The Aldenar mansion, which only hours ago had breathed with the quiet, rhythmic grace of a Southern summer, was now a hive of frantic, clattering activity. The transformation was jarring, a violent shift from the delicate world of silks and tea to the cold, hard reality of steel and survival.
Servants who usually carried silver trays of fruit were now lugging heavy crates of armor-oil, whetstones, and dried traveling rations. The air in the grand corridors, once scented with the expensive perfumes of visiting nobles, was now thick with the smell of horsehide, ozone, and the sharp, bitter tang of quick-silver used in magical preparations. The rhythmic clack-clack of high heels had been replaced by the heavy, synchronized thud of Northern boots as the personal guard prepared for a journey that defied the laws of distance.
