They had been walking across the barren plains for a week now. The maps had been dreadfully wrong, and while they weren't exactly lost, they were quickly losing their patience.

"Are you sure we're heading south?" he grunted to his travel companion. The companion examined the map again, then tucked it away with a sigh of resignation.

"Alright, I may have been wrong. I haven't crossed these plains in ages—how would I remember? The map is outdated."

He looked at him wearily before continuing toward their supposed destination.

"Well, if we keep walking, we're bound to hit a town—maybe in a day, a week, or a month. But it'll happen eventually."

Overhead, a fleet of ships roared past. He turned to the other man.

"A fleet? What kind? I can't see anything."

The man nodded slowly.

"Looked like an Imperial fleet. Small comfort—but if they're headed that way, we might be on a real route to... well, somewhere."

"Great. A route teeming with Imperial soldiers. Exactly what we needed," he muttered under his breath.

They walked late into the afternoon under a painfully bright sun. He pulled his hood lower over his head, the light blurring his vision. Suddenly, the other man called out:

"A camp! There's a camp ahead!"

He climbed a small, sandy hill to get a better look. He spotted something in the distance. A camp could be a blessing—or a disaster. If the people were friendly, they might get directions. Worst case, they were headed straight into a fight.

He looked at the older man.

"Wanna try our luck? How bad can it be?"

The old man let out a dry laugh and began walking toward the camp.

As they approached, someone spotted them and called out, demanding to know who they were and what they wanted. It was a tall man clad in rugged armor that had clearly seen too many battles. He had an imposing presence. The older man raised his arms in a peaceful gesture and replied:

"We're... I think we're lost. We'd appreciate some directions—and maybe shelter for the night, if you have it. I swear, we're no trouble."