Gabriel left Bridgedon at first light.

The gate stood open when he reached it, traffic already moving through in both directions. Workers headed toward the fields. Carts rolled in carrying grain and salt. A merchant argued with his driver over a cracked axle that wouldn't survive another mile.

He joined the flow without slowing.

The guards stood on either side of the gate, spears held loose, attention drifting between faces out of habit rather than intent. One of them looked at Gabriel as he passed. His gaze registered the eyes, red and unmistakable in the early light.

Then it moved on.

No second look. No tightening posture. The guard turned his attention to the merchant still arguing behind him, and that was the end of it.

He stepped through the gate and onto the south road.

The illusion held.

Traffic moved away from Bridgedon in a steady stream. Merchants travelled in small groups, carts loaded with goods meant for towns farther south. Pilgrims walked in pairs or alone, hoods drawn against the cold. Refugees moved among them, carrying what little they had left, eyes fixed on the road ahead as if looking anywhere else might stop their feet.

No one gave him space.

No one avoided him.

The difference was physical, not emotional. Shoulders didn't turn away when he walked past. Conversations didn't lower when he drew close. No whispered prayers followed him down the road. A woman brushed his arm as she passed, adjusting the pack on her back, and didn't flinch. A man nodded to him briefly, the way travellers acknowledged each other when the road stretched long ahead.

The former Paladin continued walking.

The absence of fear registered without analysis. The illusion sat over him like borrowed distance, and the world treated him accordingly. Unremarkable now. Just another traveller on a road full of them.

A child collided with him an hour later.

The boy had been running between carts, chasing something he didn't see. The impact was hard enough to send the boy stumbling back, arms pinwheeling for balance. He caught himself and looked up immediately.

"Sorry," the boy said.

His eyes found Gabriel's face. Red met brown. The boy blinked once, then smiled sheepishly and ran off without another word. His mother called after him from a cart ahead, irritation clear in her voice.

He watched the boy go, then turned back to the road.

The child had seen his face. Had looked directly at him. And reacted like he was just another traveller.

He kept walking.

The road bent southeast as the morning wore on, following the river's curve before breaking away toward higher ground. Trees thickened on either side, bare branches reaching across the sky. The traffic thinned slightly as smaller paths split off toward farms and hamlets hidden beyond the tree line.

A Church patrol passed midmorning.

Six men on horseback, moving north at a steady pace. Their cloaks bore the white and gold of the Church, though only one wore full armour. A Paladin rode at the front, helm under his arm, eyes scanning the road ahead with the kind of attention that missed nothing.

His gaze swept across the travellers moving south.

It paused on the former Paladin.

Just for a moment. Long enough to register his presence. Long enough to measure him.

Then it moved on.

No recognition. No reaction. No ward flickered. The Paladin's posture didn't shift. He rode past without slowing, and the patrol followed.

Gabriel continued walking.

The illusion didn't erase him. It made him unremarkable. A traveller like any other, worth noticing only long enough to confirm he wasn't worth remembering.

The information was filed away without comment. The mage had been right. The illusion blurred recognition, softened certainty. It didn't hide him. It made the world forget to care.

By midday, the traffic had consolidated around a roadside stop.

A well sat near the edge of the road, its stones worn smooth by years of use. Travellers gathered around it, filling waterskins and resting before continuing on. A merchant had set up a small cookfire and was selling bread and dried meat to anyone with coin. The smell of smoke and cooked fat hung in the air.

He stopped and ate among the others.

Bread was bought and eaten standing, the conversations around him heard without joining them. A pilgrim complained about blisters. Two merchants argued over the price of salt. A woman nursed a child while her husband checked their cart's wheels.

No one asked where he was going. No one asked what he was.

The bread was finished, the waterskin refilled, and the road resumed.

The sun lowered as the afternoon stretched on. Traffic thinned further as travellers split off toward destinations he didn't know. By the time the shadows began to lengthen, the road had emptied to a handful of carts and a few travellers on foot.

Gabriel kept his pace steady, boots striking the packed dirt in rhythm.

Then raised voices carried from ahead.

Not distant. Close enough to matter.

He slowed without deciding to. His hand didn't move toward his weapon. No red stirred beneath his skin. Only attention sharpened, pulling focus forward.

The voices grew clearer as he walked. Anger, but controlled. Commands given without shouting. Responses that sounded more like pleas than arguments.

The former Paladin crested a low rise in the road.

Travellers had stopped ahead. Four carts sat in a loose cluster, their drivers standing beside them with hands raised or held open. A family stood off to the side, a man with his arm around a woman, two children pressed close behind them.

Armed men surrounded them.

Six in total. Not bandits. Their clothes were too clean, their posture too organised. They wore no Church colours, but their movements carried the kind of coordination that came from training rather than desperation.

One of them held a ledger. Another gestured toward the carts with the blunt end of a spear. A third stood near the family, speaking quietly while the man shook his head.

Gabriel stopped walking.

From the rise, one of the armed men stepped forward and struck the nearest cart with the spear shaft. The sound cracked across the road. The driver flinched but didn't move.

The man with the ledger said something that didn't carry.

The driver shook his head.

The armed man raised the spear again.

His gaze settled on the moment before violence became irreversible.

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