The convoy of House Valoria passed through the gates of the capital under a leaden sky. It wasn't the wedding procession of weeks ago; it was a column of iron and leather, silent and deadly. Caelum rode at the head of the vanguard, his eyes fixed on the maps as if he could decipher the traps of fate on the parchment. Seryna moved among the scouts with the agility of a cat, disappearing and emerging from the mists of the road.
As they traveled north, life withered. Vibrant forests gave way to fields of ash and ruined villages. But what most lacerated Adara's spirit were the labor camps. There, elves of broken bloodlines chipped away at stone under the whip of immortal overseers.
Adara tightened her grip on the reins until her knuckles turned white.
"Is this the order you uphold, Karan?" she asked, looking at an old elf whose hands bled on the granite.
"It is the order that keeps the world from falling apart," Karan replied, his voice as flat as a general's. "A cruel balance is better than utter chaos."
That night, they camped in the shadow of a gorge that looked like the gaping jaws of a giant. Karan led Adara to a promontory from which the darkness of the Badlands stretched out like a sea of tar.
"You must understand why the Council doubts you," Karan began, breaking an hours-long silence. "And why I don't trust promises of loyalty."
He gazed toward the horizon, toward the place where he had almost lost his life centuries before.
"Five hundred years ago, I wasn't the General you see today. I was Vespera Obsidian's betrothed. Our union was the pillar that would sustain the Empire. But during the Northern Lands campaign, my squadron fell into an ambush that wasn't on the list."