The wagon rolled lazily down the dirt path, wheels creaking as birdsong filled the air. Inside, the tension had long melted into idle chatter and occasional laughter. Arabella leaned against the window, sunlight catching in her hair. Beatrice sat across from her, arms folded, gaze flicking between the trees and Jack, who sat beside her—half-asleep, head bobbing.
Then Howard's voice broke through from the front seat, loud and unfiltered.
"So, Jack! You got a wife back in your world?"
Jack blinked. "What?"
Beatrice and Arabella immediately turned their heads. Beatrice raised a brow. Arabella leaned in, eyes sharp with curiosity.
Howard glanced back, smirking. "You heard me."
"No," Jack replied, laughing. "Not even a girlfriend."
Beatrice scoffed softly under her breath. "Not even one?"
"I was too busy studying and… being ignored," Jack said. "Apparently, I gave off strong 'just a friend' energy."
Arabella chuckled. "That I can believe."
"Oh, thanks," Jack muttered.
Jack then pointed a finger forward. "What about you, Howard? Any special lady in your life?"
Howard straightened with pride. "Aye. Her name's Thalia. We've been together for four years now."
Jack whistled. "So you do have rizz, huh."
Howard blinked. "I have what?"
"Rizz. Like… charisma. Game. Charm. You know, the ability to pull."
"Pull what?"
"Pull girls."
"I'm not pulling anyone. I love Thalia!"
Jack burst out laughing. "No, no—it's a compliment!"
Harold let out a loud laugh from beside him. "You're speaking goblin again, aren't you?"
Beatrice shook her head, but a smile was tugging at her lips.
Jack leaned back. "Yeah, our world's weird. Actually, now that I think about it… this place feels like I'm living in the past."
Beatrice stiffened a bit. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Jack shrugged. "Just saying. No phones, no internet, no cars. Everything here's handwritten and wood-fired. It's like living in a historical documentary."
"Is that bad?" Beatrice narrowed her eyes.
"No, no," Jack said quickly. "I'm just… noticing. It's cool in its own way. Just different."
Arabella chimed in, her voice calm but curious. "So your world really has no war?"
Jack nodded. "Not on the same scale. No goblins or dragons, anyway. Sure, we've got crime, and people still fight for stupid reasons, but actual war? Nah. Most of that's history."
Beatrice stared at him. "Then why do people fight?"
Jack paused. "Power. Money. Control. Sometimes because they're scared. But… at least we don't have to carry swords just to get groceries."
Howard laughed again. "Honestly, I think I'd prefer your world."
Beatrice huffed. "I wouldn't."
Arabella smiled. "I think I'd like to visit it. Just once."
Jack raised a brow. "If we ever invent teleportation, I'll give you both a tour. First stop: pizza."
"Pee-tza?" Beatrice repeated.
Jack grinned. "You'll love it."
The wagon bumped slightly as it rolled over a patch of uneven road. Harold gave a low whistle from up front.
"Roads are smoother in the capital," he said over his shoulder.
"They better be," Beatrice muttered, shifting in her seat.
Jack stretched his arms and glanced at the two girls across from him. "Alright. Let's say somehow you two did end up in my world. What's the first thing you'd do?"
Arabella answered instantly. "Try one of your pizzas."
Beatrice gave her a look. "Really? Food? That's your priority?"
Arabella smirked. "Well, Jack said it was amazing."
Beatrice folded her arms. "I'd go to your libraries. I want to see if your world's books are as full of nonsense as your slang."
Jack gasped. "Blasphemy. We have manga."
"What's manga?" both girls asked at once.
Jack leaned forward dramatically. "It's like your storybooks… but with drawings. And it's read backwards."
Beatrice raised a brow. "That sounds terribly inefficient."
Arabella tilted her head. "Sounds fun, actually."
Jack pointed at her. "See? She gets it."
Howard chimed in from the front, "Hey Jack, do people fight using spells in your world?"
Jack chuckled. "Only in video games."
Harold looked confused. "Are those the... moving pictures you mentioned once?"
"Kind of," Jack replied. "Imagine a play, but inside a glowing box, and no one actually dies."
Arabella blinked. "So your people just… pretend-fight for fun?"
"Yup."
Beatrice shook her head. "Your world is very strange."
Jack shrugged. "Takes one to know one."
The wagon rolled into a wide, open road lined with blooming trees. The light wind carried petals into the air, dancing lazily around them.
Selvarra's voice suddenly echoed above them. She hovered in the sky, robes flowing with the wind.
"Safe travels, all of you! I'll see you in the capital!"
Jack leaned out the window and waved. "Try not to crash into a tree!"
Selvarra laughed and soared upward, becoming a speck in the sky within seconds.
Back in the wagon, silence settled in for a moment—warm and content.
Then Howard ruined it. "So, Jack. If you had to marry one of the girls inside that wagon, who would it be?"
Jack's eyes widened. "I—I'm not answering that!"
Beatrice raised a brow. Arabella smiled innocently.
"Oh, come on," Howard teased. "Hypothetically!"
"I'd rather fight another goblin horde," Jack said, slouching in his seat.
Beatrice smirked. "Coward."
Arabella leaned closer with a sly grin. "You really don't have rizz, huh?"
Everyone burst out laughing—even Harold snorted.
And as the sun dipped a little lower in the sky, the journey to the capital rolled on, laughter echoing down the road.
As the laughter died down, Jack leaned back and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.
"Okay, okay—new topic," he said, clearly desperate to steer the conversation away from the marriage talk. "I've been meaning to ask this, and I swear it's not meant to be rude or anything but… why does it seem like people here don't bathe every day?"
The wagon went quiet.
Howard blinked. Harold glanced at Howard beside him.
Beatrice raised a brow. "That's… because it's normal. We bathe during special occasions or when needed. Not daily. Water isn't something we waste."
Arabella nodded thoughtfully. "Unless you're royalty, daily baths are a bit much."
Jack nodded quickly. "Yeah, yeah, I get that. I'm not saying anyone smells bad—"
Beatrice cut him off, narrowing her eyes. "Do I smell bad?"
Jack froze. "No! That's literally why I'm asking! I mean, I don't know if it's like, something in your genetics or what, but you don't smell bad. At all. And I would know. We've been traveling together for days now."
Arabella stifled a laugh behind her hand. "Is that your way of saying you sniff us regularly?"
Jack held up both hands. "No! I'm just observant, okay?"
Beatrice looked both offended and smug. "So I smell… good, then?"
Jack sighed, defeated. "This is not where I meant for this conversation to go."
Howard leaned back and chuckled. "Man's just digging deeper."
Harold added in a rare comment, "Maybe he does have a type after all."
Jack facepalmed, groaning. "Why do I even talk?"
Beatrice leaned closer, her tone teasing. "Because you love the attention."
Jack pointed at her, trying not to grin. "You're evil."
Arabella giggled, resting her chin on her hand. "And yet you like us anyway."
As the banter carried on and the horses trotted steadily forward, the atmosphere inside the wagon stayed warm—cloaked in jokes, faint teasing, and that odd bond only formed by shared danger, travel, and way too much time stuck in the same space together.
The road to the capital was still long, but none of them seemed to mind the journey.
By late afternoon, the sun had started its descent, painting the sky in soft streaks of orange and purple. Howard eventually pulled the wagon to a gentle stop near a small clearing beside a lazy stream. Birds chirped in the distance. The air was cool, clean.
"All right, stretch your legs!" Howard called as he hopped down.
Beatrice was the first out, brushing off her dress. "If I stay in there any longer, I'll strangle someone."
Jack climbed out next. "Is it me again? It's always me."
"Maybe don't ask weird bath questions," Beatrice shot back, smirking.
Arabella followed them out, stretching her arms above her head. "Can't we have one day without you two bickering?"
"No," both Jack and Beatrice said at the same time. Then glared at each other.
Howard and Harold began preparing the camp—unloading supplies, tying the horses, and getting a fire going. Arabella helped lay out blankets while Jack gathered a few dry branches.
Later, as the fire crackled and a simple stew simmered in a small pot, the group sat in a rough circle. The stars had started peeking through the sky.
Harold handed out bowls without a word, but the others were already joking around again.
"I still can't believe you've never had roasted rabbit," Howard said, chewing. "You people in your world don't know what you're missing."
Jack squinted at his bowl. "In my world, this is the kind of meal you see on a survival show. But you know what? It's not bad."
Arabella smiled beside him. "That's the spirit."
Beatrice leaned her elbow on her knee, chin resting on her hand. "So tell us more. Your world has no wars, huh? Then what do you fight about?"
Jack shrugged. "Politics. Internet arguments. Who gets the last slice of pizza."
"Pizza?" Howard asked. "Sounds like a sword."
Jack grinned. "Nah, it's food. Amazing food. Melty, cheesy, greasy—Beatrice would probably hate it."
Beatrice wrinkled her nose. "Sounds disgusting."
"It's heavenly," Jack said. "One day, I'll make you all some."
"Is that a promise?" Arabella asked, nudging him slightly with her shoulder.
Jack smirked. "If we survive this whole capital visit, I'll invent pizza here from scratch."
Howard raised his bowl. "To pizza."
They all clinked bowls.
As the fire burned lower and the night grew quieter, the teasing died down. There was still warmth in the silence, though—a comfort in the presence of people who felt just a little bit more like family now.
Far off in the night, a lone owl hooted. The stars gleamed bright and clear, untouched by city smoke or lights.
Jack lay back, hands behind his head, staring up.
"Maybe your world isn't so bad," he muttered.
Beatrice, beside him, said quietly, "Neither is yours."
As the laughter around the campfire died down, Jack reached into the side pocket of his coat and pulled out the small, folded note Elara had given him.
The firelight caught the worn edges of the paper as he slowly unfolded it. His eyes scanned the symbols again, the same unfamiliar runes staring back at him like a puzzle missing half its pieces.
Beatrice noticed the sudden quiet beside her and leaned in slightly. "What's that?"
Jack blinked and tilted the note toward her. "Something Elara gave me. I've been trying to figure it out since Porthaven."
She scooted closer, her curiosity piqued. The firelight flickered in her eyes as she read it silently.
"…Huh," she muttered. "This isn't Eldorian."
Jack straightened. "Wait, really? You're sure?"
Beatrice gave him a side-eye. "Trust me, I've translated enough old scrolls to know. That's not our language."
Jack ran a hand through his hair. "So that's why I can't read it… It's not Eldorian. Damn. I thought I was just bad at this."
"Where'd you get it?" she asked, still glancing at the note.
"It's from Elara," he said quietly.
Beatrice's face shifted ever so slightly. "Of course it is. Elara again."
She stood up abruptly and turned away, brushing off her cloak.
Jack raised an eyebrow. "Wait—are you jealous or something?"
Beatrice stopped mid-step and looked back at him, expression unreadable. "Shut up. I'm tired." Then she walked off toward her blanket.
Jack looked confused for a moment, then let out a short laugh under his breath.
Howard, who'd been half-listening while chewing on some leftover bread, leaned toward Harold. "Uh-oh. They're fighting again."
Harold didn't look up from sharpening his blade. "Yeah, but this one's not about bathwater, so we're improving."
Howard nodded sagely. "Growth."
Arabella shook her head, suppressing a grin as she tossed another stick into the fire. "Remind me why we didn't put those two in separate wagons?"
Jack just sighed and laid back down again, still holding the note.
He stared up at the stars, Elara's mysterious message now even more of a riddle, Beatrice's reaction buzzing in the back of his mind.
The fire crackled softly. Around him, his unlikely companions settled into sleep—bickering, bonding, and all.
The road to the capital was still long, but at least it wasn't boring.