The transition from the quiet, lavender-scented sanctuary of the imperial residence to the grand, echoing halls of the palace felt like stepping from a dream into a storm. For Riven, the mandatory rest had been a form of sweet torture, but today, the doors finally open.
Riven stood before the full-length mirror, adjusting the high collar of his formal Consort tunic. It was a new design—sharper, more regal than the armor he'd disappeared in—but it bore the crest of his house and the royal family. He felt like an actor stepping onto a stage without a script.
Vaelorian stepped up behind him, his hands resting on Riven's shoulders. He could feel the fine tremor in Riven's muscles—not from weakness, but from an excess of energy.
"You look like you're ready to charge a fortress," Vaelorian teased softly, meeting his eyes in the reflection.
"I'd rather charge a fortress than walk down that grand staircase, Your Majesty," Riven admitted with a dry chuckle. "Fortresses don't stare at you like you've risen from the grave."
As they stepped out of the Imperial chambers, the hallway fell into a deafening silence. Guards stood like statues, their spears held firmly against the stone.
The news of the Consort's return had been a whisper for days, a rumor the people were too afraid to believe. But as Riven walked beside the Emperor, his stride long and confident despite his inner nerves, the rumor became more real than ever.
As they reached the balcony overlooking the inner city courtyard, a roar erupted that was physical in its intensity. It wasn't just a cheer; it was a collective sob of a nation that had mourned their beloved consort for years and finally seen him return.
Riven looked out at the sea of faces, his breath catching. They're older, he realized, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. The children he remembered are teenagers now. The shopkeepers have grey hair. The world moved without him, but they still kept a place for him in their hearts.
He raised a hand—a simple wave and the city seemed to shake with the force of their joy. Vaelorian watched him, a quiet pride swelling in his chest. Riven wasn't just his husband; he was the heartbeat of the Empire.
Once the public formalities were over, Riven headed straight for the one place that didn't care about titles: the imperial training grounds. The smell of turned earth, the ring of steel on steel, and the heavy scent of sweat acted like a tonic.
The Knights of the Imperial Guard were in the middle of a drill when they saw him. Barron was barking orders, his back to the entrance, while Willow was refining the form of a group of squires.
One by one, the knights stopped. The clashing of swords died down until the only sound was the wind whistling through the practice dummies.
Barron turned around, his brow furrowed in confusion at the sudden silence, and then he saw Riven. The massive man didn't move for a long moment. Then, he threw his practice sword into the dirt.
"Don't just stand there like you've seen a ghost!" Riven shouted, his voice echoing across the yard. "Is this how the Emperor's Knights train now? With their mouths hanging open? I've seen better form from a one-legged puppy!"
That broke the spell. Barron let out a roar of pure joy, charging across the yard and lifting Riven off the ground in a bear hug that would have crushed a lesser man. Willow wasn't far behind, her usual cool composure replaced by tears as she threw her arms around both of them.
"You beautiful idiot!" Willow laughed, hitting Riven's shoulder. "You're so late for practice. Almost seven years late!"
Vaelorian stood on the observation deck, leaning against the railing. He watched as Riven eventually shed his formal tunic, standing in his undershirt, and picked up a heavy practice blade.
The transformation was breathtaking.
Riven moved with a fluid grace. The strength was on full display, but it was refined by a speed that seemed almost supernatural—a side effect, perhaps, of his time in the dimensional void. He moved between the knights like a streak of lightning, parrying three blades at once, his laughter ringing out over the sound of metal.
"He hasn't lost a step, Vaelorian thought, his silver eyes tracking Riven's every move. "If anything, he's more... concentrated. Like the void stripped away everything but the core of the warrior he is."
Riven spun, his blade a blur of silver, landing a light tap on Barron's chest plate before the bigger man could even react. Riven looked up at the balcony, catching Vaelorian's eye. He winked—that same, arrogant, beautiful wink that had captured Vaelorian's heart a decade ago.
The world had changed for sure. The kids are growing, the duty of throne was heavy, and the shadows were still lingering. But watching Riven move with that flawless energy, Vaelorian knew one thing for certain. The Empire wouldn't just surviving anymore. With Riven back, they would fight back with everything.