Chadwick Rye

Elsbeth Nightsong stood at the bustling heart of Concordia’s Grand Waystation, her travel-worn cloak gathered close despite the warmth that radiated from the enchanted hearth stones embedded in the terminal’s vaulted ceiling. Around her, travelers from a dozen realms haggled with agents, consulted ornate maps that shifted and reformed with each touch, and bid tearful farewells to loved ones who might not see them again for seasons—or lifetimes.

The journey ahead—spanning the vast expanse from the Eastern Spires to the Twilight Shores beyond the Veiled Mountains—loomed in her mind like an unwritten chapter. Five modes of passage lay before her, each with its price measured in more than mere gold.

A melodic chime resonated through the terminal, drawing her attention to the crystal announcement board where glowing runes indicated the imminent departure of the Dawn Wyrm to the Amber Provinces. Above the terminal’s eastern gate, a magnificent sapphire-scaled dragon adjusted its ceremonial saddle-pavilion, the creature’s intelligent eyes surveying the line of passengers awaiting permission to board.

“Final call for dawn wyrm passage to the Spindrift Archipelago, with connections to the Amber Provinces and Crystalline Wastes,” announced a uniformed station master, his voice magically amplified. “Premier scale seating still available for those with appropriate credentials or purses.”

Elsbeth watched as merchants, diplomats, and adventurers climbed the boarding stairs, each disappearing into the luxurious pavilion strapped to the dragon’s broad back. The journey would be swift—covering in hours what might take weeks by conventional means—but dragon passage carried its own particular costs. Beyond the exorbitant fare lay the risk of high-altitude sickness, unexpected detours as the creatures followed ancient migratory instincts, and the rare but terrifying possibility of aerial predation by griffon prides or wind serpents.

Her gaze shifted to the opposite end of the terminal where a procession of woodland druids led an enormous treant toward the western departure arch. The ancient tree-being moved with ponderous grace, each deliberate step sending faint tremors through the flagstone floor. Embedded within its massive trunk, polished windows revealed passengers seated comfortably in hollowed chambers, reading or chatting as they prepared for their arboreal voyage.

“The walking groves follow the old forest roads,” murmured an elderly woman beside Elsbeth, noticing her interest. “Slow as winter, sure as stone. My grandmother rode the treants across the continent when she was fleeing the Ashen Wars. Three months from coast to coast, but she said it changed her understanding of the land forever—experiencing each regional transition at the pace life itself unfolds.”

Elsbeth nodded thoughtfully. The treant caravans were legendary for their safety and comfort—natural chambers within living wood, gently rocked by the rhythm of ancient footfalls, stopping each evening in the green havens where their kind had gathered for millennia. Passengers emerged from such journeys transformed, it was said, having absorbed something of the treants’ patient wisdom through osmosis.

A flash of iridescence caught her eye as the southern sky-dock illuminated with arcane sigils. From the cloud-break above, a majestic skyship descended on currents of enchanted wind, its gossamer sails shimmering with protective wards and navigational glyphs. Unlike the crude air vessels of previous centuries, modern skyships combined elemental binding, aetheric resonance, and traditional seafaring knowledge to create vessels of extraordinary grace.

“Cloudcutter Expeditionary now arriving at Dock Seven,” announced a different station master. “Passengers for the Southern Circuit with validated rune-passes may begin boarding in order of elemental affinity.”

The skyship’s hull gleamed with polished wood harvested from lightning-struck trees, its figurehead carved in the likeness of a laughing wind spirit. Crew members scurried along narrow walkways, adjusting levitation crystals and tethering the vessel to ornate mooring posts. Skyship travel offered the perfect balance for many—faster than ground conveyance, yet less expensive than dragon passage, with comfortable cabins and the exhilaration of soaring above mountain peaks and weathering magical storms from within the security of multiple protective enchantments.

Elsbeth’s contemplation was interrupted by a low, resonant howl that vibrated through her very bones. The eastern tunnel flooded with ghostly blue light as the Phantom Rails prepared to receive their most famous conveyance. The Twilight Express emerged from swirling mist, its obsidian engine pulled by six spectral horses whose hooves struck phantom sparks from tracks that existed in both the material world and the adjacent spirit realm.

“The rails cross boundaries no conventional path can navigate,” explained a young man in scribe’s robes, excitement evident in his voice as he jotted notes in a travel journal. “The Express passes through the Faded Kingdoms and the Mist Barrens in a single night—territories that would take months to circumvent by conventional means.”

Elsbeth watched passengers board the elegant carriages, their windows frosted with patterns that changed depending on which realm the train currently inhabited. The Phantom Rails offered unparalleled speed on established routes, but tales abounded of passengers who disembarked subtly changed, carrying echoes of the spirit realms through which they had passed. Some returned with prophetic dreams, others with the ability to glimpse spirits at twilight, and a rare few never quite readjusted to conventional reality.

Finally, her attention turned to the western courtyard where stablehands prepared a magnificent pegasus for departure. Unlike the grander conveyances, these winged steeds offered intimate passage for those who preferred to experience every aspect of their journey personally—the wind in their hair, the changing scents of passing territories, the physical connection to a sentient being who shared the journey’s burdens.

A pegasus journey would mean stopping at waystations each evening, conversing with local inhabitants, experiencing regional customs firsthand. It meant vulnerability to weather and potential dangers, but also unfiltered connection to the lands between origin and destination.

“Lady Nightsong?” A station attendant appeared at her elbow, startling her from her reverie. “The passage-master requires your decision. Which conveyance will carry you westward?”

Elsbeth’s fingers tightened around the journey-token in her pocket, its enchanted surface warming to her touch as if responding to her contemplation. Each mode of travel offered its own unique promise and peril—the swift majesty of dragon-flight, the contemplative pace of treant caravans, the balanced elegance of skyships, the otherworldly efficiency of the Phantom Rails, or the intimate connection of pegasus journey.

The choice before her was not merely one of convenience or cost, but of what manner of transformation she sought during the crossing itself. The destination might remain fixed, but the journey would shape the traveler who eventually arrived.

With a decisive nod, Elsbeth drew her token forth, its surface shimmering as it awaited the imprint of her final choice.

If you like this little story please consider subscribing to my blog so that you don’t miss any new ones. Also you can check out other stories that I have written and are currently writing like Forbidden Bond, a tale about a human falling in love with a Half goblin while being hunted down by fallen angels and evil nobles. Or you can check out Chronicles of the Giantess and follow Valorie the Giantess as she adventures across the land of Calladan. Please feel free to leave me a comment. I would love to know what you think about any of the stories. Clink the link below and experience another great story.

If you would like to have all of my stories in one place then you go to this link and purchase My first book. A collection of tales from this blog.