The red sun burned low as the carriage rolled to a stop inside Altier's market district, its crimson light filtering through the high stone arches and casting long, bloody shadows across the bustling streets. The driver hopped down, tail flicking with relief, and turned to face Joel and the stranger.
"I don't know why," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "but when I saw you two in that forest, something told me I could trust you. That's why I let you ride. I'm not much for speeches, but… thank you. For the escort, my friends. You saved more than just my cargo."
The stranger crossed his thick arms and gave a low rumble of acknowledgment. "We thank you too," he said. Then, slowly, he reached up and removed the tiger-shaped mask.
Black and white stripes gleamed beneath the red light. Sharp amber eyes, notched ears, a broad muzzle scarred from old fights. A tiger-kin massive, regal, and unmistakably predatory.
Joel blinked. A small, surprised chuckle escaped him. "A tiger man wearing a tiger mask."
The stranger—Glain—bared his fangs in a grin. "You got a problem with that, little cub? We can always step outside and see who's stronger."
Joel laughed outright, raising both hands. "Where I came from, there's honor in not fighting a battle you can't win." He slid the battered spear into one of the Drown Long Man Desert Coat's endless pockets. "I'm not fighting you, old man. I'd just lose."
The driver burst into laughter, ears perked. "You two bicker like brothers. Even with the age gap."
He turned to Joel, expression softening. "Your papers will be ready in four days. Meet me back here—same spot. I'll have everything: passport, identification, enough to move without questions."
Joel bowed slightly, then offered a firm handshake. "Thank you."
The driver waved it off, laughing again. "You're treating me like an elder. The two of you protected my cargo maybe my life. This is the least I can do."
Glain stepped forward, towering over the rabbit-kin merchant. "You're a kind rabbit, my friend."
The driver's ears flicked. "You know my kind?"
"Yes," Glain said with a grin. "Feisty. Selfish bunch, most of them. I'm thankful you're not like that."
The driver placed a hand over his heart and smiled. "I'll take that as a compliment, then."
They parted with nods and quiet words. The driver climbed back onto the carriage seat, cracked the reins, and rolled away into the crowded streets.
Joel and Glain stood alone beneath the red sun.
Joel looked up at the tiger-kin. "What should I call you, big fella?"
"Glain."
"I'll remember that."
Glain tilted his head. "What now, little cub?"
Joel gazed north, past the towers and banners. "Still heading far north. Someone told me I'd be safe there."
Glain's ears twitched. "The lizard-men tribe? Better than most, I suppose. But things have been… tense lately. They don't take kindly to visitors."
Joel absorbed it. "How long to get there?"
"Five years, give or take. On foot, at our pace."
Joel exhaled a short laugh. Five years. In his old life, walking long distances had been a choice a way to think, to clear his head. Now it was necessity.
"Five years is long," he said. "But to you people, that's probably like a few months."
Glain leaned against a wall of red-sand brick, arms crossed. "Stay in an inn until your papers are ready. It'll make the road easier no questions at every gate. I'll help you find one."
"You're not staying in one too?"
Glain looked away, gaze distant. "I prefer outdoors. Secluded places. Like you love walking, I love the quiet under the sky."
Joel studied him. The words were simple, but the pause before them carried weight. Something unspoken—something Glain wasn't ready to share. Joel didn't press.
"I'll pay for the inn," Glain said. "Stay a few hours, then we move."
Joel nodded. "Thank you. Again."
Glain grunted. "Before that sell those Hell's Keeper parts. I know shops that won't ask questions."
Four days later.
Joel returned to the agreed spot. The driver was waiting, tail calm now. He handed over a slim leather folder—passport, identification papers, a merchant's travel writ, even a small seal of passage.
"Everything you need," the driver said. "And a little extra coin. For the road."
Joel opened the folder, scanned the forged details, then tucked it into the coat. "I already have enough," he said quietly. "Sold the fangs, eyes, hides—everything. Fifty thousand gold in the coat's pockets."
The driver's ears perked in surprise, then he smiled. "Smart. You'll need it."
They shook hands one last time.
The driver climbed aboard his carriage and rolled away into the city's heart.
Joel turned north.
A hired carriage waited—pulled not by the familiar ground dragons, but by a massive sand beast: broad-shouldered, scaled, legs thick as tree trunks. Built for the shifting dunes ahead.
The driver—a quiet, hooded figure—nodded once. Joel climbed in.
He didn't get to say goodbye to Glain. The tiger-kin had vanished into the streets the night before, leaving only a single claw-mark scratched into the inn's doorpost like a silent promise.
Joel settled against the bench, spear across his lap, coat heavy with gold and secrets.
The sand beast lumbered forward. The city gates shrank behind him.
Three months to the next village. Then more north. Five years total, maybe.
He looked up through the carriage window at the red sun—unblinking, eternal.
And smiled.
Because whatever waited out there—lizard-men, giants, war, time itself—he was still moving.
And for the first time since the void, that felt like enough.