After a long, grueling flight from the Kingdom of Richard to the Ashbourne Kingdom, the entire fleet had waged a massive war. The most extraordinary part of this battle? Not a single one of their warriors perished—except for five known traitors. A miraculous victory, soon to be etched in history books as one of the most triumphant and bloodless conquests ever recorded.
The air was thick with exhaustion. Most of the fleet hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours, their bodies aching and minds weary. But despite their fatigue, there was a quiet pride beneath their ragged breath. With the spoils of war in hand—gold, artifacts, treasures, and contracts—they began their long-awaited return home.
Messengers had already been dispatched ahead of time to announce their victory to the Kingdom of Richard. So, by the time their fleet of grand hot air balloons landed just a few hundred meters outside the capital, a stunning sight awaited them—hundreds of open-roof carriages lined up like a grand reception. The fields shimmered under the soft morning sun, carriages gleaming, and banners flapping gently in the wind.
Every hero of the war stepped into their designated carriages, their armor still smudged with battle but eyes gleaming with the thrill of victory. As the drivers snapped their reins, the wheels began to roll, carrying the heroes slowly toward their kingdom—where thousands of citizens waited with bated breath to welcome them home.
Inside one of those carriages sat Duke Robert and his four wives, their faces tired yet lit with subtle joy. And tucked into a corner, slouching and trying his best to shrink into the upholstery, was the boy who never liked the spotlight—Ray.
He groaned softly, clutching a talisman in his hand like a lifeline. "Mother… please. Can I teleport to the library instead?"
Diana, elegant and calm as ever, gave him a chillingly sweet grin. "No."
Ray's shoulders sank. He defiantly raised the talisman anyway, planning to activate it before anyone could stop him—but his mother, ever one step ahead, plucked it from his hands with a single graceful motion. He scowled, arms crossed, face buried into his cloak, a grumpy boy forced into a hero's parade.
As the carriages neared the capital, voices rose like a wave. The messengers had already begun their tales, spinning stories of the battle—stories that spread like wildfire.
They told of Hero Duke Robert, the mastermind who led the fleet with precision and compassion, ensuring the survival of every single loyal soldier. They spoke of his tactical brilliance, which dismantled enemy formations like clockwork.
They spoke of Formation Master Diana, who had dueled against a traitor of their own—a master once loyal to Richard.
Whispers spread of the moment King Roderic of Ashbourne had launched a surprise assault, tearing through their lines in a last-ditch attempt to claim victory. Chaos erupted as traitors turned on their own, targeting the formation master who controlled the critical formation disc.
Then came the part that made listeners lean in—the sudden appearance of a young boy, small and unnoticed in the chaos, who had leapt through the storm of blades and fire, catching the disc mid-air and returning it to his grandfather just in time. That one act had turned the tide.
And just when all hope teetered on the edge, another twist stunned the entire kingdom: King Daymond himself had arrived, cloaked in secrecy. None had known he'd left the kingdom. His unexpected entrance shattered Roderic's resolve.
A treaty was struck. They signed a contract. The war was over. The heroes were returning.
As the carriages rolled into the capital, the crowd roared. Voices echoed like thunder. Children ran alongside the wheels, waving. Women tossed flowers into the air. Men shouted names with pride and honor. The people were alive with celebration.
Even Ray's name was shouted.
Robert and the other heroes waved graciously. Diana, ever observant, cast a stern glance at her son. "Wave."
Ray blinked. "What—?"
She narrowed her eyes, and he quickly raised a hand and gave an awkward wave to the crowd. "Smile," she added.
Grimacing like a soldier facing the guillotine, Ray forced a smile. The crowd cheered louder.
Once home, they were told to rest and recover. The king had summoned them to the palace the next day for formal recognition and reward. Until then, they could breathe.
Ray, utterly spent after burning all his soul power in battle, stumbled into his bed. The moment his head hit the pillow, he was gone—his breathing soft. No one woke him early. For once, even the morning drills were cancelled—for him.
When Ray finally awoke, the golden morning light was pouring in through his window.
It was already nine.
He groaned, rubbing his eyes, still half-asleep. Aunt Mary quietly told him to prepare—they had to be at the palace by noon.
Ray tried to protest, still feeling sluggish, but Aunt Mary entered, arms crossed and smile tight. "You're a hero now, young man. You don't get to skip ceremonies."
Grumbling, Ray shuffled toward his mother's chambers. Diana was already dressed in her ceremonial robes—dark silver laced with midnight blue threads that shimmered faintly. She took his hand and led him to the living room, where everyone else was waiting.
For the first time, Barbara and Roxanne—usually quick with sharp remarks—were quiet. Not a word. Ray and Diana were now recognized as war heroes, and though Barbara and Roxanne had also joined the journey, they hadn't earned that title.
But more than the silence, there was curiosity. The two young women kept sneaking glances at Ray—because they'd seen something. They'd seen how casually Ray spoke with King Daymond and his wife, Alicia. They'd seen the subtle weight in Ray's presence, something they hadn't noticed before.
Selene stepped forward with a warm smile and pulled Ray into a hug. "I'm proud of you," she whispered. But the warmth was followed by a sharp flick to his forehead. "Don't you ever scare me like that again."
Ray winced. "Ow…"
Robert entered, glancing over the group. Everyone was ready. With a nod, he turned, and the whole family followed in his wake.
At the palace, the halls buzzed with noble chatter. Dukes and ladies swarmed the heroes. Ray found himself surrounded by children—boys eager-eyed and full of questions.
"What was the battle like?"
"Did you really catch the disc?"
"Were there actual dragons?"
Ray laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "It was dangerous. Bloody. Not something you want to see at your age…" His voice dipped slightly, haunted by memory, but he pushed through. "But I held on. We all did."
He told the story of how he saved the formation controller, and the boys around him lit up with gasps and wide-eyed expressions—"woah," "wow," "that's insane!"
Nearby, a small group of young noble ladies tried to get closer, trained in court etiquette, casting glances and soft smiles, hoping to earn his attention. But Ray, perhaps knowingly, stuck with the boys, his voice firm and animated.
Before the girls could slip into the circle, a voice rang through the hall.
"The King is entering!"
A hush swept the chamber. Ray exhaled with visible relief.
Finally, the spotlight shifted.