The rain of the previous days had given way to a sky still crowded with heavy grey clouds, yet now and then pierced by pale shafts of sunlight. The morning air, though cold, was clear, stirred from time to time by a faint, delicate breeze drifting in from the west. An autumn day like countless others in those lands—and yet, for Ravast, a special one.

Standing apart at the edge of the grassy clearing surrounding the chapel of the Dawn Lord, Karak watched with quiet astonishment the restless energy and agitation of those gathered. Arms folded, hood lowered over his face, his back resting against the silvery trunk of a large beech tree, his eyes followed the villagers as they busied themselves with preparations for the imminent arrival of the bride and groom.

A group of young maidens in elegant, pale-toned gowns, directed by the priestess Maria—already clad in her ceremonial white vestments—were carefully placing multicolored flower crowns along the ground, forming a modest but graceful passageway for the Lord and the soon-to-be Lady of Ravast. A simple, rustic procession that would allow the couple to receive the love and joy of the entire village as they walked toward the sanctuary.

Not far away, a stout, balding, aging man struggled with the rusted lock of a large iron cage filled with white doves, muttering curses under his breath. At the end of the ceremony, they would be released—another peculiar human custom to celebrate the union.

Two children—a boy and a girl of about ten—stood at either side of the chapel door, waiting. While the boy clearly resented having to stand still like a statue, his mother seemed intent on enforcing the duty with firm gestures and hushed scolding. The girl, by contrast, appeared entirely at ease. Smiling, her bright eyes shining beneath soft blonde curls, she gazed down the road leading to the village with eager anticipation, as though she herself were the bride. A large red flower was woven into her hair, and in her hands she carried a crimson cushion embroidered with gold.

Spread across the green before the chapel stood nearly all the villagers. Men and women, elders and children alike, dressed in their finest garments—loose and softly colored—chatted among themselves while awaiting the arrival of the couple and the beginning of the ceremony. A constant murmur filled the air, at times grating to Karak’s ears, occasionally broken by bursts of loud laughter echoing among the trees.

Amid that confusion, he found no meaning. This journey into the lands of men remained an enigma he could neither unravel nor, perhaps, ever hope to understand. Asking his companions would be pointless—they would not be able to explain, and he would not be able to comprehend. Their worlds were simply too distant. And truthfully, he cared little for these strange customs. Reflecting on them was nothing more than a way to pass the time when boredom took hold.

As an amber leaf brushed lightly against his hood, drifting down from the branches above, Karak searched for his companions. Goldrick, dressed in an elegant dark outfit befitting his status, had just approached Maria and begun speaking with her, greeted as always by her gentle smile. Nearby, Lucien and Tiresio conversed quietly, though even in their best attire they could not rival the middle-aged man’s refined appearance. Different standings, Karak thought—a distinction even he could perceive.

His gaze returned to Goldrick just as Simon Ravast approached him and Maria in his wheelchair. The younger brother, smiling and in high spirits, was dressed in fine dark garments of evident cost and quality. Greeting the priestess, he took her hands with courteous grace.

Yet Karak soon realized he was not the only one observing. From across the clearing, Captain Iuliu, wrapped in his heavy fur cloak, was watching intently. Though at first his gaze seemed fixed on Simon, it soon became clear it was Goldrick he was studying—carefully, thoroughly. The captain’s eyes then swept the crowd, lingering on Tiresio and Lucien, before inevitably settling on Karak himself.

A faint smile curled beneath the shadow of his hood. The man was trying to read him, just as he had the others. The thought amused him. Such tactics would not work on him. When he wished, he could vanish from perception, become unreadable.

He remained unmoved even when Iuliu summoned a nearby guard and whispered briefly in her ear before she slipped away into the crowd.

Failing to track her movements, Karak instead spotted Petr and Beniamin speaking with two unfamiliar men among the villagers. But suddenly, a shout shattered the atmosphere—followed by the sharp neighing of horses and more indistinct cries.

Turning swiftly toward the source, Karak quickly grasped the situation. A black carriage, hurtling up the muddy road at reckless speed and barely under control, had nearly run down several villagers making their way to the chapel. Ignoring the danger it posed, it raced onward, reaching the clearing as the crowd parted in a growing murmur of surprise.

Behind it, a second carriage—slower, more composed—was making its way up the hill.

Karak soon realized that those nearly struck had been none other than Gwen and Liris. The sisters, delayed in their preparations, had just arrived, and it took all of Lucien’s diplomatic skill to restrain Liris, who was visibly furious and ready to confront the reckless travelers. Gwen, calmer, helped soothe her twin, brushing mud from their fine garments—elegant wool dresses in shades of red, black, and midnight blue, worthy of their standing.

Karak’s attention returned to the first carriage. As it halted near the chapel, two figures descended, assisted by armed guards bearing an unfamiliar crest.

The first was a young man in his twenties—tall but slender, with short dark hair, pale blue eyes, and pronounced features. He wore a fine grey suit and displayed a smile that seemed, at first glance, almost foolish.

The second, whom he helped down, was a woman past fifty—short, stout, heavily made up, her greying hair arranged in an elaborate style beneath a double-pointed hat. Her small dark eyes scanned the surroundings with an air of superiority, almost disdain. Once on the grass, she lowered a finely embroidered white lace veil over her face, as if to shield herself from the world.

Together, they walked toward the chapel under the curious gaze of the crowd.

Moments later, the second carriage arrived—and its occupants were greeted with cheers. A couple emerged, hand in hand, escorted by armed men. Both were tall and striking, perhaps around thirty. The man, with long ash-blond hair and pale eyes, wore a deep red suit trimmed in black and gold. The woman, her brown hair gathered in a bun adorned with blue flowers matching her eyes, was radiant in an elegant cream silk gown. Around her neck rested a gold necklace wrapped with reddish fabric.

As they joined the others near the chapel entrance, Karak noted two more figures—old, well-dressed, noble in bearing—already present. A man with long dark hair and stern features, and a woman with a regal air, adorned in violet and cobalt garments, a golden tiara framing her face.

“Arrogant nobles with their noses in the air… I couldn’t care less,” Karak muttered, boredom creeping back in.

He turned away, lowering his hood further, his gaze drifting once more toward the road.

Then he saw her.

A figure running at full speed toward the chapel.

At first indistinct, she soon came into view—Ember, Anastasia’s younger sister. Though dressed in a formal gown, something was clearly wrong. Her run was frantic, desperate. Her expression—distressed, urgent. Her hair, disheveled, whipped by the breeze.

Karak straightened slightly, his attention sharpening.

She reached the clearing, pushing through the crowd before collapsing breathlessly before Maria, Simon—and most notably, the old noble couple. They rushed to her, bombarding her with questions.

Karak listened.

“Anastasia… she’s nowhere to be found… she’s gone… Anastasia has disappeared…”

Her voice trembled, her aquamarine eyes wide with fear.

A stunned silence fell—then rose again into a louder, more unsettled murmur. Even the man with the doves, shaken by her words, left the cage open, sending the birds into the air in a flurry of wings.

But Karak paid it no mind.

His gaze remained fixed on Ember.

And slowly, a thin, intrigued smile spread across his lips.

At last, it seemed, something worthy of his attention had appeared.