The last crate scraped softly against the gilded floor as Luke slid it into place with a low grunt. His breath hung lightly in the dry air, fogging slightly against the golden lacquer that covered the new wargon's spacious inner walls. The smell of metal polish, baked parchment, and something vaguely floral still lingered—leftovers from whatever mysterious process had formed this wargon. Strange symbols pulsed faintly on the wooden beams like living ink, and the wheels, adorned with spiraling, interlocking glyphs, gleamed like sunlit obsidian, whispering of ancient rites.
One by one, they trickled in—Kairo, brushing dust from his sleeves; Vivy, adjusting the strap of her pack; and Liora, who stood in the middle of the space with her arms crossed, eyes flicking from corner to corner. It was bigger inside than it had looked from the outside—a distorted geometry, maybe, or some magic folded into the very walls. The ceiling curved slightly overhead, veined with thin threads of gold and etched diagrams that shimmered when viewed from different angles.
Liora's boots echoed as she made her way to the center of the floor, and she paused.
Her brows knit together."...Nymei?"
There it was—Nymei, sprawled flat on it back on the floor like a corpse in the middle of a ritual site. Its body rose and fell softly with each breath, smoke-like wisps leaking lazily from the seams of its form. Its limbs were tangled, its hair a snowy halo around it, and its mouth slightly agape.
Liora knelt, brushing aside her cloak, and poked at Nymei's cheek with two fingers. The girl's skin was warm—too warm, in fact.
She opened her mouth."Wak—"
Before the sound could even finish escaping her lips, Nymei's eyes snapped open, glowing faintly with a violet haze, then dimmed just as quickly. It crawled backwards—like a startled cat—dragging its blanket with it and curling into a corner like it was a nest.
"I can't sleep there?" it muttered, voice groggy, syllables slurred like the last breath of a dream.
Liora exhaled sharply, standing. Her expression was a mix of frustration and worry."Because you were sleeping on something important, you gremlin."
Nymei blinked slowly, as if trying to process this. Its fingers curled lazily into its own hair."What's so important about the floor?" it asked, one eye almost shut again.
"Just—stay awake first. We need you right now."Liora's voice was sharper than usual, but not cruel. There was urgency in it, and that tone alone made Nymei sigh.
"Whatever..." Nymei muttered, its entire body slumping like she'd just been asked to carry the sun itself.
At that moment, Vivy, Luke, and Kairo finally stepped inside, brushing off the dust and weight of the move. They looked around, noting the subtle glow from the sigils along the walls and the ambient hum that seemed to vibrate through the air like a waiting heartbeat.
Kairo was the first to speak."You called us?"
Liora turned on her boots and pointed at the floor—at the place Nymei had just been laying. The shimmering text was still there, curling around itself like some living script, glimmering faintly in hues of silver and green.
"This. Do you know what it means?"
Kairo and Luke stepped forward. Kairo crouched low, squinting. Luke knelt beside him, brushing a finger across the text but not touching it. The symbols rearranged subtly as they looked on, like they were shy of being understood.
Meanwhile, Vivy didn't even stop walking—she headed straight for Nymei in the corner, her long coat trailing behind her like smoke. Without any hesitation, she grabbed Nymei by the ankle and began to drag it back across the floor.
"Wh—Vivy—?" Nymei whined, eyes wide in shock. "Stop—stop dragging me, lady!"
"You're not sleeping through this," Vivy snapped, throwing her down—not hard, but definitely not gently—right next to the glowing text. "Take a look. Can you read it?"
Nymei groaned, slowly rotating its head to glare at the writing like it had just offended it. One eye half-open, it stared in silence for several long seconds. Then, in a voice that was suddenly sharp, precise, and eerily clear, nymei said:
"The Wargon needs an owner."
The room fell into silence.
Kairo and Liora both blinked, visibly startled. Luke's lips parted slightly, his brow furrowed in focused confusion. Vivy just crossed her arms, cocking an eyebrow.
"The... wargon needs an owner?" Kairo repeated, voice low.
"That's what it says," Nymei answered, its voice muffled as it rolled back onto its side. "Now that you've disturbed my slumber, may I be allowed to die in peace?"
"Wait—" Vivy yanked her back again, this time gripping nymei's neck."What language is that?"
Nymei tilted its head lazily and yawned. "I don't know. It's hard to read. Easy to forget. Any old language is possible. So many languages, you'd cry trying to count them."
"How can you read it then?" Luke asked sharply.
Nymei gave a crooked grin, teeth flashing for a moment."You forget, gentleman, I am Vel'kyren. I still am. I might have passed through some places where that language was used as the main language, so I remember it."
That silenced them again. The golden lacquer on the walls flickered briefly—almost like it was listening.
Luke turned toward the strange glyphs once more. His thoughts churned, mind threading together this puzzle piece with the dozens of unspoken pieces he'd been collecting.
The Wargon needs an owner... But what does it mean? Not a driver. Not a rider. An owner.Something more binding... more intimate.
A chill ran through his fingertips.
Liora's eyes hadn't left the floor. "If it needs an owner, then... what happens if it doesn't get one?"
Nymei let out a dry chuckle, barely more than a breath."Guess we'll find out," it whispered, before flopping fully onto its back again.
The wargon creaked softly around them as if listening—its strange shimmering walls humming with latent warmth, the ever-present golden lacquer shimmering with delicate patterns that seemed to breathe.
Vivy stepped in, her boots tapping softly against the strange metallic wood beneath her. Her tone was more serious now, sharp like a quiet blade. "Take your time and collect your memories properly," she said as she grabbed Nymei's shoulder firmly—her fingers digging in, but not cruelly. Just enough to jolt her. "Get it right."
But before the moment could tense further, Nymei vanished with a flash of mist. A soft poof, like smoke evaporating in the air. The air where it stood shimmered like heat over desert stone. A second later, it reappeared—sprawled out in a far corner of the wargon, resting on its side like a lazy cat who refused to be disciplined.
"Oh my, lady," it whined, its voice teasing and worn thin with sleep. "I told you I'm trying. You gotta give me a lot of time. These old memories—especially mine—they're like... like fish hiding in murky water. Every time I reach, they slip away."
Vivy gave her a pointed stare, her crimson eyes narrowing. Her neck bent slightly to the left in a long stretch, one hand rubbing the stiffness out. "Fine," she sighed. "Take as much time as you need."
She walked off, shoulders squared, and positioned herself quietly near Luke. Her eyes stayed locked on Nymei for a second longer, a quiet intensity in them that never quite faded.
Kairo, leaning against one of the side walls, crossed his arms and tilted his head thoughtfully. "Maybe…" he said slowly, eyes narrowed at the glyph on the floor. "Maybe if we say the phrase, it'll work?"
That caught all of their attention.
Luke raised a brow. Liora straightened up slightly. Vivy glanced over her shoulder. In near unison, they asked the same question, voices overlapping:
"The phrase?"
Kairo scratched his cheek sheepishly, chuckling under his breath. "Yeah. You know... that phrase." He looked away quickly, a bit of red in his ears. "I don't wanna say it out loud, but we're all thinking the same thing, right?"
Silence fell for a beat too long.
Then, Vivy spoke with a teasing smirk, "You mean—I want to be your owner, that kind of phrase?"
Liora followed, nodding slightly. "It makes sense. That's what the inscription said, didn't it? The Wargon needs an owner. Maybe it's not just a message—it's a trigger. An incantation. A pact."
The air in the wargon felt thicker now—charged with tension, possibility, maybe even a hint of magic. Somewhere in the walls, the golden lacquer twitched again—like golden veins pulsing beneath a thin skin.
"Then it has to be Luke," Liora continued, her voice calm but absolute. "There's no doubt."
Kairo nodded quickly. "Yeah, I mean... come on."
Vivy didn't say a word, but the flick of her gaze toward Luke was more than agreement. It was confirmation. Trust.
Luke looked at them, face unreadable, though his shoulders tensed slightly. He didn't speak right away. Instead, his eyes drifted across the strange symbols on the floor, tracing each curve and stroke as if they could whisper back. Then his hand rose, brushing lightly through his own hair before he let out a soft, rueful sigh.
And then, without fanfare, he stepped forward, stood square with the glyph, and spoke clearly, voice low but sure.
"I'll be your owner."
The silence that followed was deafening.
They waited.
One second. Two. Three. The air didn't change. No glow. No hum. The strange golden lacquer didn't stir. The wargon stayed exactly the same.
Vivy's lips pressed into a tight line. Kairo shifted uncomfortably. Liora's brow creased, hand lowering slowly from her mouth.
"…Well," Kairo muttered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, "guess that's not how it works."
Luke's hand came up, covering his face. His fingers dragged down slowly, drawing breath through them. "Right," he murmured through clenched teeth. "It can't be that simple."
A bitter chuckle escaped him, almost too soft to hear.
His thoughts tumbled like gears grinding in a clock. Was it supposed to accept me? Did I miss something? Or is it... rejecting me?
The golden glyph remained unchanged. Silent. Cold.
Somewhere behind them, Nymei let out another exaggerated yawn and flopped fully onto its back.
Luke didn't respond. He was staring at the inscription again, now from a crouch, his hand hovering just above it—feeling for warmth, vibration, anything.
But there was only silence.
And something, just under it all, beginning to stir.
A quiet tension still hung in the wargon's shimmering air like the last breath before a storm. The golden lacquer along the walls continued its soft, pulsing glow—no brighter, no dimmer. Luke stood at the center of it all, his hand lowering slowly from his face, eyes fixed on the silent glyph etched into the floor. His mind was racing, unsatisfied, unwilling to accept failure.
Then he murmured, almost to himself, "Alright… I'll try something else."
The others glanced at him. Liora blinked. Vivy turned her head slightly, the quiet sound of shifting leather accompanying the motion. Kairo raised an eyebrow from where he stood near the wall, arms crossed in wait.
Luke reached into his coat—his fingers calm, but his breath shallow with determination. From one of the inside pockets, he pulled out a small folding knife. The blade flicked open with a click. Cold. Clean. Familiar.
"What are you doing?" Vivy asked, voice taut.
But Luke didn't answer—not yet. Instead, he extended his left hand and dragged the blade smoothly across his palm, just below the base of the fingers. It wasn't a deep cut, but it bled immediately. A vivid crimson welled up, warm and thick.
Kairo flinched. "Luke—!"
Liora took half a step forward, hand outstretched. "Wait—!"
Luke simply clenched his fist, letting a single drop of blood fall onto the glyph inscribed on the floor.
It struck with a sizzle.
The air snapped with a crackling hiss, like lightning trapped in a bottle. The glyph on the floor pulsed red for a moment—then moved, shifting rapidly, each symbol reshaping into something new. The letters twisted, writhed like living things, transforming from one form of script to another in an instant too fast to read.
The entire wargon trembled, the strange lacquered walls shivering with energy. The light deepened—colors sliding from gold to a deep, luminous crimson before returning to their original hue. And then—
The newly formed text rose from the floor, slow and surreal, glowing and spinning. Glyphs floated upward like dust motes in the sun, impossibly complex, each letter gleaming with ancient power as it hovered in the air.
The symbols coalesced into a narrow spiral, drifting toward Luke—then into him.
There was no flash, no dramatic explosion.
They vanished into his chest like breath into lungs.
Luke stood there motionless, eyes wide but not panicked. His hand lowered. The blood had stopped flowing.
The glyph was gone.
Everyone stared at him in stunned silence.
Kairo was the first to break it. "Are you okay?" he asked, voice uncertain but low, cautious. "Luke?"
Luke's eyes slowly refocused. He looked down at his palm—the wound already closing, the skin knitting together faintly like it had never been split. Then he turned his gaze to the floor where the glyph had been.
He took a breath, then gave a small nod.
"Yeah," he said. "I'm fine. I think… this is how it was supposed to be."
His voice was calm. Too calm. But his eyes still flickered with a strange light—uncertainty wrapped in quiet awe.
Liora and Vivy immediately approached, moving around him like twin shadows. Their footfalls echoed gently against the strange material of the floor—neither metal nor wood, but something eerily in between.
Liora's hand went to Luke's wrist, gently turning his hand over to inspect it. "Is there anything weird with your body?" she asked, her voice filled with concern, brows furrowed deeply. "You feel anything… change?"
Vivy leaned in closer, her crimson eyes narrowing as she searched his face. "Any visions? Pain? Memories?"
Luke shook his head slowly, his hair falling lightly across his forehead. "No. Nothing. Just… like something clicked into place."
Liora visibly exhaled, her shoulders relaxing. "Good," she said. "Thank the miracle."
She stepped back, brushing her auburn hair behind her ear, her expression softening.
"Seems like we can finally continue," she said with a faint, hopeful smile. "We should move now, right?"
Vivy, still looking at Luke for a moment longer, finally turned away and nodded slowly. But there was something else behind her gaze—unease, maybe. Not quite fear. Thoughtfulness. Calculation.
"I think so," she said. "Let's just be ready for anything."
Kairo, still near the far side of the wargon, scanned the interior—the curving walls, the storage shelves, the ambient glow, the strange wheels humming with faint energy as if they, too, were sentient. Everything looked calm.
The tension had passed, for now.
He let out a long sigh, his voice barely a murmur. "Alright…"
He walked to one of the rear corners of the wargon, tucked himself into the broad cushions that lined the side like a half-bench half-bed, and shut his eyes. The air was still, warm. Almost too warm. Sleep crept up his spine like a lullaby.
But then—
"No," came Luke's voice, sharp and certain, cutting through the quiet like a blade through silk.
Kairo's eyes opened again, reluctantly.
Luke was standing again, near the center of the room. His hand was no longer bleeding. His expression had hardened into something else—conviction etched into his brow.
"There's still one thing I need to talk about."
Liora turned to him, one brow raised. "What is it?"
Vivy's eyes immediately narrowed, like she was preparing herself for a truth she might not like.
Luke looked down at his hand again. Then toward the floor. Then slowly up toward his companions.
His voice was low, slow, deliberate.
"It's about that shopkeeper"