The town square grew rowdy as the people gathered, each one eager for the evening's feast.
Men, women, and children had all come to see what would unfold. The air buzzed with excitement, and though some murmured complaints, most of the crowd was filled with an expectant energy.
Wooden benches had been placed around the square, and the cooks, having spent the day in a frenzy of preparation, stood by large containers, ready to serve.
The wide space was filled with the chatter of the crowd, and the scent of roasting meat began to mix with the cooler evening air.
Despite the festivities, there were still those who resented the Lord's presence in their town.
Whispers of discontent rippled through the crowd. Some of the older folk, their gray hair testament to years of experience, exchanged wary glances.
There had been a time when Blackwood was a thriving town, but now it was struggling — struggling with hunger, with hardships, with the leadership they hadn't chosen.
That resentment had been stirred up by the council's decisions. It had been easy to place blame, and many had turned their anger toward Lord Cronos.
"Do you think that man's son is about to do?" one of the elders asked, his voice trembling with both age and apprehension.
His gray hair and stooped posture made him seem even older as he squinted into the crowd. "We already stirred the town's hatred for him to the highest. We made sure they blamed him for the lack of food... for everything. What can he possibly—"
"Shut up," another elder snapped, cutting him off before he could finish.
The tension between the old men was palpable. Both of them were deeply entrenched in the affairs of the town, but their rivalry had only worsened the climate of mistrust.
The younger generation, on the other hand, was torn — some hopeful for change, others doubting any possible redemption.
Suddenly, the murmurs in the square grew louder as someone stepped onto the makeshift podium. It was Lord Cronos.
A hush fell over the crowd as the young man made his way up to the front. The evening breeze tousled his silver hair, and his black robe rippled in the wind, matching the darkening sky.
He moved with quiet confidence, his handsome face framed by sharp features that caught the light just enough to make even the most cynical of onlookers pause.
Cronos's beauty wasn't just in his appearance — it was in his calm demeanor, the ease with which he held himself under the weight of the crowd's expectation.
His presence was enough to turn heads, even among the most jaded.
He stepped up to the podium and flashed a smile — one that was smooth and practiced, yet warm enough to disarm even the most skeptical hearts.
The older ladies in the crowd, despite their reservations about him and his poor leadership, couldn't help but swoon at the sight of his smile.
"Good evening, citizens of Blackwood," his voice rang out clearly in the silent evening air. It was commanding, but not forceful, carrying across the square with ease. Everyone turned their attention to him.
"First of all, I want to apologize. For the inappropriate conduct of not only myself, but the council as well."
There was an audible shift in the crowd. Some expected him to lay the blame on others, but Cronos's words were disarming.
He spoke with sincerity, his voice warm yet filled with a quiet strength. The crowd leaned in, eager to hear more.
"We were meant to guide you, to lead you, and yet, we failed. You have suffered hunger, uncertainty, and hardship... and that, I can understand."
His words seemed to settle over the crowd like a blanket, quieting the murmurs of discontent.
The elders, though skeptical, leaned in, their attention fully captured. Even those who resented him couldn't help but listen.
"Right now, Blackwood is one of the most declining towns in the surrounding area," Cronos continued, his gaze sweeping over the people gathered before him. "But not anymore. I've taken full control of the situation, and together, we'll begin to rebuild."
A ripple of unease passed through the crowd at his bold claim. A few hands shot up from the back, one louder than the rest.
"Why?" a man called out, his voice tinged with frustration. "Why should we trust you? It's been a year, and there's been no significant improvement! We're starving, we're cold, we're waiting for a change that never comes!"
The man's words struck a chord with the others, and a wave of shouts followed, accusations of failure and neglect filling the air.
Some were unfair, others genuine. Cronos's calm expression never wavered, though. He waited for the chaos to die down, his fingers tapping gently against the podium as he stood, his posture poised and unshaken.
The crowd's shouts became louder, until, with a single, sharp clap of his hands, Cronos silenced them all.
It was a quiet gesture, but its effect was immediate. The people fell silent, uncertain of what was to come.
The cooks, who had been standing nearby with the large wooden containers, sprang into action at the signal.
With a collective movement, they removed the covers that had been draped over the containers, revealing the feast that had been carefully prepared. The air, which had been thick with tension just moments before, was now filled with the rich aromas of roasted meat, freshly baked bread, and simmering stews.
The scent was intoxicating, its warmth and comfort a stark contrast to the cold uncertainty that had plagued the town for so long.
Rowan gestured to the containers, his eyes locking with those of the crowd.
"I may not have fixed everything, and I may not have answered every question yet, but look around you," he said, his voice carrying the weight of the moment. "This... this is the first step. This feast is a promise. It's a promise that change is coming — that we will not let Blackwood fall into ruin. I ask for your patience, your trust, and your support."
The crowd was still, unsure of what to make of his words. But then, the first of the containers was opened, and the feast began.
The warmth of the food spread through the square, and the first few servings were handed out to the people. It wasn't just the food, though — it was the gesture, the effort that had gone into it. The promise of something better.
The murmurs of the crowd shifted, no longer filled with anger, but with something else — curiosity. The air was still thick with uncertainty, but the town had taken its first step toward something new.