The road beyond Celestial Brook City did not reveal itself as dangerous. It unspoiled gently from the eastern gate, pale and well-worn, pressed flat by decades of caravans and pilgrims. At first, stone still edged its sides, remnants of the city reach, but before long, that gave way to packed ground mixed with rock. The land opened outward—fields thinning into low hills, patches of scrub and scattered trees breaking the horizon.
The Osborn Clan moved at a steady pace. Two carts rolled in the centre of the formation, their wooden frames creaking softly under the weight of lumber, chests, and sealed bundles from the market. The wheels left shallow tracks in the dirt, straight and unhurried. A pair of clan members sat front, not to scouts in the formal sense, but watchful enough to spot broken ground or loose stone. Others flanked the sides, relaxed but attentive, their spears resting comfortably against their shoulders.
