Lucius Antony stood tall and imposing on the marble steps of the senate building, his cloak fluttering in the breeze. His gaze was fixed on the massive iron city gates, which groaned as they swung open.

A low rumble filled the air, rising to a thunderous cheer from the crowds gathered along the Golden Straight—the famous one-kilometer boulevard stretching from the senate steps to the city's edge.

As the gates parted, sunlight streamed through, and the golden hues of the late morning bathed the scene in a warm, ethereal glow.

The city held its breath as Ren Cannahy’s grand procession appeared, a river of banners, armor, and finery flowing into Ropa.

Flags of crimson and gold fluttered in the wind, and the sun caught the silver armor of the cavalry, making them gleam like a sea of stars. Ren and Princess Hazel, seated together in an opulent carriage draped with silks, could be seen in the distance, leading the majestic line.

All along the boulevard, the city's shops and merchant stalls were alive with color, the air filled with the scent of freshly baked goods and flowers.

Above, strings of lanterns crisscrossed the buildings, already lit even in daylight, their soft glow mingling with the sunlight. The Golden Straight had never been more aptly named—banners of gold cloth draped from balconies, shimmering in the light, and the storefronts displayed every precious item they could muster to honor the procession.

Ren, inside the carriage, looked out through the silk curtains at the multitude gathered to witness their arrival. Men, women, and children waved red and purple-petaled fairy flowers—delicate blossoms that shimmered as if sprinkled with magic.

In a burst of excitement, the crowd threw handfuls of petals into the air, and like a vibrant rain, they drifted down around the procession, catching in Ren’s dark hair . The flowers floated gently, filling the air with a sweet, earthy fragrance that only added to the dreamlike quality of the scene.

Inside the carriage, Ren took a deep, steadying breath. The roar of the crowd was now deafening, their cheers and songs of praise echoing through the carriage walls. He looked at Hazel, her eyes gleaming with excitement and pride. Her presence was a solid anchor for him amidst the overwhelming spectacle.

“Are you ready?” Hazel’s voice was soft but clear, her hand resting gently on Ren’s arm. She wore a gown of deep crimson, the color of royalty, embroidered with gold thread that caught the light.

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Ren hesitated for a heartbeat, his fingers tracing the edge of his tunic.

A year ago, this kind of spectacle would have been second nature—a time when parades and processions were his daily routine as he led his people to a brighter future. But the solitude of the South, the quieter life away from the public eye, had changed him. He was not as accustomed to the adulation as he once had been, and the weight of the moment pressed heavily on him.

"I don't know," Ren admitted, his voice a little shaky, the unexpected unease creeping into his chest like a cold hand.

It had been over a year since he'd felt this kind of tension—an echo of the terror that gripped him when he'd been shot in his limousine. That day, with the crack of gunfire and the shattering glass, had changed everything.

The feeling now wasn’t quite the same, but it was close enough to make his heart beat faster.

Hazel’s touch was gentle, her fingers warm as they rested on his knee. Her smile was full of reassurance, radiating a calm confidence he couldn't help but be drawn to.

“Remember, you’ve got me now,” she said softly, her voice soothing like a lullaby. The words anchored him, and for a moment, the noise outside faded away, leaving only the two of them inside the softly rocking carriage.

The carriage rolled to a stately stop right at the heart of the Golden Straight, and Ren's pulse quickened as Ogren swung the heavy door open with a flourish.

Hazel stepped out first, holding his gaze with an unspoken promise, and Ren followed, making sure his foot hit the ground at the exact moment hers did. If the people of Ropa were to accept him, it had to be like this—side by side with their beloved princess.

As Ren’s boots touched the cobblestones, the air seemed to shift. Hazel’s delicate perfume gave way to the cool, crisp scent of the city—a breeze that carried the mingled smells of fresh bread, flowers, and thousands of eager souls.

The wind caught him off guard, tugging at his cloak and tossing his hair into a cascade of dark waves that played with the gusts like black banners unfurling. It felt almost like a force of nature was greeting him, assessing him, and he was unsteady on his feet for a moment, the brightness of the day overwhelming after the dim, muffled interior of the carriage.

The crowd roared, a wave of sound crashing over him, and Ren blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the sheer intensity of the scene. For a heartbeat, he was frozen, caught in a dream-like state, absorbing the energy of the people who cheered for Hazel.

His breath caught. This was no small gathering—thousands, perhaps millions, had come to witness this moment.

Two magnificent horses were led forward, both draped in fine crimson and gold barding that shimmered in the sunlight.

Ren’s horse, a proud black stallion with a gleaming black coat, stamped its hooves impatiently on the cobblestones. Beside him, Hazel’s white mare was a picture of calm, its silver mane braided with delicate ribbons.

Ren’s heart pounded in his chest. He had been in Pangea for a year, but horseback riding still felt alien to him—a skill he'd never truly mastered.