The air in Ehrenwald that evening was nothing like the biting cold of Eishtal. The snow had long since vanished, leaving behind a stretch of green mountains and rocky hills blanketed in grass. The breeze carried a strange mix of dry and damp scents, unfamiliar to the Duke's nose, but it was softer now, laced with the smoky tang of hearth fires, charcoal, and the bustle of the market drifting in from the brick houses lining the road. Familiar enough to ground him.
But the mood shifted in an instant.
The sharp clatter of hooves echoed down the main street.
People spilled out of shops and alleyways, turning their heads almost in unison. Eyes widened as a black, steel-plated carriage rolled past, its massive wheels glinting under the pale light. On the door, etched in stark relief, was the emblem of a black wolf with glowing red eyes, the unmistakable symbol of Eishtal's power and pride.
Whispers erupted like sparks.
"Wait—am I seeing things? That's... that's the black wolf crest…"
