Sleep offered little rest, only a restless tumble through anticipation and half-formed plans. Aren found himself awake long before the first hints of dawn painted the sky, the excitement for the Silon mission buzzing under his skin like a low-grade current. He swung his legs out of bed, the stone floor cool beneath his feet. A long sip of water from the heavy, dumbbell-mug helped clear the lingering fog of sleep.

  He dressed quickly in the sturdy travel clothes laid out the night before. From beneath the thin mattress, he retrieved the oilskin pouch containing Lycas’s crude maps and the message for Baron Falstone. He also pulled out the reassuringly heavy coin pouch, tucking both securely inside his tunic. Everything else should already be loaded onto the cart.

  The earliest rays of sunlight were just beginning to streak the horizon with pale gold and rose as Aren slipped silently from his room. He moved quietly through the sleeping castle corridors. His footsteps were muffled – a subtle trick he knew from Earth to make less noise.

  He emerged into the main courtyard just as the world was waking. The air held the crisp chill of early morning. By the massive castle gates, the promised cart stood ready. It was a compact, sturdy vehicle, its contents shielded by a thick canvas cover stretched over wooden hoops. Harnessed to the front were two powerful animals, a peculiar crossbreed Aren hadn't seen before. They possessed the solid build and height of horses but the long ears and distinct muzzle shape of mules – 'mule-steeds', perhaps? They snorted plumes of steam into the cool air, shifting impatiently.

  Servants darted around the cart, securing final bundles and checking ropes under the watchful eyes of a couple of castle guards whose breath also misted in the dim light. Standing slightly apart, conversing quietly, were Theron and an older man. This must be the merchant. He had a weathered face, etched with the lines of sun and wind exposure, and wore practical, well-worn clothes suited for travel. Probably in his late forties or early fifties, Aren guessed.

  Theron, spotting Aren approaching, broke off his conversation and gave a wave. Unlike the formal guard uniform Aren had seen him in previously, Theron now wore simpler traveler's garb – sturdy trousers, a leather jerkin over a plain tunic, much like Aren's own attire. A short sword hung at his hip, and a longbow and quiver were slung across his back.

  "Good morning, Sir Aren," Theron greeted respectfully as Aren drew near. He gestured towards the merchant. "This is Milo. He is the master of this cart, and we shall be joining his run south to Silon."

  Aren turned to the older man, offering a polite nod. "Good morning. A pleasure to meet you, Milo. Thank you for allowing us to travel with you."

  "An honor, Sir Aren!" Milo's weathered face split into a smile. "A noble joining my cart run! We don't get that every day. Good to have you." He chuckled, a rough sound. Then his expression brightened further. "My nephew, Finn, he's been practically vibrating with excitement to meet you. Hey, Finn!" Milo bellowed towards the cart's covered interior. "Stop hiding like a field mouse! Come out and greet Sir Aren properly!"

  The canvas flap at the front of the cart rustled, and a boy's head popped out, followed quickly by the rest of him as he hopped down onto the cobblestones. He looked to be around fourteen or fifteen, with a spray of freckles across his nose and bright, curious eyes that immediately fixed on Aren. He hastily straightened his simple tunic and offered a slightly clumsy bow.

  "Pleasure to meet you, Sir! I'm Finn." His voice cracked slightly with youthful eagerness.

  Aren shifted slightly, unsure how to respond to the boy's open admiration. Before he could say anything, Theron stepped in smoothly.

  "Sir Aren, all supplies are loaded. We are ready to depart whenever you are. Please, make yourself comfortable inside."

  With final farewells waved to the remaining servants and guards, the small group settled in. Milo clucked to the mule-steeds, taking the reins, while Finn scrambled excitedly back onto the driver's bench beside him. Theron indicated for Aren to enter the covered section first. Aren ducked under the canvas, finding the space surprisingly roomy, filled with neatly stacked crates and bundles smelling faintly of dried herbs and dry clay. His own backpack rested near the back. He quickly stored the oilskin pouch and Lycas's coin purse deep inside it, relieved that no one seemed interested in his luggage. Theron followed him in, settling opposite him on a cushioned crate, his posture relaxed but alert.

  With a lurch and the creak of wheels, the cart began to move. It rolled across the vast, echoing courtyard and passed under the formidable arch of the main gate. The guards offered salutes as they passed. They trundled down the main thoroughfare of Stormia, the streets still mostly empty in the early morning quiet, the sounds of the city just beginning to stir. At the southern gate, the city guards glanced at Milo and waved them through without hassle.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The journey to Silon had officially begun.

  Inside the cart, the rhythmic bumping and swaying set a steady tempo. Theron sat quietly, eyes closed, yet Aren could sense he wasn't sleeping. The man seemed almost uncannily aware, his stillness radiating a focused attention. Listening? Probably.

  The silence didn't last long. The canvas flap beside Aren was pulled aside, and Finn poked his head in again, his eyes wide with barely contained excitement.

  "Sir Aren," he began, his voice hushed but eager, "is it true? Did you really beat that Tier Three Enhancer back in the library using just skill? Without any Ether?"

  "Finn! Don't just blurt things out like that, you fool! Where are your manners?" Milo's frustrated voice drifted back from the driver's bench.

  Aren waved a hand dismissively. "It's quite alright, Milo." He offered Finn a small smile. Such pure, unfiltered curiosity. Reminds me of my grandson asking endless questions. "Though the story seems to have grown a bit taller in the telling," Aren admitted. "I certainly didn't beat him. My ordinary strikes barely registered. It was General Valerian who arrived and dealt with the situation."

  Finn's eyes widened even further, if possible. "Whoa! General Valerian himself! I heard he's so fast he can jump clear over Stormia!"

  "Don't be spreading ridiculous tavern tales about the General, you numbskull!" Milo grumbled, though there was less heat in his voice this time. "Show some respect!"

  Aren chuckled softly, finding the dynamic oddly endearing. Yeah, definitely like Daniel driving his poor father nuts. Finn, sensing Aren's amusement rather than annoyance, took it as encouragement, completely ignoring his uncle's sputtering.

  "Are you learning to use Ether now, Sir Aren?" the boy pressed on.

  "I am," Aren confirmed. "That's the main reason for this trip, actually. I heard Silon has an academy with a unique approach to Ether training." This was his cover story, after all. Best to stick to it.

  Milo, apparently resigned to his nephew's interrogation, chimed in from the front. "Ah, the Silon Academy. Aye, there's such a place. Seen plenty of hopefuls heading there over the years." He shook his head slightly. "Met fewer coming back successful, mind you. Hear their entrance trials are brutal. Weeds out most before they even start proper lessons."

  Good to know. Aren filed the information away. Time to subtly probe his companion. "Speaking of Ether," he said, turning his gaze deliberately towards the still figure opposite him. "Theron, are you an Ether wielder yourself?"

  Theron opened his eyes. They were calm, steady, and direct. "I am, Sir Aren," he replied evenly. "Tier Three Observer."

  "Observer?" Aren echoed, feigning simple curiosity while his mind instantly kicked into high gear. Observer? What the hell is that?

  "My affinity enhances my senses, Sir," Theron explained calmly. "Hearing, sight, perception of my surroundings. It allows me to detect potential threats or anomalies from a distance. Unlike Enhancers who focus on physical strength, or Accelerators who prioritize speed, my abilities are more suited to scouting and vigilance."

  Great. Just fantastic. Aren kept his expression neutral, but inwardly he groaned. My escort isn't just a competent guard; he's a bloody radar station. Slipping away to find Cato at the Golden Ursai just got exponentially harder. How am I supposed to sneak around a casino looking for a washed-up gambler when my companion can probably hear a coin drop across the city? This mission required subtlety, discretion. Having a human sensor watching his every move was a complication he hadn't anticipated. Plan B just got a Plan C appendix.

  As the conversation shifted to Milo's stories about his encounters on the road, Aren moved towards the back opening of the cart, pushing the canvas aside slightly to let in the fresh air and sunlight. He sat on the edge of the tailgate, letting his legs dangle, watching the landscape unfold as they traveled south.

  The scenery was beautiful, in a rugged, untamed sort of way. Rolling green hills stretched out on either side, dotted with clusters of dark forest in the distance and occasional small farmsteads nestled in the folds of the land. The road itself was a wide ribbon of packed earth, winding its way through the countryside. The air smelled clean and sweet, a mixture of sun-warmed grass and the fertile scent of turned soil from nearby fields. He could hear the rhythmic creak of the cart's wooden wheels, the jingle of the harness, the steady plodding of the mule-steeds, and the cheerful whistling of birds in the hedges lining the road. Occasionally, a warm breeze would stir, carrying the buzzing of insects or the faint bleating of sheep from a far-off pasture. It was peaceful, but tension still knotted his stomach.

  He overheard snippets of conversation from the front – Theron quietly asking Milo about the road conditions ahead, potential bandit activity, secure places to camp for the night. Milo answered with the practical knowledge of a seasoned traveler, dismissing most dangers in Stormborn lands.

  Aren watched them, listening idly. Milo seemed reliable, if a bit grumpy towards his nephew. Finn was clearly eager but harmless. Theron… Theron was the wild card. Professional, loyal to Darius, and equipped with senses that could make Aren's secret activities incredibly difficult. I need to figure out how sensitive he really is. And how dedicated he is to watching my every single move.

  The sun climbed higher, warming his face. The initial excitement of departure settled into the steady rhythm of the journey. Silon was still days away. Days to observe his companions, refine his flimsy plan, and figure out how to navigate the gilded cage of the Golden Ursai with a walking surveillance system by his side. This, he thought, gazing out at the seemingly endless hills, is going to be interesting.