Chapter 87: The Road to Auralis

  The road stretched endlessly before them, winding through rolling hills, dense forests, and scattered rivers that shimmered under the midday sun. Traveling through the Wildlands wasn’t just a test of endurance—it was an experience in itself. Unlike the structured roads of Xenor or the fortified paths of Canindrus, these lands were vast and untamed, shaped only by the footsteps of wandering tribes and migrating beasts.

  Despite the beauty of the journey, the days were grueling. The uneven terrain of the Wildlands meant frequent detours, and with each passing mile, the strain of long-distance travel settled into their bodies.

  Arixa hated how slow they had to move. She was built for endurance, her muscles thrived on long, sustained movement, but the party’s pace forced her to constantly adjust. She had to resist the urge to sprint ahead, knowing that breaking formation wasn’t an option. Even so, she often found herself scouting a little farther ahead, swinging her warhammer at imaginary opponents just to keep herself occupied.

  Thalron, in contrast, took everything in stride. His Spellblade training made him versatile, and while his combat style relied on bursts of Mana-infused movement, his elven heritage gave him an edge. He seemed entirely unfazed by the trek, moving with the ease of someone who had long since mastered conserving his energy.

  Marcus, though physically capable, was adjusting to a different kind of exhaustion. His Ki-enhanced body handled bursts of power and explosive movement with ease, but long, steady endurance was another matter. Unlike Arixa or Thalron, whose stamina had been conditioned for this kind of travel, Marcus had spent his old life in a boxing ring—where rounds lasted minutes, not entire days. His body was strong, but there was a difference between a fighter’s endurance and the endurance of a true traveler.

  And then there was Vira.

  Vira, who relied entirely on Mana and casting rather than raw physicality, was having the hardest time. She wouldn’t admit it outright, but Marcus had caught her subtly leaning against him when noone was looking, using his solid frame as a quiet support. At camp, She complained the least—though her exhaustion showed in her sharp, clipped words and occasional death glare whenever the road seemed to stretch too far.

  They fell into a loose formation as they traveled, alternating between conversations, occasional silences, and small moments of camaraderie. The road was long, but they made the best of it.

  At night, the fire crackled in the quiet darkness, a beacon of warmth against the crisp Wildlands air. The stars above stretched endlessly, unmarred by city lights or magical pollution. It was in these moments—when they weren’t fighting, running, or strategizing—that the group felt the most like a family.

  Marcus watched Vira as she sat beside him, leaning her head against his shoulder. It was a new kind of closeness, one that felt comfortable in a way he hadn’t expected. Across the fire, Arixa polished the handle of her warhammer, her expression unreadable as she glanced their way every so often.

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  He wasn’t oblivious. He could feel the tension.

  Vira had noticed it too.

  And, apparently, she was done letting it sit unspoken.

  Vira smirked slightly, then nudged Marcus. "So, you're blooded in the clan. Do you think you'll take more than one wife when the time comes?"

  Marcus, mid-sip of water, immediately choked.

  Arixa, who had been balancing her warhammer on one finger, nearly dropped it. "What!?"

  Vira stretched, her expression relaxed, but her golden eyes held a flicker of amusement as she looked at Arixa. "It’s not uncommon," she continued. "Among orcs, a strong warrior is expected to take multiple partners. Strength attracts strength, and, well…" She casually gestured at Marcus with an infuriatingly smug grin. "He is strong."

  Arixa scowled, gripping her weapon tighter. "Such customs exist amongst beastfolk as well."

  Vira smirked, her gaze flickering toward her.

  Marcus, sitting between the two, felt very much like a man trapped in a battlefield with no exit.

  Arixa’s eyes narrowed, but instead of snapping back with her usual bite, she hesitated. Marcus saw it—the brief flicker of something in her expression. Uncertainty. Consideration.

  Was she… actually thinking about it?

  Before she could say anything, Vira leaned a little more against Marcus and asked, "So, what do you look for in a potential mate?"

  Marcus felt his entire body lock up.

  Arixa looked at him expectantly.

  His brain, which could usually process combat situations in a fraction of a second, failed him completely.

  "Uh, y’know," he blurted out, his voice an octave too high, "I bet elven and dwarven customs are totally different, right? Thalron, buddy, how do they handle relationships?"

  Thalron, who had been methodically preparing a meal and very clearly avoiding their conversation, didn’t even look up from his task.

  "Nope!" he said flatly. "You’re on your own with this one."

  Marcus groaned internally.

  And then—because the universe loved making things worse—Stem chimed in.

  "Fascinating. It would appear you have found yourself in a textbook example of a developing multi-partner courtship ritual. Would you like an analysis of the most effective approach?"

  Marcus’ eye twitched.

  "Stem. I swear to everything holy. Shut—up!"

  "Noted."

  Despite the chaos, the night eventually settled. The conversation shifted, much to Marcus’ relief, and the group shared stories over their meal. Arixa, though clearly still thinking about what Vira had said, seemed less tense. If anything, the challenge fueled her competitive streak rather than making her bitter.

  Marcus, for his part, was less relieved and more just… trying to process everything.

  Vira? She was enjoying every second of his suffering.

  As the fire burned low and the embers crackled softly, the group moved into their usual post-meal routine—cleaning up, setting up their sleeping arrangements, and preparing for the final day of travel.

  Arixa stood and stretched, rolling her shoulders. "I’ll take first watch."

  Thalron glanced at her, then gave a small nod. "Wake me when you're done."

  Marcus exhaled, standing up to stretch as well. His body ached, but it was the good kind of exhaustion—the kind that came from a journey well traveled.

  Thalron walked past him, bumping his shoulder playfully as he smirked. "Try not to dream too hard about your harem, lover boy."

  Marcus groaned. "I hate you."

  He laughed. "No, you don’t."

  As the night deepened, the last embers of the fire flickered out, leaving only the distant sounds of the Wildlands in their wake.

  Tomorrow, they would reach the Auralis Glades.

  Tomorrow, Arixa’s past would finally have a face.