The sound of horns echoed through the sprawling capital of Vireldor as golden banners fluttered in the wind, bearing the crest of House Elandrin. The streets overflowed with people men, women, and children — all gathered to witness the return of the young warlord, the kingdom’s pride. Months of war had passed, blood spilled, enemies vanquished. And now, their hero and his army returned, not only victorious but glorious.
He rode through the city gates on a jet-black steed, the sun gleaming off his golden armor as if the gods themselves had forged it. Tall, broad-shouldered, with hair like dark silk swept back from his brow, he was every bit the image of a war god. His eyes sharp, hungry, and distant — scanned the crowd with practiced coldness.
Confetti rained down like petals. Drums and
