The trip was an arduous one.

Elevyarian pines turned thinner, the green turning a tinge of pale frost — the changes weren’t noticeable, as the days prolonged, but if you looked closely you could feel the change in weather that wasn’t there before. “The Everwinter,” Aidann said. “Apparently, that’s what it’s called.”

They were surrounded by an inn crowded with people.

“[You know],” Evan said, frowning in response, “[it would probably be best if we lowered our voices. Or spoke in a different language. Wouldn’t people overhear]?”

“[I mean, it wouldn’t be that suspicious since we all look of Resilian descent],” Aidann pointed out casually. “[But yeah].”

“The Hog’s Wart is still quite far away from here,” Novarra said while stretching, lazily. “I mean, it’s on the other side of the sivving country, and we’ve barely made it two villages — we haven’t even reached the capital, you know.” She tilted her head, considering. “[Considering we’re wanted fugitives, it’s probably best if we don’t enter the capital. Sooner or later, I’ll get suspected and searched; and they’ll find out my job]-”

“Then wouldn’t it be the logical thing to do to go to the capital and quit it? Find [alibis and people backing you up with excuses]?” Aidann asked. It was a logical plan, Novarra supposed. She considered it.

“I suppose.” She grinned, propping her chin on her hand. “It’ll take at least a month, though. Maybe more, if the whole [country’s out on a manhunt].” Varra yawned, and looked at the nearby clock. “It’s what? Nine already? I’ll head back to my room, then — we paid for just a night, right?”

Aidann nodded his head in agreement. “Won’t you sit and drink a glass or two before heading back? Talking, getting to know each other?” He let out a dry laugh after the stereotypical pick-up line he delivered.

Novarra laughed. “I mean, we’re not coworkers, so there are no need for icebreakers,” she responded, “but sure, why not?”

They were in a small seaside village by the name of Thalasso, a good distance — and by distance, around two towns and a half — away from Rook, and it had taken three days to reach their current destination. Everything smelled like salt and fish here — which was contrary to the bland Elevyarian cuisine they served — but it remained surprisingly peaceful. Almost like Rook had been, before SHE RUINED IT— Novarra internally winced; and apparently that slowed blink was enough for Aidann to raise an eyebrow.

“You alright?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Varra let a smile flit on her face. “I’m alright.”

Evan blinked at the interaction, but said: “[Souveraine said there would be a guide of some sort]...”

The very guide that was supposed to guide you, Novarra let herself internally finish the sentence, but she gave a nod. “[Have no worries, the guide is entirely trustworthy, Ivauhnking],” the former heiress picked up a glass and tipped it forward in a toast. “[That, I can promise you].”

Evan eyed the alcohol. “[I would order some if it wasn’t illegal],” he said, surprisingly honestly.

The former Kingbreaker looked more relaxed than he’d been at Rook, some of the tension out of his shoulders, but it was still there. The bunching up of his currently small shoulders, the slight furrow of his brow—

Novarra changed her voice. “Aw, baby, don’t worry, when you’re all grown up like Mommy and Daddy, I promise you can have a sip!” she promised, as Evan scowled and Aidann started laughing — not in that hearty way, but in a series of small snorts and chuckles. “And either way—” she took a sip as a mock-demonstration “-it tastes bitter!”

“[Fuck you],” Evan spat.

Aidann snorted again. “Don’t worry, son,” he said mildly, slapping the currently five-year-old on the back, “when you become a real man like Dad, I promise you can have all the beer you want!” At Novarra’s pretend-glare, he pretended to cough blandly. “Er, maybe not all the beer, but—”

“[Fuck you all].”

Varra felt a spark of genuine amusement flicker in her chest. “[Alright, alright, we’ll stop teasing you],” she conceded after a while mischievously. “I won’t drink tonight — you understand, safety reasons — but I suppose it’s time to share.” She scoured the table for an empty bottle and found it, plopping the object in the middle. “[Let’s play spin the bottle]!” Novarra crowed. “[Truth or dare version, of course! We all know the game]?”

“‘Course,” Aidann said, rolling up his sleeves. His statuesque face was betrayed by his twitching grin, and he tilted his head. “I’ll go first.” He reached over and span the green bottle, it circling for a while before the tip landed pointing towards Evan, and the bottom towards Aidann. “I guess I’m the asker,” the somewhat-stranger said.

Novarra shook her head.

It couldn’t be, it was a coincidence— as the doubts filled her head and the bottle glitched, she raised her eyebrows at the party trick. “That’s cheating,” she complained, pointing towards the illusion. “[No powers].”

Dangerous.

The second she had classified Aidann as a threat, she had already decided that the only way to deal with him — well, the only way at the moment — was to doubt everything physical. She checked her locks and whether they were actually locked before she went to bed every night; she checked the position of her current blade every few seconds to the point where she did it unconsciously; she doubted almost everything that could defend her from danger almost every waking second.

Of course, mental fatigue could cause her to slip up, but SHE COULDN’T AFFORD TO. This...transmigrator had a role to fill, a stereotype to permeate, and it was likely he was a ragtag the System had assigned to fill the three’s party.

Everything came in threes — the most stereotypical trio was usually the fiery heroic type, the healer-y/passive sensitive type, and the love interest. Or, dumbed down, an idealist, a practicalist (the match-up usually made to create conflict within the ‘party’) and a neutralist who leaned heavily towards the idealist hero’s side.

Then the practicalist would be alienated for the sake of plot, and then their boo-hoo backstory would be revealed (not that Novarra had anything against backstories) and suddenly they all became the best of friends after the party overcame an ‘insurmountable obstacle.’

There was nothing wrong with a cliche — the more an author tried to deviate from one, the more the story became a cliche in itself. Trying not be cliche was a cliche, so there was that.

Aidann looked at her, not a flicker of remorse in his eyes. “Can’t blame someone for trying, right?” he said, and even though mistrust flared up in Evan’s eyes almost immediately. “Well, it’s you and me I guess.” The third transmigration pointed to the actual bottle — Novarra cast a paranoid look towards it; but it came up clean — which pointed towards Aidann asking Varra.

She leaned back, almost unnoticeably fingering her sword. “Ask away,” she said, grinning.

“What did you do?” he asked, tapping his fingers on the table almost unnoticeably. Novarra could see them skating over the surface almost like he was pressing piano keys — she did that sometimes, too, but it was probably a habit from when he was a musician— “Before all this, I mean,” Aidann added, gesturing around him. Curiosity glinted in his eyes.

“Professional piano player,” Novarra lied smoothly.

“Wrong; you don’t have enough heavy calluses.”

“I didn’t play well, my dad paid my way through it?” she offered lazily.

Aidann tilted his head. “Is it that hard to tell me?” he asked.

Novarra shrugged. “I mean, it depends on whether you really want to know or not, doesn’t it?” She threw her head back and laughed, stretching a hand across the table. “[Novarra Ultra, daughter of the fridge company, nice to meet you].”

Evan snorted. “[It’s the Ultra SmartFridge that’s made millions by being invented and sold commercially, don’t be fooled],” he said, shaking his head. “[Millionaires].”

Varra made a face, before drawling: “[We’re just like any other human — we eat, we sleep, we drink water; and as we all are humans of the Planet Earth, we]-”

“[You’re quoting that politician’s speech word for word, aren’t you]?” Aidann asked, amused. “[Country X is a small country — don’t worry, I’m aware of your ‘fridge company’].” He put the last two words in sarcastic quotation marks, and Novarra shrugged, grinning.

“Spin the bottle,” she said.

Aidann did.

This time, it landed on Evan and Novarra, and the former office worker rubbed his hands together. “[Fridge company, my ass],” he grumbled, still not over the previous topic. “[Uh — there’s not really much to ask though],” the Ivauhnking admitted. “[What do you like to do in your free time]?”

The former heiress laughed, clapping her hands together. “[We’re not on a blind date, Evan],” she teased. “[Aiya, are you trying to steal me from your dad]?” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

Evan sighed as he waved a hand. “[Just answer the damn question].”

Novarra raised her hands in surrender. She checked her weapon, the door, and the bottle mentally again before tilting her head, considering. “Let’s see, I like reading [light novels— wuxia and xianxia, I guess, but Western fantasy’s more my cup of tea].” The heiress folded a finger on her hand. “[I play piano, sometimes — I wasn’t lying when I said I played; the lying bit was that I was a professional].

“What else…” Novarra considered the dilemma for a while. “I—”

Just then, one of the few barkeep came over and awkwardly interrupted, informing them that they were about to close up the first floor’s bar — being a small town, they closed early. “I’m saved!” the heiress cackled, slamming her hands down and getting up from the table. “[Really, Evan, I should pour water on you like on those blind dates in dramas after you’ve insulted me. You know, like ‘how dare you not praise my beauty’]!”

Evan rolled his eyes and ignored her, storming up the inn stairs loudly.

Varra laughed.

As she was about to follow, Aidann stopped her. “Wait,” he said. His stony face was less stiff now, but he still looked grim. “We need to talk.”

Novarra checked her sword — still in the scabbard. Exit, entrance, blind spots — still there. Right. “Sure,” she replied, casually. “Let’s take a walk by the beach, husband.”

The beach wasn’t bad.

For vacations, instead of coming to her concerts or award ceremonies, Navven provided Novarra with plane tickets. During the summer, she went accompanied by her chauffeur and assistant in the Ultra private plane — shiny hotels, tall palms, the air simmering with the scent of tropical fruits was what she was used to. This town’s coastline was bland by comparison, but it made her feel fresher.

There was an invisible burden lifted on her shoulders, but the paranoia and voices were still there. She breathed in. It smelled of rock and salt and the expanse of pale sand that stretched beneath her feet was empty, not because of a private reservation but due to the dusky sky above.

“You like the beach?” Aidann asked almost lazily. The princely supposed duke’s son had somehow kicked off his luxurious shoes in the interval they’d headed to the scene; he was now walking on the moonlight-illuminated coast with the sea breeze whipping against his hair — he looked like one of those models, and actually looked like one of Country X’s top idols.

“Maybe,” Novarra agreed. She tilted her head. “Do you actually look like that in real life?”

Aidann’s lips twitched. “Why, you think I’m an Internet catfish or something?” He gestured towards his body. “Is this my VR avatar? Are we in a sci-fi transmigration now?”

“Pah, I’ve seen you on TV screens but not in real life, no need to rub it in my face,” Varra responded, rolling her eyes. “Besides, sci-fi is usually never done realistically — dystopian sometimes even worse.” The two strolled for a while before stopping at some rocks, uneven dark stones that protruded at the bottom of a small cliff. “You read it too, right?” she asked, suddenly. “REBUILD?”

Aidann made a noise of agreement. “We’ve both transmigrated into Evan’s novel,” he said, staring at the night sky. “This body’s notorious for being a handsome swordsman who can do magic, hated by his family, ruthless but likes painting, has a childhood sweetheart — it feels like I’m in a drama or something, how each character is so— how do you say it?”

“They fill more than just a role in a story,” Novarra supplied. She checked her sword and surroundings again, before continuing, leaning back: “That’s why REBUILD got so popular, didn’t it? It was wholly realistic.” She paused. “Evan’s Country X and our Country X are the same, but different — I told him that I was the same as him; to not tell him that he’s from a novel.” She snorted. “But, you know, you could be lying.”

“You could be, too,” the other said casually. “But mistrust breeds destruction.”

“But mistrust is sometimes warranted,” she mused.

Aidann shrugged. “Warranties can expire.”

Novarra smiled amusedly at the wordplay. “Not if you put preservatives in it,” she contradicted.

“If you make the ‘preservatives added’ in a really small font, maybe it’ll sell well and you’ll be the head of a canned food company instead of a fridge one,” he added, raising his eyebrows at the strange direction the conversations took.

The former heiress laughed a bit, before speaking. “I don’t trust you,” she admitted honestly. “You told us your ability, so I should tell you mine; but—” Novarra smiled, toothily — it would’ve looked almost childish, if it didn’t look like she was animalistically baring her teeth “-I don’t want to.”

Aidann shrugged again. “Then don’t,” he said, simply.

“Okay,” she responded, stretching. “By the way, you know that this isn’t REBUILD, right?” There was a deeper question, one Varra embedded: this isn’t a game. You could think of it like one, which was what she did sometimes, but it wasn’t. She couldn’t die, so she could treat it like one, but it wasn’t.

“Of course I know,” said the former idol, blandly. “It would be a really shitty game, if it were one.” He turned to her.

“Are you going to collect all the swords? Become the ultimate continental leader? I mean, I guess I see the appeal of world domination, but—” he paused, considering “-it would take too long.”

I can live forever.

Too long?

“I guess,” Novarra said, shrugging. “You do know about the Thief’s Brand, right? Evan grabbing Excalibur from Kiara Vier? As long as we remember the basic outlines of the story, it’ll be fine — the characters are different, and the roles are too, but—”

“Are you aware,” Aidann spoke, leaning back, “that you have committed diplomatic sacrilige?” He raised an eyebrow, watching her reaction. “A lot of eyes are watching the Resilian rebels, since it’s the first time Resilian forces independent from the Guilds have broached Elevyarian territory. They’re worried it’ll start a war, the Duke Rella and the King. You’ve skipped a very large-reaching stone.”

“It’s a very large lake,” Varra agreed. “And they might find out my identity of being a teaching assistant at Vya Academy, which is why we’re going there, aren’t we?” The heiress smiled. “But even if a war breaks out, that’s for rulers to handle. Maybe I’ll swoop in with Durendal, become a war hero of some sort, but either way there’ll always be some kind of benefit.”

The stars twinkled in the dusky sky.

“Three days, until we reach the capital. And three more days, until we get to the Frosthold. Even if they manage to chase us down, the System will protect us. Plot armor, after all, right?”

Aidann shook his head. “Are you willing to bet your life on it?”

The other grinned, this time — there was a difference between the half-smile and this full-toothed grin.

“I’m willing to bet my time,” Novarra Ultra said. “That should be more than enough.”

They stayed and spoke until the darkness faded away.

Novarra was correct. It did take them three days to get to Vya.

Whether fortunately or not, Aidann was also right.

The first thing she saw on the city gates was her face scribbled as a haphazard wanted poster.

The second thing she saw on the city gates was that an intercontinental war had been declared.