At Grimthorn Village
The sun hung low in the sky, casting a soft orange glow over the village rooftops. Caelen's boots pounded against the ground as he rushed down the narrow dirt path that led to his childhood home. The others trailed closely behind, weapons bouncing at their sides, wind whipping past their cloaks.
When Caelen turned the corner and saw his door wide open, his heart sank.
He pushed it open fully, stepping inside.
Empty.
The whole place had been ransacked. Furniture was overturned, clay cups smashed, the bedding dragged across the floor like a struggle had taken place. And then he saw them—hoofprints, still fresh, pressed deep into the mud just outside the door.
His fists clenched.
"Those royal bastards…" Caelen growled, his eyes burning with fury. "How dare they…"
Ryan stepped forward. "Should we go after them?"
Reina looked to the prints, then the horizon. "We don't know where they took her. Not yet."
