The Return of the Princess

The journey from the middle ring to the military wall was a quiet one. Princess Yvette, clothed in a simple, ash-streaked cloak, moved with purpose, her heart heavy with the memories of the city she had left behind. The smoldering ruins of the middle ring haunted her, the echoes of her father’s dark reign still fresh in her mind. Yet, amidst the despair, a glimmer of resolve remained. She would not let Lotringen fall entirely.

The military wall loomed ahead, its massive stone structure an imposing contrast to the chaos she had left. Guards patrolled the battlements, their faces grim, their movements stiff. This was a bastion of discipline and protection—a place where duty overshadowed doubt.

Yvette approached the gates, her head held high despite the tension in her chest. The soldiers stationed there froze at the sight of her, their hands instinctively gripping their weapons. One stepped forward, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“Princess Yvette?” he asked, his voice hesitant.