Chapter 42: Roads of Greythorne and the Capital’s Breath
They did not fly.
No Golden Light tore through the clouds, no golden divine aura lit their path. This time, Alaric and the four girls walked.
The journey was not born of urgency, but something far rarer in their lives—the quiet wish to see, to breathe, to be. From Veldroth, the second-most powerful city in the Kingdom of Velmora, they set forth toward Weisskante, the principal city of the Vice County of Greythorne.
Though the road was long, many times over what would normally take three days, they took it leisurely. And in doing so, they transformed the path into pilgrimage.
Alaric walked in front, each step measured and effortless, his gaze lifted, not with arrogance, but clarity. Behind him came Aurevia—Her frost-imbued aura pulsed beneath her skin like a whisper of winter.
Beside her walked Cellione, the fire mage whose laughter often sparked like embers breaking silence.
Serineth trailed at an oblique angle, shadows flickering along her ankles, the hem of her robe stitched with darkness.
And finally, Virellen—the mischievous maid, shoulder-length black hair catching the wind, grey eyes alight with mischief and curiosity.
They stopped often.
Not from weariness, but to savor. The trees lining the southern trail toward Greythorne bore petals the color of sunrise, and when wind brushed past, it scattered them like prayer papers.
Birds darted overhead, their songs warbling with the carefree joy only those untouched by war or politics could manage.