Crimson Rebirth ( GL)

The sun had barely peeked over the horizon, and already, my day was spiraling into chaos.

Xyra's endless mountain of luggage loomed before me, a testament to her unmatched dedication to overpacking. It wasn't just a collection of bags; it was a fortress.

There were trunks—plural—stacked so high they could block out the sun. Dresses? Shoes? Jewellery? Artifacts from a lost civilisation? A collection of rare birds?

At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if she'd smuggled in a live peacock for dramatic flair. The sheer weight of it made me wonder if she was secretly training to overthrow the monarchy by sheer force of inconvenience.

I grabbed another trunk, its surface embossed with some elaborate golden crest that practically screamed, "I belong to someone with far too much money." As I heaved it onto the carriage, my arms screamed in protest.

"How does someone so small need so much stuff?" I muttered, glaring at the pile as if it might suddenly decide to shrink out of guilt. "Is she packing for herself or for the entire kingdom? Are we hosting a travelling fashion show I wasn't informed about?"

Meanwhile, Xyra was, of course, nowhere in sight. Naturally. She had entrusted me with this Herculean task while she was busy arguing with Levan in the courtyard. Their voices carried over like a tragic opera in progress.

From her sharp, clipped tone and his exaggerated sighs, it sounded like they were debating the socio-political implications of upholstery. "The velvet cushions are too scratchy!" Xyra snapped, her voice dripping with indignation.

Levan's reply was equally petulant. "They're not scratchy. You're imagining things. Just sit on them like a normal person!"

If I hadn't been so exhausted, I might've laughed. Instead, I just rolled my eyes. Typical Xyra—leaving me to break my back while she battled for the divine right to sit on the fluffiest cushions.

Levan, on the other hand, hovered around me like a particularly annoying mosquito. His perfectly polished boots crunched against the gravel as he sauntered over, his every movement radiating smug superiority.

"Careful with that one," he barked, gesturing at a bag I was hoisting. "It's delicate."

I stared at him, torn between throwing the bag at his perfectly coiffed head or pretending I hadn't heard him.

"Delicate?" I muttered under my breath, loud enough for him to hear but soft enough to maintain plausible deniability. "What is it, your ego wrapped in silk?"

Levan's glare intensified, but before he could retort, I slammed the bag down onto the stack with just enough force to make a point.

He flinched, his hands twitching like he wanted to intervene but couldn't risk dirtying himself with actual labour.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Xyra sashayed back into view. She moved like a queen descending upon her loyal subjects, her every step a silent reminder that she was far too important to acknowledge menial tasks like luggage.

Without so much as a glance in my direction, she swept into the carriage, her gown trailing behind her like a royal banner.

Levan followed her, pausing just long enough to throw me one last condescending look. "I hope you can keep up on horseback, Captain," he sneered, his tone dripping with mockery.

I gritted my teeth, my fingers tightening around the reins of my horse. "I'll manage," I said flatly, resisting the overwhelming urge to drag him off his cushioned throne and toss him into the nearest mud puddle.

As the carriage rolled forward, I took my place on horseback, the rhythmic clatter of hooves offering a fleeting distraction from my fraying sanity.

The sun climbed higher, its relentless heat pounding against my skull as exhaustion crept over me. Sending out clones to track the masked attackers had drained me more than I cared to admit.

Every muscle in my body ached, and my eyelids felt heavier with each passing mile.

From inside the carriage, Xyra and Levan's voices rose again, their argument evolving into an almost impressive display of petty bickering.

"I told you, Levan, this shade of blue is hideous!"

"You're being absurd. It's a perfectly fine shade of blue."

"You wouldn't know fine if it slapped you in the face. Honestly, who even approved this design?"

I let out a long, suffering sigh, the sound drowned out by their squabbling. "This is my life now," I muttered to myself. "Reduced to a glorified babysitter for two overgrown children."

Occasionally, I glanced back at the carriage, half-hoping it might spontaneously combust.

Sadly, it remained stubbornly intact. If the gods had any sense of justice, one of them would've tripped on their own ridiculous arguments by now.

As we travelled further, the landscape shifted. Rolling green hills gave way to dusty plains, and the air grew heavy with the salty tang of the ocean. It might've been beautiful if not for the endless droning of my companions.

Even the serene sound of waves crashing against the shore was no match for Xyra's scornful exclamations or Levan's defensive whining.

Finally, the carriage creaked to a halt in front of a sprawling estate perched elegantly by the sea.

The property was a vision of opulence: gleaming white stone walls wrapped around manicured gardens, and balconies draped with flowering vines overlooked the sparkling ocean.

The waves shimmered under the sunlight, their rhythm hypnotic. For a brief moment, I felt a flicker of peace.

And then reality hit me like a runaway carriage.

My stomach plummeted as I recognised the estate's signature design. "Oh, no," I whispered, my throat dry. "Not here."

Xyra leaned out of the carriage, her face lighting up with delight. "Isn't it marvellous?" she cooed, entirely oblivious to my rising panic.

I swallowed hard, my hands gripping the reins tightly. Calira's property. Of all the places to end up, it had to be hers. My luck was officially dead and buried.