KamiKowa: That Time I Got Transmigrated With A Broken Goddess-Chapter 120: [] Fourteen Days to Hearthome

"Fourteen days to Hearthome," he muttered, glancing at the ashen sky that stretched endlessly above them like a worn blanket. "If we’re lucky."

Naomi guided Ember alongside him, her cheeks already flushed from the cold, the golden-bronze skin taking on a rosy hue that contrasted with her thigh-length black hair. "You don’t sound convinced."

"Let’s just say I’ve learned not to count on things going smoothly." Xavier shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, wincing as his persistent headache throbbed behind his eyes, a dull hammer pounding against his skull with each heartbeat.

As the caravan left the city’s protection, the landscape transformed into a vast expanse of pristine white broken only by the sentinel-like dark pines and the jagged, knife-edged teeth of distant mountains that seemed to tear at the very fabric of the horizon.

Naomi’s breath caught in her throat, forming a small cloud that dissipated quickly in the frigid air as she took in the overwhelming view. "It’s... beautiful. In a terrifying sort of way."

"Your first time outside the city walls?"

"Nessa’s memories include trips to nearby villages, but nothing like this." She gestured expansively at the wilderness stretching endlessly to the horizon, her expensive rings catching what little light filtered through the clouds. "Nothing so goddamn empty."

Xavier understood her awe. Despite the ever-present danger, there was something breathtakingly majestic about Frostfall’s unforgiving landscape. The mountains rose like ancient, weathered sentinels against the steel-gray sky, their snow-capped peaks lost in heavy clouds that promised more punishing snowfall. Forests of pine stood dark and defiant against the white canvas, their branches heavy with crystalline ice that glittered like scattered diamonds when occasional sunlight broke through the cloud cover.

"Don’t let the pretty fool you," came Efler’s voice from the red wagon ahead. She’d turned in her seat to address them, her piercing golden eyes narrowed against the glare of snow. "Everything out here is trying to kill you. The cold, the beasts, even the beauty itself. People get so caught up staring at the mountains they don’t see the crevasse at their feet."

"Cheerful outlook," Naomi replied, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow, her coral pink lips curving into a skeptical smile.

"I’ve made this journey twelve times." Efler turned back to her reins with a finality that brooked no argument. "Those who don’t respect Frostfall don’t make it back."

They rode in silence for a time, the only sounds penetrating the stillness were the rhythmic crunch of snow beneath wagon wheels and hooves, the mournful whistle of wind through the ancient pines, and the occasional terse calls exchanged between vigilant caravan members. Xavier’s headache pulsed like a living thing inside his skull—sometimes receding to a dull throb only to return with vicious intensity that made him wince. He caught himself repeatedly turning southeast without conscious thought, his body inexplicably drawn toward Hearthome like a compass needle finding north.

By midday, the imposing silhouette of Vykengard had completely vanished behind them, gradually swallowed by the vast distance and the ever-steepening rise of the snow-blanketed foothills. The caravan commander called a brief halt to rest the laboring horses and allow stiff-limbed travelers to stretch and stamp feeling back into their frozen extremities.

Xavier dismounted with practiced grace, affectionately patting Smoke’s muscular neck as the stallion snorted plumes of crystalline vapor into the bitter air. Seeking information, he trudged through ankle-deep snow toward the distinctive red wagon where Efler was methodically inspecting her harnesses with experienced hands.

"How bad are the mountain passes this time of year?" he asked casually, extending a water skin toward her as a peace offering.

Efler accepted it with a nod of thanks and took a long, deliberate drink before meeting his eyes. "Worst they’ve been in a decade, maybe longer. Winter’s pushing further north each year." She wiped her mouth with the back of her gloved hand, her golden eyes reflecting concern. "The Heart grows stronger with each passing season."

"The Heart of Winter," Xavier repeated thoughtfully, studying her face for any revealing reaction. "What exactly is it? Beyond the legends, I mean."

Efler’s penetrating golden eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You’re making the treacherous journey to Hearthome without knowing something that fundamental?"

"I’ve heard stories and whispers," Xavier admitted with a disarming half-smile. "None that sounded complete or trustworthy. I thought yours might be different."

"Not mine to tell right now," she replied firmly, handing back the water skin. "Some knowledge comes with a price out here. Ask the Fire Priests in Hearthome if you’re so curious—they’ve been studying it for centuries in their sacred libraries."

"And what about the Winter Court?" Xavier pressed, lowering his voice. "What’s their connection to all this?"

Something flickered across Efler’s face—caution, perhaps, or fear. "Mind your questions, stranger. Some topics are dangerous to discuss in the open." She nodded toward the surrounding wilderness. "The Court has ears everywhere."

Before Xavier could press further, a horn sounded from the front of the caravan. Dalen’s voice carried over the commotion: "Everyone back in position! We move in five minutes!"

Naomi appeared at Xavier’s side, stomping her feet to warm them. "Learn anything useful?"

"Only that some questions are better asked indoors," Xavier replied, glancing at Efler’s back as she returned to her wagon. "And that our mysterious Heart is growing stronger."

"Sounds ominous." Naomi pulled her cloak tighter. "This whole place feels like a nightmare sometimes. I keep expecting to wake up back in my apartment with a killer hangover."

"If only." Xavier helped her back onto Ember before mounting Smoke. "Still, I’d take a hangover over a Vorthak."

The caravan resumed its journey, winding through increasingly rugged terrain as the afternoon wore on. The East Road narrowed as it climbed into the foothills, forcing the wagons to proceed in single file. Guards grew more alert, hands resting on weapons as their eyes scanned the tree line.

Xavier noted how the other travelers watched the wilderness with a mixture of fear and resignation. These people lived with the constant threat of winter beasts and the mysterious Winter Court. It made him wonder about the true nature of this world—was it merely a construct of the narrative gate, or something more permanent? And what of the people themselves? Were they real, with lives and souls of their own, or elaborate illusions created to populate this story?

The questions made his head throb worse than before.

"That headache’s kicking your ass again, huh?" Naomi observed.

Xavier nodded. "Gets worse the further we go. Like something’s pulling me forward and holding me back at the same time."

"Calypso," Naomi said, her voice carefully neutral. "Your connection to her."

"Yes." Xavier saw no point in denying it. "But there’s something else too. Something about this place that feels... I don’t know. Like I’ve been here before, but haven’t."

"Maybe you have. Or rather, whoever you’re wearing has."

Xavier considered this. "Could be my body’s original owner."

"Do you have his memories? I have some of Nessa’s—fragments, mostly. Enough to fake my way through conversations."

"Some. They come and go. Mostly practical things—how to ride, local customs, the layout of Vykengard." Xavier adjusted his position as Smoke navigated a particularly steep section of road. "Nothing deeply personal."

"Same here. I know Nessa worked at the Fox for three years. I know she has—had—a regular customer named Brock who always overpaid. I know she was saving to leave Vykengard." Naomi’s expression darkened. "But I don’t know if she had family, or dreams beyond escaping, or... or if she was happy."

The conversation lapsed into silence as they both contemplated the lives they had temporarily—perhaps permanently—displaced. The ethical implications were troubling. If these bodies had original owners with their own consciousness, what had happened to them? Were they gone forever? Dormant? Or were they somehow watching from within, prisoners in their own flesh?

As the sun began its descent toward the western mountains, the caravan reached the first waypoint—a sturdy stone structure built into the side of a hill, with a watchtower and stables large enough to accommodate their horses.

"We’ll rest here tonight," Dalen announced as the wagons formed a protective circle around the waypoint’s central courtyard. "Tomorrow we begin the climb to the northern pass. Everyone inside the walls before dark."