Garius rode tall on Giddie, the golden-feathered pekko showing off his majesty with every step. Francesca rode behind him with grace, her arms gently around her husband's waist, smiling softly at the children and villagers who had gathered to greet them.
On both sides, Alf and Erinette stood with their own pekko, acting as a protective escort.
Behind them, Javier followed, with Liana and Gloria close beside him. The maids kept sharp eyes on the road, but Javier's gaze wandered elsewhere.
To the people.
The villagers didn't bow out of fear. They didn't tremble or show stiff obedience. Instead, they smiled. They waved.
Children waved with excited arms, calling out for "Lord Garius." Women carried baskets of bread and fruit, lifting them high as offerings. Men tipped their hats and pressed their fists to their hearts.
And there he was, his father. Garius, the man who never taxed the people beyond what was necessary, who never squeezed them dry.
