The day of the Royal Council.
The capital was awake in full tension. Royal Guards lined the streets, their armor polished, their halberds gleaming beneath the morning sun. Knights patrolled in heavy numbers, their disciplined movements turning the city into a fortress of steel and banners.
At the gate of the capital, the line of nobles waiting to enter was long. Carriages rolled forward one by one, crests of the great houses glinting on their doors.
But then came the thunder of talons.
Garius De Armand and his escort arrived astride their Pekko.
Giddie at the front, the proud sons of Armand at his flanks, their personal maids close behind. Hesbeirn led the chosen guards, their formation tight, banners of Armand rippling.
The moment the knights at the gate caught sight of the Armand crest, their posture shifted. Helmets turned, boots clicked together, and every man struck his fist to his chest in unison.
