A group of centaurs made their way through the village, their hooves striking the stone pathways.
These were not the seasoned veterans who had faced Luca in battle, nor the mothers who had watched their children with fond exasperation.
No—these were the younger generation, those who had only recently crossed the threshold into adulthood.
Their eyes still glowed with the brightness of youth, and their fur held a luster that spoke of energy and vitality not yet worn down by years of service.
But right now, none of that brightness was on display.
Their shoulders were slumped, their gazes downcast, their tails hanging low—the picture of a group whose expectations had been thoroughly crushed.
At their head walked a centaur named Riley.
She had shoulder-length hair of brilliant red, green eyes that glowed with barely contained frustration, and a pale white coat that gleamed even in the dim afternoon light.
