The carriage glides smoothly through the wide streets of Sona, its wheels whispering against the stone road. The city hums softly with midday life—merchants shouting, guards patrolling, the faint scent of roasted grain and smoke drifting from the markets.
Alix sits silently inside, one leg crossed over the other. Zevran rests on the seat beside him, looking out the window, his eyes reflecting the passing scenery. Mero floats lazily near the ceiling of the carriage, occasionally phasing through the wood just to get a better look outside.
None of them speak.
The soldiers driving the carriage glance back now and then, their ears twitching nervously. Every time they meet Alix's calm gaze through the small window, they immediately look away. The aura he carries is quiet—but the kind of quiet that makes even air feel heavy.
After a while, the carriage slows to a stop.
Zevran's eyes flick toward the window. "We're here."
The door opens, and warm sunlight spills in.
