Two days later.
The keeper rode at the front, his hand gently gripping the reins as his horse trotted steadily along the dirt road. His two eldest sons flanked the family wagon on horseback, one on the left, the other on the right.
Behind the wagons, the adventurer party they hired back in the border town followed on horseback, maintaining tight vigilance. Their heads turned constantly, scanning the trees, the bushes, the shadows.
The keeper furrowed his brow, casting a glance toward the treeline again. Inside his mind, he pondered in silence.
Why has this journey been so smooth?
The skies were calm. The roads were quiet.
No bandits. No monsters. Not even wild beasts in the underbrush.
There hadn't been a single ambush or dangerous encounter. The hired adventurers barely had to do anything aside from light scouting.
And yet… there was that odd, low hum. Faint, rhythmic, and sometimes coming from above, every few hours, like a quiet pulse through the air.
