The road home felt longer than it should have.
For three days, the carriage rolled through quiet fields and pale dawns, wheels crunching against frost and fallen leaves. The silence inside wasn't empty — it was the kind that hummed softly, like a wound learning how to close.
Ray sat at the front beside the driver, gloved hands folded loosely on his lap. He hadn't spoken much since Rosanwald — only gave curt nods, the occasional hum. He wasn't one for words, but he was always watching, always near Zelene's window when the path turned rough.
Inside, Zelene leaned against the carriage wall, gaze half-distant. The world beyond the glass was blurred — soft light on wet grass, streaks of silver mist coiling over the hills. She felt strange inside her own body, as if her heartbeat was echoing from far away.
Every once in a while, Kael's reflection flickered in the window beside her. He was sitting opposite — posture stiff but quiet, eyes unreadable as he absently turned a signet ring on his finger.
Neither of them spoke for a long while. It wasn't silence from discomfort — more like they both understood that words, for now, would only cheapen the stillness.
Finally, Kael said quietly, "Does it still hurt?"
Zelene's fingers tightened on the hem of her sleeve. "No. It just feels… strange. Like the world is quieter now."
He looked up. "Quieter?"
She nodded faintly. "It's as if something that used to whisper in my ear suddenly stopped. I keep expecting to hear it again."
Kael's gaze softened, his voice barely a murmur. "Then maybe silence is mercy."
She smiled — tired, small. "Maybe."
---
At the Gates of Dravenhart
By dusk, the fog thinned. And when they reached the crest of the final hill, the manor finally came into view.
Zelene blinked.
Dravenhart had always loomed dark in her memory — a fortress of shadow, of cold stone and ghostlight. But now, the gates stood open, and the windows glowed with soft amber. Ivy that once blackened had begun to green again. The banners fluttered with color, not ash.
Darius reined the horses to a stop. "We're here, my lord."
Kael didn't move at first. He just stared.
The torches by the gate were lit — not in the eerie red they once burned with, but in gold. The guards stood straighter, their armor polished, eyes bright with something she hadn't seen in Dravenhart before.
Hope.
When the gate opened, the steward and staff waited on the steps. No somber formality, no stiff salutes — just quiet smiles, the kind born of relief.
"Welcome home, my lord," said the steward. Then, bowing lower still, he added softly, "Welcome back, Lady Zelene."
Zelene froze mid-step, startled. "Lady—? No, I—"
Before she could finish, the cook — a broad man she barely recognized — stepped forward holding a basket of flowers.
"For you," he said simply. "The manor feels lighter since you came, milady. We thought you should know."
Before she could protest, laughter rang from the steps as a group of maids approached, carrying a small banner painted hastily with bright ink:
"WELCOME BACK! OUR GUARDIAN RETURNS!"
Zelene, standing near the rear, let out a low chuckle. "Well. Seems your people decided to start a festival without warning."
Kael looked almost dazed, then slowly exhaled a laugh. "I didn't plan this."
The words caught her completely off guard.
Zelene turned to him, eyes narrowing playfully. "You didn't?"
He huffed softly, eyes glinting. "Do I look like I plan surprises?"
Zelene bit back a laugh. "You… really don't."
He looked at her with something like amusement softening his usually unreadable face. "But if I'd known they liked you this much, I'd have prepared myself to be dethroned."
She blinked, half teasing, half flustered. "They like you just as much."
Kael arched a brow. "Zelene, they're literally chanting your name."
Indeed — somewhere near the kitchen balcony, a few staff had started an impromptu cheer:
"Lady Ze-le-ne! Lady Ze-le-ne!"
Darius, whispering, "That's it. We lost our lord to his new queen."
Zelene snorted. "Not the worst outcome."
Kael only shook his head, smiling — not offended, not proud, but genuinely content.
For once, his people's joy didn't need to belong to him. Seeing them laugh again — seeing Zelene's face light up — was more than enough.
---
Inside the Halls
The halls smelled of bread and lavender oil — not incense, not cold steel. Light seeped through every archway, pooling on the floors like warm breath.
Darius walked ahead, giving brief orders to the guards. Ray followed behind, his quiet gaze flicking between shadow and light as if cataloging every change.
He didn't speak, but the faint lift of his brow said enough: This isn't the Dravenhart we left.
Zelene's steps slowed as they reached the great hall.
The murals — once blackened by curse — had been scrubbed clean. The sigils that had once crawled like veins now pulsed faintly gold, Aether's memory glimmering beneath the surface.
"It's beautiful," she whispered.
Kael's voice came softly from behind her. "It was always meant to be."
She turned to him. "You sound… proud."
"Not of the house."
He hesitated, then smiled faintly.
"Of the one who reminded it what light feels like."
Her breath caught — not because of the words, but because of how gently he said them.
---
A Table for Four
Dinner that night was simple — roasted herbs, bread still warm, wine untouched.
No feasts, no speeches. Just the quiet sound of plates and the flicker of firelight.
Darius was the first to break the quiet. "The west wing will need a new foundation. The old stone cracked under the curse's weight."
Kael nodded. "Have it repair."
Ray leaned back, eyes half-lidded. "Dravenhart's quieter now. Strange, hearing nothing whisper in the walls."
Zelene glanced at him, half a smile. "You noticed too."
"Hard not to," he said, tone flat but not unkind. "Stillness feels loud after so long."
Darius smirked. "That's poetic. Didn't think you had it in you."
Ray shot him a look. "Don't get used to it."
Kael chuckled quietly. For a brief, impossible moment, it felt almost normal — like the world had folded them into something gentler.
---
After Dinner
Later, when the others had gone, Kael walked Zelene to her chamber. The corridor was still and golden, the moonlight spilling through tall windows like threads of silk.
Zelene paused by one of them, watching faint motes of Aether shimmer in the glass. "It feels alive," she murmured.
Kael followed her gaze. "It is. You gave it life again."
"I didn't mean to."
"Most miracles don't ask permission."
She laughed softly — the first real laugh since Rosanwald — and Kael's lips twitched, as if fighting one of his own.
He opened the door for her, then hesitated.
"I… wasn't sure you'd ever come back here," he admitted.
She looked at him, her expression softening. "Neither was I."
He nodded, stepped back, and for a moment the light between them felt almost tangible — fragile, flickering, warm.
"Goodnight, Zelene."
"Goodnight, Kael."
When the door closed, the light in the corridor dimmed — not from darkness, but from quiet.