Three nineteen-year-old teenagers strolled through the woods; two were royalty , while the third was just a commoner meant to be their servant. The two royal young men, leaving the commoner struggling to keep pace, panting heavily.
"Your highness, wait," gasped the commoner, desperately trying to catch up. Ignored, he continued running after them until they reached a majestic river covered in moonlight, radiating an ethereal glow.
"We shouldn't be here, your highnesses," cautioned the commoner. The royals exchanged glances, then promptly punched the commoner across the face, sending him stumbling to the ground while they laughed.
"How dare you tell us what to do, Herald," scowled one, while the other remarked,
"I warned you about bringing him and his Gador."
"Who else will clean up our messes if we don't, Tyrone?" He retorted, both casting disdainful glances at Herald before walking away from him.
