Casstle Main.
The situation didn't seem as bad as one might expect. The operative word being "seem."
There weren't soldiers knocking down the gates, nor was there the scent of blood or a heavy somberness hanging in the air. But there was no denying one discomfort.
Everything just felt the slightest bit off.
When Sylas walked out from the basement, he found himself greeted by a pair of militiamen who immediately went off to report his arrival to Cassarae.
He didn't say a word, his expression as cool as ice, his hair almost stiffly swaying in tight, thick curls that carried the heft of a mountain.
Sylas didn't wait for Cassarae, heading right to the city walls. His movements looked slow and deliberate, but they carried with them a surprising amount of speed.
