The great gates of Ardan creaked open at dusk, and a single rider passed beneath them.
Drenched in shadows and the faint scent of battle, Rythe rode at a steady pace, the faithful Fen trailing silently beside him after over a year. The guards recognized him at once and rushed forward, one dashing off to sound the alert, another lowering to one knee in a salute that trembled slightly—not from fear, but relief.
The fifth prince of Ardan had returned.
Word spread like wildfire through the palace halls, and by the time Rythe dismounted in the inner courtyard, all his siblings were there—waiting.
Maleus, first to step forward, crossed the space between them in long strides. Without a word, he embraced Rythe tightly, thumping his back once before stepping aside.
"You look like hell," he muttered gruffly, though his voice held nothing but brotherly warmth.
Kael whistled low, grinning.
"At least tell us you made a mess wherever you went."
Rhalia approached next, eyes misted with unshed tears. She cupped his face briefly, her thumb brushing over the faint scar along his jaw.
"You're back," she whispered. "You made it back."
Vaela hugged him without hesitation, burying her face into his shoulder. Elion clapped him on the arm with a rare smile. Dain stood beside Astrid, who said nothing, only gave Rythe a long look before nodding firmly.
"I missed this," Rythe finally said, his voice rough. "Being home."
Inside the War Room
The family gathered in the high chamber moments later, the flicker of torches casting golden shadows on polished stone.
Cups of spiced wine were passed around, warmth returning to the room like breath in winter.
"Tell us everything," Kael said, leaning forward. "What did you find?"
Rythe reached into his cloak and placed a sealed letter and a shattered emblem on the table—a sigil twisted beyond recognition.
"Proof," he said quietly. "There's a mastermind pulling the strings behind everything—behind the missing nobles, the corrupted magic, even the attack on Virelia. There is much you all don't know and my words might seem strange but it is for your safety. As for who is after our empire, I know who it is. But I won't move yet. Not until we've secured Ardan first."
Silence fell.
Then Maleus nodded.
"We've already begun rooting out traitors. The Crescent Knight works with us. But your insight will sharpen our blades."
Rhalia added, "We need you now more than ever, Rythe."
He looked at each of them, pride in his eyes.
"Then let's do what we must," Rythe said. "Together. No more shadows in our home."
And so, beneath the silver banners of Ardan, the siblings of the realm stood united—stronger, wiser, and ready for the storm still to come.
The soft rustle of wind through the curtains stirred Rythe from sleep.
He lay still for a moment, eyes tracing the carved beams above him—familiar, comforting. The aches in his body were dulled, the tension in his limbs eased. For the first time in weeks, perhaps months, he had truly slept.
But duty never waited.
When he stepped out into the sunlit courtyard dressed in his black leathers and dark steel cloak clasped with Ardan's sigil, a murmur swept through the gathered knights.
They had been summoned the moment word of his return reached the barracks, and now, rows upon rows of soldiers stood waiting, straight-backed and silent, the banners of the Crescent flaring behind them in the wind.
At Rythe's side stood Lareth, his trusted commander—tall, composed, and sharp-eyed as ever, as he glanced toward Rythe with a subtle nod.
"They've waited for you," Lareth murmured. "Every single one."
Rythe stepped forward, boots clicking against the stone. His voice was calm but carried the weight of fire and resolve.
"You have served Ardan with loyalty while I was gone. Some of you bled for this kingdom. Some of you watched it bleed. But today, we rise again. Stronger. Wiser. Less trusting of empty smiles."
A quiet ripple of laughter passed through the ranks, tension breaking slightly.
"We face an enemy not yet named in public," Rythe continued. "But they are within our walls. Among our own. And we will uncover every single one."
His gaze swept over his knights, some young, some old, all hardened by years of war and betrayal.
"Ardan must stand—not because of one man's strength, but because of our unity. Our resolve. Our blade and our oath."
He drew his sword—not Soulsteel, but the sword gifted to him by his father, its edge gleaming in the morning light—and raised it high.
"For Ardan!"
"For Ardan!" the knights thundered in unison, fists thudding over their hearts.
Lareth stepped forward beside him and gave a short, approving nod.
"They're ready," he said simply.
Rythe looked ahead toward the looming palace, the heart of a kingdom still vulnerable.
"Then so are we."
The grand hall of Ardan was alight with golden torches and high, colored glass that scattered the late afternoon sun into shards across the marble floor. The court was full—nobles, guards, advisors, all lined the chamber in hushed anticipation.
At the front, upon the high dais, sat Emperor Valien and Queen Elendra, their expressions regal but alert. Beside them stood their children—Crown Prince Maleus with his omega consort Thalan, ever poised and serene. Rhalia stood near, with Serin just behind her, a silent pillar of strength. The others—Kael, Vaela, Elion, Dain, Astrid—flanked the throne or lingered among the pillars.
And then Rythe entered.
Dressed in deep black armor, polished and bearing faint marks of battle, he moved with quiet strength. The Crescent Knight insignia shimmered on his cloak, and his presence stilled the court into reverent silence.
He stopped before the throne, bowed low to his father and mother, and turned to address the chamber.
"I stand before you, not just as prince or soldier, but as a son of Ardan who has walked the edge of danger and returned."
A murmur swept the court. Rythe's tone was calm, composed—strategic.
"My journey took me far. And what I encountered outside our borders was… unsettling. There are strange movements across distant lands. Allegiances shifting in shadows. An unease rising, though no blade yet drawn."
He glanced meaningfully across the nobles—many loyal, but not all.
"However, I have found no clear connection to the unseen threat that lingers over Ardan. Nothing definitive. No names. No trail."
From the corner of his eye, he noted the barely perceptible shift in posture from a few nobles—relieved… or falsely so.
"We remain safe. Secure. Ardan stands strong under our banners and our faith in one another."
Queen Elendra watched her son closely. Emperor Valien's sharp gaze flicked across the court with the mind of a hawk hunting rats. But neither spoke.
Rythe continued.
"I ask for continued unity. For patience and vigilance. Let no fear cause division. We are Ardan. And we do not fall to whispers."
He bowed again, this time not just to the throne, but to the people gathered.
"My thanks to my siblings, to the Crescent Knight, and to all who have held the kingdom steady in my absence."
The court clapped, some with true devotion—others with the stiff polish of performance. But Rythe's words had done what they needed to do:
He had planted calm where suspicion festered. He had masked his true intent behind diplomacy. And the traitors?
They would relax. And in that comfort, expose themselves.
From the dais, Valien gave a single approving nod, his voice low.
"Well played, my son."
And from the shadows behind the pillars, Rythe's younger siblings exchanged glances—the game had begun.