The gravel crunched under Kyle's boots as he stepped into the familiar stretch of dirt road that led into the village.
The sun, mellow and golden, cast long shadows over the wooden fences and shingled rooftops. A breeze carried the scent of fresh hay, warm soil, and cooking stew.
For the first time in what felt like ages, he wasn't dragging behind him the weight of war, politics, or divine interference. He was simply… home.
"Young Lord!"
The voice rang out, cheerful and relieved. A group of children bolted from the side of a well, their wooden practice swords clattering behind them as they sprinted straight for Kyle.
Before he could brace himself, the first collided into his leg, wrapping stubby arms around him, followed by another, then another. He staggered slightly but remained standing.
"Young Lord's really back!"
"He looks even cooler than before!"
"I heard he fought a god and won!"
