They left without ceremony.
No bells rang. No guards followed. The colorful town faded behind them as if it had never truly existed—bright skirts and umbrellas swallowed by distance, laughter dissolving into wind.
Rose guided the chariot away from the main road, turning the reins toward a narrower path that bent between low hills and clusters of thorny shrubs. The road here was older, its stones half-buried, its edges softened by moss and time. Few travelers chose it now. Fewer still returned with stories worth repeating.
"This path isn't on most trade maps," Rose said quietly. "Merchants avoid it. Too slow. Too quiet."
"Perfect," Lira replied.
The forest shifted as they moved forward. Trees grew closer together, branches weaving overhead like ribs of a living tunnel. Sunlight fell in broken patterns, never fully touching the ground. The air felt different here—cooler, heavier, as if it remembered footsteps long after they passed.
