A late summer mountain wind swept across the wilderness at the northern foot of the Iron Ridge Mountain Range, carrying the faint, distant scent of sulfur and rusted metal.
The army of the Monte Territory formed a winding column, marching toward Blackstone Fortress to the southeast along a dirt road packed down by countless wheels and hooves.
They were now less than twenty kilometers from the battle-scarred fortress.
At the very front of the column, Aurora sat with an erect posture, riding a steady-gaited, gray mare.
The summer sun shone through a thin layer of clouds, falling upon her.
Her thick, flowing golden hair was skillfully woven into a neat braid, tied at the back of her head with a deep blue, silver-embroidered silk ribbon.
She wore a well-tailored, light-gray, linen-blend shirt with a stand-up collar.
Below, she wore a pair of dark brown leather riding breeches, their form-fitting cut perfectly accentuating the lines of her legs.
