The Pathfinder's Oath

The lingering warmth of the miraculously good dinner settled over the camp, leaving the White Eagle Party feeling surprisingly content. As Aiden, with his usual unsettling silence, began to tidy up the utensils and the pots, making them vanish back into the unseen spaces he commanded, the party saw their chance. They were still reeling from the day's events, and their curiosity about the enigma leading them had reached a fever pitch.

"Alright, Pathfinder," Sascha started, trying for a casual tone but failing slightly. "Dinner was... well, it was amazing. But seriously, who are you? Are you even... human?"

Sona, ever earnest, added, "Yes, Aiden, we know your class is Pathfinder, but... what does that mean? We've never heard of it. Are there more of you? Where do you come from? And those berries for Arianne, how did you know elves liked those specifically? Do you... do you just know everything about everyone?"

Miriam, always direct, finally cut to her main point. "Speaking of pulling things out of nowhere, what else can you pull out of 'thin air' besides full camp gear? Do you have an endless supply of healing potions? Or, you know, gold? A few thousand gold pieces would make this mission a lot more comfortable." A hopeful glint entered her eyes.

Lucille, ever the tactician, bypassed the more personal questions for the practical. "Your methods are certainly effective. But this 'pulling things from nowhere' ability... does it have limits? Capacity? And could you, for instance, provision a separate team remotely?"

Aiden paused his tidying, the last plate disappearing with a faint shimmer. He turned his helmeted head towards them, his silence stretching for a moment as he processed their cascade of questions. His voice, calm and even, held no hint of annoyance, merely a flat, matter-of-fact tone. "I am human," Aiden stated, addressing Sascha and Sona's first few questions. "My origins are not relevant to the mission. As for a Pathfinder, it's an ancient class. Very, very few remain. We operate where and when needed; our purpose is to handle threats that destabilize reality—threats that your Guilds and armies cannot."

He then addressed Sona's other question: "Arianne's needs are known through observation and experience. Pathfinders understand the ways of all peoples, and this helps us help them better."

When Miriam's question about the "thin air" came up, Aiden's response was direct. "It's not 'thin air', Miriam. As for other supplies, I bring what is needed for the mission—no more, no less. And no, not gold. Gold has no use against a dimension rift." His response to Miriam lacked any judgment, simply stating a truth.

He then looked at Lucille. "Limits are relative; it's not something with a set capacity. It functions differently. And no, provisioning a separate team remotely isn't how it works; I need to be present to 'pull' things for others."

A comfortable silence fell as Aiden finished cleaning up.

The fire crackled softly, casting long, dancing shadows. The questions, for now, had been answered, leaving the party with a deeper, if more unsettling, understanding of their mission and the mysterious Pathfinder who led them. As the flames continued to glow warm and flickering, the White Eagle Party gathered more intimately around Aiden, their curiosity piqued by his seemingly endless well of capabilities.

"Aiden," Sona began, her voice soft but earnest, "Miriam and Lucille asked about you pulling things from 'thin air' earlier. Is it... is it like a pocket dimension? Like, a little space you can carry with you, where you keep all these amazing things?"

Aiden paused from adjusting a piece of firewood. "Yes, and no," he replied, his voice calm. "The 'place' where I get these things is what Pathfinders call 'The Path.'"

The party exchanged confused glances. "The Path?" Sascha frowned. "What's that? Some kind of secret storage locker for super spies?"

"Like, 'the path less traveled' kind of path?" Miriam quipped, a brow raised in genuine intrigue.

Aiden let out a subtle sigh, a familiar sign of his exasperation with their lack of understanding. "Essentially," he began, simplifying his explanation, "you can imagine it like a pocket dimension in how I can reach into it. But it's also like a dimension that intertwines with your physical world. Imagine it like two roads running right next to each other, parallel."

He continued, using a hand gesture to illustrate. "One road is your world. The other is 'The Path.' I can walk on 'The Path' and still look over at your road, seeing everything happening here. And I can step from 'The Path' onto your road, or from your road onto 'The Path,' whenever I need to."

"Technically, it's more complex than just two roads," Aiden added, "but that's the basic idea. It's something every Pathfinder can access. And sometimes, a select few others can get glimpses of it."

Sascha's eyes widened. "So you can just... step into another dimension whenever you want? And watch us from there?" A shiver ran down his spine. "That's... that's like being a ghost who can actually grab things!"

"Wait," Miriam interjected, a flicker of excitement in her eyes. "So, you could just pop into 'The Path' to sneak past guards? Or disappear right in front of a monster? That's even better than invisibility!"

Arianne simply watched, a serene but deeply contemplative expression on her face. "A realm beyond realms," she murmured, almost to herself. "The true space between, accessible to those who truly understand the flow of existence."

"It can be used for rapid movements, yes," Aiden confirmed, his voice even. "Pathfinders use 'The Path' for everything from exploration and reconnaissance to even in combat. It provides a tactical advantage unmatched by conventional means. And yes, it can be used for storage. The Pathfinder Order doesn't deny its convenience."

A new thought struck Sascha, chilling him to the bone. "Wait," he said, his voice quiet, "when you explained about our fight in the training hall... you said you used bending perceptions and bending reality on a local scale. That sounds... kinda similar to what you're talking about with 'The Path.' Did you use 'The Path' against me in the training hall?"

A brief, almost imperceptible silence followed Sascha's question. Aiden's helmeted head remained still. "No," Aiden finally stated, his voice flat. "Bending perceptions and bending reality on a localized scale are elementary skills for every Pathfinder. They are basic abilities, fundamental to our presence in your world."

Another silence, this one heavier, more profound. The party stared at him, trying to comprehend that what they had witnessed—Sascha being instantly thrown across the room—was merely elementary.

Then, Sona, usually timid, found a surprising burst of courage, her voice barely a whisper. "What... what would it have been like if you had used 'The Path' in that match?"

Aiden turned fully towards Sona, his silent gaze seemingly piercing. His voice, for the first time, held a chilling edge of absolute certainty, devoid of any pretense or casualness. "I do not engage in meaningless displays. If I use 'The Path' in combat, it means I am serious."

Another bold soul in the party, likely Miriam, couldn't help but push. "And if you're serious? What then?"

A longer, deeper silence. The air seemed to grow heavy. "If I am serious," Aiden finally replied, his voice utterly devoid of emotion, yet carrying the weight of absolute finality, "if I had used 'The Path' against Sascha in that match, based on my own calculations, Sascha would not have survived a split second after the Guildmaster gave the start signal."

The words hung in the air, cold and stark. The casual, almost dismissive delivery of such a terrifying statement made the revelation even more impactful. Sascha, who had barely survived a 'throw,' now realized his life had been spared by an unimaginable margin. The sheer level of Aiden's self-restraint, even after the disrespect, rudeness, and mockery he'd endured, was palpable. He had given Sascha a lesson, not an execution.

The silence that followed Aiden's revelation was deafening, broken only by the crackling fire. Sascha's face was ashen, the blood draining from it. Miriam's jaw was on the ground; Lucille's eyes were wide with a mix of terror and awe. Sona looked ready to cry again; Arianne simply closed her eyes, a look of profound, ancient understanding on her face.

Not long after, Aiden spoke again, his voice returning to its usual flat tone. "However," he added, as if dismissing the chilling thought, "records in the Pathfinder Order indicate that previous Excalibur wielders could actually access a glimpse of 'The Path' and utilize it in combat, if only for brief moments."

Before the party could even begin to process this new, astonishing piece of information, Aiden cut them off. "Rest now." His voice was firm, an undeniable command. "We have a mission; you need your strength."

He then, without another word, simply stepped back, and with the faintest shimmer, his form dissolved into the shadows, vanishing completely. He hadn't walked away; he had stepped into 'The Path,' presumably to watch the camp from its unseen vantage point.

The party stared at the empty space where Aiden had been. "He just... left?" Sascha whispered, still reeling from the double whammy of Aiden's lethal capability and the revelation about Excalibur wielders. "Into his ghost dimension? Just like that?"

Miriam let out a shaky breath. "Well, that was a lot to take in before bedtime. So, we're basically camping next to a literal ghost who could turn us into dust in a blink, but who also makes gourmet meals and knows all our secrets. Fun times."

"A glimpse of 'The Path'," Lucille murmured, looking at Excalibur, now resting against a tree. "Remarkable. That would explain much of the legends of Excalibur's 'divine' movements in battle."

Sona, though still pale, managed a weak smile. "At least we know he won't let anything bad happen to us while he's on watch. And... he cooked for us. He does care, in his own way."

Arianne opened her eyes, a serene but thoughtful expression on her face. "A Pathfinder's watch is absolute," she confirmed, her voice soft. "He will see any threat before it sees us. And the knowledge he shared... it is profound. It confirms what the ancient texts only hinted at regarding the true potential of Excalibur's wielder."

She placed a hand gently on Sascha's shoulder. "Rest, Sascha. There is much to ponder, but tomorrow, we face the Thicket. And we will need every ounce of our courage and a newfound understanding of true strength."

Sascha sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I think I need a moment. My head hurts. And I feel like the most idiotic hero in the history of Caledonia. A split second. Just... a split second." He looked around the camp. "Anyone else feel like they need a new hobby, besides being an adventurer?"

He didn't wait for an answer, simply slumped onto his bedroll, still trying to process the terrifying power of their new ally and the profound implications of his own blade's history. The silence of the camp was now filled not with comfortable peace, but with the weighty presence of the unseen, always watching, always ready.

Hours later, the soft, pre-dawn light began to paint the eastern sky, chasing the last cool shadows from the clearing. Despite the heavy and frankly terrifying revelations from Aiden that night, the bedding he provided had been truly superb, offering a deep, restorative sleep that left the White Eagle Party feeling unexpectedly refreshed and ready.

As the first birds began to chirp, a tantalizing aroma drifted through the camp, far more inviting than the crisp morning air. Aiden was already there, a silent, dark figure by the crackling fire pit, meticulously tending to a large, steaming pot.

Sascha was the first to push himself up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with a satisfied groan. "Alright, that was... surprisingly comfortable," he mumbled, stretching. Then his nose twitched. "And what in the blazes smells so good? Is that actually food?" His gaze fell on Aiden, who looked less like a dimension-hopping ghost and more like a very competent camp cook. The mental whiplash of remembering Aiden's casual threat to end him in a split second versus his current domesticity left Sascha utterly dumbfounded.

Sona sat up, blinking sleepily. "Oh, Aiden! You're cooking again! It smells wonderful!" Her voice was soft, laced with a gentle wonder that seemed to cut through the lingering tension.

Miriam uncurled from her bedroll, sniffing the air like a hound. "Seriously, Pathfinder? First you tell us you're basically a walking death sentence, then you lull us to sleep with five-star bedding and wake us up with a gourmet breakfast? You're playing mind games, aren't you?" A half-smile played on her lips, a mixture of exasperation and genuine amusement.

Lucille, ever analytical, simply watched Aiden, a thoughtful expression on her face. "The contrast is... notable," she murmured, more to herself. "He ensures peak operational readiness through both intimidation and comfort."

Just then, Aiden reached into his seemingly empty space and, with a subtle shimmer, pulled out a smaller, exquisite wooden tray. He placed it carefully beside the main pot. It held an artful arrangement of vibrant, exotic fruits, delicately baked nut-breads, and a steaming cup of what looked like pure, sun-infused herbal tea. This was Arianne's breakfast, clearly a special preparation for her elven heritage.

Arianne approached, her movements graceful. She looked at the fresh food, then at Aiden, a soft, appreciative smile gracing her lips. "Thank you, Aiden. This truly honors the spirit of the morning."

"Hold on a minute!" Sascha exclaimed, eyeing Arianne's spread with feigned outrage. "She gets the 'spirit of the morning' food, and we get... whatever amazing thing is in that pot? Not that I'm complaining, but that's a clear favorite, Pathfinder!" He jabbed a finger in the air playfully at Aiden.

Sona giggled. "Oh, Sascha! It's just because elves have different needs!"

Aiden looked up from the main pot, his helmeted head tilting towards Sascha. His voice was flat, yet held a hint of dry, almost weary patience. "You want the berries and the baked goods, Sascha? I can make that happen. Swap your meal."

Sascha's playful indignation evaporated. He backpedaled so fast his eyes nearly popped out. "No! No, no, no! My apologies, Pathfinder! This meat smells like it's going to be the breakfast of champions! I was merely... observing your incredibly efficient provisioning!" He shuddered at the thought of exchanging sizzling bacon for Arianne's elegant, raw fare.

Miriam snorted, trying to suppress a laugh. "Yeah, I think we're all good over here, thanks. Don't want to accidentally offend the chef with bad taste."

"Acknowledged," Aiden replied, with a barely perceptible nod.

The party exchanged relieved glances. Aiden might be a creature of unfathomable power, but he apparently had his limits when it came to culinary preferences. The earlier awe at his power now mixed strangely with a growing sense of, albeit wary, camaraderie.

"Alright, alright," Miriam conceded, shaking her head. "Can't argue with results, especially when they smell this good."

"Plates," Aiden stated, holding out a gloved hand, and as if conjured from the very air, clean, sturdy wooden plates and cutlery materialized. "Eat. Then, tidy up your immediate areas. Once done, we move. Into the Thicket as soon as possible."

Sascha, already eagerly dishing out a generous portion, paused. "Tidy up? You mean, like, fold our bedrolls and stuff? But won't they just poof away when you collect them?"

"Less effort for me," Aiden replied, a flicker of something that could almost be described as impatience in his tone. "It makes it cleaner to retrieve it all."

"Right, cleaner," Sascha mumbled, digging into his breakfast. "Of course. Everything with you is clean and efficient, Aiden." But he didn't complain further; the meal was simply too good to argue.

As the party ate, they quickly packed their personal items, rolling their surprisingly comfortable bedrolls. The silence from Aiden, broken only by his brief, matter-of-fact replies, hung between them, a constant reminder of the profound, unfathomable power contained within their seemingly ordinary Pathfinder.

They were a team of heroes, accustomed to facing dangers, but never before had they faced a mission or a leader quite like this. Their awe, discomfort, and grudging respect for Aiden only deepened with every passing hour.