A Journey Unwanted-Chapter 415 - 404: Dull journey

[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Munchkin Country]

"Road of yellow brinks?"

Puck’s brows furrowed as she read the name aloud from a wooden sign embedded firmly into the ground. The sign itself looked strangely pristine—smoothly carved and the lettering sharp as if it had been etched yesterday.

Beneath it, the path split.

Yellow bricks stretched out in two distinct directions, branching away. The road to the east looked more inviting. Not because it was safer, but because it looked as though it had been used. It seemed like people still walked it.

And far in the distance, even under dull skies that seemed determined to choke the color out of the world, there was a city alight with emerald brilliance. Its towers—tall and angular—caught the small amount of light from the hidden sun and threw it back in vivid flashes. It simply looked unreal, as though something was painted on the horizon.

Puck stared.

"That’s the Emerald City," Puck noted, her voice restrained to a lower tone, almost as if she didn’t want to admit she was impressed. Then it slipped out anyway. "Whoa... it looks big even from here." She whistled, genuinely impressed.

"I doubt easy entry would be a given for such a large city," Grimm deduced.

Puck glanced at him sideways.

"You’d probably be right," she admitted with a shrug, though she didn’t sound worried. "But it’s a big city. Big city means people." She lifted her chin slightly, eyes narrowing. "And more people," she continued, "means we’re bound to get tons of information there. Whether they want to give it or not."

"It may prove to give some measure of entertainment," Grimm murmured, he glanced to the side momentarily.

Puck followed his gaze, and there it was again: the lion’s large form lingering behind a stray tree that did not hide him in the slightest. The tree was thin and lonely. The lion was enormous. It was almost insulting that he thought it counted as concealment.

Grimm turned his gaze forward again like nothing had happened.

Puck’s mouth twitched.

"So now it’s entertainment and not interest?" she questioned, raising a brow. "I’m just checking, because you keep changing the label."

"The same thing to me," Grimm said, as if that was the most natural conclusion in the world. Then, after a pause he added, "But this Emerald City—what do you know of it?"

Puck blinked, caught off guard by the sudden directness.

"The bare minimum," she stated. "Apparently it had a princess, but now it’s ruled by a wizard." Her eyes turned toward the distant emerald skyline again. "And that wizard," she continued, voice sharpening slightly, "is the same one responsible for putting that spell on our dear lion friend."

Puck’s tone made it clear she wasn’t calling him that out of affection. It was closer to mockery or maybe discomfort.

Then she added, as if remembering something important:

"I heard he was so accomplished that even the Quaesitorum wanted to recruit him."

Grimm’s head tilted a fraction.

"I have no idea what that is," Grimm merely stated.

Puck froze for half a second.

Then she blinked again, remembering that this man was in fact from a different realm.

"Oh. Right," she muttered, rubbing the back of her head with mild embarrassment. "I kind of forgot." Then she straightened, recovering quickly. "Well, they’re a group of witches," Puck explained, more carefully now. "Renowned and powerful ones. The kind that people talk about even when they don’t believe in witches at all."

She paused, thinking.

"And even only sticking to Elfame," she added, "I’ve heard of them. That’s how far their reputation reaches." Puck lifted a finger like she was correcting herself mid-thought. "But pretty sure they only take witches," she said. "So this wizard probably isn’t a member. Just someone they wanted."

Grimm hummed in interest in that. "I see," he said, and the words sounded simple, but Puck could tell he filed it away for later. "What of the city itself?"

Puck shrugged lightly, her body drifting in the air beside him effortlessly.

"I’ve only heard from some other fairies that it’s pretty advanced-looking," she said. "And big. Bigger than it should be for a place sitting out here in the middle of nowhere." Her eyes narrowed. "But well," she added, nodding toward the horizon, "you can see as much."

Grimm’s steps carried him forward.

"Then it can serve as our current destination," Grimm stated.

He moved, committing to the eastern road without hesitation.

Puck drifted behind him.

And of course, the lion followed at a safe distance—still close enough to be present, but far enough to pretend he wasn’t.

Puck watched Grimm for a moment, then hummed.

"You decided that pretty quickly," she said. "Thought you were worried about how we’d gain entry."

"There shall always be methods to exploit," Grimm merely said.

Puck squinted at him.

"You sound like a thug," the fairy dryly stated.

Grimm did not dignify that with a response, he simply kept moving forward. The path itself was simple now and did not branch again, the yellow bricks stretching on and on. The plains around them were mostly packed with rock formations—clusters that were cracked or broken—and groups of trees that looked too sparse to be comforting.

There were distant landmarks too.

A decrepit-looking forest loomed in the distance, its silhouette dark and sickly. Other shapes further out didn’t quite resolve into anything familiar. The world felt wide and empty despite being littered with many things.

Puck floated a little higher, then dropped down again, as if restless.

Then she spoke again.

"Say," she began, "why don’t you just fly over there instead of following the road?" She glanced at him pointedly. "Because I recall you leaving me in the dust yesterday," she added. "Your flight speed is ridiculous. We could be there in seconds."

Grimm didn’t even slow.

"So the lion can follow," Grimm said, as if it should be obvious.

Puck stopped mid-drift, hovering in place for half a second.

Her face twisted in disbelief.

"Seriously?" she questioned. Then she pointed back behind them with a sharp gesture of her hand. "You want it to follow us?"

"Indeed," Grimm said. "It may redeem itself," Grimm stated.

Puck stared at him. For a moment, she looked like she was going to laugh. Then she didn’t, because something about the way he said it didn’t sound like it was out of mercy. Obviously, it wasn’t. This was Grimm, after all.

The fairies eyes narrowed as she drifted closer to him, lowering her voice.

"That’s not the true reason," she said quietly.

Grimm didn’t respond.

Puck held his silence for a moment, waiting, as if she could force him to crack just by staring. But Grimm was curt and Puck realized she wasn’t going to get a straight reason.

Her gaze slid back toward the lion again.

And her thoughts turned inward.

("I wonder if it has to do with what the lion said,") Puck internally thought. ("About his scent being familiar.") She frowned slightly. ("Now that I think about it... even that grinning cat seemed familiar with Grimm, despite him being from another realm.") Her mind turned to other moments. ("Even that one porcelain guard.") The pattern wasn’t clear but it was there.

It was certainly odd and no concrete answer would form, no matter how she tried to force the pieces into place.

Puck exhaled softly.

Grimm was ever a faceless mystery, it seemed.

And she didn’t know whether that irked her more or interested her more.

"It is as you suspect," Grimm suddenly spoke up, the words came without warning. Puck blinked at the sudden statement; she hadn’t expected him to admit it. Her small body drifted a little closer in the air. "I myself am curious as to why some in this realm seem familiar with ’Grimm’," the General stated.

There was something odd in the way he said it. The emphasis on his own name, like it didn’t sit comfortably in his mouth. As though it wasn’t fully his.

Puck’s head tilted at the way he spoke.

"Why are you referring to yourself like that?" she asked, her voice narrowing, the confusion sharp. Her head tilted again, the action tiny but intense, as if she could physically angle herself into understanding. "You said it like you’re talking about someone else." Then she shook her tiny head, forcing herself to pull away from the wrong thread, remembering it’s best to press for something more important. "No—wait," she said quickly, almost annoyed at herself for getting distracted. "So is that the sole reason you’re keeping the lion with you?"

Her eyes turned backward instinctively, toward the heavy presence that had been stalking them at a distance for far too long.

The lion wasn’t trying to hide anymore; it simply followed, oddly patient.

Grimm’s voice came as evenly as ever.

"Yes," Grimm stated. Then he continued, and his tone lowered slightly. "I gather it’s why it’s following us." Puck’s brows rose, Grimm did not turn, but the way he spoke made it clear he was watching everything anyway. "I am familiar to it," he said, "and as such, it derives a small comfort from that which is familiar."

The sentence seemed almost clinical. The General had a recognition of how fear works, how loneliness works, and how something monstrous could still cling to the smallest scraps of safety.

Puck’s gaze lingered on the back of Grimm’s helmet.

Then she looked away.

"Makes sense in a roundabout kind of way," Puck murmured. She sounded like she was half agreeing and half unsettled by how reasonable it was, her lips pursed. Then she asked the question that mattered most. "So what are you thinking?"

Grimm didn’t answer immediately. The silence stretched for just long enough that Puck began to wonder if he would dodge it.

Then he spoke.

"I merely have some vague ideas," Grimm stated. "I want to see if this is a pattern that shall persist."

Puck’s eyes narrowed again.

A pattern.

"Figures," she said, resigned to the vagueness, like she’d already known this was the kind of answer she’d get from him. "You’re the type who never says what you mean until the very end, huh." She drifted slightly ahead of him now, turning in the air so she could look back at him as they walked. "Well," she added, her voice sharpening again, trying to reclaim some control over the unease curling in her chest, "it should be interesting, right?"

It was said like a joke, but it didn’t sound like one. It sounded like someone trying to convince themselves that curiosity was safer than fear.

Grimm’s response came immediately.

"Indeed."