The sun peeked from the east, its hue the color of yellow and orange, a brittle disc behind veils of mist, casting long shadows over the winding road to the capital. Dew like jewel clung to the edges of fallen leaves, and the sky above bore the color of steel—unforgiving, austere.
Alaric's army moved like a river of steel and hoofbeats—disciplined, silent, and fast. Trees flanked the narrow roads, their leaves just beginning to lose their green, whispering with the breath of an early northern wind. In the far distance, wisps of smoke curled upward from village kitchen, thin as ghosts. It was peaceful...untouched for now.
