The caravan thundered forward, the magically enhanced horses keeping their relentless pace across the cracked stone road.
Dust and gravel kicked up in their wake, swirling into the morning air like remnants of a storm.
Argolaith maintained his speed effortlessly, his breath even, his blue eyes locked ahead.
Malakar moved with unshaken precision, his skeletal frame untouched by exhaustion.
Kaelred, however, was fighting for his life.
Every step was a battle, every breath a desperate attempt to keep his body from collapsing under the strain. But despite the overwhelming burn in his muscles, he refused to stop.
The caravan leader, his crimson cloak billowing behind him, glanced back once more. His expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something behind his dark eyes.
Acknowledgment.
But also suspicion.
With a flick of his reins, the leader slowed his horse just enough to align himself with Argolaith.
