The remaining eight years of the long fifteen-year wait had finally come to a close, completing the full fifteen years.
Over those fifteen years, the political landscape of Edrath had reshaped itself around four unshakeable pillars.
In the stern, mountainous territory of the West stood Duke Lucien Arden, ruling as Guardian of the Throne.
In the glowing, ancient forests of Elfeheimer stood Saint Sora, whose faction grew rapidly as fugitive Moonborns returned to the kingdom to reunite with their roots. Then in the East, where Duke Reinhardt had once ruled before his execution at the hands of the Holy Knight, the land was awarded to Thoris for his achievements, accompanied by the title of Count that Prince Adrian had pulled through the necessary political strings to make it happen, ensuring Thoris possessed sufficient rank and standing to officially marry him.
The fourth pillar was the Imperial Palace itself. The Emperor ruled with absolute stability, supported by the West, the East, the Crimson Vanguard under Leo's temporary command, and strong alliances with both Elfeheimer and the Iron Steppes of the Eastern Continent.
In short, Edrath held unquestioned power across the entire continent.
But that was not all.
On the surface, Lucien and Sora's private alliance was a major success of statecraft.
Formal treaties bound the Western provinces and the Elven realm together, establishing seamless trade, shared border defenses, and complete independence from the political squabbles of the Imperial Capital.
To the rest of the world, it was an exemplary diplomatic partnership born of mutual necessity, friendship, and respect.
But to those of the inner circles in both households, the arrangement of the alliance was governed by an absolute, unyielding secret: the quarterly rendezvous.
Every three months, under the cover of *'routine territorial inspections'*, both lords departed their seats of power without their usual guards or servants. They always met at a private, secluded estate tucked away in the dense, pine-covered foothills along the Western border—a neutral sanctuary unmapped on imperial charts and completely off-limits to court heralds, servants, and the children.
Sora's son, Aurelian, now nineteen years old, was growing up sharp, observant, and strong. Back at the Arden estate, Lucien's son Tristan was now seventeen, while Cassian's twin daughters, Elise and Elysia, were eighteen. The children were old enough to ask sharp questions, though they remained unaware of the secret rendezvous, believing only that their families were linked by their shared relation to one man:
Their other father Cassian Valemont.
Neither Lucien nor Sora wanted to confuse the children or warp their understanding of family and duty before Cassian returned. Therefore the secret estate was their sole boundary—a place where the weight of their contract could only exist without public scrutiny.
*****
Currently, in the secret love house.
The autumn rain tapped a soft, rhythmic pattern against the stained-glass windows of the hidden estate. Inside the private wing, a massive stone hearth burned bright, throwing warm, amber light across the dark wooden beams and thick velvet rugs.
Sora leaned back against the plush cushions of the chaise lounge, his long, black hair spilling over his emerald silk robes.
The deathly pallor that had once plagued him was completely gone; fifteen years of steady quarterly mana transfers had left his Moonborn spirit vibrant and healthy.
And standing by the hearth, Lucien unbuckled his dark leather sword belt, leaning the heavy blade against the wall. He let his long silver hair fall loose over his broad shoulders before pouring himself a glass of the Elven wine Sora usually brought along.
"Aurelian managed to fly his wyvern past the mountain ridge last week," Sora murmured softly, a quiet smile gracing his lips as he held a warm cup of Elven wine.
"He speaks of you often, Lucien. He asks when his 'uncle' will allow him to visit the West again."
Lucien turned toward him, his sharp, cool eyes softening just a fraction at the mention of the boy.
"He can always visit us any time. I'm sure Elysia will be very happy to have him home."
"Alright then," Sora replied. "I will let him know that you permitted his visit."
"And while you at it do tell him that if he dares to fly that beast near the Western watchtowers without my clearance, my archers will treat it as a drills target."
Sora let out a low, musical laugh—a light, clear sound that filled the warm room.
And then he raised his wine to his lips.
"I shall pass along the warning as well."
Lucien walked over, his tall, imposing frame casting a shadow over the couch. He didn't offer any further pleasantries. After all the three months between their rendezvous always ended the exact same way: with the quiet, urgent necessity of their mana transfer.
Lucien reached down, his large, warm hand cupping the side of Sora's neck, his long fingers gently resting against the delicate pulse point behind the elf's pointed ear.
Sora's breath hitched instantly. His eyes fluttered shut as a deep, instinctual gasp escaped his lips, his small hands immediately reaching up to grip Lucien's leather-clad forearms.
The dark mana beneath Lucien's skin flared into life—not with the wild, desperate chaos of years years ago, but with a practiced, suffocating warmth. It poured from Lucien's palm, seeping through Sora's skin and weaving directly into his spirit core. But as always, raw touch alone was not enough to fully balance the deep essence without complete physical intimacy.
*****
An hour later, Jerga's royal-grade essence washed over Sora's senses, wrapping his core in a thick, velvety blanket that felt remarkably close to Cassian's presence. Sora leaned his entire weight against Lucien's chest, letting out a soft, shuddering breath of relief as their warm, sweat-sheened bodies pressed together.
Lucien sat on the edge of the lounge, pulling the lean elf firmly into his lap. Sora wrapped his legs around him while Lucien held his waist tightly, burying his face into the crook of Sora's neck, thrusting the dark mana through the delicate, rhythmic resonance.
Every three months, this was their unspoken arrangement. It was not a betrayal of the man they both loved, nor was it a romance born of ordinary desire. It was merely a shared survival—a quiet act of holding each other together against the crushing weight of fifteen years of separation and stabilizing Sora's core.
"How is-... the estate?"
Sora whispered breathlessly against Lucien's collarbone, his hands tightening in Lucien's silver hair as the dark mana saturated his blood, lulling his spirit into a peaceful, euphoric trance.
"Ruby silently manages the household well, although she seems like she is losing her mind."
Lucien rasped, his voice low and heavy near Sora's ear as he maintained the steady flow of mana with every gradual thrust ramming inside of him.
"Ah!–.... But do you blame her?"
Sora teased lightly.
"If my husband was like you, I would have gone crazy a long time ago as well."
Lucien, taking the joke poorly, thrusted into him deeper and rougher. Sora squirmed with a loud moan, jerking his head back as a sharp, tingling sensation ran through his body.
"Lucien!" Sora gasped. Resting his forehead against his.
"What was that for?"
"You should have watched your mouth little elf,"
Lucien said smoothly, slowing his pace once more.
Sora shook his head, then hugged Lucien's neck to catch his breath.
"By the way, you haven't told me how the children are doing."
"The twins are not only the most beautiful and noble ladies in the whole empire, but they are also very intelligent,"
Lucien said, with genuine pride in his voice.
"I am very proud of those young girls who grew up so fast. And my son is well-versed with the blade too and I can boast for a fact that he takes after me, of course."
"But the problem is, he is still too held up under his mother's wings. And he must hate me for being such an ignorant father in his early years."
"That is not true," Sora said softly, leaning against him.
"Tristan looks up to you so much, but you just don't realize it."
Lucien pressed into him firmly again. "Tell me more lies, Sora Curzon, and I will make you regret it."
Sora gasped, moaning against his lips.
"You are so hot-headed,"
Sora sighed with a quiet smile.
"Anyway, what about you?"
"What about me?" Lucien asked.
"How have you been, Lucien?" Sora asked gently, turning his head so his lips brushed the warm skin of Lucien's jawline.
"And since this is finally the awaited year, how do you feel? Are you holding out fine?"
Lucien kept his grip firm around Sora's waist, his eyes staring into the crackling fire over the elf's shoulder.
"After all this waiting, the long, painful years are finally over," Lucien answered quietly, his deep voice carrying unyielding resolve. "Now we have to pray that he actually makes it back as promised, Sora. And when he finally steps back through that portal, he will find us both whole and waiting for him."
Sora let out a quiet, content sigh, closing his eyes as he nestled deeper into the warm hold of Lucien's arms, letting the quiet solitude carry them through the night.
"That is true," Sora murmured softly. After a brief pause, he added, "But if he doesn't come back by next year... let us get married Lucien."
Lucien froze instantly.
"What?"
"We have already been doing this for years, so why not take it further?" Sora reasoned smoothly. "That way, our children won't have to be kept in the dark. They are already starting to snoop around, you know."
"I know," Lucien sighed, steadying Sora to face him directly.
"Fine. Let us do that if it comes to it."
["Oh...that was easy. Have you fallen for the elf already?"]
'There is no such thing demon, we are stabilizing a family here.'
["Mhm... Just because I am a demon do you think I'm stupid?"]
*****