride up front with me.”

Kai hesitated. He didn’t know this man. Didn’t know himself. But the road ahead stretched empty, and his body was failing. He gave a slow nod.

Elijah tugged on the reins, and the wyvern huffed, lowering its head before coming to a halt. Its tongue flicked out between sharp teeth, tasting the air, then it stilled. “Climb up, then. No sense in walking when there’s space to sit.”

Kai pulled himself onto the bench beside him, the wood creaking beneath his weight. The wyvern shifted and resumed its stride, the wagon wheels crunching against the dirt in rhythm with its talons. Behind them, voices carried—a woman’s soft murmur, children laughing in whispers.

Elijah glanced sideways. “Don’t take it wrong, but you look like hell. Not much more than the rest of us, I suppose. City back there’s gone sour. Guild of Adventurers raising too much dust, throwing their weight around. Causing unrest. Even the beastfolk are talking about leaving.”

The word stirred something in Kai. Beastfolk. It scratched against the fog in his head, tugging at memory—but like the faces, it slipped away before he could hold it. He stared forward, the road stretching like a ribbon through the forest.

“Poor beastfolk,” Elijah went on, shaking his head. “They don’t deserve it. Hard enough living the way they do without people shoving them around, talking about relocation like they’re cattle. Me, I’m poor too—but at least I don’t get spit on for being what I am. At least I’m human.”

Kai’s hand tightened around the pendant. The words dug at him, not because of what Elijah said, but because something in him resisted it. The fog in his head pressed harder, as if fighting to reveal a truth he wasn’t ready to see. He looked down at his own hands, his calloused palms, the scars crisscrossing his skin. They felt familiar, yet strange. As though they belonged to someone else.

Elijah clicked his tongue and urged the wyvern faster. Its wings twitched against their bindings, as if remembering sky it could no longer claim. “Town ain’t far now. You can come with us, rest a while, get your bearings. Whatever storm left you out here, you’ll be safer under a roof than under the trees.”

Kai gave a short nod. It was all he could manage. Words felt heavy. The pendant weighed heavier still.

The road stretched on. Birds shifted in the canopy. Sunlight broke stronger as the day wore forward, but the cold in Kai’s chest didn’t ease. He couldn’t shake the sense that somewhere behind him, something—or someone—was missing.

He just didn’t know who.