The wheels of the carriage creaked as it rolled through the cobblestone streets of the coastal town. Unlike the Marketplace of Whispers, where people had paused to stare at the majestic carriage that bore the royal crest, here, no one seemed to care.
The townsfolk moved about their business—hauling nets full of fish, carrying baskets of herbs, shouting over prices, and chatting about the incoming tide. The salty breeze mixed with the faint scent of roasted seaweed and oil, while seagulls circled overhead, squawking as if mocking the travelers who had just entered their domain.
Inside the carriage, Luther sat by the window, his chin resting on his palm, staring out with an expression of disinterest. The ocean stretched endlessly before them, the sunlight bouncing off the waves in shimmers of silver and blue—colors that almost matched his eyes. Almost.
