The journey to Esbakan stretched out before them, the road winding through a landscape that was both serene and unsettling. The rhythmic sound of the carriage wheels against the dirt road provided a steady backdrop, occasionally broken by the soft snorts of the tiger beasts pulling them forward. Luke sat at the front, next to the rider, while Ilyrana had opted to rest at the carriage's end, her cloak draped over her as she slept.
The rider, a grizzled man with a weathered face and sharp eyes, glanced at Luke, curiosity flickering across his features. He'd heard whispers about the recent landslide near Eston—a tragedy that had taken lives and left destruction in its wake. He hadn't imagined that the man beside him might be a survivor.
"What happened to your leg?" the rider finally asked, his voice rough from years of travel.
Luke shifted slightly, feeling the familiar ache in his injured leg.
