People had gathered by the iron gates of the sorceress' estate, whispering and pointing at the four unfamiliar vehicles parked in formation just outside the mansion. Sleek, muscular, and nothing like the wagons or horses the townsfolk were used to, these machines looked as though they had rolled out of a tale told only in the royal archives or conjured from dreams etched in metal and stone.
Today was the day they would set off for the Fangride Mountains. The wind carried a crisp chill, laced with anticipation and the faint scent of spell-forged oil. Everyone knew the sorceress didn't leave her estate unless the matter was critical, and this journey, sparked by Sophia's troubling theory, was one such occasion.
Ronan crossed his arms, brows drawn together in confusion as he approached. "Are you seriously going with just four guards?"
