The grand giant sun was sinking towards the distant horizon, its sun corona, with pale wood-grain lines, only left a narrow arc edge. The halo rising from the edge of the corona diffused into the cloud background, resembling a fiery sky. During the last few minutes of this day, it burned brightly, under the glow of the setting sun, bathing the entire city in Gawain's eyes in a sea of gold and red.
He stood at the end of the terrace, gazing towards the direction of the Dark Mountain Range. The nearing winter cold wind blew from the side, faintly bringing the command voices of the guards' soldiers from their dusk drills. In this rare, slightly leisure moment, he quietly thought about the plan to counterattack the wastelands and the upcoming journey to Talronde — until a familiar presence suddenly appeared in his perception, disrupting his steadily spreading thoughts.
