The sun had completely dipped below the massive stone horizon by the time our carriages finally rattled to a halt. Hora at night was a stark contrast to the quiet, shadow-drenched halls of the academy. Magic lamps came to life along the paved streets, casting a warm, amber glow over the crowded thoroughfares. Even with the current security threats, the capital felt alive, buzzing with the distant chatter of evening markets and the clatter of horse-drawn wagons.
The carriages parked in a cobblestone courtyard behind a three-story building made of dark timber and white stone. A hanging wooden sign creaked in the evening breeze, bearing the painted image of a weeping tree: The Whispering Willow Inn.
"Alright, everyone out," Professor Corvin called out, stepping down from the lead carriage and stretching his back with a groan. "Move quickly. The guards will handle the luggage, but I want you all inside before the night watch begins their rounds."
