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Lykkos moved through the morning sky carried by the steady pull of his golden aether resonance, the energy humming beneath his skin in a way that felt more like balance than effort. The resonance flowed outward from his core, shaping itself instinctively into invisible currents that held him aloft, guiding his body as naturally as breath guided his lungs. He had flown this way for years, yet the sensation never dulled, never became mundane, because it reminded him that motion itself could be gentle rather than violent.
Below him, the capital of the Sunborn Empire revealed itself beneath the rising sun.
The city rested within a vast valley shaped by centuries of careful cultivation rather than conquest, where lush green forests spilled down gentle slopes and wrapped protectively around white stone districts and gold-lined avenues. Towers rose with elegant restraint, tall but never oppressive, their surfaces polished until they caught the orange morning light and scattered it across bridges, plazas, and flowing waterways. The architecture carried a quiet confidence, every arch and spire designed to inspire stability rather than awe through fear.
Lykkos slowed his descent, drifting as he looked down upon it all, his mouth curling into a small smile he did not bother hiding.
From above, the city looked untouched by war.
Clean.
Alive.
Hopeful.
'We really did it,' he thought, warmth spreading through his chest as the golden light reflected off his armor. 'Vorenna pulled it off.'
His thoughts drifted to her almost immediately, as they often did, and he imagined her in the High Court surrounded by officials who were likely arguing even while congratulating her. He could picture her posture perfectly, calm and composed, the faint exhaustion she would never acknowledge settling into her shoulders.
'I should bring her flowers,' he decided. 'Evernight Blossoms again. She'll pretend she doesn't care, but she always keeps them. I can't believe she thinks I do not know.'
He angled toward the military district beyond the capital proper, where pristine fortifications stood untouched by smoke or ruin. The Sunborn fortress rose like a monument carved from restraint itself, its white stone unmarred, its gold accents gleaming softly. Soldiers moved through the courtyard with disciplined ease, the camp functioning like a well-tuned instrument.
Lykkos touched down at the center of the courtyard, the golden resonance fading as naturally as it had formed. Recognition rippled outward, salutes snapping up in quick succession.
"Captain Lykkos!"
He returned nods with a warm smile, walking through the camp at an unhurried pace. Some soldiers straightened, others relaxed, and a few simply watched him pass with a mixture of admiration and unease.
'They still don't know what to make of me,' he thought mildly. 'That's all right.'
Inside the fortress, polished stone reflected the morning light, reliefs depicting treaties and victories lining the walls. Lykkos climbed the administrative stairwell and approached the massive wooden doors at the end of the command hall.
A secretary sat at her desk buried in paperwork, startling when he approached.
"H-hello, Captain Lykkos," she stammered. "F-for what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Hello there," he replied gently. "Sorry to bother you. Is General Fabius in today?"
She nodded eagerly. "Y-yes. I'll let him know right away."
"Thank you, Lena."
She froze mid-step.
"Y-you remember my name?"
"Of course I do," he said, tilting his head.
Her gaze dropped. "You say that like it's obvious… no one ever remembers my name."
"Everyone is worth remembering," he said simply. "You've always been kind to me."
Lena flushed, then hurried to announce him, momentarily forgetting why she'd stood up at all until Lykkos cleared his throat again.
Inside, General Fabius sat behind a wide desk layered with maps and reports. He dismissed Lena and removed his glasses. He had grey short grey hair, fitting for his age. His green eyes, once bright and youthful, were more mundane.
"Captain O'Keron," he said. "What do you need?"
Lykkos reported the envoy's neutralization, his tone measured and calm.
"The envoy has been taken care of."
Fabius listened without interruption, his fingers steepled.
"Well done," the general said at last. "Your efficiency remains… impressive."
Lykkos inclined his head. "I try to make things end quickly."
A pause followed, brief but loaded.
"And the Deathforged?" Fabius asked casually, as though the question were merely procedural.
"They completed their task," Lykkos replied. "The negotiation succeeded."
"So Lady Vorenna claims," Fabius said, eyes flicking briefly to a document before returning to Lykkos.
"She would not make that claim lightly," Lykkos said. "She understands the weight of it."
Fabius leaned back slightly. "You place a great deal of faith in her judgment."
"I do," Lykkos answered without hesitation. "Because she places faith in people when others refuse to."
Fabius's mouth twitched, almost a smile, though it never reached his eyes. "Faith is an expensive currency in wartime."
"Only when it's wasted," Lykkos said. "I don't believe hers is."
The general studied him for a long moment. "You speak as though trust alone wins wars."
"I think it decides which wars need to be fought at all," Lykkos replied.
There it was, subtle but unmistakable, the first tightening of the thread. A thread of tension that always followed these two men's conversations.
"You've always seen things that way," Fabius said. "Ever since you arrived."
Lykkos's brow furrowed slightly. "Since I arrived?"
"Yes," Fabius continued evenly. "Dropped from the Scar in the Heavens without history or lineage, already wielding power most spend lifetimes chasing."
Lykkos's expression remained open, though something quieter settled behind his eyes. "I wasn't born? Is that what you mean to say? Like that makes me different from you?" The pause was all the answer Lykkos needed, "I didn't choose how I came into this world."
"No," Fabius agreed. "But you chose how you walked into ours."
Silence stretched between them, not hostile yet, but no longer comfortable.
"You inspire people," Fabius said at last. "That much is undeniable."
Lykkos smiled faintly. "I hope I do."
"They follow you," the general continued, voice still measured. "They listen when you speak. They hesitate when you disagree."
Lykkos's smile faded just slightly. "Is that a problem?"
"It becomes one," Fabius said, "when inspiration begins to outpace understanding."
Lykkos straightened. He answered passive aggressively with a chuckle, "I don't think hope requires permission."
Fabius's fingers tightened on the edge of his desk. "Hope without caution becomes recklessness."
"And caution without hope becomes paralysis," Lykkos replied, still calm, still gentle.
The tension rose another notch.
"You see good in everyone," Fabius said. "Even our enemies."
"I see the possibility of it," Lykkos corrected. "There's a difference."
"And that difference gets soldiers killed," Fabius snapped, the restraint finally cracking.
Lykkos's eyes sharpened. "What gives you the right to say that?"
The words hung in the air, quiet but firm.
Fabius stood abruptly. "You're just a boy so listen when I speak," he said, voice rising. "The people don't love you, Lykkos, they fear you! They follow because of it. They can't do what you do and yet they believe they are capable and that gets them killed!"
Lykkos did not flinch. "That is their choice. I give them no reason to fear me."
"You dropped out of the Scar in the Heavens for crying out loud," Fabius shot back. "We don't even know where you come from! You may look like an elf but you sure as hell aren't one!"
The room went utterly still.
Lykkos stared at him, not angry, but wounded in a way he rarely allowed himself to feel.
Silence stretched.
"I'm sorry," Fabius said at last, the fight draining from his voice. "That was… out of line."
He exhaled and turned away. "I apologize."
Lykkos nodded slowly. "Thank you."
Neither spoke for a moment.
Then Lykkos asked quietly, "How did the campaign in the Foglands go?"
Before Fabius could answer, a deep rumble echoed outside the chamber, heavy and rhythmic.
The general moved to the window. "It seems your answer has arrived."
Lykkos followed his gaze.
Below, stone roads leading into the capital filled with movement, but not the kind that inspired celebration. Carriages rolled forward slowly, flanked by exhausted soldiers whose armor was cracked, scorched, or missing entirely. Stretchers were stacked within the wagons, blood-soaked cloth barely concealing the forms beneath. Most returned missing a limb, but for the most unfortunate, they had none.
Ten thousand men, wounded or dead.
The sight struck Lykkos harder than any blade could have, his optimism faltering just enough for reality to settle in.
The war against Drakos was far from over.
And even on the morning after victory, the cost was unmistakable.