Night eventually fell, and Dusk had barely eaten anything all day. He refused Lysandra's offer of food, giving the excuse that he wanted her to witness a miracle.
In front of her house, a luxurious carriage pulled up. From it stepped down an elderly man with an air of nobility, followed by a younger man radiating an extraordinary aura.
"Father, how much do you actually believe in what the girl said?"
The speaker was none other than Caelan, Lysandra's father.
Tharion stroked his long silver beard, his deep gaze resting on his granddaughter's house.
Hidden within his eyes was a glimmer of hope—faint, yet unwavering.
"You really have to ask? The moment we decided to come here, we were already prepared for whatever outcome awaits us. If what she says is true, then there is nothing better for us. If it turns out to be false, then at worst, it's merely a visit to my beloved granddaughter," the old man replied calmly.
