They saw the city walls at sunset.
Lumeria rose from the plains like a crown of stone, its white walls catching the dying light and throwing it back in shades of gold and amber. Towers marked the four corners, and the central keep—where Edmund Erwell maintained his offices and the Historical Preservation Society kept its vaults—stood highest of all, a finger of gray stone pointing accusingly at the sky.
Marron had left this city five days ago. It felt like a lifetime.
"There," Aldric said, pointing to the eastern gate. A cluster of figures waited there, silhouetted against the sunset. "Edmund brought the guard."
"Of course he did," Marron said. Her voice was calm, but her hand moved unconsciously to the Blade's handle. The tool pulsed once—reassurance, not readiness for violence.
Greaves stumbled beside them, his face pale. He'd spoken only once that morning, asking for water. Now he stared at the city walls with something like despair.
