04. Back on the road

Emerging from the depths of the mine, weary and dirt-smeared, the group stumbled into the pale light of dawn. Thranmire was waiting, his Autokart rumbling at the entrance like an eager beast. Without a word, they began loading their spoils—stolen goods stacked hastily under canvas, the weight of their choices settling heavy in the air.   That night, for the first time, they rested together. Or at least, they tried. Lia curled into herself, layers of fabric wrapped so tightly around her that she looked more cocoon than person. Gwen kept her distance too, pressing herself against the farthest edge, sleepless eyes tracing the dark contours of the cavern ceiling. Unease lingered between them all, thick as the stillness.   Morning came soft but carried the weight of revelation. Cas, humming absently, prepared breakfast with careful hands, turning the simple act into something comforting. As they ate, his voice grew somber, recounting the tale of Daisy the Harrengon—taken, vanished into the clutches of something terrible. "The Black Spider," he murmured, the words curling like smoke. And the map Daisy had carried—something vital, something worth stealing or killing for.   As the fire dwindled, Gwen drew Lark aside. She shuffled her tarot deck, fingers steady despite the tremor in her chest. The first card turned over, and her breath hitched. Her father’s face stared back at her from the worn illustration, and for a moment, the world shrank to that single piece of fate.   Their journey carried them onward. The road stretched ahead, dust rising with every step. When they came upon the shrine to Brighid, its ancient stone pulsed with quiet energy, a whisper of wisdom lost to time. Gwen stepped forward, brow furrowed in thought as she studied the riddle etched into the worn surface. When the answer came to her, it did so with quiet certainty. Her reward—a book, its pages brimming with truth about the wastes.   Further still, the land grew barren, the silence weighted. It was there that they found them—two unmarked graves, lonely and nameless beneath the sky. The wind stirred the earth, carrying stories none of them would ever know.