Seraphine POV
That morning, our departure wasn't just a mission—it was a spectacle. The moment our gates opened, the capital erupted behind us. People roared my name—not like a celebrity, but like a prayer. Like a plea. Like they were sending every drop of hope they had left on my shoulders.
"MIRACLE LADY!"
"SERAPHINE! PLEASE SAVE THEM!"
"GODS BLESS YOU!"
"QUEEN OF LIGHT!"
Please. I was wearing cargo pants. Let's relax. But hearing them—mothers clutching babies, old men bowing, children waving flowers—it hit me like a punch to the chest. The kind that made you straighten your spine, breathe deeper, and pray to every deity that you wouldn't disappoint them.
Our group was massive, nearly theatrical. Fifty knights on horseback, armor gleaming. Sir Alex and Sir Jin flanking the royal carriage like walking posters of discipline and chaos respectively.
Me, sitting inside the carriage, a cape dramatic enough to earn its own title.
