The steady, rhythmic clatter of iron-rimmed carriage wheels against the cracked, frozen highway echoed through the armored interior of the transport.
Outside, a full escort company of high-tier battle-mages and armored cavalry rode in tight formation, their enchanted standards fluttering beneath the bruised, bleeding crimson sky.
Inside, the carriage was spacious, lined with dark velvet upholstery and reinforced with thick layers of sound-dampening and kinetic-dispersal runes.
Cassandra sat directly opposite me on the cushioned bench.
Her tailored commander's coat was neatly draped over the armrest, revealing the sleek, form-fitting lines of her dark combat tunic.
Her long, silver hair cascaded loosely over her shoulders, framing a face of cold, porcelain perfection.
Her stormy grey eyes remained closed, her breathing shallow and rhythmic. She was actively extending her senses around the convoy, scanning the jagged cliffs for demonic ambushes.
