The environment was shrouded in a silvery fog, thick but not blinding, veiling the world in a soft, ghostly mist. Though obscured, the outlines of towering trees and the dew-kissed grass beneath remained faintly visible, as if the forest itself slumbered under a veil of dreams.
It was the early morning mist, dense, still, sacred in its silence, at a time when even the birds had yet to chirp their first notes.
Through this quiet shroud, three wooden wagons rolled steadily across the old trail of Devil Forest, their wheels crunching softly against the damp earth. Each wagon was occupied by four armored Guardsmen; garbed in leather cuirass and bear fur cloaks. The first wagon, however, bore a fifth figure seated among them, Hound.
