By dawn, the Grandal Knights were prepared to move. Even if they hadn't stayed for long, Deimos was much safer when they were here.

Carriages were loaded one by one, horses fed and checked. Armor was polished, straps tightened, and crates were sealed.

Duke Grandal stood near the central carriage, reviewing final preparations with his officers. Gone was last night's festival warmth; the Duke was once again the stern patriarch of Grandal territory, every movement decisive, every word carrying the weight of command.

Amelia was among the last to finish packing.

The festival outfit Ryn had seen yesterday was replaced with an attire similar to a horse jockey's outfit, but way elevated with gold engravings and decorations fit for an heir of Grandal.

The shift from last night's softness to this morning's reality was stark.

The celebration was over. The world was already pulling them in different directions.

Ryn watched from a short distance, standing near the edge of the square path. The festival lanterns had been taken down at dawn; only a few remained, flickering weakly as if reluctant to give up the night.

Today she returned to Grandal territory—first to report, then to await the summons to Raias for the Hero's ceremony. Meanwhile, Ryn had his own road to take. Lumen was far, and the things he needed to learn there couldn't wait.

As the Grandal Knights completed their final checks, Amelia finally stepped away from the bustle and approached Ryn with something small clutched in her hand.

Her steps were calm.

But there was something deliberate in the way she walked toward him.

A sign that she wasn't leaving without one last moment.

When she stopped in front of him, she opened her hand.

A crest lay in her palm, the polished emblem of House Grandal, engraved onto a silver plate and set into dark leather. The phoenix wings of the Grandal sigil arced elegantly around the edges, unmistakable in their craftsmanship.

Ryn blinked. "That's—"

"A travel crest," Amelia said softly. "It marks you as someone acting under Grandal's permission. It should give you free passage through most checkpoints between here and Raias."

He stared at it again.

"…You're giving this to me?" he asked quietly.

Amelia nodded once. Not hesitantly or shyly.

"You're traveling alone," she said. "And… you're not exactly planning to advertise why." Her voice dipped slightly there, subtle but knowing. "So if anyone tries to stop or question you, show them this."

She closed his fingers gently around the crest.

"It will keep suspicion off you. And if something happens…" Her eyes softened.

"…my father and I will be able to intervene. Quickly."

Ryn exhaled, closing his fist around the crest.

"Thank you," he murmured. "This… helps more than you know."

A faint breath left her—relief, maybe. Or simply something she didn't want to say aloud.

"It's not enchanted," she said quietly, repeating Grandal tradition, "but in our territory, a crest is a promise."

"A promise?" he echoed.

Amelia nodded.

"That the person who gave it will be waiting when you return."

For a moment, the morning felt still.

Just the two of them and the quiet weight of her words.

Ryn tightened his grip around the crest.

"…Then I'll bring it back to you."

Amelia's eyes warmed, subtle and bright.

"I know."

Amelia seemed to hesitate then—only for a breath, only long enough for Ryn to notice the way her fingers curled slightly against her riding gloves.

Then she stepped forward.

Before Ryn could fully react, she wrapped her arms around him in a firm, deliberate hug.

He brought his arms up and embraced her back, matching her steadiness. The moment would've been tender if not for where his eyes landed.

The Duke stood twenty paces away beside his horse, arms crossed, jaw clenched. His eyes twitched dramatically, like they were going to explode.

"Stay safe," she said quietly.

Ryn nodded. "You too."

Amelia released and followed Duke Grandal onto the carriage. Then the formation moved, hooves striking the road in unison as House Grandal departed Deimos.

Ryn watched them go until the last banner disappeared beyond the rising morning light.

He closed his fist around the emblem and slotted it into his Dimensional Ring. The road to Lumen is long, and he'd need information.

There was exactly one place that provided it.

***

The door shut behind him with a soft wooden thud, muffling the distant clatter of departing horses.

The smells never change within this shop.

Haywood, polishing another glass, looked up at Ryn's arrival.

"Master Ryn," he greeted with a slight bow of the head. "I suspected you would come."

Ryn blinked. "…You did?"

Haywood's expression remained perfectly polite, almost serene.

"You have a great many secrets," he said simply. "And men with secrets tend to gather information before they travel."

Without waiting for further explanation, the curator pulled out a small binder with all types of papers in it.

Ryn sighed.

"Lumen and the Kingdom of Raias," he said. "Compiled and condensed, even better if classified."

Haywood pulled out a few slips of paper, along with some which are mail and a variety of different ledgers.

Ryn stiffened slightly. "You… already had this ready?"

Haywood placed the folders on the desk, aligning their corners with meticulous precision.

"I had reasons to believe you would leave Deimos shortly. After the events that happened, I believe something bigger is at play."

Ryn opened the top folder.

Every page was handwritten, organized, lightly annotated.

He looked up slowly.

"…What's the trade?"

Haywood paused.

Haywood met his gaze evenly, tone steady and professional.

"I have no intention of charging you this time. Information trades exist to measure a client's worth. And you, Master Ryn…"

His eyes sharpened faintly.

"…have already demonstrated yours."

He tapped a finger lightly on the folder.

"From a professional standpoint, you are akin to a guaranteed investment."

Ryn's lips twitched. Since when was this old man so agreeable? Nonetheless, he let it slide.

He didn't bother flipping through the rest. The weight of the folders alone told him Haywood had prepared far more than a casual brief.

He shut the top binder, sliding the entire packet into his bag.

"That should suffice, thank you." he said.

Haywood gave a single, composed nod. "May it serve you well."

There was nothing more to discuss.

Ryn adjusted the strap of his bag, the Grandal crest brushing lightly against his wrist, and stepped toward the door. The quiet hum of the reserve room faded behind him as he pushed it open.

"May we meet again, Master Ryn." The curator echoed as he left the store.

Ryn made his way toward the small post station at the edge of Deimos. He cursed at himself, he shouldn't have been lazy and learned how to ride a horse in his past life. And also at god for giving him motion sickness.

When he reached the station, there was a carriage waiting. A long transportation one going south, just where he needed. It was relatively small, the kind that could only hold around six people.

Ryn stepped closer, adjusting the strap of his bag and pulling down his cloak.

A group was already boarding the cabin ahead of him—four adventurers, who looked pretty well-geared.

Coincidence, but a fortunate one.

One by one, they ducked into the transport cabin, the boards creaking under the shift of weight. The door was propped open, and Ryn climbed in after them.

The interior was tighter than he expected. Two long benches faced each other, leaving just enough room for knees to avoid knocking. Packs were stored overhead on slats of rope netting. The air smelled faintly of leather, oiled metal, and dried fruit from someone's rations.

The adventurers all glanced his way, not suspicious, just checking what they're fifth passenger would be like.

The leader, a broad-shouldered man with a scar across his chin, gave him a curt nod.

"Heading south?" he asked.

"Yeah," Ryn replied, settling into the space near the window. "All the way past the plains."

One of the others, a woman carrying a halberd that had to be stored diagonally across the cabin wall, huffed in acknowledgment.

"Same as us. Good timing."

Ryn strapped his bag under the bench as the driver outside called final boarding. The cabin door slid shut with a heavy wooden thump, and the carriage lurched forward as the team of horses pulled.

The motion smoothed into a steady rhythm: creak, sway, roll, sway.

A long journey had officially begun.

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