But when Merian pushed the door open and stepped out of the house, sunlight poured through the crack, and for the first time, he did not reflexively retreat.
At that moment, he suddenly felt an illusion that he seemed to have truly left the shadow.
Then came the faint sound of hoofbeats; it was the carriage prepared for him, and the coachman was already waiting at the door.
Merian donned his cloak, gave a few low orders, and then boarded the carriage.
The carriage was warm, with thick fur blankets.
He still felt a little uneasy, his fingers occasionally tapping lightly on his knee, until the rhythm of the wheels rolling over the cobbled street gradually calmed him.
The carriage moved through the streets of Red Tide, with workshops along the road emitting white steam.
The air was filled with the scent of flowers and plants; this was a Northern town he had never imagined.
