The farther he traveled from home, the more barren the world became. The towering buildings of the royal and academic classes were replaced by smaller settlements, then scattered homes, and finally nothing but stretches of black dirt and jagged stone. Dron had traveled to the outer edge of Thraqe before, but it had been many cycles since his duties brought him this far. There was a strange emptiness to the land. No merchants. No farmers. No children playing near the roads. Only military structures and the occasional watchtower standing against the horizon.
Dron kept his hand wrapped around the small piece of fabric Tempest had tucked into his bag before he left. It was part of one of her old garments. She said it smelled like her, though his senses had already picked up her scent long before she mentioned it.
He pressed it against his palm.
The transport began to descend.
