The journey from the emerald heights of Vaelith to the lower industrial-agricultural reaches of Elarwyn took nearly half a day, even with the carriage being pulled by the kingdom's swiftest breed of Verdant Stags. Without the presence of Lunethra, who had remained behind in the capital to navigate the treacherous political waters with her sister, the atmosphere within the carriage was heavy and unnervingly quiet.
Dayat sat by the window, his moss-green denim jacket feeling like a shield against the shifting environment. Dola remained in her customary seat, her eyes fixed forward, perpetually alert for any anomaly in the Mana density. Kancil, meanwhile, had spent the first few hours vibrating with excitement, but the sheer monotony of endless green branches and rhythmic hoofbeats had eventually lulled him into a fitful sleep, his head bobbing against the polished wooden frame of the carriage.
