A decade gone, and Liurnia's west side was unrecognizable. The army stood sharp, uniforms crisp, weapons gleaming—no longer the ragtag band I'd left behind. Crowds gathered where once there was emptiness. Not a soul in sight back then, just endless stretches of silence.
"Her Highness is a wise ruler after all."
Throne smirked, gazing ahead. He hadn't built this, but he'd laid the foundation.
Hooves pounded behind him as a massive gray wolf caught up. Astride it rode a girl, her face soft but her chainmail hard, a quiver slung across her back. The Albinauric Village had sent their guide.
She was first-generation—like all of her kind, marked by flaws. Latenna, her name was, her legs useless, her mobility tied to the wolf.
This return wasn't some grand ordeal. Throne's old circle still lingered, shadows of the past decade.
"Throne, how long has it been since you last returned?"
Latenna patted the wolf's head. It snarled at Torrent, feral and defiant, like it had just lost a race. Torrent ignored it. The wolf leaned in, aggressive, and Torrent's hoof lashed out, catching it square on the snout. It whimpered, pawing at its face.
"Enough, Robo. Why pick a fight with Torrent?" Throne tugged his Spirit Steed back.
Torrent snorted, triumphant. Throne sighed. "Torrent, behave. We're supposed to be civilized."
Melina, perched behind him, turned away. No need to hide her now—Ranni knew she existed. Throne had enjoyed the spectacle of Torrent and Robo's rivalry the whole way.
"It has been a long time. That old manor was a mess—small, falling apart. Defending it was a nightmare."
Latenna had heard tales of Throne's exploits. Curiosity flickered in her voice. "What kind of mission could keep you away for so many years?"
"A secret one. Hence, I can't tell you." Throne shrugged, patting Torrent's neck. "Let's move. We're going home."
Yah—
Torrent surged forward, hooves pounding the earth. Mud flew, splattering Robo's face. The wolf whimpered, aggrieved, like it had never been so disrespected.
Latenna stroked its head, a wry smile on her lips. "Torrent's too spirited. Don't provoke him."
The Spirit Steed lived up to its name—mischievous, wild. It raced like the wind, gnawing on a rowa fruit Rayne had fed it, charging straight for the high wall.
"Halt!" A shout rang out from above. Ballistas creaked, bows drew, but one by one, they lowered at the sight of the Albinaurics trailing behind.
An officer in pale blue plate armor descended, a squad at his heels.
He froze when he reached the horse. "Thor... Throne?"
Throne looked down, studying the man's face, and grinned. "Arno! You're an officer now?"
Arno—his old sidekick, his countryman. Throne remembered him as the only friend he'd had when he first arrived in The Lands Between.
He leaped off his horse and strode toward Arno. Their chest plates clashed as they embraced, tight and unyielding. The soldiers exchanged glances, easing their grip on their weapons.
"Where the hell have you been all these years? Wait, I shouldn't ask." Arno gripped Throne's forearm, then pointed to the scar on his cheek.
"Cuckoo got me with an arrow, but I got lucky—just grazed my cheek." He grinned, tracing the scar. "Badges of honor, am I right?"
Throne nodded, eyes gleaming. "Looks like you've grown into a real man."
"Time changes everyone. At least we're both still breathing. And I'm more than just a man now."
"What's that mean?"
The guy slapped his chest, the same bashful look from years ago creeping onto his face. "I'm a father now. Captain Karin's my wife."
Damn. Throne pictured the brawny archer and laughed. "You've got guts. You sure she won't drain you dry?"
"Not a chance. I'm not the same as before. Listen—"
The soldiers bit back smirks. Here we go again, they thought. The Captain's about to brag about his stamina. Wonder who's been taking all those night shifts instead of heading home.
Melina watched from her horse, the two men whispering like mischievous boys. A strange feeling stirred in her chest.
This wasn't the cold, decisive Throne she knew. Not the ruthless man she'd seen. Just a young man, laughing with his friend. Oddly, the officer didn't seem intimidated, despite the gulf in strength between them. How could a lion and a mouse talk so easily?
"Maybe that's what friends are," Latenna said, riding up on her wolf. "Even after years apart, they're still the same." Her voice held a hint of wistfulness. For those who danced with death, such bonds were rare treasures.
Melina stayed silent, head bowed. "Friend? What's that?"
Meanwhile, the men wrapped up their conversation.
Arno noticed Melina perched on the horse and elbowed Throne's ribs. "Good eye, bringing back a beauty like that. She just looks a bit... out of it. How many kids are you planning now that you're back?"
"Shut it," Throne hissed, glancing around. "We're just companions."
"Companions? Why's she clinging to your back, then?"
"Because there's only one horse! And since when did you get so vulgar? What happened to the shy kid?"
"She's not normal. Spacey. Dense."
"Easy to trick into your hands, huh?"
"What's the point of tricking a fool?"
"Hey! Who gave you the right to insult people?"
Melina's sharp retort cut through the air. Throne sighed, mounting his horse. "Arno, I've got to report to Her Highness. I'll catch up with you later."
Arno nodded, stepping back as Throne rode off. "You better come!" he shouted after him.
Throne raised a hand in farewell, vanishing into the distance. The soldiers crowded around Arno. "Boss, who was that? Never heard of a knight like him."
Carian Knights were legends—fewer than fingers on one hand. Arno grinned, rubbing his nose.
"A hero. And my friend."
......
Beyond the isthmus's towering wall, Caria Manor loomed, as grand as ever but no longer desolate. The outer city buzzed with military families, and the once-terrifying Fingercreepers were nowhere to be seen. The place felt safer now, oddly enough.
If anyone wanted to attack the manor, they'd first have to face hundreds of soldiers. Then came the Fingercreepers, lurking in every corner of the winding inner city. The suffering would be more than just a little bit higher.
But Her Highness had changed too. The once ghostly manor now pulsed with life.
From the magic tower, the lights of ten thousand homes stretched into the distance.
Throne didn't know why the sight struck him. He glanced at Melina, who was scanning the surroundings. "Your first time in Caria. What do you think?"
She noticed his gaze and adopted an indifferent tone. "It's not particularly prosperous. Not especially mysterious. Just... ordinary."
"Ordinary is the rarest thing in The Lands Between." Throne's words carried a cryptic weight. To him, the sight of a bustling market in this once-sinister city felt like a victory.
Melina didn't fully grasp his meaning and didn't press. Instead, she asked, "Why do you seem like a different person since we arrived?"
"How so?"
"You're... relaxed. Real. When you spoke to that officer earlier, there was no scheming. No ulterior motives."
Throne chuckled softly. "What image do you have of me? A cold-blooded conspirator? Always plotting, always killing?" He shook his head. "People wear different masks. With friends, with enemies—it's not the same. Caria is my home. There's no need for schemes here."
Melina blinked, nodding as if she half-understood. Then, abruptly: "So... are we friends?"
"Of course." Throne didn't hesitate. He dismissed his Spirit Steed and stepped onto the lift.
The inner city greeted them with the imposing figure of a Troll Knight. "Lord Kohler."
"Lord Throne. Princess Ranni awaits you." The knight stepped aside, clearing the path. Their relationship didn't warrant small talk, but as Throne passed, Kohler added, "Welcome back. Miriam and Allen will be glad."
Throne paused on the stairs, turning to look down. The view was breathtaking. Evening light bathed the sky, and the outer city shimmered with countless lights. Beyond the towering walls, golden wheat fields stretched into the horizon.
The wheat swayed in the wind, its rhythm mingling with the lake's ripples, radiating life. Friends. Home. The past and the future. Something intangible stirred within him, fueling his resolve.
"What are you doing?" Melina's voice broke his reverie.
"Nothing. Just... suddenly craving a drink." He turned back, the sunset framing him. "You know, Melina, fighting for the living—that's what makes it worthwhile. No one's forcing me. It's my choice."
She tilted her head, impressed but not fully comprehending.
Throne didn't expect her to. Some truths aren't taught or spoken—they're felt. He straightened his collar and strode toward the Moongazing Grounds. "Come on. Let's see Princess Ranni. Choose your words carefully."
"Why? Is she fierce? Worse than Godrick?"
Throne paused, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "You'll see."
......
She saw him first. From Ranni's Rise, the view was perfect. At a distance, she watched Throne enter the Moongazing Grounds. The witch stood by the window, her gaze lingering on him as her thoughts wandered.
Black robe. Tachi at his waist. The faint smile. He looked no different from ten years ago. Still rational. Still composed. Still him.
He hasn't changed. The witch smiled unconsciously, though it flickered away as quickly as it came. No, nothing had changed—except the person at his side. Once it had been that insufferable sorcerer; now it was this even more insufferable girl. The two were talking, Throne looking visibly uneasy while Melina's face betrayed nothing.
Hmph. Be grateful. "That I'm allowing her into the Royal Capital is your greatest reward."
Ranni's voice cut sharp, irritation bleeding through. She'd lost her mind, letting someone tied to Her get this close. Her eyes lingered on Melina, cold and assessing, before she turned back into the room. Time to restore some dignity.
Meanwhile, Throne felt like he'd lost his mind too.
What had possessed him to bring Melina here? Forget everything else—the blood feud between the Black Knives and Caria alone should've been enough for Ranni to set a trap. He wasn't naive enough to think she'd missed it. She'd been there that night, after all. The Night of the Black Knives.
Too late now. They were already here.
If things turned violent, he'd just have to step between them. A human shield. Great.
Throne pressed a hand to his forehead, feeling like his skull had swollen. And of course, the girl wasn't even grateful.
"Is the Lunar Princess really that terrifying?" Melina's voice was flat, her tone bored. "As her right-hand man, you're nervous?"
"Nonsense. I'm worried about you." Throne sighed. "Ever heard the saying? 'The closer you get to home, the more anxious you feel.'"
Melina tilted her head. "No. But you've brought plenty of gifts. If she's too strict, you can dissolve the contract." Her expression shifted, a flicker of something almost wistful. "Being unfettered… it's a wonderful feeling. I can help with anything you need."
Throne's eyes darted left, then right. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Don't say that in front of Her Highness. She'll misunderstand."
"It's the truth. Why can't I say it?"
He clenched his jaw. This girl—stubborn, infuriating, impossible. "Please, you might be Marika's daughter; it would be strange if such words weren't misunderstood."
"Don't talk back to me!" Melina turned her head sharply, her face sour. Another label for Throne: ungrateful. She'd spoken up for him, and this was her thanks?