Elias led Velin and Tristan through the bustling crowd and past mountains of cargo containers. His pace was quicker than usual, the hem of his gray True Origin Sect robe speckled with mud.
Beneath a temporary wooden awning set up by the harbor office, two figures stood quietly, a stark contrast to the surrounding bustle.
An old man and a young man.
They wore clothes of coarse linen, simple in style but well-tailored, clearly intended for a long journey. Though dusty and weary from their travels, they stood with impeccable posture.
The old man's hair and beard were gray, the wrinkles on his face as deep as a dried-up riverbed. His eyes were calm, observing a crane as it unloaded cargo.
The young man, meanwhile, was surveying the entire port. His gaze swept from the iron tracks laid on the docks, across the distant seawall under construction, finally landing on the laborers of all different complexions, each clad in uniform work clothes. His eyes were filled with profound shock.
