They made camp under the crooked arms of a wind-warped oak, its branches gnarled like a sleeping giant's fingers. A small fire crackled in the center of a ring of stones, spitting sparks up into the indigo sky. The stars blinked above like bored gods, half-watching as the trio of misfits drifted from "pleasantly buzzed" into "absolutely wrecked."
The smoke from Draj's pipe was thick and sweet—bloodthistle mixed with something resinous and sharp, the kind of blend that whispered half-memories and dared you to breathe deeper. Boo passed it to Nyxia with a grin so lazy it threatened to slide off her face entirely.
Nyxia hesitated. "This smells like it should come with a warning label."
"It does," Draj said, stretched out against a log, arms folded behind his head. "In Orcish. Boo burned it off."
"Wasn't my fault!" Boo was now perched sideways on Draj's lap, her legs dangling like a lounging cat's. "Fire is unpredictable. Like me."
Draj chuckled. "Exactly like you."
She trailed her nails down his chest, teasing. "That why you keep me around?"
"I haven't decided yet."
Loque lay nearby, spectral tail flicking with ancient disdain. His glow pulsed like a steady breath in the firelight.
"I could be in the Fade," he muttered into Nyxia's mind, "resting like a sane creature. Instead I'm babysitting a drunk rogue and her very large friend."
Nyxia chuckled, her voice quiet and warm. The haze hit her differently—deep, not dizzying. She sat in stocking feet, armor loosened, eyes half-lidded with the kind of rare, languid calm that Boo had only seen a handful of times.
"You're smiling," Loque noted.
"Only because you're here," she whispered.
"You always were my favorite little storm."
"Mm."
Across the fire, Boo narrowed her eyes playfully. "You two whispering again?"
Nyxia blinked. "Sort of."
"Thought so. You get that look. Dreamy. Like you're in love with a weather system."
"He says you're loud."
"I am loud."
Loque purred. "And you're trouble."
The air was easy. The laughter warm. Boo was nearly at the point of poking Draj to see if he was ticklish when—
Snap.
Nyxia's spectral ears twitched. Her posture stiffened.
Another snap. Closer this time.
Loque was on his feet in a blink. "Company."
"Party crashers?" Boo slurred, then realized her daggers weren't on her. She grabbed a spoon instead.
Bandits burst from the treeline. Five or six. Masks, mismatched armor, wild eyes. Desperate types.
Reaction? Chaos.
Nyxia reached for her glaive—and nearly tripped over her own discarded boot.
Boo, armed with the spoon, launched it like a javelin. It clanged uselessly off a rock.
Draj rose with a roar—then immediately tripped over a log and fell like a sack of bricks.
Loque lunged—but clipped Boo mid-pounce, sending her spinning into the dirt with a yelp.
One bandit got accidentally clotheslined by Nyxia's backwards-held glaive. Another slipped on the stewpot's lid and fell into the fire screaming. A third tried to flank Draj, only to catch Boo's elbow as she stood up.
"I just fought a guy with a ladle!" Boo shouted, disoriented but proud.
Draj finally stood, eyes blazing. "OUT OF MY CAMP!" he roared, swinging wide with his axe.
The rest of the bandits turned and fled. They wanted coin, not death by stew or drunken spirit beasts.
Silence.
Then: wheezing, panting, laughing.
"I think I stabbed someone," Boo said, collapsing into giggles.
"I hit myself," Nyxia muttered, rubbing her wrist. "Again."
"I fell on someone," Draj added, blinking.
Loque flopped beside Nyxia, head heavy in her lap. His mental voice wheezed with laughter.
"That was the most beautiful mess I've ever seen."
Nyxia let out a breath, brushing soot from her knee. "Loque says he loved it."
"Of course he did." Boo plopped beside her. "That beast has taste."
"You okay?" she added, nudging Nyxia's shoulder.
"Think so."
"Good. Because that was the worst fight I've ever been in. And I once fought a tree."
Nyxia raised an eyebrow. "…A tree?"
"Don't ask," Loque muttered. "Just be glad you're not that tree."
Bandit bodies were dragged to the edge of camp. The stew survived, now faintly bandit-flavored. Boo found her daggers stuck in a melon. No one questioned the melon.
Weapons within arm's reach now, they all settled again—scraped, stoned, stupidly happy.
"You're laughing more," Loque murmured in Nyxia's mind. "Less brooding. I've missed this."
"Don't get used to it," she said, but her fingers stroked his misty mane.
Boo reclined on the log beside her. "Complete disaster. I say we do it again sometime."
"We'll be dead in a week," Draj said, leaning back.
"Maybe. But we'll be laughing."
"Reckless," he teased.
"Always."
A beat passed. Boo leaned into Nyxia. "You good?"
Nyxia glanced down. Loque nodded.
"She's good," Boo declared. "Just broody."
"She's always broody," Draj said. "It's her aesthetic."
"She's adorable," Boo corrected. "And quiet. But she's staying. She belongs."
"I am part of the conversation," Nyxia murmured.
"Barely. You and Loque have your little psychic book club while I'm out here trying to talk about soup and butts."
"My ass saved the day," Draj said.
"You fell on their leader!"
"Still counts!"
Nyxia shook her head, smirking into her hand. She wasn't used to this—being included. But it felt good. Solid. Like roots taking hold.
Loque brushed her thoughts again.
"Let them love you, little one. It doesn't have to hurt."
"…Trying."
"You're doing better than you think."
Later, Boo curled up beside her like a sleepy fox, arm draped around Nyxia's waist. Draj snored a few feet away, pipe still clutched in one hand. Loque kept watch, eyes glowing softly in the firelight.
And for the first time in what felt like forever…
Nyxia didn't feel alone.
She felt found.