The sun blazed high in the afternoon sky, casting a golden sheen over the rolling hills as Niklaus trudged along the dusty path. His boots kicked up little clouds of dirt with every restless step, and he tugged at the strap of his satchel for the hundredth time, adjusting it even though it didn't need adjusting. The weight of Cindershard at his hip was a constant reminder—not just of his lineage, but of the talking sword's relentless commentary.
"Are we there yet?" Cindershard's voice chimed in, as chipper as ever. "Because I'm starting to think we're lost. And I'm not exactly designed for navigation, but even I know when we're going in circles."
Niklaus groaned, running a hand through his already tousled hair. "We're not lost. We're… uh, taking the scenic route."
"Ah, yes," Cindershard quipped. "The scenic route. Otherwise known as 'the path of utter confusion.'"
Niklaus couldn't help but chuckle, despite the gnawing anxiety that clung to the edges of his thoughts. His fingers tapped against the hilt of the sword, a rhythm that kept his restless energy in check—for the moment. The truth was, he was a little lost, but admitting that to his sword seemed like a surefire way to never hear the end of it.
As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky with streaks of orange and pink, Niklaus finally stumbled upon a small clearing by a bubbling brook. The perfect spot to set up camp—if only he had any clue how to do that.
He dropped his satchel with a thud and pulled out his tent, staring at the jumble of fabric and poles like it was some ancient puzzle designed to test his sanity. "How hard can it be?" he muttered, determination flaring in his chest.
"Famous last words," Cindershard replied dryly.
Niklaus rolled his eyes and set to work, his fingers fumbling with the ropes and stakes. He managed to get one corner up before the whole thing collapsed on top of him in a heap of fabric and bruised pride.
"Impressive," Cindershard deadpanned. "Truly, I've never seen a tent wielded with such… enthusiasm."
From beneath the canvas, Niklaus let out a muffled groan. "I'd like to see you do better," he grumbled, wrestling his way free.
"I'm a sword," Cindershard replied, "not a miracle worker."
After several more attempts—and an increasing number of sarcastic comments from his blade—Niklaus finally got the tent standing. It leaned slightly to the left and looked like a strong breeze might topple it, but it was upright, and that was good enough for him.
Collapsing onto the grass with a sigh of triumph, Niklaus stared up at the darkening sky, the first stars beginning to twinkle overhead. The mana-rich air felt cool and crisp in his lungs, a soothing contrast to the chaos of the day. For a moment, the world felt still—until a sudden rustling from the bushes shattered the peace.
Niklaus shot upright, hand flying to Cindershard's hilt. "What was that?"
"Unless it's the wind learning how to stomp," Cindershard whispered, "I'd say we have company."
Out of the shadows emerged… a goat. A scruffy, unimpressed-looking goat, chewing lazily on a mouthful of grass as if it had just stumbled into this situation and was already over it.
Niklaus blinked. "Seriously? A goat?"
"Don't underestimate it," Cindershard warned in mock seriousness. "That's the look of a seasoned warrior."
The goat ambled closer, eyeing Niklaus with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. Niklaus, for his part, wasn't sure whether to shoo it away or offer it a place by the fire.
"You think it wants some cheese?" Niklaus joked, pulling a wheel from his satchel.
"Ah yes," Cindershard replied, "nothing like offering dairy to a fellow goat. That'll go over well."
Niklaus snorted, tossing the cheese back into the bag. "You're no fun."
"I'm plenty of fun," Cindershard shot back. "I'm just not interested in being trampled by an offended goat."
The goat gave a final huff, apparently deciding Niklaus and his sarcastic sword weren't worth the trouble, and wandered off into the night.
With the immediate 'threat' gone, Niklaus settled back down, staring into the flickering flames of his small campfire. The playful banter with Cindershard was a welcome distraction, but beneath it all, the weight of his journey pressed heavily on his shoulders. The road to Talinor was long, and the unknown stretched out before him like a vast, uncharted sea.
"Do you ever get… scared?" Niklaus asked quietly, his voice barely louder than the crackling fire.
For once, Cindershard's tone softened. "Fear isn't a weakness, Niklaus. It's a reminder that what you're doing matters. But you're not alone—even if it feels that way sometimes."
Niklaus nodded, the sword's words settling over him like a comforting blanket. He might be uncertain, restless, and occasionally overwhelmed, but he wasn't without support—even if it came in the form of a snarky, talking blade.
As he drifted off to sleep, the stars above and the hum of mana in the air lulled him into dreams of distant lands, ancient magic, and the adventures that awaited.