"How do you intend to help me?" Rosalie questioned, her skepticism and bewilderment unabated. The conversation between them seemed to spiral into increasing complexity with every spoken sentence.
Meanwhile, Altair's demeanor shifted, settling into a composed and collected state. His voice, now steady and unwavering, maintained its confidence as he continued,
"To provide the aid you require, we must depart from Rische."
The duchess could not suppress her astonishment, her mouth agape in disbelief.
"Depart? And go where, precisely?"
"Izaar."
Once more, Rosalie lapsed into a contemplative silence. It marked the second occasion someone had mentioned Izaar as the destination she needed to seek, leaving her with an unshakable sense that this was no mere coincidence; rather, it seemed fate had intricately woven this path for her, leading her to this place, perhaps to seek refuge from the unfortunate twists of her destiny.
"Why Izaar?"
