The morning mist hung low over the main gates of the Iron Empire's capital.
Watchtowers stood gray and imposing in the distance, nearly swallowed by the thick factory smog that hadn't settled since the night before. The air was cold, damp, and reeked of coal.
Selene halted right in front of the massive iron gates. Her navy-blue cloak was wrinkled and stained with dirt, her silver hair plastered to her temples with sweat. She hadn't slept a wink since leaving the Eastern Mountains.
Behind her, Yara limped forward, helping to drag a thin stretcher made of ice. Her blistered right hand trembled under the weight. Lieur trailed further back, his head bowed, too terrified to meet the eyes of the two gate guards standing rigidly with steam rifles slung across their chests.
Rumina lay motionless on the stretcher. Her face was deathly pale. The whip lashes across her back were still wrapped in makeshift bandages.
"Identification," one of the guards demanded flatly.
