A Difficult Journey

The morning chill drifted through the stone courtyard of the Ravencourt mansion like an invisible mist. Servants hurried between trunks, crates, and rushed instructions. The house’s emblem — the raven in flight — fluttered on the tall banners, watching everything with its eternal rigidity.  The carriage was already waiting ahead, dark as pitch and adorned in gold. Its flawless details contrasted with the gray sky.  Lysielle approached with measured steps, wrapped in a black cloak that brushed softly against the ground. Liora followed behind her, holding a small trunk in her hands. Behind them, the head butler walked in silence, a discreet shadow.  “Twelve days’ travel from here to the capital, my lady,” said the butler, gesturing for the nearby maids to finish bringing the young lady’s luggage.  She stopped beside the carriage. For some reason, she hesitated before climbing in. Before entering, she turned quickly and looked back at the Ravencourt mansion one last time. In one of the windows, she could see her mother watching her departure — and for the first time in years, she felt warmth in her chest.  Her mother.  Lady Elowen stood wrapped in a dark cloak, her severe yet beautiful face not quite as severe that day.  She didn’t wave. She didn’t smile. She simply watched.  But Lysielle understood.  That simple presence was enough. She wasn’t the type of woman who cried or said goodbye… so just being there, silent, was the rarest and most precious declaration of all.  The young woman turned and climbed the carriage steps. Her lips curved into a brief smile. Small, but genuine.  The door closed with a soft click, sealing her away from the outside world.  “Jasmine leaf tea, milady,” said Liora sweetly, offering a cup.  “Thank you…” murmured Lysielle, still gazing out the window.  Outside, the escort captain was already organizing the riders. Garrik, a man with a stern look and a well-kept beard, raised his hand and gave the signal. The horses moved in unison, and the carriage began to roll. The sound of wheels over the damp stone echoed through the gates as they left the Ravencourt estate behind.  The journey stretched for days. They crossed open fields, tall forests, and uneven roads. As they advanced, the weather changed — cold mornings, humid afternoons, and a soft rain that never seemed to stop completely.  In every town they passed, the people looked with respect. Some bowed to the crest. Others simply watched in silence, as those who recognize power from afar.  By the third afternoon, the convoy reached the city of Lorveil. The cobbled streets were full of merchants, peasants, horses, and children running about. The air smelled of fresh bread and iron.  The carriage slowed before a sturdy inn built of dark stone and old wood. A metal sign swung in the wind with the name: The Broken Shield Inn.  Garrik dismounted first. He entered the hall, where a weary-looking innkeeper was wiping the counter with a worn cloth.  “Good afternoon,” said the man, forcing a smile. “Rooms for how many?”  “We are ten. We need five rooms. Hot water, meals for six, and a stable for the horses,” Garrik replied directly.  The man paused, assessing the captain’s uniform.  “That would be fifteen silver coins.”  Garrik crossed his arms.  “We are ten, but only five will sleep. The rest will be on watch. Nine coins.”  The innkeeper scratched his chin.  “That doesn’t cover the firewood. The city’s crowded these days. And there’s the hay for the animals…”  “Ten coins. Include a hot bath and a hearty meal for Lady Ravencourt,” Garrik countered — firm, yet polite.  The man thought for a moment, then nodded with a sigh.  “Fine. Ten coins, then.”  “Good.” Garrik handed over the coins precisely.  While the soldiers unloaded the belongings and the horses were led to the stable, Lysielle watched from the upper room’s window. Liora was already arranging her clothes over a dark wooden chair.  “The bed looks comfortable,” commented the maid.  “For now, everything’s a little too calm,” murmured Lysielle, her gaze still fixed on the city below.  “Are you worried about something?”  “I’m just being cautious.”  Liora approached her with a silver comb.  “Would you like me to brush your hair?”  “Yes, please.”  As the maid carefully brushed her short white hair, the wind from the open window carried the sounds of horses, voices, laughter, and footsteps. The city felt alive. The road so far had been calm… too calm.  But Lysielle could feel it — a presence, a premonition. The calm before the fall. And deep down, she knew: she was farther from home… and closer to the unknown.  After gently finishing her hair, Liora set the brush aside with a satisfied smile.  “I’m heading to bed first. Goodnight, Liora,” said Lysielle softly as she nestled into the mattress.  Auri, as if understanding his welcome, floated up beside his mistress and settled next to her. Lysielle didn’t hesitate to wrap him in a tender hug, resting her cheek against his small, warm body.  “You know... I’ve been so worried,” she murmured, almost in a whisper, gently stroking his tiny wings — “but I believe… good things can still happen…”  “I’m grateful… for you being with me…” she whispered, her eyes growing heavy.  And so, wrapped in the soft silence of night and the quiet warmth of her little companion, Lysielle drifted into sleep.   ---  The next morning, sunlight crept lazily through the window, streaking the wooden floor in gold. The cozy scent of freshly baked bread and rose tea floated through the air, warming the room with a motherly touch. Lysielle was still curled under the blankets, softly hugging Auri against her chest like a child lost in a peaceful dream.  The inn’s bed was surprisingly soft for a roadside place, and that rare comfort made her drift back to sleep for a few minutes.  When she opened her eyes again, Liora was already there — a bright morning spirit balancing a tray perfectly, wearing that impossibly cheerful smile she always had so early.  “Good morning, young lady! I brought fresh bread and hot tea!”  Lysielle stretched lazily, rubbing her eyes with gloved fingers. A small yawn escaped her lips as she tried to orient herself.  “Hnng… thank you, Liora…” she murmured sleepily.  But as she reached across the bed, searching for Auri with her hand — her expression changed. Empty sheets. No sign of the little fairy.  “Huh? Where’s—” she stopped mid-sentence.  She’d already noticed. Something… was moving in Liora’s neckline.  The noblewoman slowly raised an eyebrow, her face tightening with suspicion. Before she could say anything, Liora noticed the look — and, in the most unconvincing act of all time, casually crossed her arms in front of her chest… trying to discreetly push whatever was there further down. Too discreetly.  “Liora…” began Lysielle, her tone flat. “What’s that… in your cleavage?”  “H-Huh?! Cleavage?” Liora brought a hand to her chest, forcing the fakest surprised face in the history of acting. “There’s nothing here! You must be seeing things!”  The tiny golden head of Auri peeked briefly out from between the fabrics, blinking innocently with his sparkling eyes.  “~pih…” he chirped.  Lysielle froze. So did Auri. They stared at each other for one long second.  Then, like a criminal caught red-handed, the little spirit dove back down with a panicked “~pih!” — disappearing into the neckline as if it were his personal hiding spot.  Lysielle’s expression shattered. Her elegant posture was gone. The noble composure gave way to a feral spark in her eyes.  “IS IT EVERY DAY WITH THIS?!” she exploded, jumping out of bed with messy hair and a crooked pajama.  “Liora…” she said in an eerily polite tone — the kind that comes right before a storm — “…would you like to explain why MY SUMMON is… there?”  She advanced like a walking storm, while Liora took a step back, tray trembling in her hands.  “W-Wait! It’s not what it looks like! He— he went in on his own!!” she tried to justify.  “Uh-huh.” With two firm fingers and no ceremony, Lysielle plucked Auri out of the maid’s dress like someone retrieving stolen candy from a stubborn child. “Caught you red-handed, little delinquent.”  Auri wriggled, squeaking “~pih! ~pih!” in pure embarrassment.  Lysielle tied him to the bedpost with ribbons, as solemn as a judge passing sentence.  “You’re staying there. And you’re going to think very carefully about what you’ve done.”  She stared at Auri for a few seconds. Then turned her gaze — slowly — to Liora, who now smiled with the fragile politeness of someone trying to hide a crime under the rug.  “You really thought… I wouldn’t notice?” asked Lysielle, dangerously calm.  “Me? Never, milady! I-I swear I didn’t know he was there! He must’ve— teleported on his own! Spirits are like that, right? Full of surprises… heh…” Liora said, her smile nervous and trembling.  A brief silence followed.  Liora’s eyes darted toward the door. A drop of sweat slid down her temple. Subtly, she adjusted her feet on the floor. Blinked once. And looked at the exit.  Another beat of silence.  Then—  “I’M JUST GONNA CHECK SOMETHING OUTSIDE!” she yelled, sprinting like the devil himself was right behind her.  “Don’t even think about it,” murmured Lysielle, narrowing her eyes and rising from the chair.  Half a second later, a hollow THUNK! echoed through the room.  Liora collapsed to her knees where she stood, a fresh bump forming on her forehead.  She didn’t even react — just knelt there, hands on her head, eyes watery.  “I just wanted to play with him a little… ouch…” she muttered, rubbing the bump to ease the pain.  Lysielle returned to her seat, sighing, and picked up a warm piece of bread from the tray. She bit into it slowly, dignity almost restored — almost.  “I honestly don’t know which of you is the bad influence on the other.”  Auri, tied to the bedpost, gave a resigned:  “~pih…”   ---  Half a day’s ride away, on the road to Lorveil…  A cold morning breeze swept gently through the fog-covered path, as a young man with dark blue hair and eyes as black as night rode calmly on his horse. His long hood covered part of his face, and his eyes seemed distant — almost bored.  “Hey, kid!” shouted a man up ahead, flanked by two others. “You gotta pay a toll to pass here.”  The other two laughed, drawing their weapons arrogantly.  The boy merely stopped his horse and looked up slightly.  “Is that so?…” he said in a flat, almost lazy tone.  A while later, he was wiping the blade clean before sheathing it again. The sound of hooves returned to a calm rhythm.  “Dear diary, I met three bandits today…” he murmured, writing as he rode leisurely.  Behind him, the bodies of the three men lay sprawled across the road.  “One was level 6, the other two level 5. They had some money… and food,” he continued, smiling faintly while swinging a small sack of supplies in his right hand.  He brought the quill to his mouth, biting it lightly — thoughtful, content.  “I was getting tired of eating only potatoes…”  The horse suddenly jolted, stepping on a loose stone.  “Hm?”  The food sack slipped from his hand.  “Wait… no…!”  He tried to catch it, but it rolled off the edge of the road — and in a second, disappeared down the cliff.  The boy froze. Just stared at the empty space where his food had vanished.  His expression outwardly calm and serene, but inside…  “Damn road…” he thought, as a single, silent tear slid down his cheek.