Ashveil woke up the way someone does when they really don't want to—fog still hugging the streets, the smell of burned wood drifting lazily between chimneys. But that morning, something felt different. It wasn't the noise of the market opening, or the sound of hammers on rooftops, or even the off-key singing of some drunk late to get home. It was more… ceremonial.
I noticed it the second I saw the gate.
Guards lined up with a care they rarely bothered with. Polished, clean-shaven, their spears aligned like teeth in a threatening jaw. And between them, one figure in well-polished plate armor—the local sergeant, who looked about as comfortable in all that shiny metal as a cat in a bath.
All of it to escort us.
Me, Dante, and Thalia. Two "pardoned" convicts returned under public pressure, being pushed back to our hometown like poisoned gifts.
[EVENT: "Return to Ashveil"]
→ Escort Units: Active
→ Public Perception: High Curiosity
