Khan traveled for five days and three nights, pressing north along the imperial routes. He stopped only when his horse could go no farther, long enough to water it, feed it, and steal brief moments of rest himself before urging it onward again.
Dust clung to his cloak, the rhythm of hooves carving time into the road, until even exhaustion became something distant and dull.
At last, after another full day's ride, the land began to change. Khan Chi arrived at the Yuan Capital just before dusk.
The city rose before him in tiers of stone and vermilion, its towering gates etched with the marks of centuries. Flags snapped in the wind above the walls, their dragon sigils bright against the fading sky.
The capital was alive, just as it had always been, but the sight of it no longer stirred his chest the way it once had.
The guards at the southern gate recognized him instantly.
"Commander Khan," one called, bowing deeply.
Khan Chi inclined his head in return and rode through without a word.
The streets beyond were crowded, voices overlapping, vendors calling out evening wares. Children darted between carts. Lanterns were being lit one by one, casting soft pools of gold over stone roads.
Everything was familiar and yet for Khan, it all now felt distant, as though he were moving through a painted scroll rather than a living city.
At the palace gates, he dismounted and handed the reins to a waiting groom. His sword remained at his side as he passed through the inner courtyards.
He reached the Hall of State just as the court session ended.
The great doors opened, releasing a low murmur of voices and the rustle of official robes. Ministers streamed out in orderly lines, expressions carefully neutral. At their center was Emperor Mao.
He looked older than Khan Chi remembered. Not weaker, but more worn, as though the weight of the throne had settled fully into his bones.
When he saw his eldest son standing at the base of the marble steps, his stride faltered.
"Khan," he said.
Khan Chi dropped to one knee at once.
"Your Majesty."
Emperor Mao's hand shot out, gripping his son's arm before he could kneel fully.
"None of that," he said quietly.
"Quickly stand up."
Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, something unspoken passed between them, but none of it was given a voice.
Emperor Mao released him and gestured toward the inner palace.
"Come," he said.
"Your mother has been waiting."
Empress Su was at the Orchid Pavilion when they arrived, and the moment she saw Khan Chi step through the doorway, she instantly arose.
"My son," she breathed.
She crossed the courtyard with unseemly haste for an empress, gathering him into her arms before he could speak.
Her fingers curled tightly into the fabric of his robes, as if afraid he might disappear again.
"You become thinner," she scolded softly, pulling back to examine his face.
"And you look exhausted. Have you been eating properly? Sleeping?"
"I'm fine, Mother," Khan replied. His voice was steady. Too steady.
She smiled anyway, cupping her eldest son's cheek, eyes shining with relief.
"You're home," she said gently.
"And unharmed. That's all that matters."
As if remembering herself, she straightened and took Khan's arm.
"Come. Walk with me to my residence for a moment. I'll have the kitchens prepare your favorite dishes. Heavens, you've changed so much. You're thinner, yes, but still handsome. Just like your father."
A faint, fleeting laugh escaped Khan's lips at that, light enough to satisfy his mother, but the sound felt distant even to his own ears.
Behind them, Emperor Mao watched his son's expression closely. He said nothing, merely followed in silence, his hands clasped behind his back.
Later that night, as the palace settled into quiet, footsteps echoed in the courtyard.
A familiar voice, bright, and unguarded. Too loud for the quite hour, rings out.
"Khan!"
It was Alhan, he strode in, armor half-unfastened, hair still damp with sweat from his patrol. His grin was wide as he seized Khan Chi by the shoulders, giving him a firm shake.
"You're back! I heard the moment I returned. I thought-" He stopped.
Something in Khan Chi's expression made the words die in his throat.
The smile was there, but it didn't reach his eyes. The familiar spark Alhan had always known, the one that sharpened his brother's gaze and softened his laughter, was... dulled.
As if something vital had been carried away and never returned.
"You look..." Alhan searched for the word, and laughed awkwardly.
"Tired, I guess. You scared us, you know. Mother's been worrying herself sick."
"I know," Khan Chi said.
Alhan studied him in silence for a moment longer, his usual ease giving way to careful thought, and quietly, he asked,
"Did you... find him?"
Khan Chi lifted his gaze to meet his brother's.
For a brief second, something raw flickered across his face, before his lips curved into a bitter smile.
"I'm not sure."
Alhan's breath caught. He nodded once, slowly, as if accepting an answer he hadn't wanted to hear, but had expected.
"...Yeah," he said after a beat, forcing a lighter tone.
"That sounds like you. Always chasing answers that refuse to sit still."
He clapped a hand against Khan Chi's arm, deliberately firm.
"Hey. You should rest. You look like a ghost yourself. If you keep this up, Mother will chain you to your bed and have the physicians camp outside your door."
That earned a faint huff of amusement, from Khan, barely there, but enough.
"Go wash up," Alhan added, grinning again, a little too brightly.
"I'll tell the kitchens not to drown your food in herbs meant for sick old men."
He turned before Khan Chi could respond, waving a hand over his shoulder as he left, giving his elder brother the space he clearly needed.
That night, as the palace lamps dimmed and silence reclaimed the halls, Khan Chi lay awake beneath silk covers that felt heavier than armor.