ENG-Leriana-Arrival from the Capital, Durgen

CHAPTER 36 "Arrival from the Capital, Durgen" The sound arrives before the image. A steady rhythm. Metallic. Heavy. Hooves striking the earth of the main road. The first to hear it are the children playing near the square. They stop abruptly, looking toward the horizon. Then the adults lift their heads. Then the elders slowly rise from their seats. The murmur spreads. Something is approaching. It is not a cart. It is not a merchant. It is not a traveler. It is discipline. Dust begins to rise in the distance, forming a thin cloud that advances steadily toward the village. Silhouettes appear little by little in the midday light. A group. Small. Ordered. Uniform. The villagers instinctively step aside along the road, making space. No one shouts. No one runs. But everyone watches. The tension is palpable. The knights enter Jores with confident steps, without looking to the sides, without stopping. Their armor reflects the sunlight with a restrained, practical shine, far from ostentation. They are soldiers. Professionals. Not heroes from stories. At the front of the group walks a tall, broad man with short brown hair and a firm gaze. His presence is solid, steady, like a rock moving forward without haste. He does not need to announce himself. His posture alone commands respect. To his right marches a woman with a straight bearing, short black hair, and gray eyes that scan the surroundings with precision. Her gaze is sharp, analytical, as if measuring every distance, every door, every face. She shows no emotion. Only evaluation. The group stops in the center of the village. Silence falls immediately. For a few seconds, no one speaks. Until one of the knights steps forward and raises his voice clearly. “Detachment dispatched from the capital, Durgen, by order of the Kingdom of Cedria.” The statement echoes through the square. Simple. Formal. Irrefutable. The message is clear to everyone. The capital has responded. The murmur among the villagers grows louder, mixing relief and nervousness. Some glance at one another. Others watch with hope. Others, with fear. From the doorway of the house, Anastasia observes the scene in silence. She does not seem surprised. Only prepared. Beside her, Leriana stands still, her notebook still in her hands. Her eyes move carefully across the group, pausing on the faces, the weapons, the posture of the soldiers. She takes a deep breath. The outside world has reached her door. And then— A figure appears at the edge of the square. Forau. He walks slowly, unhurried, with a firm but restrained step. His dark robe moves gently with the breeze, and the visible marks on his skin contrast with the brightness of the day. The silence deepens. The knights see him. The villagers see him. The gray-eyed woman sees him. But the man at the front… He stops. His gaze fixes on Forau. There is no surprise. No hostility. Only recognition. Slow. Deep. Time seems to pause for a moment. The two men look at each other. Years of distance. Years of war. Years of silence. Between them. Finally, the man takes a step forward. His voice is deep. Calm. Familiar. “Forau.” The name is spoken without reproach. Without drama. As if he had never stopped saying it. Forau responds with a small nod. A faint smile appears on his face. Not wide. Not exaggerated. Just sincere. “Bermen.” The air relaxes just a little. But the tension does not disappear. Because the woman accompanying Bermen steps forward. Her gaze moves from Forau to Anastasia. Then to Leriana. And finally to the village. Assessing. Measuring. Calculating. Her voice is firm. Clear. Professional. “Deputy Captain Naelis,” she introduces herself. “We have come to evaluate the threat and coordinate the response.” She does not ask. She does not hesitate. She speaks like someone accustomed to acting. Silence settles once more for a few seconds. And then, for the first time since the group arrived, Bermen allows a small smile to appear on his face. A brief smile. Tired. Honest. “Looks like you’re still getting yourself into trouble, Forau.” The remark falls naturally. Almost with affection. Forau exhales slowly, scratching the back of his neck. “Well…” he replies in his calm tone and gentle humor, “I try to keep myself busy.” A soft murmur of surprise and relief spreads among the villagers. Because, for the first time in days, someone has arrived with authority. With experience. With control. And with the promise that fear is no longer resting solely in the hands of the village. But deep within the forest, far from human eyes, the purple wolf lifts its head. Its wounds have almost disappeared. Its muscles tense. And its eyes… Watch.