Dawn arrived wrapped in a silver mist that crept between the castle turrets, as if the shadows of night resisted dying. The air tasted of wet iron and carried the green scent of freshly awakened earth. The entire place vibrated with contained energy, a mixture of anticipation and farewell.
The stables were a whirlwind of activity: stable boys running with chests, maidens securing trunks with enchanted ropes, and soldiers adjusting the reins of horses that snorted impatiently. Two carriages waited before the main staircase, imposing and dark, decorated with the emblem of the Iron Blood Pack: a moon cleaved by a sword. The varnish on the doors gleamed like obsidian under the faint dawn light.
