The city slowly melted into the horizon, swallowed by the amber haze of sunset.
The once-bustling cobblestone streets faded into winding forest paths lined with tall, ancient trees whose branches reached across the road like the arms of slumbering giants. The evening air was cool and damp with the scent of pine, soil, and the faint trace of distant rain.
Inside the carriage, the atmosphere was far quieter. Miss Hilda sat upright near the window, one hand propping up her cheek as her gaze lingered on the forest passing by. Her satchel of herbs rested neatly beside her — organized into small bundles tied with string, labeled in her crisp handwriting.
Even after the long day, she maintained her composure, though the subtle lines beneath her eyes betrayed her exhaustion.
Raiden, meanwhile, was the complete opposite. He was slumped in his seat, head tipped back, mouth slightly open, one arm dangling limply over the side. Every now and then, his head bobbed as the carriage hit a bump.
