The cobblestoned streets of Ganglen—the capital of the Sureva Duchy—felt unusually still.
Luenor was in a reinforced carriage, looking through the curtains. Where there was once people waving and cheering for their young lord, there were now only closed shutters and whispers.
"Why won't anybody wave at me today?" Luenor mumbled.
Hunter Gardan was mounted and riding infront of the carriage, and had glanced at his second in command, Paul Mason, to perceive the stillness in the streets.
Hunter leaned in a little to speak to Paul. "There's something very wrong. Turn the carriage back, and go to the Winter Palace with the Young Lord. I will head to the Estate."
Paul nodded. "Take care."
The carriage wheel began its turn, and Luenor saw a familiar baker—Mr. Russo—who always gave him sweet bread. Excited, he opened the window and waved. "Mr. Russo! It's me!"
But Mr. Russo did not smile. His face alone twisted with guilt, and he turned away.
"Mr. Russo? Did I do something wrong?"
Paul was not prepared. "Young Lord, you need to get back inside. Now!"
The carriage began moving again, and Luenor stared at his people—his people—who now looked at him with disdain.
Meanwhile, Hunter galloped furiously towards the Sureva Estate. He could feel it—a tension of dire trouble ahead.
Back in the city center, unrest brewed. Paul heard the chants before he saw the crowd:
"Down with the Duke!" "Return our missing!" "Sureva must fall!"
A protest had formed. Angry citizens flooded the main roads, holding up signs and shouting accusations.
Paul halted the carriage behind a corner. "We need to leave. Now. This isn't just unrest. It's an uprising."
Russo, who had followed discreetly, approached Paul. "They think the Duke experimented on people. That he's behind the disappearances."
Paul's blood ran cold. "That's a lie."
Russo shook his head. "I don't believe it either. But rumors spread like fire. The King's army is mobilizing. Other baronies have declared open hostility. You need to protect the boy."
Russo handed over a bag of sweet bread. "For the Young Lord. He's still a child. He doesn't deserve this."
Paul took the bread with quiet gratitude. "You will be remembered."
The carriage turned sharply toward the Winter Palace. The screams of the mob faded behind them, but the dread only deepened.
Luenor sat quietly inside, clutching the sweet bread.
He didn't understand the whispers.
Didn't understand the anger.
But he knew one thing: The world had suddenly turned against the name Sureva.
And no one had told him why.