Round 4

As Sister Hale knelt to examine the road surface, her fingers tracing the packed earth and stone with practiced precision, the air was heavy with tension. The ash-choked road outside Gravehill's ruined city seemed to swallow all light, leaving only the faint glow of lanterns carried by weary travelers like Jeane.

Sister Hale's voice cut through the stillness, "Here," she called out, marking an irregular patch near the wheel ruts with a small rock from her pocket. The gesture was calm and deliberate, but beneath it lay the weight of her duties as a cleric. Her eyes, steady despite fatigue, searched the horizon for any sign of danger.

Jeane's gaze shifted from the guard to Sister Hale, her expression unreadable behind the veil of her black occult attire. With a sharp gesture, she dropped the illusion of harmless steam rising from nowhere, and her voice cut through the silence like a cold blade: "Sister Hale—check the road for traps. Silra, scout ahead to that crumbling watchtower; I want eyes on what moves in this city's streets."