The wind seemed colder here, before the ruined tower. Every stone worn by time exuded forgotten stories of past wars, of watchmen who never returned. The sky, tinged with gray, made the scene even more ominous.
Kael stood motionless at the head of the group, studying every detail of the building. The tower, though deteriorated, still stood firm against the horizon, a solitary sentinel in a sea of silence. No movement. No sound other than the rustling of the grass.
Sylphie, almost voiceless, whispered:
"Are you sure this is it?"
"Absolutely," Kael replied dryly. His amber eyes never left the tower.
It was then that the sound arrived. First a soft noise, like the rhythmic pounding of hooves against the earth. Then the creaking of wheels, muffled by the distance. The group immediately stiffened, hands close to weapons, bodies tense.
