When the King Comes Home
A figure moved past the edge of his property line. Footsteps pressed into place where ground met doorway.
Behind him, the heavy doors shut with a dull sound, cutting off the cool control he showed out there. A moment passed before he moved at all. Still holding on, the tightness across his back refused to let go - pressure from choices made, from people always looking, from followers whose deep bows held no real meaning.
Warmth reached him next.
Heat alone did not make it real. There stood something deeper instead. A known feeling settled in. This place carried that quiet comfort of belonging.
