The banquet hall was alive with warmth, music, and celebration.
Golden chandeliers bathed the vast chamber in soft light, reflecting off polished floors and jeweled goblets. Laughter echoed between nobles and warriors alike, their voices rising in waves as stories of the arena were retold with growing exaggeration.
Victory had a way of making everything feel larger than life.
Yet, even within the celebration, there were moments that slipped quietly away from the noise.
Keyla found one of those moments.
And this time—
She did not leave alone.
Her fingers were laced with Eris's as they stepped out of the great hall together, unnoticed in the swell of movement. The music faded behind them, replaced by the calmer hush of the palace corridors.
Neither of them spoke immediately.
They didn't need to.
Their pace was slow, unhurried, their hands still joined—not tentative, not accidental, but deliberate.
Comfortable.
The night air greeted them as they stepped into the open courtyard.
Cool.
Gentle.
Real.
At the center stood the lion-headed fountain, water spilling steadily from its carved jaws, catching the moonlight in shimmering silver arcs.
Keyla led them there without thinking.
Or perhaps… she had been thinking of it all along.
They stopped beside the fountain, but neither let go.
Eris glanced down briefly at their hands, then back at her.
"…You didn't pull away this time."
Keyla raised an eyebrow faintly.
"Should I have?"
He smirked slightly.
"I was beginning to think you only tolerated me in public."
That earned him a quiet scoff.
"You fought a thousand men today," she said. "You've earned a little tolerance."
"A little?" he asked.
She tilted her head, pretending to consider.
"…Perhaps slightly more."
He chuckled softly, but his gaze lingered on her longer than the joke required.
Then the moment shifted—subtly.
The air between them grew quieter.
More honest.
Keyla leaned lightly against the stone edge of the fountain, her free hand brushing against the cool surface.
"…The wedding," she said.
Eris exhaled through his nose, almost amused.
"Truthfully, I'm looking forward to it."
"No," she replied simply. "Thats not what I'm saying."
They both knew why.
This union wasn't just theirs.
It was bigger.
Far bigger.
Eris rested his other hand against the fountain, his expression thoughtful.
"It won't just be us," he said. "You've seen the preparations."
Keyla nodded.
"Alliances," she murmured. "There will be more than Just four weddings in that period."
Her lips pressed slightly.
"This is going to be absolutely hectic. We might hardly meet from now. "
Eris glanced at her as he chuckled.
"So someone's missing me already?"
She met his gaze and rolled her eyes.
"I want something from you." Eric spoke
"A moment," he said. "Before everything begins. Before the vows, before the crowds."
He gestured lightly to the fountain, to the quiet night around them.
"Something like this."
Keyla was silent.
The water continued to fall between them.
"…Just us?" she asked.
Eris nodded.
"No titles."
"No expectations."
"No audience."
She looked at him for a long second.
Then—
"…I would want that too."
The words came softer than she intended.
But she didn't take them back.
Eris's grip on her hand tightened slightly—not possessive, just… certain.
"Then we'll take it," he said.
Keyla gave a small, almost amused breath.
"You speak like you can command time itself."
"I can command a moment," he replied. "If I choose it carefully."
That drew a bright smile from her.
For a while, they stood there, hands still joined, letting the quiet settle around them.
Then Keyla straightened.
"We should go."
Eris glanced at her.
"Back to the hall?"
She shook her head.
"No."
A pause.
"To the group home."
He blinked once, surprised.
"Now?"
She shook her head. "I want it after morning routine tomorrow"
"I think it's only natural you meet you meet people I consider family. Though I'm a princess now, she was there first woman I knew as a mother."
They began walking again, still side by side, their hands eventually parting—but not out of distance, but because they reached an intersection to separate to their wings.
The next morning, the kingdom gates opened to travelers.
But this arrival was different.
It had been planned.
Chosen.
Earned.
Alfur Aragon walked toward the palace he had been taken from.
Not as a lost child.
But as a man returning.
Beside him walked Alfrida, his adopted daughter—steady, observant, her presence a quiet anchor at his side.
The guards at the gates stiffened as the pair approached.
Then came the whispers.
Because the resemblance was impossible to ignore.
"General Don—?"
"No… look again—"
"It's not him…"
But it was close.
Too close.
Alfur bore the same structure, the same unmistakable Aragon blood—but life had carved its own story into him.
He was leaner.
His skin carried the deeper tone of years beneath harsh suns.
There was a hardness to him—not cruelty, but endurance.
This was not a man raised in palace walls.
This was a man who had survived without them.
And yet—
As he stepped through the gates, something shifted in his eyes.
Recognition.
Not of memory…
But of belonging.
He slowed slightly, looking around.
The stone.
The banners.
The towering walls.
"…I was right to come back," he murmured.
Alfrida glanced at him.
"You never doubted it."
A faint breath left him.
"I did," he admitted. "Just not enough to stop."
She smiled faintly.
"Good."
He looked ahead again.
"Though I would say, more than doubt it was fear. Fear that they've forgotten me, fear that I no longer belong here."
Somewhere beyond those walls… was his blood.
His brothers.
Including the one he resembled most, Don.
His second brother.
And Alfur—
The youngest of the five Aragon brothers.
Had finally come home.
By late afternoon, the sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the palace grounds in gold.
Keyla and Eris walked side by side along the path leading toward the group home.
Their pace was steady, conversation light now—less guarded than before.
"You're unusually calm," Eris noted.
Keyla glanced at him.
"I trust Madam Neller."
"That's not what I meant."
She raised an eyebrow.
"You're bringing me into your world," he said. "I expected… resistance."
Keyla considered that.
"....i like you a lot." she said simply.
That answer lingered.
Then—
They turned a corner near the outer path.
And everything stopped.
Ahead, near the palace gates—
Two figures stood.
One older.
One younger.
But it wasn't Alfrida that caught their attention.
It was him.
Eris slowed first.
Keyla didn't move at all.
Her body went still—completely still.
Because standing there—
Was a man who looked like General Don.
And yet…
Was not.
Her eyes sharpened instantly.
Taking in every detail.
Thinner.
Darker.
Worn.
Real in a way that carried weight.
Eris exhaled quietly beside her.
"…That's not my uncle."
"No," Keyla said, her voice low.
"He isn't."
Ahead, Alfur turned.
And saw them.
Time seemed to fracture.
His gaze locked onto Keyla first—
Then shifted.
To Eris.
Recognition didn't come from memory.
It came from instinct.
From blood.
Something unspoken passed through his expression.
Shock.
Keyla took a step forward without realizing it.
Her pulse had changed.
Her instincts—honed through battle—were telling her something undeniable.
This man mattered.
A lot.
To their family.
"…Who are you?" she asked.
Alfur didn't answer immediately.
His eyes flickered once more between them.
Then, steadying—
"My name," he said,
"is Alfur Aragon."
Silence fell.
Heavy.