Under the declining sun, the gallop of horses raised clouds of ochre dust.
Wagon wheels plowed through the dry earth with a constant grinding sound, while hurried footsteps, muffled whispers, and the stifled sobs of young children blended into a dull murmur.
Even the air itself seemed to weigh upon the travelers' shoulders.
This was how the people of Orion advanced.
They left their city behind, fleeing a threat whose name had yet to be spoken.
Their hope fragile yet stubborn converged toward a single figure: the one walking at the front, opening the path for them.
Arnaud led the column.
His features drawn tight, he studied a crude map hastily assembled by Fidri.
The clumsy lines and approximate landmarks betrayed the urgency in which it had been drawn.
After examining it one last time, he folded it carefully and turned toward one of the knights riding at his side.
"Have we received any news from the city?"
The knight hesitated for a moment before answering.
