Luckborn

Otter didn't waste a second. He knelt beside the boy and pulled him close, shielding him from the wind as Sage rushed to the merchant's wife. The woman was already on her knees, arms outstretched, sobbing with relief as she gathered the child in.

"I surrender," Rell muttered again, limp and bleeding. "Don't kill me—don't—"

"Then stay down and shut up," Jasper snapped, grabbing him by the collar and yanking his arms behind his back. Milo handed him a length of rope from his pack. "You so much as twitch, and I swear I'll let Erin finish what she started."

"No serious injuries," Sage said, already moving to the merchant, checking for wounds. "But that's about to change if we don't move."

The storm had arrived in full.

The sky was now black and convulsing. Lightning tore it open with brutal irregularity, jagged bolts flaring white against the trees. The wind howled like it had grown a voice of its own—high-pitched and shrieking. Rain came in sheets, driven sideways, stinging skin and soaking clothes to the bone.

A flash of white-hot light blinded Otter as thunder split the air, followed a heartbeat later by the crack of a tree trunk snapping.

A tall pine behind them swayed once, groaned, then toppled backwards across the road. It struck the slope with a jarring thud, kicking up a burst of sodden dirt and shattered branches.

Another bolt of lightning hit the ridge above them. The flash seared their eyes white, and the thunder followed instantly—an explosion in the bones.

A branch the size of a wagon axle sheared off a tree beside them and smashed into the ground with terrifying force, a handspan from Milo's feet.

"MOVE!" Erin shouted.

Otter grabbed Milo and yanked him sideways just as a second limb came crashing down where he'd been standing.

"We need shelter!" Sage shouted over the wind.

Otter's eyes snapped to the merchant's wagon.

It sat crooked at the edge of the road, wheels half-sunk into mud, its canvas canopy whipping violently in the wind. Paint peeled in wet curls along the wood, and one of the rear supports looked loose—but it was still upright. Still solid. More shelter than anything else they had.

"Best thing I see is that wagon!"

"I don't think that canopy will hold up in this!" Erin shouted back.

"Then we improvise!"

Jasper dragged Rell toward the wagon and shoved him down beside one of the wheels. "Congratulations. You're useful for once."

"I can help—" the merchant started.

"Get your wife and son inside," Sage snapped, already shouldering open the back flap.

Erin yanked off her oilcloth and climbed onto the wagon's frame, slipping in the rain as she pulled herself up. "Canvas is tearing," she shouted. "We need to rig support."

She jabbed a fallen branch beneath one sagging side of the canopy, wedging it upright. Jasper joined her a moment later, shoving another forked limb under the opposite corner like a brace. The effect was crude—but the canopy lifted, tension pulling it taut again.

Milo dropped to his knees, dragging soaked cloaks and a spare bedroll from his pack. "We can stuff the seams—stop the runoff!"

Otter joined him, cramming a wad of fabric between the boards and the canopy's edge where water was pouring in. "Here, this one's leaking worse—"

Sage lashed a rope from the center beam to the wagon's front post, tying it tight to draw the canopy higher and keep the cloth from collapsing inward.

Inside, the merchant's wife huddled with her son. The boy clung to her, face buried in her side, shivering.

The wind screamed again.

A fresh branch slammed into the canopy's roof. The whole thing shuddered, but the reinforced supports held.

"Everybody get in here!" Otter yelled. "We're out of time."

Within seconds, the interior of the wagon became cramped, like pickled herring in a barrel. Everyone was soaked, pressed shoulder to shoulder.

Then it began to hail.

The first hailstone hit the canopy with a sound like a rock against a drumhead. Then came another. And another.

Within moments, the canvas above them crackled with impact, each strike louder than the last. Pebble-sized chunks of ice clattered across the wagon roof, punched through the gaps in the cloth, and ricocheted into the tight, shivering crowd beneath.

The boy whimpered. His mother shielded him with her arms. Rell had gone completely still.

Otter crouched near the flap, one hand braced against the wagon frame, peering out into the maelstrom. The rain had become a curtain of ice. Trees bowed under the weight of the wind. The road ahead was gone—just a slurry of water and motion.

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"Everyone stay down," he said. "Don't—"

The ground moved.

It was subtle at first—just a tremble beneath his boots. A momentary lurch, like the wagon had shifted an inch in place.

Then came a groan.

Long, low, terrible.

Jasper's head jerked up. "Was that—?"

The hillside gave way.

There was no warning beyond the sound—a wet, ripping roar as the mud beneath the wagon sheared loose. The road cracked open behind them. Stones tumbled. Roots tore free.

Otter had just enough time to shout, "Hold on!"

Then the whole world tilted.

The wagon bucked sideways, tilted at a nauseating angle, and began to slide.

Screams filled the air—human, horse, storm. Something crunched beneath the wheels. Erin slammed into the wall. Sage grabbed the merchant's son just as he was flung toward the rear. Jasper swore and braced his feet against the frame, one hand twisted in Rell's bindings to keep him from vanishing underfoot.

Otter clung to the canopy support, shoulder wrenched, vision filled with streaks of rain and spinning trees.

They were moving.

Not rolling—sliding. The entire slope beneath them had turned to sludge. The wagon careened downward, caught in the current of the hill itself, half-surfing, half-dragged, mud rushing around the wheels like floodwater.

Branches tore at them as they skidded through underbrush. The rear axle hit a boulder and sent the entire frame bouncing. Otter lost his grip and slammed sideways into Milo, who grunted and held fast to a crate wedged against the sidewall.

The canopy ripped partially free with a shriek. Cold air and hail lashed inside.

Then—impact.

Not the final one, but the first of many.

They hit a rise, jolted upward, and then plowed through a tangle of roots and brush before sliding again, faster now, the hill dropping more steeply.

Mud poured in through every opening. Someone coughed, choked on it. Otter wiped it from his eyes just in time to see the trees thin ahead—light filtering through mist.

There was nothing they could do.

No way to steer. No way to stop.

Just the wild, helpless ride as the earth carried them down.

The wagon struck something hard. It lurched. A bone-snapping jolt. Then a deafening crack as the rear axle shattered and the entire frame twisted violently.

The world pitched sideways.

Otter felt weightless for a moment. His stomach gone, body airborne, then a brutal impact as he slammed into the wall of the wagon, then the floor, then someone else. There were yells, groans, the splintering of wood.

The wagon tipped.

Not a gentle roll—a sudden, snapping rotation, canvas tearing overhead, mud and hail pouring in as they flipped once, then again, before slamming hard into something immovable.

Then it was over.

At least, the panic-inducing thrill of an uncontrolled drop was over. The storm still raged above them—but it sounded distant now. Muffled. As if the earth had swallowed them halfway whole.

Otter lay face-down in cold muck, one cheek pressed against a splintered beam, his breath fogging softly. Something dripped steadily beside his ear. His back throbbed. His right shoulder screamed when he tried to move.

A wet, rasping cough came from somewhere nearby.

He blinked grit from his eyes, spat mud from his mouth, and lifted his head.

The wagon lay on its side, canopy half-torn and sagging across shattered beams. One wheel still spun lazily in the air. The interior was a tangle of limbs, loose gear, and hanging canvas.

"Roll call," Otter croaked.

"Alive," Jasper growled from below, voice edged with pain and fury.

"Sore but intact," said Sage, breathless. "Anyone bleeding?"

"Only on the inside, I think," Milo mumbled with a shaky laugh.

"I've got the boy," Erin reported. Her tone was clipped, controlled. "Shaken, but breathing."

"And the merchants?"

"We're here," came the man's voice—dazed, close. "We're... we're both here."

Otter grunted and pushed upright. The floor—now a sideways wall—shifted under his weight. He slipped, caught himself, then squinted through the torn canopy.

They'd landed at the bottom of a ravine.

The wagon lay crumpled on a muddy ledge just above a rock-strewn creek. Trees loomed overhead, dripping rain and leaves, their roots torn from the earth. The storm's voice still rumbled, but it was distant now—as if they'd dropped beneath its notice.

"Rell?" Otter called.

No answer.

"I've got him," Jasper replied. "He's unconscious. Might've cracked a rib."

"Good. Hold onto him."

Erin shoved debris aside, clearing a path. "We need to move—fast. That canopy's straining, and if the slope shifts again—"

"We won't be lucky twice," Otter finished grimly.

He scanned the interior. Supplies—some intact, some not. Weapons scattered, but present. He'd inventory later.

First: extraction.

He pried loose a warped plank from the wagon's side—now facing skyward. A slurry of mud poured over him, but then he was able to haul himself up and out.

Rain fell in thin sheets now, but the ground was still a churning mess. Runoff glistened like spilled silver through the wreckage, and the scars of the landslide yawned around them—deep furrows carved into the slope, tree roots and stone exposed like broken ribs.

He slid down from the toppled wagon and helped the others out one by one.

"Easy," Sage murmured, guiding Erin down as she cradled the merchant's son in one arm.

Jasper followed, dragging Rell's limp body across the wreckage, lowering him into the mud with a grunt.

The merchant and his wife climbed down after, pale and shaking.

"Is it over?" the man asked. "Is it done?"

"For now," Otter said. "Let's hope the hill doesn't have a second act."

Milo dropped last, landing with a splash and a grimace. He glanced back at the wreck. "Well. That's totaled. No salvaging that axle."

"No," Erin agreed. "But we salvaged each other. That's the better deal."

They were bruised, filthy, soaked to the marrow—but standing.

And the storm, though quieter, still loomed above them. Otter could feel it pressing down—another wave building.

He scanned the slope, trying to determine how far they'd slid, and something caught his eye. Halfway up the torn hillside, where the mud had peeled away in ragged sheets, something jutted from the earth. It looked like broken teeth—stone, chiseled, angled. A shape too precise to be natural.

"Erin," he called, pointing.

She followed his gaze, then moved closer, squinting. "That's masonry," she confirmed. "Old. Look at the lines. There's a wall under that mud."

The others gathered around, peering through the drizzle.

A low arch had been unearthed beneath a tangle of roots and clay. One corner had crumbled, but the keystone remained intact, half-buried in the slope. Beneath it yawned a narrow hollow of shadow.

"A doorway?" Milo asked.

"Looks like it," Erin said. "Could be the best place to ride out the rest of this storm."

Otter didn't hesitate. "Let's clear it. If it's stable, we shelter inside."

They worked quickly, pulling branches and scraping muck from the exposed stones. Soon they'd widened the opening enough to crouch through. Otter and Jasper went first, ducking into the dark.

They didn't find a shallow cave.

They stood in a round stone chamber, the walls curved with ancient precision, the floor paved in seamless slabs etched with faded lines—geometry carved into the bones of the earth. Dust clung to every surface. At the far end, a ceiling collapse blocked part of the room—but just beyond that, half-shrouded by a fallen slab, was another passage.

Otter exhaled slowly, eyes scanning the space.

They hadn't just survived the storm.

They'd stumbled into something lost to time.