The group finished disembarking the ship without hurry, one by one, leaving behind the damp wood and the lingering sway of the journey. The harbor of Valon received them in orderly silence, the kind that carried intention rather than emptiness, as if the city itself understood that this return was not an ordinary one. The crew formed up first, tired but straight-backed, followed by Noel and the others, the weight of the northern isles still clinging to them like salt.
King Alveron IV was already waiting.
He stood at ground level, neither elevated nor surrounded by ceremony, yet his presence drew the eye all the same. Broad-shouldered and unmoving, he faced both the crew and Noel's group together, not separating duty from deed. His red gaze swept over them once, measured and unhurried, taking in injuries, exhaustion, and survival with equal clarity.
He spoke without raising his voice.
"Your mission is concluded," he said. "And it was successful."
That alone carried weight.
