The sun was blazing, the dirt path was endless, and the group was walking like a rejected traveling circus—dusty, loud, and too dramatic for the local wildlife to handle.
"Why can't we just get a wagon?" Thorne groaned, dragging his lance behind him like a moody child with a stick.
Lys, whose patience was already wearing thin thanks to a rock that had been lodged in her shoe for the past hour, sighed. "Because there were no horses to pull a wagon, Thorne. All of them were apparently 'on strike' or whatever that stable master said."
"They unionized," Cael added helpfully. "The horses. Formed the Gallop Guild or something."
Renna kicked a pebble so hard it hit a tree and scared off a squirrel. "I miss cows. At least cows don't judge you when you accidentally feed them a boot."
"You WHAT?" Alaric blinked, looking back.
"Don't worry about it," Renna shrugged.
Thorne threw his arms in the air. "This is madness! Do you expect heroes to walk everywhere like… like peasants?!"
Alaric leaned on his glowing sword like a cane. "Y'know, I thought being a chosen one would come with, like, travel perks. Flying mounts. Gold chariots. A staff that turns into a hoverboard. But here we are. On a DIRT ROAD."
Lys raised an eyebrow. "You summoned your sword to lean on it. Your back's gonna regret that in ten minutes."
"It's aesthetic," Alaric grumbled.
"Yeah, well, I'm aesthetically exhausted," Renna huffed, walking backwards for no reason.
Thorne dramatically pointed at the sky. "The world fears us, but it cannot provide us with basic transportation! This is injustice!"
A bee buzzed near him.
Thorne shrieked and sprinted ahead. "DEMON INSECT."
"Brave," Cael deadpanned.
Lys said. "We're going to die out here. Not from monsters. From sheer stupidity."
"Death by dumb," Renna said. "That's on-brand for us."
And so the group trudged on—
—with no horse, no cart, and absolutely no sense of coordination.
But at least they had each other.
Unfortunately.
The group eventually collapsed under the shade of a very judgmental-looking tree, its branches bent slightly like it was folding its arms and sighing at them. Dust-covered and mildly offended by the lack of air conditioning in the wild, they collectively flopped onto the grass like soggy pancakes.
Cael squinted at the ground, frowning. "Okay… so… if the shadow is pointing that way, and the sun is up there, then that means…"
"We're doomed?" Alaric offered, flinging his arms behind his head.
"No," Cael said, very seriously. "It means… it's probably… noon?"
Lys leaned over and inspected her own shadow, which looked like it had given up on being helpful. "I've never trusted shadows. They're always stretching the truth."
"That's a terrible pun and you should feel ashamed," Cael muttered, but a tiny smile cracked through anyway.
Renna stood up, turning slowly in place to observe her shadow like she was trying to cast a ritual. "I'm pretty sure it's noon. I saw a squirrel nap earlier. That's a noon thing."
"That's not how time works!" Cael protested.
"Everything works on squirrel time now," Renna said solemnly. "We're in their world."
Thorne, who had been laying like a sack of lances on the grass, suddenly sprang up. "If it's noon, that means one thing."
"Lunch?" Alaric asked.
"HUNTING," Thorne declared, summoning his massive divine lance with a dramatic swirl and startling a bird straight out of a bush.
"Okay but what if we just, like… buy food at the next stop?" Lys asked.
"We don't have a wagon, and we don't know where the next town is," Thorne huffed, spinning his lance like he was about to enter a jungle tournament. "Which leaves us with one option: spearing nature."
"That sounds illegal," Cael said.
"Illegal where? Forest court?!" Thorne grinned.
"Hey, don't diss forest court," Renna chimed in. "I once lost a custody battle over a cookie to a raccoon."
Everyone paused.
"I'm not even surprised anymore," Alaric mumbled.
"Let's just let him hunt," Lys sighed, already half-lying down. "But if he brings back bark and says it's jerky again, we're revolting."
"Nature jerky!" Thorne shouted, running off into the woods with a war cry that frightened several butterflies into retirement.
The rest of the group laid back, letting the sun beam down through the leaves.
"Do you think we're getting better at this adventuring thing?" Cael asked.
"No," they all said in unison.
But they were, in fact, excellent at wasting time.
Not even ten minutes had passed when the underbrush rustled like someone was trying to play maracas with an entire bush. Thorne emerged triumphantly, grinning like a madman with four squawking ducks clutched upside-down in both hands.
"BEHOLD!" he bellowed. "MEAT!"
The ducks flapped in protest.
Everyone stared at him in silence.
"…Are those… ducks?" Alaric blinked.
Thorne puffed up his chest. "Yes. Wild ducks. Caught them near a pond."
Renna tilted her head. "You brought back something normal for once?"
"Yeah, where's the bear?" Lys added suspiciously. "Or the giant mutant boar? Or the tree with teeth?"
"I can hunt responsibly!" Thorne said, mildly offended. One duck bit his arm. "Ow! You little—!"
Cael stepped in before the duck could start round two. "Okay okay, hand 'em over. We'll take it from here."
Thorne dropped the still mildly alive and deeply confused ducks into a conjured pen Lys had made with a glowing bowstring, then flopped back down. "You guys are no fun. I was gonna wrestle a deer but then I saw the ducks."
"Thank goodness for ducks," Cael muttered as he rolled up his sleeves.
Lys knelt beside him. "Alright, Chef Cael, how are we doing this?"
"Well," Cael said, eyeing the ducks, "we could go basic—roast over fire. But if we pluck and gut them carefully, I might be able to make something close to soy-glazed wild duck skewers. Fantasy edition."
"You're going to invent soy sauce in a fantasy world?" Alaric asked, unimpressed.
"I'll help," Lys said, conjuring a thin magical flame to start prepping the fire. "But I want crispy skin. I will judge you."
"Oh no, pressure," Cael deadpanned. "What if I mess up and you write a passive-aggressive poem about it?"
"I will. In lowercase, no punctuation," she replied, grinning.
While they began plucking the ducks and preparing the firepit, Renna sat nearby offering unsolicited commentary like a reality show judge. Alaric tried to convince one of the ducks to give him its secrets before it was cooked, and Thorne was already trying to figure out how to roast a duck whole using his lance like a spit.
"Team Duck, assemble!" Cael shouted, holding up a sprig of something vaguely herbal.
Lys joined in with mock seriousness, "For lunch, for glory, for flavor!"
The world faded into background chaos—Thorne chasing a duck with his lance yelling, "IT'S ESCAPING INTO LEGEND!". Alaric tried to tame a tree he claimed was cursed. Renna narrated everything in a fake British accent like she was hosting a medieval cooking show. At the center of the controlled storm were Cael and Lys.
Focused. Silent. Masters at work.
Cael held one of the ducks up like it was a sacred offering. His hands were steady, his eyes half-lidded in concentration. With the precision of someone who once disassembled a rune circuit blindfolded for fun, he plucked feathers in a rhythmic motion—twist, pull, flick. The wind caught the tiny fluff, spinning them into the forest air like lazy snow.
Lys, kneeling beside the fire, summoned a controlled flame with her magic—steady and soft, just hot enough to begin warming the flat stones they'd circled around the cooking pit. She glanced over at Cael. "Internal organs in or out?"
"Out. But save the liver. We can glaze it," he replied without looking up, holding out his hand.
Without a word, Lys passed him a conjured knife—a bowstring-edge wrapped in glowing light—and he sliced the duck open with surgical grace. The organs slid out like secrets being confessed.
She took the cleaned duck and began rubbing it with crushed forest herbs, her fingers glowing faintly with green energy to draw out the scent. Her movements were smooth, methodical, almost ritualistic. She hummed a soft tune—a weird lo-fi melody that sounded oddly like "fantasy café jazz"—and the air seemed to thrum with harmony.
Cael had already skewered another duck, laying it gently across a fire-warmed stone. "Flip every four minutes. Watch for crackling."
"Already ahead of you." Lys raised her hand, and a gentle wind—just enough to carry the heat—breezed across the fire, ensuring even cooking. She flipped the skewered duck with her bowstring, barely touching it.
Steam rose. Skin sizzled. The golden-brown shimmer began to form.
"Juice content?" she asked.
Cael poked the edge of the duck. "Holding steady. We're hitting a crisp ratio of 2:1 on surface vs. interior. That's optimal."
They moved in sync—passing spices without speaking, brushing glaze in tandem, adjusting temperature like they were composing a symphony. Their eyes never left the food, their minds locked into a realm of culinary transcendence.
In the background, Thorne tried to arm-wrestle a tree. Alaric attempted to grill mushrooms using white flame. Renna held her dagger to the fire Alaric made and whispered, "You are now a skewer of destiny…"
But Cael and Lys?
They were gods of the flame.
Demiurges of duck.
And when the skin finally turned that perfect golden-crisp shade, when the meat gave off a savory aroma that made even the local wildlife pause in worship—they both stepped back, gazed upon their creation, and nodded in unison.
"Lunch," Cael said.
"Glory," Lys replied.
"Flavor," they said together.
The feast was ready.
The first bite dropped like a meteor into the group's mouths. Then came the explosion.
"LORDS ABOVE," Thorne howled, grease smearing the corner of his mouth. "IS THIS WHAT LOVE FEELS LIKE?!"
Renna had tears in her eyes, holding half a drumstick like it was a sacred relic. "I can feel my ancestors dancing in my bones. This duck is unlocking my DNA."
Alaric took a dramatic bite and then fell backward into the grass like he'd been struck by divine lightning. "I'm ascending—guys, don't stop me—I'm going to duck heaven—"
Cael, calmly chewing, nodded. "Good texture."
Lys blinked. "Only good?"
"Exceptionally good," he corrected, licking his thumb. "If this duck had a GPA, it would get scholarships."
Renna sucked the marrow out of a bone and yelled, "I've eaten in five-star restaurants, buffets but nothing compares to this."
Alaric rolled over on the grass. "I'm naming my firstborn after this meal. Roast Duck Junior. You will live forever in my heart."
Thorne ripped another piece with his teeth and let out a barbaric "RAAAAAAH," before calming immediately and whispering, "I just had a flashback of my mother tucking me in as a child. This duck is restoring my emotional memory."
Renna leaned over to Cael and whispered, "Hey. We could sell this duck. Call it Brave Cuisine. Maybe open a tavern. We'll cook. You'll manage. Thorne'll—"
"Punch people?" Cael offered.
"Perfect."
Lys was quietly humming her lo-fi theme again while carving delicate slices for everyone. "I'm not saying we peaked as heroes... but this might be our legacy."
Cael raised an imaginary glass. "To ducks."
"To ducks!" the group shouted, variously raising bones, half-eaten wings.
As duck bones lay scattered across the grass like the aftermath of a greasy battle, the group flopped back with full bellies and lazy limbs, staring up into the leafy canopy. The wind carried a soft breeze, ruffling their hair and whispering between the trees—like even the forest itself was giving them a moment to breathe.
Lys broke the silence first, resting her hands over her stomach, eyes tracing the clouds. "You know… I do miss electronics. But more than that, I want to go back someday. Not just to touch my phone again or binge-watch animal documentaries… I want to finish my degree. Be a vet, like I planned."
Renna, lying in a T-pose on the grass, squinted toward the sun. "Aww, that's sweet. You're gonna be one of those cute vets that talks to puppies like they're babies."
Lys snorted. "I already do that."
"Disgusting," Thorne said, flipping onto his side like a drama queen. "Meanwhile, I had a whole esports tournament lined up. I was finally in the top hundred. Do you know how hard that is when you've got, like, the reaction time of a caffeine-deprived sloth?"
Cael glanced over. "Your ego couldn't fit into that tournament room."
"Exactly," Thorne replied proudly. "That's why I needed a stage. And spotlights. And screaming fans. And—"
Alaric sat up with a groan, stretching his arms. "I was almost done with my firefighter training."
Renna rolled onto her stomach, kicking her legs in the air. "Back home… There was someone I wanted to tell something. Real important. Never got the chance. Thought I'd have more time, but boom—isekai'd."
She pouted. "Gonna punch a god in the shin when I get the chance."
They laughed, then slowly turned toward the only one who hadn't said anything yet.
Cael was sitting quietly, hands on his knees, looking off into the woods. He blinked slowly, like he was listening to something no one else could hear.
"I… I know I want to go back," he said at last. "But I don't know why. There's something missing. I forgot something. Or maybe it was taken the moment we arrived here."
His voice wasn't sad. Just distant. Like he was standing somewhere between two shores, the memory just behind the fog. Close enough to taste—but too far to hold.
"I'll remember it," he added softly. "Eventually."
Nobody pressed him further.
Instead, they sat there together, each of them tangled in their own thoughts, their own unfinished stories. Five people from different lives, pulled into chaos—and still dreaming about home, in their own, beautifully chaotic ways.