"What is Saint Riley like, Uncle?" a woman asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.
They had been traveling for days, their journey stretching across vast plains and treacherous mountain passes.
The air was thick with anticipation, and the solemn yet eager expressions on the faces of those around them made it clear—this was no ordinary expedition.
This was a pilgrimage, a mission of great importance, one that could change the course of their lives.
The balding old man, seated atop his weary horse, stroked his beard thoughtfully before answering.
"Saint Riley? He is the epitome of what a man should be, Princess," he said with reverence.
"Kind, loving, righteous—everything one would expect of a saint. Many worship him, and countless others seek his guidance, hoping to bask in the wisdom and strength he possesses. But…" He paused, his gaze turning somber.
"There is one thing you must never forget, Princess Anya."
She turned to him, listening intently as he continued.
