The first light of dawn had barely stretched its fingers across the sky when the group gathered outside Lady Amara's estate. A thick mist clung to the earth like a restless ghost, blurring the edges of the trees and painting the landscape in muted shades of grey and blue.
Lucien stood by his black stallion, adjusting the hilt of his sword with a grim expression. His crimson cloak stirred slightly in the morning breeze, and though he said nothing, his sharp gaze swept over the others.
Isadora arrived shortly after, dressed in a dark forest-green cloak, her ginger hair pulled into a loose braid. She exchanged a brief nod with Lucien, her heart both anxious and steady. The memory of their last conversation still lingered between them — unspoken, but not forgotten.
Celeste appeared beside her husband, armed and dressed for the journey ahead. The two loyal guards, sturdy men sworn to Lady Amara's service, secured the last supplies.
