The journey from the Valerius stronghold to the border village of Oakhaven took three grueling days, a trek that served as a stark reminder of the vastness of the Duke's territory. As the carriage rolled over the uneven terrain, Evelina watched through the window as the landscape underwent a tragic transformation. The lush, emerald hills of the central duchy bled into the sickly, scorched yellows of the salt-stricken borderlands. By the third day, even the air felt different—dry and metallic, carrying a faint, stinging tang of brine that made her nose itch. It was a chemical signature of a land in agony.
When the heavy, iron-shod wheels finally came to a halt in the village square, the carriage door was opened by a guard in gleaming silver plate. As Evelina stepped out behind the Duke and Duchess, the atmosphere hit her like a physical weight. The village was silent but it was a silence born of exhaustion and simmering resentment.
