Morning broke over the manor with a pale light that filtered through the curtains of my room. The faint sounds of activity drifted in, growing louder with each passing moment. The occasional clatter of hooves, the creak of wooden wheels, and hurried voices merged into a symphony of preparation.
I sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Today marked the end of our preparations for our journey to Targetus, the capital of the empire, for the Emperor's banquet. It wasn't merely a celebration but a political event, a gathering of power and influence where alliances were reinforced and rivalries renewed.
As I dressed, the weight of the coming days pressed against me. The banquet was just one part of the ordeal; the roads to Targetus were plagued by uncertainties, and our caravan carried not only people but vital supplies, including the surplus food reserves meant to showcase Brithuel's productivity.
