The white stone road stretched straight southward, cutting through golden grasslands that danced gently in the warm afternoon breeze. Beneath simple stone bridges, small streams flowed as clear as crystal, revealing the smooth white pebbles resting seamlessly on the riverbed.
The caravan was moving much slower now.
Creak... creak... creak...
The wooden carriage—now forcibly pulled by four horses, combining the two original draft horses and the borrowed mounts from Naya and Orva—let out a groaning protest against every stone it rolled over. Its severely caved-in roof left gaps that projected bizarre, jagged shadows across the cabin floor. Meanwhile, the rear panel, porous from the wyvern's corrosive venom, continued to exhale a faint but acrid scent of charred wood and acid.
"They must be watching us already," Roland spoke up, breaking the silence inside the cabin.
"Right from the moment our wheels touched the mountain border," Rianor replied flatly.
