The celebration had ended. Most of Zenobios' men had returned to their families, though the Holy War was far from over. Only a few companions remained near the riverside cabin, among them the venerable Erastos. He had set aside his armor, while Zenobios wore only a plain robe, both seeking rare moments of ease.
Zenobios stood apart, watching his general speak with several warriors. His eyes drifted toward the horizon, where a crescent moon hung above sunlit clouds. The sight calmed him, though he felt a weight that even the chosen of heaven could not entirely cast off.
The sound of wheels broke the stillness. A great carriage drawn by two colossal horses rolled toward the cabin. Zenobios stepped aside as it arrived—it was his personal transport, ready to return him home to Anaktoro tou Elysion.
The doors opened. Dorothea emerged, followed by Athanasia.
Once, proxy wars had been fought for her hand. Rivals bore ancient heirlooms and commanded heavenly hosts, yet Zenobios had prevailed. Now she gave him something far greater than victory: a legacy. The gods of Eden may rage in silence, but for him, she was simply his beloved.
She wore a flowing robe of white, loose and unadorned, moonlight softening every line of her form. Maidservants attended her, but she shone brighter than all. Zenobios' heart tightened with quiet gratitude.
Dorothea draped a shawl over her shoulders against the night air. Athanasia caught Zenobios watching, smiled, and called playfully, "Well? Are we going home or not?"
He hurried forward, stammering as a nurse placed their newborn in his arms. Pride overwhelmed him. Athanasia teased again, "Keep moving, chop chop," clapping her hands in mock urgency.
Before boarding, Zenobios paused, bowing to Dorothea. "Forgive how I acted earlier."
She started in alarm. "Sire, no. You owe me nothing."
He smiled gently and turned away. Dorothea clutched her chest, unsettled by a pang she could not name.
The coachman stood ready, reins in hand. Erastos approached him and spoke quietly. "Step down. I'll take the reins."
Zenobios caught the hesitation and moved closer. "What is it?"
The coachman answered before Erastos could. "Your Highness, he asked to drive the carriage himself."
Zenobios raised a brow. "And why is that?"
Erastos faltered. "Forgive me, sire. It was nothing." He stepped aside. Zenobios let it pass, beckoning Athanasia forward.
They boarded. The carriage crossed the bridge and passed beneath an arched gate, sirens bowing as it rolled by. Inside, Athanasia sat beside Zenobios, her eyes on the scenery while he cradled Vyrian.
"How about we have his fate read by the manteis?" she asked.
A faint unease stirred in Zenobios. He shook it off, nodding softly. "Alright."
The carriage entered the forest. Trees towered so high they blotted out the sky, their shadows swallowing the road. Only the divine horses' glow lit their way.
Athanasia spoke again, voice low. "I didn't expect it so soon. Dorothea warned me, but still… I'm sorry to have dragged you here."
Zenobios chuckled. She frowned. "Did I say something foolish?"
"No," he said, watching the trees blur past. "It's just… no matter war or ruin, I'll always come for you. And now, for one more." He looked down at Vyrian. "Perhaps I shouldn't think this way. But even I have the right to love and protect. I'll fulfill those duties, whatever the cost."
Athanasia leaned her head against his shoulder, eyes closed. He did not question her silence. The moment was enough.
As the forest thinned, beams of moonlight pierced the dark canopy, lighting their path ahead.