The wagon had come to a standstill. Intricate green vine patterns decorated the whole carriage. The centerpiece was a brilliant red emblem of two phoenixes interlocked in dance, made of gemstones that shimmered in the sunlight.
Driving the carriage was a thin man wearing dark robes.
His eyebrows lifted up in disdain. "Dare to repeat that again, you goblin?"
As if agitated with their owner, the tall and buff horses flared their nostrils, allowing cold fog to billow outwards. The weather was lukewarm, how could fog appear from nowhere?
Tentore kowtowed deeply, "This servant deserves death for allowing my underling to speak of my Lady in this manner. I hope that my Lady is magnanimous enough to forgive us."
Efling approached Florian and forcefully dragged him by the nape. Florian was shocked. Despite him and Efling being distant, they were still on amiable terms. He suddenly dreaded for what was to come. Efling dropped Florian and also kowtowed. A crowd gathered around to watch.
If Florian truly could not figure it out still, he was destined to die an early death. He immediately kneeled and kowtowed, hitting his head against the cobblestoned street. His forehead felt wet, either from sweat or blood, he could not tell.
The driver smirked, seeming to about to thrash him with his whip.
However, a lady's voice gently interrupted his punishment. "Let the fellow follow us back. I'm very interested in him."
Of course, only a fool would believe that being "interested" in under such circumstances to be a good fortune.
Florian gave a pleading look at his two half-brothers, even though he knew it was impossible for them to do anything.
Tentore shook his head, indicating for him to just give up and follow them. Efling whispered to Florian, "There are people we dare not offend, and you've done just that."
His fate was sealed.
Florian could hear Tentore and Efling's shuffling steps as they retreated. He could almost feel the pitying look he received from behind him. He knew the entire group had left.
Florian dared to peek upwards from his kowtow, only to see the driver glaring back down at him. Hurriedly, he faced the ground again.
"Theatrics like flowers that blossom along the sea shoreside. A reflection of harsh realities and melancholic memories," the voice from inside the wagon called out.
Florian's body quivered, and he appeared to be dazed. Strangely, the crowd had dispersed at this time, leaving only Florian still before the wagon. The entire street was eerily silent.
His aura changed. What was previously a nervous and jittery follower's obedience became a silent arrogance. He was a different person altogether.
Florian finally stood up after a few breaths, moving quietly behind the carriage, almost as if he belonged there. He soon disappeared into the wagon's shadows, melding into the darkness.
The driver did not seem surprised. In fact, he did not seem to have any emotion at all. It appeared like all that happened earlier was nothing more than a snobbish act.
"Let's go." The voice from the carriage talked for the fourth time.
The driver looked on ahead as the horses began to move forward once again.
The entire incident seemed nothing more than an everyday occurrence, as the bustling street resumed its business and people flooded back in.