No matter how distant Mesarith City was, to Damien it might as well have been next door.
Just as he was about to set off with the battered Riverfall Lord in tow, Damien paused mid-step. A faint smile tugged at his lips. His elder brother had finally caught up.
Rather than leaving at once, he decided to wait—just long enough to exchange a few crucial words and hand over what needed to be handled here before he departed.
The world fell into a heavy stillness, the kind where even the wind seemed reluctant to stir. Minutes passed under that suffocating silence. Then, faint at first, the rhythmic thundering of hooves broke through the air.
Five minutes later, a lone figure emerged over the rise, closing the distance with startling speed. The gleam of a drawn sword caught the light, and Damien's sharp eyes recognized the stance and momentum instantly.
Dervrok.
