High above the winding eastern highway, nestled within the crumbling limestone teeth of an abandoned imperial watchtower, two figures looked down upon the road.
The morning wind blew fiercely across the broken masonry, whipping tangled dead ivy against the weathered stonework like brittle leather lashes.
A flock of mountain ravens circled lazily beneath the gray clouds, their harsh cries echoing over the valley floor where the royal vanguard crept forward like an armored centipede.
Cessy leaned both elbows against the parapet, resting her chin in her pale palms while her wine-red braid swung in the breeze.
She wore a dark travel cloak draped loosely over an embroidered crimson tunic, her sharp, obsidian-tipped horns peeking through the folds of her hood.
Between her fingers, she idly twirled a multifaceted purple crystal that pulsed with a sickly, steady glow against the gloomy stone.
