The road back to Winter's Crown was quiet, save for the distant sounds of horses' hooves crunching against the gravel and the faint whistling of the wind as it combed through the trees. The campfire's embers from the previous night had barely faded from memory, but Damien felt the weight of their latest skirmish settling into his bones like an unwelcome guest.
His steel-gray eyes remained fixed on the horizon as the capital's walls slowly came into view. From a distance, Winter's Crown looked unchanged—its towering spires rising against the gray sky, banners fluttering faintly in the wind. The sight might have been comforting under different circumstances, but to Damien, it was just another reminder that their task was far from over.
Amara broke the silence first, her sharp blue eyes flicking toward him as she rode beside him. "You've been quiet since we left the camp."
"I've had a lot to think about," Damien replied, his voice even.
