CHAPTER 53: CHAPTER 53 - PASSING THE GATE

The caravan rolled through the narrow streets, the wheels creaking against bumpy stone. Morena and Corin had settled into one of the wagons in silence, making sure to cover their presence with boxes and goods.

Through the small gaps in the wooden frame where rat had made a path, Morena could see the faint glow of torches ahead, signaling the east produce gate, and with it, the first true test of their plan.

Two guards stood at their posts, spears upright, their faces lined with the weariness of long hours. Still, they did not mess around when it came to their work, their eyes sharply scanning around the area, cutting through the dark at the approaching wagons.

The driver spat out his chewing leaf, flicked the reins, and slowed the horses as the guards raised their hands.

"Stop. Where are you headed?"

"To the river towns."

The driver said with a grunt, his tone even, unbothered.

"Grain for the mills there. It’ll sour if it sits."

One of the guards stepped closer, torchlight dragging across the wagon’s wooden frame. His eyes lingered on the canvas flap, then flicked back to the driver.

"And why so late?"

"Coin doesn’t sleep."

The driver replied with an unbothered shrug, as if this was a common occurrence he was used to.

"The mills pay better if you bring it fast. And if you wait for dawn, you’ll find your wagons lighter. Rats and thieves don’t sleep either."

The guard grunted, clearly unimpressed, but not enough to push harder. He turned to his partner, who shrugged, more eager to see the caravan gone than to dig through sacks of grain.

Still, the first guard leaned an elbow on the cart.

"Any reason we should search it?"

The driver shrugged his shoulder once more, then spoke in a tone that indicated no guilt, as if he didn’t care if the guard bothered to search or not.

"You can be my guest if you wish, just don’t waste any grain."

A beat of silence passed, then the man stepped back.

He couldn’t be bothered to go through the hassle of searching the wagon this late at night; his shift was soon coming to an end anyway, and all he wanted to do was go home and sleep.

From what he could tell, the merchant didn’t seem suspicious.

"Move on then."

The caravan creaked forward, the torchlight fading behind them. Morena let out a slow breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

By the time the city wall shrank behind them, night had stretched deep, the road ahead bathed in moonlight. The wagons rumbled steadily, the horses keeping their pace.

The stone path of the city had turned into packed dirt, and for them, it was much rougher. Occasionally, they would hit a rough bump or stone on the path, causing the boxes to shift and their bodies to move.

Corin stayed hidden in the wagon, but the occasional soft curse could be heard by the nearby Morena as he complained about the constant moving. Yet he never dared to be too loud.

They didn’t speak to each other. Words now would be foolish; they didn’t want to draw any attention to the wagon, and they didn’t want anyone else in the escort knowing of them.

By the time the horizon softened from black to pale gray, the buildings of the nearest town rose ahead. The caravan rattled past the gate without question, no guards here eager to stop merchants bringing coin with them.

When the wagons slowed in the yard to unload, Morena shifted in the back of the wagon. She lifted the canvas just enough for Corin and herself to slip out.

The driver pretended not to notice, and no words passed between them.

They stepped aside into the shadow of a storage shed.

"This is where we part."

Morena’s voice was quiet, steady.

"You’ll rejoin the wagon after dawn. With this."

She held out the token, the faint burn mark still catching what little light there was.

Corin reached for it, but she didn’t let go.

"But first there’s a price. Show me what you’ve been hiding."

His shoulders stiffened and his brow furrowed in confusion.

"What?"

"The leather tube. And your satchel. You’ve been holding back more than you’ve admitted."

His mouth tightened into a frown, and his grip on the items tightened, as if afraid she would take them by force.

"You think I’d hand you everything I bled for? You already saw enough."

She pulled the token back into her palm.

"Then I think you’ll enjoy walking to the border on your own."

His eyes snapped to hers, anger and fear twisting in equal measure.

"You’d strand me here?"

"Strand you? You got here because of me. Don’t forget, you would’ve died in that city without me. Cutting you off here is a generosity of itself."

She explained, her voice stern, leaving no room for denial. She never helped the man out of the kindness of her heart; he knew that, and he knew that eventually a price would come.

"I don’t need your scraps. But I won’t risk my house, my men, and my name for half-truths. I don’t want to take them. I want to see them. That’s all. Refuse, and you’ll be on your own from here on."

The silence stretched, broken only by the clatter of the caravan unloading nearby. Finally, with a curse under his breath, Corin pulled the leather tube free. His fingers lingered on it a heartbeat before he handed it over.

"Shit, you’re worse than a thief. Fine, but only looking, you can’t have them."

Morena nodded and took the tube, pulling out what was hidden within.

A parchment, made out of some sort of skin-like paper.

She unrolled the parchment, her eyes moving carefully across the scratched symbols, diagrams of circles, notes in a hurried but careful hand. She placed her palm lightly against the page.

’AI.’

[Listening.]

’Record everything. Translate what you can. Note methods, experiments, and how he described the sensation of energy.’

[Recording. Analyzing.]

As the AI did its task and saved the entire parchment, her gaze flicked to the satchel at his side.

"All of it."

He hesitated again, then dropped it with a scowl.

Rolling her eyes at the man’s attitude, she paid it little mind. After all, she too would be angry if she was forced to show her life’s work to a stranger to survive.

Instead, she focused on the satchel, and more importantly, the information in it.

Morena sifted through the worn pages and scraps: fragments of copied letters, sketches of shifting forms, lines of commentary about energy, how the man went about feeling it, his failures, his dangers, and even notes about information he learned.

It was everything the man had failed to mention, everything he had not written in the journal he sold. Notes on failed attempts, trials and errors, successes, and even ways he did his tricks.

She read without speaking, the AI scanning every page into memory. Finally, after a few minutes of going through everything, she received a welcome notification.

[Everything has been stored and separated into multiple separate files: Energy Theories, Rudimentary Spells, Misc Notes, Experiment Notes. Would you like to go through them now?]

’No need, I will go through them when I return. In the meantime, go through the information we just received and verify its integrity by fact-checking it with other data. Also, confirm that I can use this.’

[Analyzing.]

Morena closed the satchel and handed it back.

"As I said, I won’t take them. But now I know."

He snatched it, glaring.

"Satisfied?"

She opened her hand, letting the token fall into his palm.

"Now I am."

For a moment, neither spoke. The morning light caught the edges of his weary face, shadows deep under his eyes. He looked at her like a man seeing both salvation and threat at once.

"Maybe trusting you was more risky than the church, but there is no other choice."

He muttered.

"You got what you wanted, and I got what I wanted. It seems to me we’re both satisfied."

She turned away, cloak pulling close around her.

"With that, let’s part ways here. I hope you have a good life, and we never meet again."

Corin watched her leave without moving, standing there in silence as he listened to her words. He too hoped that this would be the last time they saw each other, hopeful that by this time next week, he would already be across the border.

Morena, on the other hand, would make her way back to the city before nightfall and use the information she had just gathered to take on another step.

Hopeful this time, it would be a path she could not only strive along, but thrive on. For her, while the path of a warrior had been a goal previously, it was now one she struggled to stay on.

At least this time she had more options.