A line of five hundred soldiers marched steadily along the road to Confluendi, the rhythmic sound of their boots striking the frozen ground echoing through the cold winter air. The men moved in disciplined silence, their breath misting as they exhaled, forming small clouds against the crisp sky.
Behind them, a procession of heavy carriages followed at a slower pace. Each was loaded with sacks of grain, rye and chests of silver, essential supplies to alleviate the brewing crisis in the lawless lands of Confluendi. The grain and rye , harvested in the autumn, had been stored for times of need, and now, it was more necessary than ever.
As they neared the borders of Confluendi, the landscape grew more desolate. Empty farms with ruined crops and dilapidated houses lined the road, evidence of the chaos that had gripped the region after Lady Elyra's death. Villages had been picked clean, their inhabitants either fleeing into the wild or succumbing to violence and hunger.
