They bought supplies quickly and efficiently with Evan's remaining coin – dried rations, water skins, sturdy traveling cloaks. Zander moved with purpose, his imposing presence clearing a path through the crowded streets near the North Road Gate. He ignored the curious and fearful stares, his focus entirely on securing their departure. Evan noticed he avoided looking directly at the large Draught Lizards some caravans used, his expression tightening almost imperceptibly each time they passed one.
They found a merchant caravan assembling just outside the gate, its banner bearing a stylized ship crest – the Mariner's Guild of Genoa, bound ultimately for Milan with stops along the coastal cities. The caravan master, a grizzled man with salt-weathered skin, eyed Zander with deep suspicion but Evan's payment of the passage fee (considerably higher due to Zander's presence, deemed a "security risk") in crisp silver smoothed the way. They were assigned space near the rear of a large, canvas-covered wagon piled with trade goods, sharing it with two other paying passengers: a nervous spice merchant and a taciturn minstrel with a worn lute case.
The caravan lumbered into motion as the sun climbed towards noon. Evan watched the imposing walls of Polis shrink in the distance, a complex mix of emotions swirling within him – relief at leaving the tension behind, excitement for the path ahead, and profound gratitude for Zander's return. But beneath it all simmered a torrent of unanswered questions.
As the rhythmic creak of wagon wheels and the calls of the drivers filled the air, Evan turned to Zander, who sat beside him, his back against a crate, eyes half-closed but alert. "Tell me," Evan urged softly, mindful of their fellow passengers dozing nearby. "What happened back in Roll City? Who were those Beastmen? Why did you leave?"
Zander opened his eyes fully. His gaze was distant for a moment, looking back not just in distance, but in time. "The Lion Clan," he began, his voice low and gravelly. "Sentinels. Scouts." He paused, choosing his words carefully, a habit Evan now recognized meant Zander was navigating deep truths. "They should not have been south of the Wastes. Their presence... signaled unrest. A shifting of the ancient boundaries."
Evan remembered the imposing, golden-maned Lion-man. "They were looking for something? Or someone?"
Zander's amethyst eyes met Evan's. "Perhaps. Their path crossed mine. They recognized... an echo. An anomaly." He fell silent again, the unspoken meaning hanging heavy. They had recognized something in Zander, something that had forced his hand. "My departure was necessary. To draw them away. To protect... you." He glanced meaningfully at Evan. "The jungle maze was insufficient cover against determined Lion Clan trackers. My trail led them deep into the southern mountains. Away from you."
Evan felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cool air. Zander had deliberately exposed himself, led potential enemies on a dangerous chase, to keep them away from Evan. "You faced them? Alone?"
A flicker of something fierce and primal crossed Zander's face. "They will not return south." The statement was delivered with chilling finality. Evan didn't press. He understood the implication.
"And the rift?" Evan asked, awed and slightly terrified by the memory of reality tearing open. "How did you...?"
Zander looked down at his own hands, massive and powerful. "A... necessity. The bond tightened. I felt your exertion, your confrontation. The need was immediate. Distance became irrelevant." He spoke of tearing space as if it were merely stepping over a puddle. "It is... draining. But the connection guided me true." He touched his chest briefly, then pointed towards Evan's heart. "The thread between us. It pulled me back."
The Life-Force Bond. Quentin and Yale Leaf had spoken of its potential depth, but Evan hadn't truly grasped it until now. It wasn't just words; it was a tangible, living connection that had defied distance and physical barriers to reunite them. A wave of profound emotion washed over Evan – gratitude, awe, and an unshakeable sense of belonging. He placed his hand over his own heart, feeling the echo of that invisible thread.
"I'm glad you're back, Zander," Evan said, the simplicity belying the depth of his feeling.
Zander placed his large hand over Evan's, the gesture surprisingly gentle despite his strength. "As am I, Evan." He looked towards the northern horizon, the road stretching endlessly ahead. "Our path lies together. To Milan. To your destiny."
The wagon rolled on, carrying them further from Polis, further into the unfolding journey. Evan leaned back, the writ of recommendation a comforting weight in his robe. He had his brother back. He had the key to the Institute. The five Sovereigns were still lost, Quentin's path still uncertain, but the core of his world was restored. He closed his eyes, not to sleep, but to listen – to the creak of the wagon, the beat of his own heart, and the deep, steady breathing of the indomitable presence beside him. The Sovereign of Strings and his brother-in-arms traveled north, bound by an unbreakable bond, towards the challenges and power that awaited at the Milan Institute of Magic and Martial Arts.