The sun had already begun to set behind the scorched hills when Hadrian appeared, walking toward the square where Strax surveyed the ruins of Kaelthur. The merchant was sweaty and his clothes were stained with dust, but there was a flicker of satisfaction in his expression—behind him, parked in a narrow street, was what remained of his carriage.
It wasn't the same luxurious masterpiece that had once carried spices, fabrics, and rare wines. Now, the vehicle looked like a survivor: half new wood, half old; wheels reinforced with rusted iron scavenged from destroyed gates; the sides decorated not with exquisite carvings but with plates of salvaged metal. Still, it was a carriage. A symbol of continuity amidst ruin.
Hadrian stopped in front of Strax, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. "I did it," he said, his pride unmistakable. "It's not pretty, it's not fast... but it will take me to the capital."
