The dining hall of the Eternal Citadel had once been a battlefield.
Literally.
The tiles beneath the table were still stained with immortal blood, and one of the chandeliers was an inverted relic of a god's failed ascension.
It screamed quietly every third hour.
No one really noticed anymore.
The table stretched two hundred meters, though only the first five were ever used.
The rest remained as an aesthetic warning.
Tonight, it was a private affair.
No courtiers.
No ministers.
No spies.
Just family.
Which, in this empire, was somehow worse.
The King sat at the head, robes of liquid dusk spilling around his throne-like seat.
He sipped war-wine from a cup shaped like a collapsed galaxy, and did his best not to strangle anyone.
Queen Lysara, his first wife, was already on her third goblet of something flammable.
Her armor clinked every time she moved, and the war tattoos along her neck glowed faintly when she was annoyed which was always.
Across from her sat Consort Veyra, dressed in silk folded like geometry.
Her eyes tracked the forks.
The wine.
The angle of everyone's shoulders.
She was probably already planning three military campaigns just based on how Nymri buttered her bread.
Maleth, the third wife, radiant and still as a prayer, merely smiled and sipped her tea.
She said nothing.
She never needed to.
The King's five children sat in their places each more uncomfortable than the last.
Azeron, the eldest, had posture carved from obsidian.
Seris, his sister, twirled a flame between her fingers, eyes daring someone to comment.
Vael, the quietest of Lysara's three, blended so well with the shadows he made the candlelight flicker.
Ilien, Veyra's son, was writing on a floating tablet while chewing meat with surgical precision.
And Nymri, youngest, gentlest, deadliest was staring at her father like she could hear the noise beneath his silence.
"So," Lysara said, slamming her cup down. "Which bastard tried to assassinate you this morning?"
The King sighed. "It wasn't an assassination. Just a Remnant. Rude, loud, self-important."
"Ah," Veyra said. "Another half-deity looking for validation."
"Did it scream a title?" Seris asked, excited.
"Seventeen," the King muttered.
"Did you vaporize it?" Vael asked.
"No."
A pause.
"I unmade it," he said. "Technically different."
Maleth stirred her tea.
"Did it bleed?"
"No."
"Then it doesn't count," Lysara snorted.
The King looked down at the table. "You know, I built this place for peace. Quiet."
Ilien glanced up from his notes. "You built it over a dead god's spinal column."
"That was a real estate issue."
Nymri finally spoke, her voice soft and patient. "You've been restless lately."
The room went still.
Not tense.
Just… aware.
The kind of stillness that meant something larger was about to be said, and no one wanted to be holding a drink when it dropped.
The King tapped his goblet.
"I was going to wait until dessert," he said. "But I suppose this is as good a time as any."
He looked up.
"They're coming."
"Who?" Azeron asked, instantly alert.
The King exhaled.
"Earth."
Everything stopped.
Even the chandelier paused its hourly scream.
Veyra's fingers twitched.
Lysara's war tattoos flared.
.Maleth closed her eyes.
Ilien sat back.
Seris leaned forward.
Vael stopped breathing.
Nymri whispered, "They're real?"
The King nodded once.
"I thought the planet was lost," Maleth murmured.
"It was. Temporarily," he said. "The Will has authorized its integration into the Battlefield. Arrival in twenty-four days."
"You said 'they,'" Veyra said. "Not just the planet."
He nodded again. "My people. My kind. My parents."
Seris blinked. "Your parents?"
"Yes."
"Alive?"
"Yes."
Another silence.
Seris grinned. "That's… insane."
"Agreed."
"They'll be weak," Azeron said. "You've said it yourself. Your bloodline is divine because of what happened after."
"They're still my family."
"You haven't seen them in five thousand years."
"For them, it's been two."
Lysara poured herself another drink. "And you're telling us now because…?"
"Because I'm not sure what I'll be when they look at me," the King said.
That shut everyone up.
Nymri looked at her father, her voice delicate. "You've never… seemed uncertain."
"I'm not uncertain," he said. "I'm aware."
Vael finally spoke, barely audible. "You fear how they'll see you."
"I fear they won't see me at all," he muttered. "That they'll see what's left."
Lysara scoffed. "You're still the same stubborn bastard I married."
"You married me because I won a bet."
"I married you because you conquered a god with a stick and a knife."
Veyra folded her hands. "What do you want us to do?"
"Nothing," he said. "They'll arrive in a secure quadrant. I'll meet them alone."
Ilien's eyes narrowed. "You don't trust us?"
"I don't want you to see me like that."
"Like what?"
He didn't answer.
Seris jabbed a finger at him. "You're embarrassed."
"No."
"You are."
"I'm… remembering."
She frowned.
"You used to be one of them," she said.
"I still am."
"No. You're a King. You're our King. You rule blood and time and stars. They're…" She gestured vaguely. "They're just people. Humans."
"Exactly."
"They'll kneel," Azeron said.
"I don't want them to."
Everyone turned toward him again.
The King's eyes were heavy.
Tired.
Ancient in a way that made the stars feel young.
"If they kneel," he said, "they'll stop being real."
A long pause.
Nymri rose from her seat and walked to his side.
"Do you love them?"
The King didn't move.
"I don't remember," he said.
She took his hand. "Then let them remind you."
The room stayed quiet after that.
Lysara downed her cup and stood. "Fine. You'll do your solo welcome-back party. We'll sit here and prepare for the fallout."
Veyra nodded. "We'll make sure no cults form."
Seris groaned. "I was already drawing ideas for Earth-themed fan clubs."
Ilien grinned faintly. "They'll be terrified of us."
"They should be," Vael said.
The King stood slowly.
"They're not guests," he said. "They're home."
Azeron frowned. "Home is behind you."
"Sometimes," the King said, "it circles back."
He turned and began to walk out.
Just before he left the hall, Nymri asked softly, "Will they still recognize you?"
He didn't turn around.
"I don't know if they should," he said.
Then he vanished in a flicker of dusk, leaving behind a family who loved him.
And feared him.
And perhaps, for the first time… pitied him.