Chapter : Home, At Last
Rudravaan gathered the people before him and spoke with a steady voice.
"When the war began, many of our people managed to escape," he said. "They have been living in a shelter ever since. Now… I am going to bring them back here."
For a moment, silence hung in the air.
Then cries broke out.
People collapsed to their knees, clutching their children, tears pouring down their faces. Many had believed their families were dead—lost forever in the chaos of war. Hope, long buried, suddenly returned, and it was overwhelming.
Rudravaan watched them quietly.
Then he turned and walked toward Fenlor and Henry.
"Are you prepared?" he asked.
Fenlor hesitated. "We… we'll need some time."
Rudravaan thought for a moment, then shook his head.
"No," he said. "You and Henry stay here. Rest."
"I'll go alone."
Both Fenlor and Henry stared at him.
"Why are you in such a hurry?" Fenlor asked.
Rudravaan's voice softened, but his resolve did not.
"My people have been separated from their loved ones for too long," he said. "How can I sit here and do nothing while they cry?"
Without waiting for another word, Rudravaan turned away. He took his sword and began walking down the road, leaving the palace behind.
After covering some distance, his eyes caught sight of a bottle of beer resting on a small roadside table. He stopped, picked it up, and continued walking.
As he passed through the kingdom gates, he lifted the bottle and took a slow drink, his gaze fixed ahead.
Then—
in an instant—
Rudravaan vanished.
The ground cracked beneath his feet as he burst forward at terrifying speed, shattering the sound barrier itself. The air screamed as he ran, his figure becoming nothing more than a blur tearing across the land.
What took horse-drawn carriages months to travel, Rudravaan crossed in less than half a day.
By the time the sun began to sink, he had already reached the place where his people had been living in shelter—waiting, hoping, surviving.
Rudravaan walked steadily toward the shelters, his presence drawing silent attention wherever he passed. He climbed onto a large wooden crate at the center of the camp and looked out at his people—faces worn by hardship, eyes dulled by loss, yet still clinging to hope.
Then his voice thundered across the settlement.
"My people," he declared,
"the time has come for us to return to our kingdom."
For a heartbeat, the world stood still.
Then the shelters burst open.
Men and women stepped out cautiously. Children peeked from behind torn cloth and wooden walls. Whispers spread like wildfire—Is it really him?Did we hear that right?
Morvyn pushed through the crowd, his heart pounding. When his eyes locked onto Rudravaan standing tall before them, his breath caught.
"Rudravaan… did you really—"
He swallowed hard. "Did you reclaim the kingdom?"
Rudravaan met his gaze without hesitation.
"Yes," he said simply. "I have."
A wave of disbelief swept through the people.
"What about the others?" someone cried out.
"The ones who couldn't escape during the war—are they… alive?"
Rudravaan's expression softened.
"They are alive," he said firmly. "They are in the kingdom right now—waiting for you."
At those words, the camp broke.
People collapsed to their knees, clutching one another. Mothers hugged their children tightly, sobbing. Fathers covered their faces, tears pouring freely. For years, they had believed their loved ones were dead—lost forever to war.
"Prepare yourselves," Rudravaan continued, his voice steady but commanding.
"We leave at once. We are going home."
The camp exploded into movement. Families rushed back into the shelters, gathering what little they had. Neighbors helped one another, lifting burdens, carrying children, sharing what they could.
Morvyn stepped closer, lowering his voice so only Rudravaan could hear.
"You were gone barely a day," he said in disbelief.
"How did you conquer the kingdom so quickly? What happened there?"
Rudravaan glanced toward the horizon.
"I'll explain everything once we arrive," he replied.
"For now, focus on getting everyone ready."
Morvyn nodded, trusting him without further question, and turned to organize the people.
Moments later, Rudravaan vanished from sight.
He reappeared on the main road and raised a hand, stopping a passing horse-drawn carriage.
"I need transportation for many people," he said calmly.
"I'll pay you handsomely."
The carriage owner studied him for a moment, then nodded.
"I'll gather more carriages."
True to his word, several carriages soon arrived, lining the road.
Rudravaan returned to the camp and led his people out, guiding them toward the road.
"Board the carriages," he instructed. "All of you."
One by one, families climbed in, holding onto hope as tightly as they held each other.
The journey was long—months passed on the road.
But at last, the gates of the Southeast Kingdom rose before them.
They had returned home.
The gates of the Southeast Kingdom stood open.
For a long moment, no one moved.
The refugees—men, women, children—sat frozen inside the carriages, staring at the stone walls they had once called home. The streets beyond were quiet, unfamiliar, yet achingly close to memory.
A child whispered,
"…Is this really our home?"
Rudravaan stepped forward first.
He placed his hand against the cold stone of the gate, closing his eyes for a brief moment. When he opened them again, his voice carried through the silence.
"You're safe now," he said. "You're home."
That was all it took.
People began to step down from the carriages. Some knelt the instant their feet touched the ground, pressing their foreheads to the stone streets. Others reached out hesitantly, touching walls, doors, lantern posts—as if afraid the city might vanish if they blinked.
Cries broke out.
A woman fell to her knees, sobbing as she clutched her husband's arm.
An old man trembled as he stared down a familiar street, whispering names of friends long gone.
Children looked around with wide eyes, torn between fear and wonder.
From within the city, movement stirred.
Residents who had survived the occupation emerged slowly from their homes. They froze when they saw the approaching crowd—then disbelief turned into recognition.
A shout rang out.
"They're back…"
Another voice trembled.
"The refugees… they've come back!"
The streets filled rapidly. People ran—some laughing, some crying, some stumbling as tears blinded them.
A mother screamed a name—and a young woman turned, her face crumpling in shock before she sprinted forward. They collided, clinging to each other as if afraid the world would tear them apart again.
Brothers reunited.
Friends embraced.
Families shattered by war became whole once more.
Above it all, Rudravaan stood quietly, watching.
Then someone saw him.
The crowd fell silent.
Whispers spread, growing louder with every step he took.
"The emperor…"
"He really came back…"
Rudravaan stepped into the open street. The weight of countless eyes pressed down on him—eyes filled with gratitude, pain, hope, and faith.
One by one, people began to kneel.
"No—" Rudravaan said quickly, raising his hand. "Please. Stand."
But many could not.
A man bowed deeply, his voice breaking.
"We survived because you lived."
Another shouted through tears,
"We never stopped believing you'd return!"
Rudravaan clenched his fists.
"I failed you once," he said, his voice heavy.
"I wasn't here when you suffered. I can't erase that."
He looked over the city—ruined homes, scarred streets, wounded souls.
"But I swear this to you," he continued.
"As long as I breathe, no one will ever take this kingdom from you again."
The crowd erupted.
Cheers mixed with sobs. People cried openly, unashamed of their tears.
Children climbed onto their parents' shoulders, waving and laughing. Bells rang from towers that had been silent for years. Even the wind seemed lighter.
Morvyn stepped forward beside Rudravaan.
"The shelters are empty now," he said quietly. "They're finally home."
Rudravaan nodded.
As the sun dipped toward the horizon, casting warm gold across the city, the people of the Southeast Kingdom reclaimed not just their land—
—but their lives.
And for the first time since the war, the city breathed again.