The desert shimmered under the relentless afternoon sun, waves of heat warping the horizon into mirages. The world felt endless, stretched beneath an unforgiving sky.
Joel suddenly pulled his horse to a stop. His movements, normally smooth and unbothered, were sharp, tense. His eyes, typically distant, narrowed against the glare, locked on a faint distortion in the heat haze.
Reyes and Arden noticed instantly. Their hands fell to their sword hilts, their bodies tense. Viana, riding close, felt the shift—an unease threading through the air. The desert, usually predictable in its dangers, suddenly felt unpredictable.
Slowly, the blur in the distance took shape. A group of riders, moving steadily, though with visible strain. Their horses looked exhausted, their gaits uneven. As they came closer, banners became visible—silver-threaded, hanging limply from their lances.
Reyes exhaled, his voice low. "Valendale Royal Dragoons."
