CHAPTER 53
The grand gates creaked open slowly, giving way to a place that once lived only in her memories.
Manor Aethenroth stood tall and untouched, regal against the light drizzle settling over the stone path.
'It felt surreal.. coming back here after everything.'
Two years in the field had hardened her, sharpened her instincts, and pulled her further away from what used to be familiar. Yet now, each step toward the manor felt heavier than any battlefield.
Beside her, Zarethian walked in silence, his cloak fluttering slightly with the wind. They hadn't spoken much since they passed the creststone archway-but there was no need. Their quiet comfort was enough.
The doors opened before they could knock, revealing one of the stewards who blinked once before hurriedly turning on his heel.
Their footsteps echoed across the polished floor as they stepped inside. It was all so familiar-the cold, clean scent of ironwood, the tall stained-glass windows casting patterns of blues and gold across the floor, and the ever-watchful suits of armor lining the corridor.
The Grand Duke stepped out from behind one of the columns. Straight-backed, immaculately dressed as always, with those piercing eyes that missed nothing.
He didn't say anything at first.
His gaze landed on Sorayael.
She stopped. Her bag slipped slightly from her shoulder.
Her voice wavered, just enough for the tension to crack.
He studied her. She looked so much like the girl who'd left-yet not at all. Her presence was weightier now. Her eyes were older.
A pause hung between them. Not awkward, just.. full. Brimming with all the things they didn't know how to say.
Sorayael exhaled, half a laugh. "I considered climbing in through the roof."
Zarethian gave her a sideways glance. "It would've suited you."
The moment cracked further as the sound of hurried, thudding steps came echoing from upstairs.
A blur bolted around the corner at full speed, nearly toppling a vase.
Krios.
His silver-blue hair bounced as he sprinted, slippers skidding slightly on the marble.
She smiled through the sting in her eyes, laughing gently as he nuzzled into her.
The Grand Duke watched silently, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Zarethian cleared his throat, finally stepping forward with mock indignation.
The Grand Duke didn't even blink. "Did you bring my correspondence?"
Zarethian gasped. "So that's all I am now? A glorified letter carrier?"
Krios giggled against Sorayael's shoulder.
Sorayael smiled and tilted her head toward Zarethian. "He missed you so much, he didn't even offer tea."
Krios suddenly pulled back and looked up at her, bright-eyed. "Can I show you my room later? I made drawings! And I have this new sword set; only wooden, but I'm really good now. I practiced every day."
He nodded proudly. "Especially then. I imagined it was a battlefield."
Sorayael smiled, "But take it easy, okay?"
The Grand Duke stepped closer now, watching the two of them quietly. His voice was soft, but it still carried.
She looked at him, eyes still damp, but steady.
"It's good to be home."
In Krios's room, sunlight filtered through pale blue curtains.
A small, worn rug sprawled across the wooden floor.
His drawings-crayons, charcoal, even smudged ink-were pinned up haphazardly on the walls.
Some were dragons with clumsy wings, others were trees with magic sigils, and one...
one was clearly a stick-figure version of her, labeled "Ate Sora, really strong."
Sorayael sat cross-legged on the floor while Krios kneeled before a carved wooden chest, pulling things out like a magician revealing his secrets.
They laughed as they squared off. The spar was clumsy, clattering, filled with wild swings and exaggerated dodges. Krios shrieked with delight every time he thought he'd landed a hit, and Sorayael exaggerated every block with playful groans.
At one point, he launched himself into a messy overhead swing and she caught the wooden blade gently mid-air, bringing it to a stop.
He flushed, chest puffed out.
The question hit her like a stone in the chest.
She drew him in gently and hugged him.
He sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand, then grinned. "You cried first."
Later, she was summoned by the Grand Duke.
A knock came at her chamber door just as the sky deepened into violet dusk.
A steward stood outside, bowing slightly. "The Grand Duke would like to speak with you in his study, milady."
Moments later, Sorayael stood once again at the heavy doors of the study. The scent of old parchment and firewood welcomed her as she stepped in.
Zerathiel sat behind his desk, looking over documents. When he looked up and met her eyes, his expression softened.
She did, folding her hands in her lap.
Sorayael nodded. "It was."
He leaned back, arms resting lightly on the desk. "Tell me."
So she did. Not every detail-just enough to explain how the locals doubted her, how she found markings no one else noticed, how she pieced together the pattern of illegal mana use, how even her superior had dismissed her until she brought back solid proof.
Zerathiel was silent for a moment.
He gave a faint nod. "That's exactly why it matters."
He stood, walking toward the tall windows, watching the rain tap lightly against the panes.
Sorayael's breath caught for a second.
He turned back with a small smile. "Don't disappear for too long next time. I doubt Krios would allow it."
Later that night.
The stars were beginning to pierce through the cloud-thinned sky.
Sorayael stood at the edge of the rooftop terrace again, fingers laced behind her back, the soft breeze tugging strands of silver hair across her face.
Behind her, the door creaked open. She didn't turn. She didn't need to.
Zarethian walked over, slow, hands in his coat pockets.
She shook her head. "Too many thoughts. They echo louder here."
He leaned beside her, shoulder nearly brushing hers. "Krios clung to you like a bug earlier."
They both laughed gently.
A beat passed.
Zarethian glanced sideways at her. "You've changed."
He raised a brow. "I never did."
She turned to him fully, the moonlight catching in her golden eyes.
He went still.
Then, after a heartbeat, he reached over and took her hand-lightly, without words.