[On the Road to the Vault — Zahryssar Imperial Carriage — Continuation]
The wheels rolled steadily over the frozen road.
Outside, the sound of hooves and armor moved in rhythm with the wind, the convoy of three empires traveling together, yet the distance between them felt greater than the desert itself.
Inside the Zahryssar imperial carriage, the silence was suffocating.
Levin sat on one side, his back straight, hands folded over his lap, veil still covering his face. The soft cushions beneath him were warm, the curtains thick, and the air scented faintly with black lotus smoke lingering from before.
Across from him sat Zeramet.
One arm rested against the side of the carriage, long silver hair falling over his shoulder, golden eyes lowered as if the man sitting before him did not exist.
