Chapter 38
Homecoming and the Shifting Board
The sight of Bluestone's familiar wooden palisade brought a quiet sense of peace to Renly's soul that Rose City's towering stone could never offer. But this was not the return of the same boy who had left. He rode in on Aethon, his posture straighter, his gear finer, and his purse heavy. Lyra and Will, wearing their new leather armor, sat straighter on their mules, radiating a new confidence.
The news had traveled faster than they had. The village elder, Elron, met them at the bridge, his old eyes crinkling in a genuine smile. "Ser Renly! The word is you helped the City Guard crush the Vipers in the Serpent's Pass! You bring honor to Bluestone!" Whispers of the bandits' eradication had woven his name into local legend, cementing his reputation not just as their lord, but as a protector whose reach extended beyond their valley.
His first duty was to report to Viscount Corvan. In the stark great hall of the castle, Renly gave a carefully sanitized account. "I offered my sword to the City Guard of Rose, my Lord," he explained, standing respectfully before the Viscount's desk. "They were dealing with a persistent bandit problem in the Serpent's Pass. My experience here proved useful."
The Viscount, a man who valued strength and stability above all, leaned back, a glint in his eyes. "Good. A Knight of my domain proving his worth in the County City reflects well on all of us. It strengthens our entire border. You've done well, Renly." The unspoken message was clear: this kind of external validation was a political asset.
That evening, in a quieter corner of the castle, he shared ale with Ser Joric and Ser Eldric. The mood was warmer, more personal.Tankards of ale in hand, Eldric leaned in, his voice low. "You heard about Baron Ricolt? Stripped of his title. The court says he was working for Stonewatch." He shook his head. "The politics in the capital are a snake pit. You were wise to stay out of it, Renly. A border Knight like you must be cautious. Getting involved with the great houses is a quick path to an early grave."
Renly smiled, a carefully neutral expression. "Wise advice, Ser Eldric. I'll remember it." and took a sip of his ale. If only you knew, old friend. He thought of the secret scrolls locked in his chest and the crimson vial hidden even more deeply. He had ignored Eldric's wise counsel from a month ago. He had stepped into the storm, not for loyalty to a Count or a Princess, but for the power to control his own destiny. He knew it could cost him everything one day, but looking at the path behind him—the orphan, the drafted nobody—he accepted the risk. It was the only way he could see to become more than a piece on someone else's board.
Joric, meanwhile, was less interested in politics. His grizzled eyes scanned Renly, missing nothing. "You've changed, lad. It's not just the muscle. Your well… it's deeper. I can feel it. You've been training properly." He gave a rare, grim smile of approval. "That's what matters. Politics are fickle. The strength in your arm is not."
--
The seasons turned, one after another, six times over. The guy who had returned to Bluestone became a man of twenty-five, his features sharper, his gaze more settled.
In a secluded clearing, the air crackled. Renly stood before a heavily scarred practice dummy. He took a breath, drawing not just air, but the deep, placid well of vital force he had spent years cultivating. Then he moved. His body became a blur, a single, devastating line of motion. His sword, sheathed in condensed energy, struck the dummy's core not with a cut, but with a concussive BOOM. The dummy didn't just split; a section of it exploded into splinters, the remaining torso blackened and smoldering. The Explosive Lunge was no longer just practiced; it was mastered. He had reached the stage of a Senior Knight a year prior, and now his control was absolute.
He oversaw a militia that was no longer a group of farmers with spears, but a disciplined, loyal force that could genuinely defend their home. Life was good.
Yet, he was unmarried. The village gossiped, of course. Some said he was married to his duty. Others whispered of a lost love in Rose City. A few even speculated he served a higher, secret calling. He let them talk. It was better than the truth: that his soul was already bound to another reality, leaving little room for a wife in this one.
His gaze often turned south, towards the distant capital. A cold foreboding had settled in his gut over the past year. The political calm shattered followed by Ricolt's fall had been spark for the now succession war a year ago was now open, bloody, and its distant echoes, carried by merchants and travelers, were beginning to reach even their quiet corner of the north. The seed he watered in rain by nobles helped seed six years ago was finally breaking to spourt.
Aboard the Armada's Dawn - Four Months Later
The seven-month journey had been cut to six, a dangerous shortcut through a turbulent but passable stellar region, a gamble taken by the top command out of trust in the Stellar Pride and its battlegroup. The final two months stretched ahead, filled with a new kind of energy.
Kaelen's circle was no longer just four. It had grown into a cohesive, if quirky, unit of eight. Jax and Roric were constants. Luna and Elara provided their unique insights. They had been joined by Aisha, the Veridian Biotuner with her gentle connection to life; Tamar, the Kulthean Forge-Warden whose respect Roric had earned arm-wrestling; and Cedric, the Avalon Cyber-Thinker, his one artificial eye glowing with a soft blue light as he constantly processed data.
The past four months had forged them. Jax's flickering pyrokinesis and Kaelen's lightning-fast reflexes had found a strange synergy, their attacks weaving together in training—fire creating distractions for electric-speed strikes.
Kaelen had used the time to fully integrate the years of physical conditioning from Renly's body. He was now, without a doubt, a peak 1st Order Physical Enhancer by Federation standards, his combat skills sharpened to an exceptional degree.
In one of the ship's training halls, a friendly duel was underway. "Match: Kaelen and Jax versus Roric and Tamar. Begin," Cedric announced, his voice a neutral monotone.
It was a whirlwind. Roric and Tamar were an unmovable wall of sheer power, their combined strength enough to shatter the reinforced floor. But against them was fluid motion and unpredictable chaos. Kaelen flowed around their powerful strikes, his movements impossibly efficient, while Jax sent carefully controlled jets of flame to sear their knuckles or blind their vision for a split second. It was a dance of fire and lightning against two mountains.
On the sidelines, Luna, Elara, and Aisha watched, chatting undisturbed. Luna was describing the mating rituals of deep-ocean glow-squid, while Aisha explained how she could feel the stress levels of the ship's central oxygen garden. Elara simply listened, a small, serene smile on her face, feeling the warm camaderie radiating from her friends.
The duel ended in a laughing, breathless draw, both sides conceding they couldn't land a clean, winning blow on the other. As they clapped each other on the backs, the ship's comm system chimed.
"All personnel, this is a navigation update. We are on final approach. ETA to Elysian orbit: sixty standard days."
A hush fell over the group, then a shared, electric excitement. The long journey was nearly over. The practice, the bonding, the entire purpose of their exile from core worlds—it all came down to the next two months. The future was no longer a distant star, but a world waiting to be claimed.