The scent of spring mingled with the sweetness of candied treats, the warmth of freshly baked bread, and the sharpness of dried herbs among the rows of merchants who had opened their stalls at the Volkfest that day—an unusual sight in the Marktplatz since the announcement of the opening date of the Spring Tourney.

The merchants' tents were crowded, decorated with colorful flags fluttering along the streets, filling Emberthorn's square from early morning.

It was a delight for Elle, for she could take a break from her usual routine of roaming the forest in search of herbs. Rare spice sellers from beyond the city had finally opened their wares at the Volkfest—while also trying their luck at enjoying the parade on the first day of the Spring Tourney.

"Angelica root, meadowsweet, and myrtus berries, Uncle. You have them all."

The girl's cheeks flushed, for these were things she had struggled to find even in the farthest corners of the forest—now within her grasp thanks to the festival. If not for the grand event at the castle, those merchants would never have come.

"Of course, young lady. They're all yours." The merchant uncle wrapped up the items Elle had mentioned.

"Will you all be gathered here throughout the festival?"

"Well... are you planning to come again tomorrow?"

Elle nodded. "The money I brought is only enough for these three, but you also have Roman chamomile and hyssop—I must get those too."

"I see. You can return on the fourth day, as I'll be moving to another region by then." He handed her three separate bundles.

"That's fine, I'll come on that day. Please bring the others as well—I'll prepare more money."

"Of course, young lady."

Elle later delivered some of her herbal mixtures to her clients. She did not keep a stall for her remedies, but most of Emberthorn's townsfolk knew what the girl did. Anyone in need only had to drop a note in the mailbox before her cottage, and Elle would bring them the medicine they required.

She was about to return home when the thunder of hooves and the blare of trumpets echoed from afar. Many in the square abandoned their activities and rushed to the roadside, awaiting the opening parade of the festival.

"It's the Duke! Duke Cassian with Damascus—the horse everyone's been talking about!"

Elle turned at once, joining the crowd along the street. She stood behind a father carrying his son on his shoulders. Tilting her head up, she narrowed her eyes as sunlight grazed the edge of her straw bonnet, making her golden hair gleam even brighter.

"Whoa! The young Duke is so dazzling!"

"Throw flowers to him! Throw flowers!"

The Dukes and noble clans arrived in formal procession, Cassian Draken leading his clan at the front. He wore dark steel armor etched with moonlit patterns and layered with thin silver, his visor-shaped helm resembling the snout of a wolf. A long black cloak, trimmed in blood-red, flowed from his back, swaying with each stride of Damascus.

The magnificent black stallion bore silver peytral engraved with a crescent moon and wolf's fangs, its chamfron adorned with white wolf fur—a mark of the Alpha's valor.

To ride Damascus as the leader of the strongest pack was Cassian's pride, and Gilleo Draken could only smile, for his son had succeeded in taming such a beast.

"Oh! I remember it clearly—he was already so striking and dignified when he returned from war as a marquis, but today... his radiance has reached its peak. Our Duke and Alpha are truly our pride."

"Amazing! Duke Cassian is the guardian and new light of Emberthorn!"

"Dear heavens, I'm so happy I could cry!"

Hearing the people around her, Elle unconsciously smiled warmly. Déjà vu tugged at her heart as she recalled a moment from the past.

It was always the same—she would see Cassian from a distance, just like now. She had once stood in a crowd like this, welcoming him back from war.

When Cassian removed his visor, his platinum-blond hair danced gently in the warmth of the spring breeze.

The cheers rose, and flowers rained onto the street. Some petals landed at Damascus's hooves as he strode, unshaken and proud.

"Charming." Elle lowered her gaze, ending the moment for herself as she slipped away from the echoing cheers.

***

Drizzles touched Emberthorn's soil after sunset, soaking the paths in a gentle rhythm.

Leaves rustled in the ceaseless night breeze, carrying the scent of damp earth and colder air. Most of Emberthorn's folk had retreated indoors.

Elle walked carefully, fearful of slipping and spilling the herbs in her basket. She had lingered too long, ignoring the darkening sky.

"Aunt Moran will scold me later."

She knew it well. Her aunt always insisted that wherever Elle went, she had to be back at the cottage before nightfall. The forest was a place where rogues prowled—it was no wonder Aunt Moran worried.

"I'm sorry, Aunt. I truly am sorry." Elle repeated it in her heart, grateful she had at least brought her oil lantern to counter her recklessness.

Her headscarf, once neat, was damp against her hair as the drizzle thickened. By the time she reached the cottage, she would likely be drenched. Just imagining Aunt Moran's nagging made Elle swallow nervously.

The forest was quiet—no night creatures sang. Only the patter of rain and the whisper of restless wind reached her ears. Her blouse clung tighter to her frame as the drizzle wore on.

Cautious yet hurried, Elle pressed on through the forest, moonlight glimmering faintly above.

"Ugh! Argh..."

Everything was fine—until a groan of pain forced her steps to halt. She froze, her eyes wide with confusion.

"What? Maybe I misheard." She tried to dismiss it as imagination.

Cough!
Cough!

Her hands trembled, the lantern's oil trembling like rippling waves. Her skin prickled, knowing someone was out there.

"No... I must be mistaken. It's just me, being foolish, wandering the forest on a rainy night like this." She fought the rising dread creeping over her like crawling insects.

"Argh!"

The harsh groan came again—clearer now, undeniable.

Reason told her to walk on and ignore it, but her conscience screamed that someone might need help.

"I have to be sure. If it's nothing, I can leave right away. Stop being afraid, Elle."

Suppressing the dangers lurking in the dark forest, Elle turned, lifting her lantern toward the sounds of groaning and coughing.

"Who's there?"

Her face tightened with worry, yet curiosity had already seized her. Her instincts cried out for her to find the source, no matter what.

The coughing, the groans, and then—a faint whinny of a horse. The hairs on her arms rose. Fear surged, yet her steps refused to stop. She was too used to helping others to ignore it.

"W-what is that?"

Her lantern light caught on a large figure-four strong legs, standing motionless by a tree, reins hanging loose.

"Is that... Damascus? Is it really you?"

Elle gasped, her light revealing the black stallion's face.

"What are you doing here?" She set her basket down and gently stroked the horse's neck.

Damascus did not pull away. He recognized the girl who once calmed him, even in the darkness.

"Argh! Ugh!"

"That—" Elle nearly forgot. She turned the lantern toward the other side of Damascus. If the stallion, usually kept in the stables, was here in the forest, that could only mean...

"Duke—"

***