The crisp morning air of the North carried the sharp scent of melting frost and heavy pine. Outside the grand gates of the Alaric estate, the sprawling imperial procession was fully assembled.
The massive, golden-crested royal carriage gleamed under the pale winter sun, surrounded by a tight vanguard of capital knights whose armor clanked rhythmically with every shift of their horses.
Emperor Aurelian stepped onto the snow-dusted path, his children following closely behind him. High above, lounging with an impossible, gravity-defying ease across the polished velvet roof of the carriage, sat Norx.
The deity was lazily swirling a flask of northern liquor between his fingers, his crimson eyes scanning the horizon with a petulant, completely unbothered indifference.
Alaric and Julian stood side by side near the iron gates to see them off, with young Lucius gripping his father's coat, looking up at his cousins.
