It was afternoon, when they finally reached the duchy, the duchy of the house Merlin. The giant city, where the sage guild was located, the guild of magic casters, scroll makers, and magic engineers, and everything.
The walls rose before them not as mere stone but as mountains hewn into shape, etched with runes that shimmered faintly in the dying light.
Towers spiraled skyward, impossibly slender yet unyielding, their tops crowned with rotating crystal lenses that caught the sun and refracted it into prismatic beams across the clouds.
The entire city seemed less built than conjured, as though willed into existence by centuries of accumulated thought and ambition.
The convoy slowed to a crawl as the gates loomed, their arch framed by carved serpents swallowing their tails.
The smell of incense drifted from braziers mounted on the walls; beneath it lingered the musk of sweat, horses, and iron.
