After One Day
Morning broke with fanfare. Trumpets blared from the palace towers, a sharp metallic cry that cut through the cool dawn.
Servants rushed along the cobblestone courtyard, spreading rose petals in neat arcs. The banners of the viscount's house swayed proudly from every wall—black fabric stitched with a golden lion whose mane seemed almost alive in the light.
Aiden stood at the heart of it all. His armor gleamed like polished steel fire, each plate freshly oiled by Gerald's meticulous hand. The cuirass clung to his torso, the greaves wrapped tight against his calves, the weight pressing into his shoulders.
Yet it did not bend him. If anything, he stood straighter. Taller. His golden eyes glowed faintly beneath the shadow of his helmet.
