On the Road

Haruki sat in the small inn room, staring at the wooden beams of the ceiling as the candle beside him burned low. Sleep came, but there was little rest. When he closed his eyes, he saw the blue castle, the Wizard’s cackle, and the darkness of the forest leading him to freedom. When he opened them, he saw nothing but the plain wooden boards, the faint cracks in the old tavern’s walls, and yet his chest felt just as tight.

He tried to tell himself this was just another dream, a very long dream. But the ache in his ribs was real. The taste of the bitter herbs they’d given him was real. The strangers of this fantasy world – that was also real.

The next couple of days passed quickly. Bruk returned with his usual cheer. He brought a pack with food and water, pressed a folded map into Haruki’s hand, and set down something heavier:

A sword.

Haruki hesitated before picking it up. It wasn’t ornate or glowing with magic – merely steel, straight and sharp, with a simple crossguard and leather-wrapped hilt. Ordinary, and that was what unsettled him. In his world, a sword was history, a museum piece. Here, it was an expectation. A tool. A weapon he was meant to carry.

Something he would soon be forced to use.

“You’ll need it,” Bruk said simply, handing him the belt and sheath.

Haruki nodded, though his grip felt clumsy and wrong. The weight of the blade seemed to say, you belong here now, even if every bone in his body wanted to protest otherwise.

Bruk shouldered his bag and smiled, though there was a weariness in his eyes.

“I can’t go with you. Got some business in the other direction. But roads are safe, built by good folk. Keep to them, and you’ll reach Goldspear without trouble.”

Goldspear – the name of the capital. The place he would be going to. There was a certain weight in that name that seemed to push against his back like a burden of expectation. He had little clue what truly awaited him at this city. Answers? Power?

Or what he wanted most at the moment – safety.

Haruki tightened his pack and stepped outside. The morning air smelled of dew and woodsmoke, and beyond the clustered rooftops of the town, the road stretched on like a ribbon cutting through hills and fields. Bruk smacked him on his back one last time.

“We’ll meet again, I’m sure of it,” he said. “The world’s big, but it has a funny way of bringing people back together.”

Haruki tried to smile. He wasn’t sure if he believed that, but he wanted to. With a final wave, he turned toward the road and began walking.

The roads flowed gently through low hills and scattered trees, the sun was warm but not oppressive. Haruki walked with his head down, clutching the strap of his pack like it might steady his nerves. Every step on the dirt path felt like a small act of defiance against the gnawing uncertainty inside him. For a while, he let himself believe Bruk’s words – that the roads were safe, that this land, though foreign, could be trusted at least where civilization’s hand had left its mark.

Up ahead, he noticed a lone figure approaching. A woman, dressed in a plain traveling cloak, carrying a basket tucked against her hip. Nothing extraordinary, just a civilian. Their eyes met briefly as the distance closed. She gave him the faintest of nods, a quiet, polite acknowledgment of another traveler. He tried to mirror it, though his return nod felt stiff and awkward. For a moment, he felt relief: not a monster, not an enemy, just a person. The simplest kind of encounter.

But as they drew nearly level, the brush beside the road shook. Haruki froze. From the treeline, figures burst out.

Small, wiry shapes with mottled green skin and jagged teeth glinting in cruel grins. Goblins. Four, maybe five of them, brandishing crude blades and makeshift clubs.

“Fresh meat, boys! Get ‘em!”

“Yeehaha!”

Their eyes darted greedily between him and the woman, but their sneers carried no hesitation. Immediately going for the both of them.

“Take the girl, she’ll be good for the market.”

“Kill that boy. His pouch looks heavy.”

“Gold, gold, gold!”

Haruki’s chest tightened. His hand flew to the hilt of the sword at his hip, but the gesture was clumsy, weak. His fingers fumbled against the leather wrapping.

And in that heartbeat of panic, every heroic thought shattered.

The woman gasped, stumbling back, clutching her basket like it might shield her. Haruki stumbled too – but in the opposite direction. He fell, knees hitting the dirt, palms scraping the ground. His voice burst out, ragged and humiliating.

“TAKE HER! NOT ME! TAKE HER!”

The words tore from his throat…

And he did not stop them. Nor did he want to.

His body curled in on itself, trembling, forehead almost pressing to the dirt. He felt the sword dragging against his leg, heavy and useless, as if mocking him for ever thinking he could wield it.

The goblins barked in their guttural tongue, jeering at his collapse, pointing at him with their crooked blades like he was already prey caught in the snare. The woman stared at him in disbelief, her eyes wide not just with terror of the bandits but with horror at the stranger who had just traded her life for his without hesitation. Haruki could feel it, that judgment burning into him even as he cowered.

In that instant, he realized something far worse than danger: he wasn’t the hero of this world. He was its coward.

Its clown. The fool.

Just when the goblins were about to close in – blades in hand, foul foam in their mouths – something else in the distance stirred.

A sound not of clashing steel nor goblin laughter, but a sudden rush of air, followed by a flash of orange and gold. From the treeline burst forth a figure.

She stood there confident on the tree branch far above, her hand already aglow with a searing light.

A young woman, no older than Haruki, short hair falling in windswept strands that framed a sharp, determined face. The hair shimmered a bright silver color, catching the daylight like a blade’s edge, and her eyes burned an impossible blue, piercing and cold, so at odds with the heat building in her palm. She wore light leather armor that hugged her frame – sturdy, but not cumbersome, the kind meant for agility.

The young woman carried no weapon at her hip – for she did not need one.

The goblins shrieked as she came closer, and in a fluid motion she threw her arm forward. Fire roared to life in her palm, bright and molten, and with a flick of her wrist it hurled outward, engulfing the first goblin in a column of flame. He was knocked all the way back toward a large stone, cracking the surface with the heavy impact.

The others hesitated, snarling:

“What are you waiting for? Kill the bright one!”

But it was clear, their crude confidence had wavered by this sudden, radiant fury.

The young woman’s movement was swift and trained, though also carrying a strong edge with every strike. Fire licked up her arms like tame serpents, dancing at her command, and with each movement of her fingers another jet of searing flame shot forth, bursting against green flesh, sending the goblins tumbling back into the dirt with charred bodies.

Haruki could only watch, slack-jawed and sprawled on the ground where he had been groveling. His wide eyes reflected her every move, every flare of fire against her hands, every goblin falling before her with a scream.

Her power was terrifying, and yet there was a grace to it, a balance between destruction and precision. No wasted strikes, no wild bursts. She fought as if the fire was an extension of her body – like muscle, like breath.

Finally, only one goblin remained. It staggered back, blade trembling in its grip, looking between its burning comrades and this strange girl who wielded this living flame. She raised her hand one last time, and the fire did not merely burst outward. Instead, it bent, shaping itself, curling and hardening into form.

A blade of pure flame, now shimmering into existence.

Long and thin, its edge rippling with heat. With a single step forward, she swung. The fire-sword hissed as it elegantly cut the goblin, the creature’s body glowing with heat before he was lit ablaze, leaving behind a huge slash wound that refused to cease burning.

The goblin fell unconscious – the last of the danger now past.

And finally – the blade dissolved instantly back into sparks, scattering into the air.