Alpheo climbed the wide, groaning stairs of the wooden pavilion outside the royal keep, his steps slow but steady, each footfall echoing like the beat of a distant drum. The afternoon sun draped the earth in a rich gold, and the banners of Yarzat swayed lazily in the warm breeze.
His heart sat heavy in his chest, a weight greater than any armor he had ever worn.
This was no mere ceremony, no routine address to his loyal captains.Today, it was a farewell — a long-awaited goodbye from a man to those who had been his pillars, his shield, and his sword.
It was a farewell from the prince who had once walked among them in chains and rags, now clothed in silk and crowned by victory, standing at the edge of a new dawn and bidding his companions 'Goodbyes'.
At the top of the pavilion, waiting in solemn ranks, stood the high command of the White Army — grim and proud as ever.
