Chronicles of Fates Path

The day after the bandit skirmish found the caravan in somber spirits, yet buoyed by the trio's success in driving away potential raiders. Word spread quickly among the refugees that Lan Zhuoran and Gao Tianrong, aided by the timid yet brave Qin, had safeguarded the group. Eyes glimmered with cautious admiration whenever the pair passed by.

Yin Feiyan, meanwhile, spent the morning walking in slow circles around the wagons, testing her newly splinted arm. The old healer tutted at her stubbornness, insisting she should rest, but Feiyan gently refused. "I need to keep it from going stiff," she explained. "We'll be traveling for days yet."

Madam Sun approached the trio as midday neared, wiping sweat from her brow. "If we keep up this pace, we might reach the rumored town by dusk. Our scouts claim to have seen a watchtower in the distance. Let's hope it still stands."

A spark of hope flared in Feiyan's tired eyes. Lan Zhuoran and Gao Tianrong exchanged a glance. Reaching a town—any town—could mean more reliable medical attention, fresh supplies, and perhaps a real bed for a night. Yet the specter of the Syndicate remained. Lan Zhuoran couldn't dismiss the fear that the relic's hunters might already have an outpost there.

Still, they had little choice. So the caravan pressed on, traveling through the afternoon under a blazing sun. The children dozed in wagon shade, and the adults took shifts walking or riding, anxious to see whether this settlement offered sanctuary or disappointment. Occasionally, the ground quivered with distant thunder, though no rain clouds yet troubled the sky.

By late afternoon, the silhouette of a watchtower indeed came into view—a squat structure perched on a low hill, surrounded by weathered palisades. As they drew nearer, they glimpsed the tops of buildings behind a crumbling wall. Faint plumes of smoke rose from chimneys, suggesting actual habitation. Relief rippled through the refugees.

"Finally," whispered a middle-aged man in a torn vest. "A town with real walls, maybe a marketplace…"

Gao Tianrong scanned the perimeter through narrowed eyes. "No sign of an emblem—Syndicate or otherwise. That's good."

Near dusk, the caravan rolled to a halt at the settlement's gate, where a handful of guards in mismatched armor stood watch. A tall woman with a steel breastplate and a scar across her cheek stepped forward, spear in hand. "State your business."

Madam Sun raised her palms, voice trembling with exhausted relief. "We're refugees, hoping to trade what little we have for food and rest. No trouble, I promise."

The guard eyed them, noticing the presence of Lan Zhuoran, Gao Tianrong, and others who bore weapons. "We're short on resources here. You can't all stay indefinitely. But if you can pay or work for a day or two, maybe we'll let you rest and stock up. Our leader makes the final call."

Lan Zhuoran felt tension coil in his gut. Even behind these walls, precarious politics reigned. "We just need a short respite," he said gently. "Some of us are wounded."

After a brief consultation, the guard waved them in. "Stay quiet, don't cause fights, and we'll see what can be arranged."

Beyond the gate, the settlement—Saishan Town, as a battered sign declared—revealed a modest array of buildings in varying states of decay. A few shops clustered near a central square where a weather-worn fountain trickled weakly. The watchtower loomed on a hill behind these structures, its crumbling stone steps guarded by more spear-wielding locals.

Though small, Saishan Town bustled with a sense of survival. Merchants hawked battered wares, farmers sold withered produce. Children darted through alleyways. And indeed, a humble clinic stood near the square, marked by a faded sign of a mortar and pestle. Feiyan's eyes lit up at the sight.

Madam Sun negotiated with a local official—a portly man named Supervisor Gong—who demanded a modest tax for each wagon entering. Some refugees grumbled, but they paid in scraps of coin or bartered items. Lan Zhuoran and Gao Tianrong watched warily, hands never straying far from their weapons.

The caravan eventually parked near an old granary, where they were allowed to camp for a couple of nights, provided they didn't overstep. Feiyan hurried to the clinic with Lan Zhuoran's support. A weary medic with ink-stained sleeves examined her arm, prescribing more advanced salves than the meager supplies she'd been using. The cost was steep, but the caravan folk pooled resources, grateful for the trio's protection.

Later, as twilight fell, the travelers gathered around a small fire by the granary. Vendors passed, offering dried fish, stale bread, and watery ale. Though hardly luxurious, it beat gnawing on dried rations in the wild. Gao Tianrong stood guard, scanning every newcomer with steely caution.

Feiyan sighed contentedly, letting Lan Zhuoran reapply the medic's salve. "It stings, but this might finally heal me enough to keep going."

Madam Sun approached, arms laden with a small pot of stew. "Eat," she said kindly, placing it near the fire. "We owe you much, and this town doesn't offer charity freely. Rest while you can."

Despite their relief, Lan Zhuoran couldn't ignore the uneasy glances from passing townsfolk. Strangers bearing injuries and weapons likely sparked suspicion—especially in a realm plagued by banditry. Yet for now, they had found a haven of sorts. The caravan's children even laughed, playing near the granary, a sight that lifted everyone's spirits.

As darkness deepened, Gao Tianrong drifted closer to Lan Zhuoran, voice low. "We should keep an ear out for any rumors of Syndicate presence. This place might be safe today, but tomorrow…?"

Lan Zhuoran nodded, meeting Feiyan's eyes. She inhaled slowly, cradling the relic beneath her cloak. "We'll stay just long enough to help the caravan recover and gather supplies," she murmured. "Then we move on."

Indeed, they had no choice. The capital called—distant yet potentially the only haven for Skyfire Protocol's salvation. Still, for this single night, Saishan Town's rickety walls and flickering lanterns offered a fleeting impression of normalcy. Perhaps that was enough to rekindle the trio's resilience, reminding them that civilization, though fragile, could still shelter weary souls.