(The next day)
The thunder of hooves rolled through the valley as a dozen riders closed in on the towering gates of Algoria. Their cloaks whipped behind them, dust rising in their wake as they pulled to a stop. The men sat tall, backs straight, armor gleaming under the heavy afternoon sun.
The guards at the entrance stiffened. Spears held tight, eyes wary.
"State your purpose," one of them demanded.
The lead rider stepped forward, voice carrying with authority. "We're from Scyl Village. We bring King Ivar Ragnarsson."
A murmur rippled through the guards at the name. The tension in the air shifted slightly, the weight of it settling in their expressions.
Then, from the center of the group, King Ivar emerged.
He pulled back his hood, revealing sharp, calculating eyes. His expression gave nothing away.
The guards exchanged quick glances before one of them turned sharply toward his fellow soldier. "Send word to the castle. King Josef needs to know—now."
