The Holy Empire smelled of luxury and mourning.
A sweet fragrance drifted from open temple doors and bronze censers suspended above the streets, mingling with the scent of flowers laid beneath roadside shrines.
Arthur walked among the crowds with his face hidden beneath the hood of a white robe.
He had chosen the color deliberately.
Here, white was everywhere.
White stone buildings. White banners embroidered with golden crosses. White-robed priests standing beneath archways, blessing those who bowed their heads before them.
It made blending into the crowd considerably easier.
Arthur maintained an unhurried pace.
All around him, people prayed.
Some knelt before small shrines built into the walls. Others had stopped in the middle of the footpaths, their hands clasped beneath their chins as they murmured invocations to Freya.
Golden crosses hung from their necks.
The same symbol adorned their bracelets, their clothing, and the doors of their homes.
