The thick stormy clouds overhead loomed, their edges dark and restless, as if they too were hesitating before the declaration of peace. The wind howled through the city, twisting through the grand banners that lined the palace walls and making them snap in protest. The golden light of the lanterns flickered against the encroaching gray, creating an eerie contrast—hope standing stubbornly against the tempest.
It was almost ironic. A peace treaty was being signed, yet nature itself seemed unwilling to grant them a day of calm. Perhaps it was a warning. Or perhaps it was simply a reminder that peace, like storms, could not be controlled by mere mortals.
The murmurs of the crowd picked up as Eric stepped forward. Unlike Arian, who had spoken with the steady authority of a Crown Prince, Eric's presence was different—calm yet intense, as if he carried the weight of something far greater than his own rank.
"That's the Prince of Sestia, right?"
"He looks quite young."
