The Reluctant Hero: Why Is Everyone After Me?

The wheels of the carriage creaked as it rolled through the cobblestone streets of the coastal town. Unlike the Marketplace of Whispers, where people had paused to stare at the majestic carriage that bore the royal crest, here, no one seemed to care.

The townsfolk moved about their business—hauling nets full of fish, carrying baskets of herbs, shouting over prices, and chatting about the incoming tide. The salty breeze mixed with the faint scent of roasted seaweed and oil, while seagulls circled overhead, squawking as if mocking the travelers who had just entered their domain.

Inside the carriage, Luther sat by the window, his chin resting on his palm, staring out with an expression of disinterest. The ocean stretched endlessly before them, the sunlight bouncing off the waves in shimmers of silver and blue—colors that almost matched his eyes. Almost.

His reflection stared back at him from the glass—tired, detached, and far too young to look so worn out. He could see Liliana sitting opposite him, straight-backed and alert, and Aithur lounging beside her, his posture far too relaxed for someone sitting beside a holy knight known for her temper.

Luther could feel Liliana's quiet irritation burning like sunlight on his neck. He didn't have to look to know she was glaring at Aithur again. The tension between them had been thick since morning. If awkward silence could kill, the entire carriage would've been buried by now.

The carriage suddenly jerked to a stop.

Liliana and Aithur both straightened instantly, their hands reaching instinctively toward their weapons. Luther didn't move. He just blinked once, eyes still on the sea, as he muttered, "...If this is another problematic interruption, I'm throwing myself into that ocean."

The sword hanging at his side gave a faint snicker—its voice echoing faintly in his mind.

"Finally, something dramatic. I was beginning to think you'd gone soft."

"Shut it," Luther replied under his breath, tapping the sheath with a finger. "You talk too much for a lump of cursed metal."

A knock sounded on the carriage door, and one of the knights leaned in, bowing slightly.

"We've reached the docks, your grace."

Liliana nodded, composing herself. "Ask one of the dockmasters which ship is bound for the Enferi Forest. We don't have time to waste."

The knight saluted and left, his armor clinking faintly. Through the window, they could see him approaching a group of dockworkers gathered around three large ships. The group seemed to be arguing about something, their faces pale, their gestures uneasy.

As the knight approached, he overheard someone whisper, "Is that true? The herb pickers again?"

"Yes," came another voice, hushed and grim. "They came back white as sheets… and not a word out of them. Like their tongues were gone."

The knight cleared his throat to announce himself. "Excuse me—which of these ships is bound for the Enferi Forest?"

The men froze mid-conversation. One of them—a broad-shouldered sailor with messy blond hair and a half-tied bandana—pointed to the vessel closest to the carriage. "That'd be mine, sir knight. She's almost full, though, so you'll have to—"

He stopped midsentence, his brow furrowing. "Wait, did you say Enferi Forest?"

"Yes," the knight replied curtly, growing slightly irritated.

The man groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh, for the love of the tides… Are you serious? Has no one told you about what's happening there?"

The knight looked unimpressed. "I was told to secure transport, not rumors."

The man sighed. "Name's Finn, captain of the Mistling. And let me give you a bit of advice, knight—steer your nobles away from that forest. Folks who've gone near it lately… don't come back the same. They return pale and trembling, and when they try to speak, it's like something's choking the words right out of them. A few faint dead away mid-sentence. Curses, demons, who knows—but I'm not dragging any noble corpses onto my record."

Despite his grim tone, Finn extended his hand. "Two gold coins for the lot—that includes the carriage. I'll take you up to the village by the forest, but that's where my part ends."

The knight handed him the payment silently, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of concern.

Back inside the carriage, another battle entirely was brewing.

Liliana crossed her arms, her voice dripping with venom. "Aren't you getting off, your holiness?"

Aithur leaned back against the seat, his usual smirk in place. "Hmm, I think I'll rest a bit longer. The sea air is nice. Refreshing."

Her jaw tightened. "You were only allowed to accompany us to the town, not to the forest."

Arthur stretched lazily. "And yet, here I am, in one piece, still breathing the same air as you. Maybe fate wants me here."

Liliana's hand went to her sword—and the metal sang as it was half drawn. "Maybe fate wants your head rolling across the docks."

Before she could finish, Aithur's hand caught the edge of the blade mid-swing. The air pulsed—a gust of wind bursting from his palm and sending the curtains fluttering.

He grinned. "Tch, so feisty. You swing first, think later. Typical of the Church's finest."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "You mock the Church one more time, and I'll—"

Aithur raised a finger, pointing past her. "Shh. You'll wake the kid."

Liliana blinked and glanced at Luther.

The boy had dozed off, head leaning against the window ledge. The sunlight hit his silver hair just right, making it shimmer faintly. His breathing was soft, almost peaceful—a stark contrast to the constant chaos around him.

Liliana's hand lowered slowly. Her expression softened, if only a little. "He never rests properly…"

Aithur chuckled. "He's probably tired of babysitting both of us."

That earned him another glare, but she didn't reply. Instead, she sighed and sheathed her sword.

Aithur stood, brushing off his robes, then quietly moved to Luther's side. He eased the boy down so his head rested on the seat, then draped his own cloak over him. "Brat must've been exhausted," he said softly, a ghost of genuine fondness passing through his tone before his smirk returned.

Liliana raised an eyebrow. "You're surprisingly gentle for someone who starts fights before breakfast."

"Please," Aithur scoffed. "I'm not gentle. I'm just saving him the trouble of waking up cranky. Have you seen what he's like half-asleep? He's worse than the king."

Liliana rubbed her temples. "God help me…"

"Unlikely," Luther murmured sleepily, still half-dreaming. His voice was drowsy but clear enough to make both of them glance at him. "They're too busy ruining my life."

Liliana bit back a laugh. Arthur didn't bother hiding his. "Can't argue with that."

The sword's voice echoed again, teasing. "Well, at least he's honest."

"Shut up," Luther muttered, eyes still closed. "Or I'll use you as an anchor."

That earned another snort of laughter from Aithur, who turned toward the window just as the ship came into view. "Looks like we're boarding soon."

Outside, the dockworkers were securing ropes and shouting commands. The air was alive with motion—gulls, waves, chatter, and the creak of wood against water. The carriage wheels rolled forward again, the horses' hooves clopping against the planks as they moved onto the ramp leading toward the Mistling.

Finn was shouting at his men, "Careful with that cargo! And make sure the noble's carriage doesn't scratch my deck!"

As they ascended, Luther opened his eyes briefly, blinking at the changing light. "...Huh. Moving already?"

Liliana smiled faintly. "Yes. Try not to fall asleep again once we set sail."

"Can't promise," he muttered, adjusting the cloak. "Wake me when we hit something."

The sword chuckled quietly. "I like this one. He's got spirit. Lazy, but spirited."

"Keep talking," Luther replied flatly, "and I'll toss you into the sea. Let's see if you can swim."

The sword gasped theatrically. "Cruel! You'd drown your only companion?"

Luther sighed, leaning back as the carriage rocked slightly. "Companion" implies choice. You're more like a noisy curse that learned to talk."

Aithur grinned while Liliana rolled her eyes as the Mistling gave a low, deep creak—the sound of ropes tightening and sails catching wind. The carriage was fully boarded, and Finn signaled the men to pull up the ramp.

As the ship began to move, the trio fell into a strange calm—the steady rhythm of the waves was almost hypnotic. The tension that had hung in the air earlier slowly dissolved, leaving only the soft hum of the sea and the faint creaking of the ship.

Luther's eyes drifted shut again, his thoughts fading between dreams and memory. For a fleeting moment, he thought he could hear faint whispers—not from the sword, but from somewhere deeper. A low, melodic hum like a woman's voice… calling from the sea.

He frowned slightly but didn't open his eyes.

Maybe it was just the wind.

At the far end of the deck, a woman in white armor stood silently, watching the carriage from a distance. Her long blonde hair fluttered in the wind, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her blade.

Her eyes—cold and calculating—locked onto the leaving ship.

"Found you," she whispered.

The ocean breeze carried her words away.

The hunt had begun.