The Western Dragon Lands were not kind to travelers.
The sun beat down on the red rocks with a physical weight, baking the air until it shimmered.
The wind didn't cool anything down; it just blew hot dust into the gaps of armor and clothing.
However, inside the Iron-Horse Mark II, the temperature was a pleasant sixty-eight degrees.
Damien sat back on the plush leather seats, sipping a glass of chilled juice Isabelle had prepared using a frost-rune coaster. He looked out the reinforced glass window.
Outside, riding ahead of the carriage on massive, armored war-horses, were the members of the Silver Lance.
They looked impressive. Their silver plate armor gleamed in the sun (thanks to cooling enchantments), and their weapons radiated the heavy, suppressing pressure of Peak 5th Order warriors.
Kaelen, the leader, rode at the front. He held his lance upright, looking every bit the hero of a story.
