The group remounted and rode out of the square, leaving the grateful merchants and the bound ruffians behind. The streets grew quieter the farther they went, their bustling noise replaced by a heavy silence. The houses became larger, but their gardens were overgrown with weeds, and their windows were dark and dusty. The path to the governess's mansion was a direct reflection of the town's state: once a grand road, it was now cracked and untended, disappearing under a film of grit and leaves.
Selene felt a palpable sense of sorrow hanging in the air. It was a suffocating feeling, different from the storm's primal fear but just as chilling. She shivered, pulling her cloak tighter. Lyra's arm instinctively tightened around her, a silent acknowledgment of the unease they both felt.
"A shame," Shawn muttered, his gaze sweeping over a once-beautiful courtyard now a mess of dying flowers. "She was always so proud of her work."
Rory, awed into silence, simply stared at the somber landscape. This wasn't the kind of town he had imagined, a place of knights and grand castles. This was a place of decay, a slow, silent sorrow.
They came to a stop before the iron gates of a large manor. The mansion was impressive, but its beauty was marred by neglect. The gate was unlatched, and two knights stood on the porch, their armor unpolished and their shoulders slumped. They were not guarding the manor so much as standing vigil. Their faces were drawn, their eyes distant.
As Lyra dismounted, the knights on the porch finally looked up. They seemed surprised, but their weary eyes showed no challenge. One of them stepped forward, his expression heavy with grief.
"We were not expecting company, General," the knight said, his voice flat.
"I have come to see Governess Gessa," Lyra said, her tone firm but gentle. "The town is in disarray. What is happening?"
The knight lowered his gaze. "The Governess has not left her wife's side. She forbade us to disturb them. Every healer in Berthold has tried, but none could save her. The knights were sent to search for healers beyond the town, for rare herbs and remedies… but they never returned. She has not stepped outside. Not even for her duties. The town…" His voice faltered. "The town suffers more than we feared."
Lyra froze. The words hit like a blade.
Vivian.
The name alone carried weight—memories threatened to surge, but she locked them down. Only a flicker surfaced: a flash of a younger self, sitting cross-legged on the edge of the training yard, straining to hold a wooden sword far too heavy for her arms. A gentle voice at her side—Vivian's—guiding her grip, whispering strategy with a soft patience that few soldiers possessed.
The echo was gone as quickly as it came, but it left her chest hollow.
Her jaw tightened. "I see."
Shawn shifted uneasily, catching the subtle change in her voice. Rory looked up at her, wide-eyed, as if sensing an invisible storm. Selene, still pale from their journey, felt Lyra's arm unconsciously stiffen around her.
Lyra exhaled slowly, fighting to steady her breath. She could not allow herself to falter—not in front of her soldiers, not here at the gates of a town already sinking under grief. But inside, her heart churned. Vivian, the unyielding strength at Gessa's side. Vivian, who once sat beside her with maps and scrolls, nudging her to think like a commander long before she earned her title. Vivian, who had believed in her when she was still a child.
The thought of her gravely ill… it felt wrong. Impossible.
She fixed her eyes on the weary knight. "Then I will not delay. Take me to them."
The knight hesitated, glancing at Selene, at Rory, at Shawn. But Lyra's expression brooked no argument. He bowed his head and stepped aside, pushing the gates open with a heavy groan.
As the group moved forward into the manor grounds, the silence pressed harder, broken only by the crunch of their boots on the gravel path. Every step seemed to echo the weight in Lyra's chest.