In the village square not too far from the palace, the inhabitants watched as several luxurious carriages pulled to a halt. Immediately, their eyes widened in awe at the glamour and artistry of the arriving fleet.
Most peasants couldn't dream of affording one, and they dared not touch or speak to a carriage owner for fear of damaging such a prized possession—the repair fee alone could ruin their bloodline for generations.
But when their eyes landed on a particular carriage bearing a dragon crest, fear replaced awe.
The infamous Emperor Gerald had arrived. And that was never a good sign.
Panic spread like wildfire. Villagers scrambled, clutching their children and dragging family members toward safety—until the sound of a loud trumpet stilled them in their tracks.
All eyes turned.
From the imperial carriage, a figure stepped down, scroll in hand. As instructed, he raised the trumpet again and blew into it, then announced in a voice that echoed throughout the square:
