Riders galloped through the central road of Florium, hooves drumming against cobbled stone like a herald's war drum, their voices cutting through the morning hum of the city.
"The Royal Army is here!" they cried, eyes wild with triumph. "His Grace, Prince Alpheo, has come to bless Florium with his presence!"
The shouts flew like sparks in dry grass, igniting the streets with sudden life as the various citizens of Florium went to witness the latest novelty.
And then—like a thundercloud cresting the hills—the Royal Army arrived in all its glory.
They marched in rhythmic perfection, the entire force rolling into the city like a tide of steel and discipline, banners high, glinting beneath the midday sun. Florium's breath caught in its throat as the people beheld the might of their prince. The boots of two thousand men beat in unison, their movements practiced, almost ceremonial, as they entered the city not as invaders, but as the hand of justice made manifest.
