The cobblestone streets of Ganglen—the capital city of the Sureva Duchy—were quieter than usual.
Luenor sat inside a reinforced carriage, peeking through the curtains. Where once people waved and cheered at the sight of their young lord, now shutters closed and whispers followed.
"Why won't anyone wave at me today?" Luenor murmured.
Hunter Gardan, riding alongside the carriage, exchanged glances with his second-in-command, Paul Mason. The silence in the streets was thick with tension.
Hunter leaned closer to Paul. "Something is off. Turn the carriage back. Take the Young Lord to the Winter Palace. I'll head to the Estate."
Paul nodded. "Be careful."
As the carriage turned around, Luenor spotted an elderly baker—Mr. Russo—who always gave him sweet bread. Eagerly, Luenor opened the window and waved. "Mr. Russo! It's me!"
But the man didn't smile. His face twisted with guilt as he turned away.
"Mr. Russo? Did I do something wrong?"
Paul stepped in. "Young Lord, back inside. Now."
The carriage rolled on as Luenor stared at the people—his people—who now looked at him with distrust.
Meanwhile, Hunter galloped toward the Sureva Estate. His instincts screamed danger.
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.