Qein said, "Oh…" His voice trailed off like he had started to say something but lost the thread.
Mella looked at him curiously before turning her attention to Andrew. "I thought you looked up to your brother."
Andrew leaned on his words slightly. "I do, but Mason left to live in Virgehelm with his girlfriend a long time ago. Left me stuck with that depressing family."
Mella raised an eyebrow. "That must've stung. From the way you talk about him, it sounds like he mattered to you."
"He did," Andrew said. "He was the only person in that village I respected. The only one worth talking to. Growing up with him made the rest of it bearable."
"That's still a tough break." Mella hesitated. "Do you… resent him for leaving?"
Andrew shook his head lightly. "No. Can't blame someone for wanting a life. He did what he had to do. Can't say I wouldn't have done the same." He paused, glancing at her. "Why so curious?"
"I just wonder what it's like," Mella said. "To have someone like that in your life. Someone you'd look up to."
Andrew caught the faint wistfulness in her tone and softened his voice. "You didn't have anyone like that?"
"Hames used to be that person, but you know about that..."
"Yeah..."
Qein asked, "He's dead?"
Mella almost scoffed. "I hope he does die. He's a bastard."
"Oh. I see I see."
The low hum of an engine broke through the stillness.
The jeep in the distance slowed, then came to a stop near them, revealing a man clad in rugged gear with goggles pushed up onto his forehead.
The jeep had an industrial, steampunk edge, with dark steel plates bolted together and brass pipes snaking along the hood, occasionally venting soft bursts of steam. Its spoked wheels, reinforced with thick treads, churned the dirt beneath. Polished copper fixtures lined the edges.
The vehicle stopped nearby, its engine rumbling softly.
The window rolled down, revealing a man clad in functional, dust-streaked clothing. Protective goggles rested on his forehead, and gloves covered his hands. The emblem of the nation—a gear encircling a rift crystal—stood out starkly on his chest plate. He squinted at Andrew and Mella, his gaze lingering on their armor before speaking.
"Didn't know there was a rift around here." His tone was casual, but his eyes darted warily to Qein. Then back to Andrew and Mella. Almost reflexively, he saluted, clenching a fist and tapping it to his chest. "Thank you for your service."
He began raising the window.
Andrew stepped forward, waving his hand. "Wait, wait!"
The man paused, lowering the glass slightly. "What?"
Andrew's tone was calm but direct. "Where are we?"
The man's brows drew together, his head tilting slightly. "What do you mean, where are you?" His eyes narrowed, scanning Andrew as if measuring the seriousness of the question.
Andrew glanced at Mella and Qein, then back at the man. He spoke evenly, piecing things together. "We're not where we started." The words landed with quiet certainty, his mind already moving to the implications.
The man's expression shifted to confusion, but his reply came without hesitation. "You're in Mechivar Assembly, near Ioonspire." He let the name hang in the air for a moment before adding, "You're trying to get back to…?"
Andrew's head tilted slightly as the name tugged at something in his memory. "Ioonspire," he repeated, the word feeling oddly weighted. His focus sharpened, but before he could say more, Mella stepped in smoothly.
"To Nerthudan."
The man coughed, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Nerthudan?" He gave a short, incredulous laugh. "You're from Nerthudan?"
Mella kept her response cool. "We operate there. Not from there."
The man nodded slowly, processing. "That's… far. Really far. Nobody's going to take you there directly. Closest you'll get is the border. After that?" He shrugged. "You're looking at days of walking."
Mella acknowledged the information with a crisp, "Thanks." She gestured for the others to continue.
The group had taken only a few steps when the man called out again, his gaze fixed on Qein. "Hey…" His voice dropped, muttering something under his breath.
Andrew followed the man's eyes, landing on Qein's glowing tattoos. They stood out sharply against his skin, their faint pulse unmistakable. Andrew's voice was casual but carried meaning. "That might be an issue."
Mella looked at Qein and back at Andrew, nodding. "People probably think he's a Frameborn."
Andrew smirked faintly. "Fantastic."
Qein's frown was faint. "What does that mean?"
"Flameborns are one of the most powerful families from the most powerful nation. You being mistaken for one could stir up trouble."
Qein's lips curved slightly, confidence in his voice. "So people think I'm powerful? Dope."
Mella noticed his smile, which was incredible rare. "Huh. You've got a good smile."
Qein immediately adopted his usual neutral expression, the smile vanishing as if it had never been there.
Andrew let out a quiet chuckle. "Yeah, well, everyone and their mother hates that nation."
Qein's brow furrowed. "Would I be killed for it?"
Andrew shrugged, his tone steady. "Not sure. I don't know the politics here in depth."
Mella stepped in smoothly. "I don't think so. Flameborn tattoos glow red. Yours are different."
Andrew glanced at her, his voice light but sincere. "You know, I'm kinda glad I have you with me. You always know a bit about something. Almost always."
Mella smiled slightly, a flicker of pride in her eyes. "I read a lot growing up. Wanted to join the Imperium as a kid."
Andrew raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Yeah. I wanted to be strong."
Qein thoughtful expression returning. "Doesn't that contradict what you said earlier? If Flameborn tattoos look so different, how could anyone mistake me for one?"
Mella's answer came quickly. "Most people haven't seen a Flameborn. All they know is glowing tattoos. That's enough to make them jump to conclusions—like you're mocking them."
Qein's expression remained unreadable, but Andrew caught the subtle clench of his jaw.