The outer wall of the royal capital receded into the distance behind them. The gray of dawn was slowly beginning to tint the sky. The stone walls of the imperial city of Verga were hazily white through the morning mist. The smell of grass. The dampness of soil. The mingled scent of stone and people grew fainter with each step forward. Raid kept his gaze ahead and continued walking. A black short blade swayed inside his cloak. The scar on his left arm—the circuit had deteriorated to something close to "charred" from using magic fusion, leaving a faint blue mark on the skin's surface—ached slightly in the morning cold. His back was still warm. He knew the wound from the stone shrapnel was seeping, but he couldn't stop now. Lilia walked to his right. Aira covered the rear. The footsteps of three people were absorbed into the grass. The silence wasn't particularly heavy. It was the kind of quiet that mixed exhaustion, relief, and—multiple nameless emotions—all at once. No one had spo