As the Osborn convoy approached the enormous outer gates of Celestial Brook City, the sound of carriage wheels reverberated over the stone road. The sun hung high, casting molten streaks of gold across the walls—walls reinforced with ancient runes that pulsed faintly, subsisting qi into the air. Every line of inscription whispered of power, of warning, of the city's long history as the crucible of strength.
Travelers and merchants crowded the entrance. When the carriages approached, some people stopped talking and narrowed their eyes as the Osborn banners—a silver flame embroidered on deep crimson cloth, fluttering with silent defiance—came into view.
"The Osborns?" One murmured. "I thought they had faded after the Carr incident."
"Faded?" Another replied with a scoff. "Look at that escort. They have come to make noise again."
