The gates of Wyfn-Garde stood open, the evening casting long shadows across the cobbled road that led into the heart of the kingdom.
The sky, heavy with the promise of rain, rumbled ominously, and flashes of lightning streaked the horizon.
Yet, even the impending storm could not dlampen the spirits of the people.
The soldiers were returning home.
For six days and seven nights, the warriors of Wyfn-Garde had fought relentlessly.
Their victory was hard-earned, their bodies marked with the grime and blood of battle, but they returned as defenders of their land, their banners held high against the darkening sky.
In the village, the sound of horns echoed, a triumphant melody carried on the wind. Villagers poured into the streets, their cheers rising in waves as the first of the warriors came into view.
Children, clutching flowers hastily plucked from fields, darted forward to catch a glimpse of their fathers, uncles, and brothers.
Women, some with tears streaming down their faces, reached out, searching for familiar figures among the weary ranks.
"They've done it!" someone shouted, and the cry was taken up by others. "Wyfn-Garde stands strong!"
The warriors, though exhausted, managed smiles and waves. Their armor clinked with every step, and their weapons hung heavily at their sides.
Some carried banners, others helped injured comrades along, but all bore the same look of grim satisfaction.
At the castle gates, the atmosphere was equally electric. Maids, Princesses and noblewomen stood at the grand entrance, their gowns billowing slightly in the gusts of wind.
Among them was the Queen, regal and composed, although her eyes darted anxiously toward the road.
Beside her were the younger princesses, the prince and royal kids, they whispered among themselves, their hands clasped tightly as they waited.
The maids and stewards stood at attention nearby, their faces a mix of relief and joy. Some exchanged whispers, marveling at how the warriors had yet again defended the kingdom's honor.
As the first knights entered the castle courtyard, the cheers swelled to a deafening roar. Mothers rushed forward, throwing their arms around their sons.
Children clung to fathers' legs, laughing and crying all at once. Friends clasped hands and embraced, their joy unrestrained.
"They've weakened Fooleria!" a steward exclaimed, his voice carrying over the jubilant crowd. "Once again, Wyfn-Garde has shown its might!"
The castle bell tolled, a rich, resounding peal that seemed to echo the pride of the kingdom. Servants hurried to prepare food and drink, their movements swift despite the chaos of celebration.
Torches were lit against the encroaching darkness, their flickering light casting warm glows on the tear-streaked faces of those reunited with their loved ones.
"Welcome home!" someone cried, and the words rippled through the crowd, growing louder with each repetition.
The thunder growled again, a low rumble that seemed almost a part of the triumph. Fat drops of rain threatened to fall, but no one cared.
The cool wind mingled with the sweat and grime of battle, washing over the warriors like a blessing. Some tilted their faces toward the sky, welcoming the storm as if it were a sign of renewal.
Inside the castle, preparations for the evening feast were already underway. Long tables were set with freshly baked bread, roasted meats, and jugs of ale.
The royal family had ordered the best of everything to honor the returning heroes, and the scent of celebration wafted through the halls.
As the victorious army marched into the castle courtyard, their weary steps matched by the cheers of their people, Wyfn-Garde stood united.
Once again, it had defended its legacy, proving that no kingdom could take its strength or spirit.
And as the sky darkened in earnest, mingling with laughter and song, the land of Wyfn-Garde celebrated its victory, steadfast in the knowledge that it remained unconquered.
Meanwhile,
The wind bellowed lightly past the grand windows of the third prince's wing, the sound mixing with the faint hum of activity in the castle.
Salviana sat by her window, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of a book she wasn't reading.
Her thoughts were elsewhere, far away on the battlefield, where her husband and the warriors of Wyfn-Garde fought for their kingdom.
She stared at the horizon, dark and heavy with rainclouds, when the hurried footsteps of a maid broke through the quiet.
The door to her chambers burst open, and a young maid, cheeks flushed and breathless from running, stumbled in. "My lady!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling with excitement. "The warriors—they're returning! Wyfn-Garde has won!"
For a moment, Salviana sat frozen, the words not fully sinking in. Then her heart leaped. They're coming back. Relief, joy, and something she couldn't quite name surged within her.
Alaric.
"Are you certain?" she asked, her voice a whisper, almost afraid to believe it.
"Yes, my lady," Emma replied, her face lighting up with a smile. "The horns have sounded. They'll be at the gates soon!"
Salviana stood abruptly, the book slipping from her lap and falling to the floor unnoticed. Her heart thudded wildly as she rushed to her wardrobe, flinging it open.
Her hands trembled as she chose a gown—a soft emerald green that shimmered like leaves in sunlight. Its simple elegance complimented her, and it was Alaric's favorite color.
As it was the color of hope and her eyes.
She dropped from the window quickly, her fingers fumbling over the ties of her dress as a flurry of emotions stormed within her.
He's coming back.
Alaric. My husband.
Will he be the same?
Did he fight well?
Was he hurt? A pang of fear clenched her chest, but she pushed it aside.
As soon as the gown was secured, she swept her hair back from her face, her excitement overriding the need for perfection.
Then, without another word, she dashed out of her chambers, her skirts billowing behind her like a banner caught in the wind.
Down the winding stairs and through the corridors she ran, the soft emerald fabric swishing with every hurried step. Guards moved aside as she passed, their gazes following her in awe.