Dawn Riders

The last two days passed like smoke in open air.

They had been filled with motion—packing, recalibrating gear, testing enchanted supplies and inspecting provisions—but none of it felt rushed. This wasn't the desperate scramble of their first rides through cursed plains. This was measured. Deliberate.

Callestan stood behind them now, its black walls tall and vigilant in the rising light. The city had changed since they'd arrived—not in stone or structure, but in the way it breathed. The guards at the gate saluted not with wariness, but recognition. A quiet reverence. The common folk watched from a distance, whispering blessings, not because they were told to, but because hope was now tied to these seven figures passing through the gates.

The sun had just begun to crest the eastern edge of the world.

Its light spilled like golden thread across the dew-slick grass, catching the tops of low hills and shimmering against the armored plates of the carriage. Morning mist clung to the lower valleys, curling like ghosts reluctant to leave.

Their horses—four powerful beasts, each with barding reinforced by both leather and light enchantments—stomped softly against the packed earth, eager and alert. The carriage had been entirely rebuilt in the rear quarter of their stay: the wheels now rimmed with a lightweight alloy, the axles reinforced with shock wards, and the interior compartment restructured for both speed and stability. Crates of dry provisions, spell-touched cloth, and spare weapons were lashed in place behind and below.

Terron stood at the front, one hand on the reins, the other resting on the polished curve of his war hammer. He wore his armor like a second skin, and the grin on his face was more than readiness—it was joy.

"Finally," he muttered as he climbed into the driver's seat, giving the closest horse a pat on the flank. "I was starting to think I'd never see a good road again."

Koda stood just behind the carriage, surveying the team.

Maia wore a traveler's cloak lined with white silk at the collar—her armor beneath faintly gleaming, the threads of divine origin woven in soft contrast to the gray steel. She'd already secured the apothecary case in the side compartment and nodded once to him as their eyes met.

Junen walked a slow perimeter check, shield strapped across her back and spear at her hip. Ever the sentinel, her gaze never idle.

Wren and Deker rode in the back bench of the carriage, already discussing adjustments to their shared casting matrix. Between them sat a reinforced field projector, designed to anchor mana wards mid-battle.

Thessa mounted her steed last, her hood drawn low, but her posture resolute. There was no sign of hesitation in her hands as they took the reins.

Koda walked toward the front and climbed up beside Terron. From here, he could see the path ahead—long, winding, and breathtaking.

Rolling fields stretched out before them in vast bands of gold and green, dotted by groves of tall, narrow trees swaying in the morning wind. Wildflowers crept toward the road in clusters—purple, pale yellow, and sky blue. The sky above was clear, cut through by soft trails of clouds like strokes of white ink. Birds wheeled overhead in silence, and for a time, nothing stirred except the wind.

It was peaceful.

Deceptively so.

But they'd learned not to fear peace.

They had learned to ride through it with open eyes.

Terron clicked his tongue and gave the reins a snap.

The horses started forward, hooves muffled by the earth, wheels rolling smooth across the morning road.

Callestan faded behind them, swallowed by distance and the slow rise of the day.

And so the journey to Delrest began.

The road to Delrest unfolding like a story told in soft colors and endless breath.

For the first time in what felt like ages, there was no fog, no clawing sense of death behind every hill. No shrieking voices in the wind or bones clattering in the night. The world simply was—vast, quiet, and alive.

Their carriage cut a steady line through the countryside, leaving a trail of pressed grass and rhythmic hoofprints behind them. Each morning began with gold washing over the land, dew sparkling on every blade, and the scent of fresh earth rising as the sun burned away the mist. The horses moved with ease, strong and steady, needing little command beyond Terron's practiced touch.

The land here was gently wild.

Grassy plains rolled out in every direction, rising into soft ridgelines and falling into shallow dells filled with wild lavender and flax. Groves of ash and cedar trees clustered here and there, providing shelter from midday heat and gentle rustling songs as wind slipped between their branches. Flocks of speckled birds rose at their passing, and once, Wren pointed out a family of golden-furred deer watching from beneath a thicket of weeping willows.

On the third day, they passed a winding stream, its banks lined with silvery stones and blossoms shaped like tiny bells. Maia dismounted to fill their canteens, her reflection dancing in the water beside Deker's conjured light—set as a ward just in case, though none of them sensed danger.

Nights were calm.

They camped near groves or tucked into the shadow of hills, the sky above unbroken by clouds. Stars glittered like scattered crystal, and constellations once buried beneath war's haze returned to view—guides of old, still watching.

Junen took first watch most evenings, seated by the fire's edge with her shield resting like a sentinel stone. Koda took the last. Often he'd walk the perimeter alone, letting the wind comb through his cloak as the land around him breathed in the stillness.

They hunted sparingly—just enough to keep fresh meat in their packs. Terron proved shockingly good with snares, though he claimed it was all instinct. One morning, Wren crafted a stew that left even Deker complimenting its spice balance. Thessa, quieter now but warmer in her silence, began tending to their fire each night without being asked.

There were beasts, occasionally.

On the fifth day, a tusked boar charged from a hillside thicket, eyes milky with mana taint. Junen intercepted it in a single movement, her shield ringing like a temple bell as she absorbed the blow. Koda finished it with a clean thrust behind the ear.

Later that evening, a pair of sharp-feathered raptors circled too close—drawn by the scent of meat or the flicker of magic. Deker brought them down with a burst of fire that painted the dusk orange.

But those were interruptions, not threats.

The land wasn't warning them away. It was welcoming them.

And the further they rode, the more they saw signs of what the world had once been: forgotten farmsteads, stone bridges draped in moss, shrines overgrown but still upright—tokens of peace lost, but not erased.

Each evening before sleep, Koda would pause just outside the camp's edge, staring at the road behind them, then at the sky. He carried the weight of what came next—not in fear, but in stillness. He had learned to carry it with balance.

They were a week into the journey when the fields began to give way to rockier terrain, and the wind took on a cooler bite.

Delrest was drawing near.

And the silence that had followed them would not last forever.

——

The shift began slowly.

Too slow to name.

On the eighth day of travel, the wind still moved, and the grass still rustled beneath their wheels, but the birds had grown quieter. There were no alarm calls as they passed. No distant chittering in the canopy. Only the creak of leather reins and the rhythmic clatter of hooves.

They didn't comment on it at first. It could have been coincidence.

By the ninth day, the hills had begun to smooth into long plains of low brush and pale soil. The wildflowers thinned. The sky, though still open, felt emptier, as if even the clouds were reluctant to pass overhead. And though the sun shone, it cast fewer shadows.

The breeze, once playful and bright, now came only in breathless lulls—as if the wind, too, were listening.

Their fire burned quieter at night. The kindling crackled less. The smoke rose in straight, silent lines.

Junen started taking two watches instead of one.

Wren stopped humming when she worked.

Thessa didn't light the fire with a flourish—just a match and a word.

They spoke less. Slept less. Not from fear, but from something deeper.

Uncertainty.

By the tenth day, the monster attacks stopped entirely.

No beasts. No tainted birds. No lurking eyes from within the tree lines.

Just absence.

Even Deker noticed, muttering from atop the carriage, "Not even the flies want to be here."

And he was right.

The insects were gone.

No buzzing in the heat of midday. No mosquitoes by the river bends. Not even ants among their supplies when they camped near a fallen orchard.

The quiet stopped being peaceful.

It started to press.

The ground grew dry, despite the rivers that still ran. The trees—what few remained—bent ever so slightly away from the road, as if recoiling from the path the party now followed.

The sky dimmed at twilight, but no birds cut across the sun.

No bats stirred in the dark.

On the eleventh day—just two out from Delrest—the world fell entirely still.

The wind did not blow.

The leaves did not stir.

And the sound of their own travel—hooves, wagon wheels, even their breathing—began to sound too loud.

Maia noticed it first, whispering, "There's no life here."

Not just silence.

Absence.

A deep, unnatural stillness that rang louder than any roar. Like the land was holding its breath. Like something in the soil had curled inward and died, but no one had dared to bury it.

Koda dismounted at the next ridge and stared out toward the distant silhouette of Delrest's outer towers. They rose from the horizon like the fingers of a broken crown—dark, unmoving.

He said nothing for a long time.

Neither did the others.

Because somewhere between the ninth and eleventh day…

The road stopped carrying them forward.

And began leading them in.

The sky darkened too soon on the twelfth day.

Not from storm or smoke. The sun still burned behind the gauze of clouds, but its light touched nothing. Shadows stretched longer than they should have. Colors dulled. Even the grass underfoot had lost its green, fading to a brittle grayish hue as though it had grown ashamed of itself.

No one spoke now—not even Deker, whose nervous mutterings had been a fixture of the last week.

The world had gone mute.

No birds. No insects. No beasts.

No corpses, either.

Nothing to explain the stillness.

It was like a place where life had once been scrubbed away—not destroyed, but meticulously erased.

They traveled in a tighter formation now.

Junen rode directly behind the carriage, shield half-raised. Terron's hands stayed tense on the reins, even though the horses had slowed to a cautious crawl, their ears flicking back with every step.

Wren had cast a detection ward five times.

It found nothing.

No magic. No undead. No taint.

Just void.

By midday, the road narrowed into a corridor of sparse, withered trees. Their trunks leaned away from the city as if trying to flee but too rooted to succeed. The bark curled back like peeled skin, and the few remaining leaves hung blackened and translucent like ash preserved mid-burn.

Thessa rode in silence, eyes fixed forward, whispering quiet prayers under her breath—not just for protection, but to fill the emptiness.

Maia sat still in the carriage, her hands folded in her lap, her gaze unfocused, as if straining to listen for something beyond hearing.

And Koda…

He walked.

He had dismounted hours ago.

Something about being on foot grounded him. Connected him to the earth. He needed to feel it shift beneath his boots. To know it hadn't vanished entirely.

Then—

They crested a shallow rise.

And there it was.

Delrest.

The outer walls were still intact, rising tall and grim against the horizon. But they didn't shine with wardlight. No banners fluttered. No movement traced the ramparts. The towers looked hollow, like empty husks.

And the gates…

They were open.

Not wide, not flung—but just slightly. Just enough to suggest someone had passed through.

Or something had left.

The city beyond was too shadowed to see clearly, swallowed by a low-hanging haze that clung to the cobblestones like mist curling from a dying fire.

No birds circled above.

No welcome horns.

No sound.

Only the creak of their wagon wheels as they slowed to a halt.

And the deep, visceral unease, of a city gone silent..