Winter is approaching, the temperature is dropping day by day, and the lush vegetation along the banks of the Gorgon River has already taken on a bleak appearance. There are fewer pedestrians on the roads along the shore, and only larger caravans occasionally appear by the riverside—mostly on the west bank.
The plains on the east bank are still desolate, on that scorched land, the wounds of war have yet to heal.
A low steam whistle resounded over the river, the steel-covered bow cutting through the waves, proudly advancing on the Gorgon River, leaving behind the sluggish old-fashioned cargo ships far behind. The "Highlander," a magic-conducting machinery ship navigating between the north and south, moved like a proud swan on the water, with its magic energy wingboard raised high in the cold wind, scattering starlike glimmers.
