The sound of horse hooves grew clearer.
From the far end of the dirt road, a simple horse-drawn carriage appeared. Not luxurious, but well maintained. The horse was guided at a slow pace, clearly made to reduce speed as it approached the field.
Lucas turned his head, then walked toward the carriage.
Silvara glanced over as well, her expression neutral. She did not move from her spot, staying beside Anya, who continued muttering the word "Observee."
The carriage stopped not far from the edge of the field.
Two people stepped down.
The first—Berrin.
A middle-aged man with a woven apron still tied around his waist.
The second—
neatly dressed, wearing a dark coat, a single-lens monocle reflecting the morning light.
He stepped forward half a pace first.
"Good morning," he said calmly.
"My name is Silas, from the Merchants' Guild."
His tone was polite. Formal. Measured.
