During the travel, because of the worsening snow and concerns for safety, they resorted to using only two carriages. One carried Alaric, Cael, and Soren while the other held Lyric and Sylas, riding ahead as a silent escort.
Inside the first carriage, Soren sat by the window with his cheek almost touching the frost-touched glass. Morning light filtered through the swirling white, giving everything a muted glow. Flakes drifted like tiny silver feathers outside that looks soft yet relentless, and the wheels creaked with every uneven patch of frozen ground.
Across from him, Alaric and Cael occupied the opposite bench. The two sat close to each other yet with an unspoken stiffness as if they both instinctively leaned away from Soren, but the cold forced them to tolerate the proximity. He was, after all, important to their mission. A fragile asset they had to preserve.
