The festival air was thick with the warmth of firelight, laughter, and the scent of roasted meats and spiced sweets.
Bright ribbons danced on poles, streamers crisscrossed above the main street, and musicians played cheerful folk tunes that made even the stiffest nobles tap their feet.
Kyle walked among the villagers, flanked by Bruce and Melissa, the three of them attracting curious eyes and cheerful greetings wherever they went.
"Welcome back, young lord! It wouldn't be a festival without you!"
A baker shouted, handing Kyle a warm tart glazed with honey.
Kyle accepted it with a polite smile, giving his thanks. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed this energy—this sense of belonging.
Bruce was already striding toward the archery range, where several villagers were attempting to hit a straw target for prizes.
"Mind if I try?"
He asked with a grin.
The villagers, mostly young men, nodded, smirking.
"Be our guest, Sir Bruce. But don't be sad when you miss."
