The city of Westreach stood in solemn silence, draped in black as banners bearing the sigil of House Valen fluttered from every tower. A sea of mourners flooded the streets, nobles and commoners alike gathered to pay respects to their fallen hero. The air was thick with the scent of burning incense and the soft hum of whispered prayers. The weight of loss pressed down upon the city, a silent grief woven into every hushed breath and bowed head.
Shops remained closed, their doors barred in a solemn mourning. The city's great bell tolled in slow, measured intervals, its echo carrying across the rooftops, reaching even the farthest corners of Westreach.
From the highest spires to the lowest slums, all bore witness to the loss of the man who had once been their shield.
The people of Westreach, a river of black-clad figures, funneled towards Lake Elaria, the ancient and revered body of water that stretched beneath the towering estate of House Valen.
