Three weeks had passed since the rescue at Vardok.
Time, though relentless, had been kinder than memory. Wounds that once burned with unbearable sharpness had dulled into manageable aches. Bruises faded. Cuts sealed. Strength, painstakingly rebuilt, returned to muscle and bone.
But grief remained.
It lingered not as a storm, but as a quiet weight — something carried rather than fought.
Zephyr had changed.
The kingdom breathed again, yet its heartbeat felt different. In taverns and courtyards, soldiers and citizens alike spoke of the same tale: two young warriors who had survived giants, endured sorcery, and lived through a battle that claimed hundreds.
"They stood when the sky itself seemed to fall."
"They fought creatures no man should face."
"They returned from Vardok alive."
Across distant borders, other kingdoms listened.
Some with admiration.
Others with caution.
Zephyr's strength was no longer measured solely by armies.
But by names.
Lylan.
Lucas.
—
Dawn bled slowly across the training grounds.
Lucas attacked with ferocious intensity, his sword crashing against Lylan's in a relentless rhythm. Sweat dripped from his brow, breath heavy, muscles taut with strain.
He had grown broader in three weeks — shoulders thickened, strikes heavier, movements sharper. His grief had found expression not in silence, but in motion.
"For Rael," he muttered, driving forward again.
Lylan parried smoothly, stepping aside with controlled precision. His beard had fully returned now, framing a face once youthful, now undeniably hardened. His presence carried a quiet gravity — something forged by loss and tempered by discipline.
Lucas lunged.
Lylan countered.
Steel rang.
Lucas stumbled back, panting.
"…Again."
Lylan lowered his blade slightly.
"You will collapse."
Lucas wiped sweat from his face.
"Then I collapse stronger than yesterday."
Lylan watched him for a moment.
There was pain in Lucas's eyes.
But also fire.
"…Five minutes," Lylan said calmly.
Lucas groaned.
"You're cruel."
"Rest."
Lucas flopped dramatically onto the sand.
"…Rael created a monster."
Lylan's gaze softened faintly.
"He created survivors."
Lucas's grin faded.
"…We should have saved him."
Lylan's voice was steady, though quieter.
"He saved us."
Silence passed between them.
Lucas finally nodded.
"…Five minutes."
—
The palace bells rang before noon.
Princess Aeloria had returned.
Zephyr's banners, still draped with black ribbons of mourning, stirred gently as the royal procession entered the capital. Citizens bowed their heads. Guards stood rigid. Nobles whispered behind gloved hands.
Rael's death had carved a wound through the kingdom.
And its absence could be felt even now.
Within the throne hall, grief hung like shadow.
King Zephyrus sat heavily upon his throne, eyes darker than usual. Beside him stood Princess Aeloria, clothed in white yet touched by solemn stillness.
"He gave Zephyr everything," she said softly.
The King nodded.
"He gave more than most kings."
Her gaze lowered.
"…And he believed in them."
The King's eyes sharpened slightly.
"Yes."
He turned toward his advisor.
"Summon the boys."
—
When Lylan and Lucas entered the throne hall, the court fell silent.
Not out of ceremony.
But recognition.
They walked with measured respect, armor polished, movements disciplined. Lucas's natural confidence remained intact, though maturity had sharpened its edges. Lylan's presence drew quieter attention — composed, steady, carrying an air that commanded notice without seeking it.
They knelt.
"Your Majesty."
King Zephyrus studied them carefully.
"Rise."
They obeyed.
"I have heard much of you," the King said.
Lucas inclined his head slightly.
"We only fulfilled our duty, sire."
"Duty?" the King echoed.
His gaze moved between them.
"You fought giants."
Neither responded.
"You survived Vardok."
Still silence.
"You witnessed Rael's final stand."
Lylan's jaw tightened faintly.
King Zephyrus exhaled slowly.
"…Zephyr owes you gratitude."
Lucas answered respectfully,
"Zephyr owes Rael remembrance."
Something flickered behind the King's eyes.
Approval.
He turned slightly.
"My daughter wished to speak with you."
And for the first time—
They truly looked at her.
—
Princess Aeloria stepped forward with royal composure.
Graceful.
Measured.
Untouchably poised.
Her voice, when it came, was calm and formal.
"Sir Lylan. Sir Lucas."
Both men bowed immediately.
"Your Highness."
"I wished," she continued, "to personally acknowledge your courage."
Lucas spoke first.
"It was an honor to serve Zephyr, Princess."
Her gaze shifted to Lylan.
"And you?"
Lylan's voice was steady.
"I regret only that we could not save him."
Aeloria's expression softened.
"As do we all."
A pause followed.
Heavy, respectful.
Then—
"I understand General Rael trained you personally."
"Yes, Your Highness," Lucas replied.
"He saw potential where others saw weakness."
Her eyes lingered briefly on them.
"Then Zephyr has lost not only a General…"
"…But a teacher," Lylan finished quietly.
Aeloria nodded.
"Yes."
Silence settled once more, yet it was no longer strained.
Merely solemn.
King Zephyrus gestured lightly.
"You are dismissed."
They bowed again.
But as they turned—
Aeloria spoke.
"If it pleases you… walk with me."
Lucas blinked.
Lylan froze internally.
Both turned.
Lucas recovered first.
"It would be our honor, Princess."
—
The palace gardens shimmered beneath afternoon light.
Fountains whispered.
Leaves stirred.
For a time, they walked in silence.
Three strangers bound by loss.
Aeloria finally spoke.
"Rael believed deeply in Zephyr."
Lucas nodded.
"He believed in strength earned, not inherited."
"And in discipline," Lylan added.
Aeloria glanced at him.
"Yes."
Another pause.
Then, more gently,
"You fought giants."
Lucas laughed softly.
"…We survived giants."
"You make it sound unimpressive."
Lucas grinned.
"It was terrifying."
To Lylan's surprise—
Aeloria smiled.
Not the distant smile of royalty.
But something warmer.
Human.
"And yet you stand here."
Lylan answered calmly,
"Because fear does not excuse retreat."
Her gaze lingered on him briefly.
"…You speak like Rael."
Something shifted in the air.
Quiet.
Meaningful.
Lucas noticed.
Ohhh…
Interesting.
—
Conversation slowly loosened.
Formality softened at the edges.
Aeloria asked of training, of battles, of life beyond palace walls. Lucas responded easily, his natural charisma smoothing the distance between nobility and soldier.
Lylan remained respectful, reserved — yet gradually, subtly, less guarded.
By the time the sun dipped lower—
The atmosphere had changed.
Not familiarity.
But comfort.
—
Eventually Lucas cleared his throat gently.
"Your Highness."
Aeloria turned.
"We should take our leave."
A flicker of reluctance crossed her face.
"…Of course."
They bowed.
But this time—
Her voice followed softer.
"Thank you… for your company."
Lucas smiled.
"The pleasure was ours."
Lylan met her gaze briefly.
And for reasons he could not explain—
The moment lingered.
—
As they walked away, Lucas nudged Lylan.
"Well."
Lylan frowned slightly.
"Well what?"
Lucas smirked.
"That went better than expected."
Lylan remained silent.
Lucas grinned wider.
"…Much better."
Lylan exhaled slowly.
"…She is unlike what I imagined."
Lucas laughed.
"You're finished."
Lylan shook his head.
"…We are merely acquaintances."
Lucas's grin turned knowing.
"For now."
—
That evening, Princess Aeloria sat near her window, heart curiously restless.
They were strangers.
Yet something about them — about him — lingered quietly in her thoughts.
Not recognition.
Not memory.
But intrigue.
And somewhere deep within…
The first fragile threads of something new began to form.