The campfire crackled, casting long, dancing shadows against the rocky walls of the cave. Naofumi sat apart from the others, his Shield glinting in the low light. He watched Raphtalia and Filo—the former sharpening her blade with focused precision, the latter happily munching on a roasted monster bird leg.
Naofumi grunted, though his hand instinctively went to the pouch of medicinal herbs he’d been brewing. He played the part of the cold-hearted merchant, charging for his services and scowling at the world, but the weight of the Shield on his arm wouldn't let him just walk away.
As the fire died down to embers, Naofumi looked at his status magic. His level was climbing, but the "Waves of Calamity" were never far behind. He wasn't the legendary savior the songs spoke of; he was a man survival had forged into a weapon. And as long as Raphtalia and Filo were by his side, he would keep moving forward—even if he had to drag the rest of this ungrateful world behind him.
Naofumi sighed, tracing a finger over the weathered parchment. "It’s not the distance. It’s the rumors. They say a plague is rotting the northern pass. Crops dying, livestock falling over in the fields. The Church says it’s a curse, but I bet it’s just another mess the other 'Heroes' left behind."
"We go at dawn," Naofumi said, closing the map. "But we’re not doing it for free. We need better materials for your armor and better feed for Filo."