While Bakwell City ties itself in knots over a single corpse, the world outside keeps moving.
Far from gilded halls and polished marble, the land trembles beneath marching feet.
The road is wide, ancient, carved to connect cities long ago. Grass along its edges is flattened beneath the passage of tens of thousands. Trees sway as if uneasy, leaves shivering despite the calm sky.
An army advances.
Monsters march in disciplined ranks, scaled warriors with shields strapped to their backs, horned brutes carrying massive weapons over their shoulders, lithe figures moving in silence between heavier formations. Mana hums through the air like a distant storm, constant and restrained.
At the center of the formation rolls a luxurious black carriage.
Its exterior is elegant but understated, forged from dark metal veined with faint silver runes. The wheels never touch the ground fully, hovering a finger's width above the earth, gliding smoothly no matter the terrain.
