Adventure Awaits

Chapter 3 - Toast

Sleep takes me quickly, but it is not kind.

I dream of stone.

Not the warm marble of roads or columns kissed by sun, but ancient blocks buried under sand and time. An abandoned temple stands half-collapsed beneath a pale, unmoving sky. Its carvings are worn smooth, gods’ faces eroded into something almost gentle… or almost watchful.

At its heart lay a man.

He is suspended in light, frozen mid-breath, eyes closed, skin untouched by age. Power hums around him, thick and heavy, pressing against my chest even in the dream. A perfect stasis.

All around the temple crawls giant scorpions.

They skitter over broken pillars and sacred steps, chitin scraping stone. Their tails arched high, dripping venom that hisses where it strikes the ground. Dozens of them. Maybe more. Guardians or executioners?

A voice speaks then. Not loud. Not gentle.

He has slept for hundreds of years.

I turn, but there is nothing there. The voice comes from everywhere, from the carvings, the air, my own bones.

The gods kept him safe. Hidden. Preserved.

The scorpions shift, restless.

But now, one with great power seeks his death.

My heart pounds. “Why?” I demand, fire flickering through my hair even in the dream.

The voice does not answer.

Go to the temple just outside the city of Amisos, it says, There you will find him.

The scorpions’ tails snap downward in unison.

They are dangerous. Their venom kills slowly… and painfully.

A pause. Almost wry.

Do not get stung.

The light around the man flares... and the world shatters.

“Toast.”

I jerk awake with a sharp gasp, flames flaring bright gold before settling again. My heart races, sweat cooling on my skin.

Khepri stands nearby, silhouetted by the firelight, one massive hand raised, not threatening, just careful. Concern etching his leonine features.

“It is your watch,” he says quietly. “You were… restless.”

I swallow and push myself upright, every bruise suddenly very real. I press a hand to my face, then let out a shaky breath that turns into a crooked smile.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll bet I was.”

I grab my cloak, my daggers, and stare into the dark for a long moment, toward the road, toward a future that has just acquired scorpions, gods, and a sleeping man who apparently mattered a lot.

“…Amisos,” I murmur.

Khepri’s ears flick. “The city?”

I nod slowly, fire reflecting in my eyes.

“Looks like destiny finally decided to stop being subtle. We have a destination now.”

Amisos lay a week away by foot—seven days of road, scrubland, and the quiet kind of danger that only noticed you once you’d already stepped into it.

We walked anyway.

By day, the rhythm settles in. Khepri ranges ahead or vanishes into the brush, returning with rabbits, birds, or the occasional boar slung over his shoulders like it weighs nothing. I forage as I go, humming while I pick berries and edible roots, occasionally arguing with plants that look poisonous but swear they aren’t. Sometimes I win. Sometimes I wisely back off.

We feed each other well.

Trouble finds us, as it always does.

A pack of wolves test us on the third night, yellow eyes in the dark, circling, probing. My fire keeps them at bay while Khepri stands tall and still, spear in hand, presence alone enough to convince the wolves this meal will bite back. They leave without a fight.

A bear charges us two days later, massive and half-mad with hunger. That one does fight. I still feel it in my ribs afterward, and Khepri wears fresh claw marks along his shoulder, but the bear flees roaring into the trees, deciding there are easier victories elsewhere.

The squirrel is the worst.

It is small. Red-furred. Beady-eyed with righteous fury.

I barely reach for a cluster of nuts before the first stone whizzes past my ear.

“What in the-?” Thunk.

Another rock hits my shoulder. Then another. Then a steady barrage.

The squirrel screams wordlessly from a branch overhead and does not stop. All night long it hurled pebbles, acorns, and what I am fairly certain is deliberate hatred.

By dawn, both of us are exhausted, pelted, and deeply offended.

“I will face wolves again before I face that creature,” Khepri mutters as we pack up under fire.

“Never underestimate the power of spite,” I say solemnly, brushing debris from my hair.

Every night, though, once the danger passes and the fire burns low, I play.

Sometimes it is the lute, soft and thoughtful. Sometimes the fiddle, quick and laughing. Sometimes just the ocarina, its sound floating like breath between stars. My bruises fade. My fire steadies. And every time, Khepri listens as if the song is meant only for him.

One night, beneath a sky smeared with constellations, he finally speaks.

“My people are called Leonin,” he says, gaze fixed on the fire. “We live on the plains, where the grass runs like the sea. A Pride is everything.”

I nod, fingers idly plucking a string.

“When a Leonin wishes to prove themself,” he continues, “they leave. They choose something to conquer, be that fear, beast, enemy, or fate, and return with proof.” His jaw tightens slightly. “I was… slow. Thoughtful. Hesitant. I was teased for it.”

I glance up at him but don’t interrupt.

“I am an only child,” he says. “My mother is kind. She tells stories of the land, of old Prides, of Leonin who faced impossible odds and returned changed.” His voice softens. “I grew up on those stories. I knew I was meant for one of my own.”

He lets out a breath, long and quiet.

“But when the time came, I waited. Too long.”

The fire crackles.

Then I smile at him, small and sure. “You still left.”

He looks at me, surprised.

“You’re on the road,” I continue. “You faced bandits. Wolves. A bear. A demon squirrel.” I pluck a bright chord. “Sounds like an adventure to me.”

Khepri huffs a laugh, low and genuine. “Perhaps.”

I lean back, flames in my hair dancing softly. “Just make sure when you go home, you bring back a really good story. Mothers love those.”

The road stretches on toward Amisos.