The coalition army marched back to Eredor over three days.
Kaelen rode near the front with the other "heroes"—a term that made him increasingly uncomfortable. People stared at him now. Whispered. He could hear them even from distance, his transformed senses picking up conversations that should have been private.
"—that's him, the one who merged with the blade—"
"—heard he's more weapon than man now—"
"—saved us all, but at what cost—"
"—wouldn't want to face him in combat—"
"—or in anything else, honestly, he's unsettling—"
Lia rode beside him, pointedly ignoring the whispers. But Kaelen could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she positioned her horse between him and the most obvious gawkers.
Protecting him. Or protecting them from him. Hard to tell which.
"You okay?" she asked during a rest stop.
"Fine," Kaelen lied.
"You've been quiet."
"Just tired."
Another lie. He wasn't tired—his transformed body didn't tire the way it used to. He could ride for days without rest, fight for hours without exhaustion. It was convenient and deeply wrong.
Lia studied him with those perceptive eyes that missed nothing. "We should talk. Actually talk. About what's changing."
"Later," Kaelen said. "After we're back. After things settle."
"Things aren't going to settle," Lia said quietly. "They're going to get more complicated. You know that, right?"
She was right. But Kaelen wasn't ready for that conversation. Wasn't ready to admit out loud that he was losing pieces of himself daily.
"Later," he repeated firmly.
Lia sighed but dropped it. For now.
---
Eredor greeted them with celebration.
The gates opened to reveal crowds lining the streets, cheering and throwing flowers. Banners proclaimed victory. Musicians played triumphant marches. It was excessive and overwhelming and exactly what Kaelen didn't want.
"They're happy we didn't die," Ronan observed, riding on Kaelen's other side. "Try to appreciate that instead of dreading it."
"I'm trying," Kaelen said.
"Try harder. You've got to at least wave. It's traditional."
Kaelen forced a smile and waved. The crowd's cheering intensified. Someone shouted "Shadow's Champion!" and the title spread through the crowd like wildfire.
"I hate that," Kaelen muttered.
"Get used to it," Ronan replied. "You're famous now. Did the impossible, saved the world, became something unprecedented. People need heroes. You're stuck being one."
"I didn't do it to be a hero."
"Nobody does. But you get the title anyway." Ronan waved to the crowd with practiced ease. "Just smile and wave. The actual work comes after the parades."
The procession wound through the city to the palace, where Princess Isabella waited on the steps with her full court. Formal reception, complete with honors and titles and all the bureaucratic recognition of achievement.
Kaelen endured it with gritted teeth.
"Kaelen Voss," Isabella announced formally. "For extraordinary service to the crown and prevention of catastrophic convergence, I hereby grant you the title of Royal Protector, with all attendant honors and responsibilities."
Royal Protector. That meant permanent employment, significant authority, and being called to every major threat that emerged.
It meant never being normal again.
"I accept," Kaelen said, because refusing in front of thousands of witnesses would be politically disastrous.
Isabella smiled—knowing exactly what she'd done, how she'd trapped him with honors and obligation.
"Lia Thorne," Isabella continued. "For exceptional service and development of unprecedented magical techniques, I grant you the title of Royal Researcher, with access to crown archives and resources."
Lia accepted more gracefully than Kaelen had. She probably actually wanted the archive access.
The ceremony continued—honors for Ronan, Valdris, Yuki, Elena. Posthumous medals for the fallen. Political theater that Kaelen's transformed mind recognized as necessary but couldn't genuinely appreciate.
When it finally ended, Isabella dismissed the crowd but held back Kaelen and Lia.
"Private meeting," she said. "My office. One hour. We need to discuss your... changes."
Not a request. Never a request with Isabella.
---
They had an hour to kill. Kaelen and Lia retreated to the guest quarters Isabella had assigned them—separate rooms, Kaelen noticed. Not the shared accommodation they'd been using.
"Political propriety," Lia explained, catching his look. "Royal Protectors and Royal Researchers aren't supposed to be sleeping together. Bad optics."
"Since when do we care about optics?"
"Since we accepted titles that come with expectations." Lia sat on her assigned bed with visible frustration. "Welcome to being important. Your private life becomes public concern."
"That's ridiculous."
"That's politics." Lia studied him carefully. "Are you okay? You've been... off... since the transformation."
"Define off," Kaelen said.
"Distant. Detached. Like you're here but not quite present. And don't say you're fine—I can see you're not fine."
The conversation Kaelen had been avoiding. But Lia deserved honesty.
"I'm changing," he admitted. "Not just physically. The way I think, the way I feel. Everything's becoming... filtered. Distant. Like I'm experiencing life through a barrier."
"The blade's influence," Lia said.
"More than influence. Integration. I merged with Soulrender completely. That has consequences beyond what we anticipated." Kaelen looked at his shadow-marked hands. "I'm becoming something that isn't quite human. And I don't know how to stop it. Or if it can be stopped."
Lia was quiet for a long moment. "How bad is it? The distance?"
"Bad enough that I notice. Not bad enough that I can't function. But getting worse." He forced himself to meet her eyes. "I felt almost nothing at the funeral. Knew I should be sad, understood intellectually that I'd lost teammates, but couldn't access genuine grief. That's not normal, Lia."
"No," she agreed quietly. "It's not."
"And with us..." Kaelen struggled to articulate what he was experiencing. "I still care about you. Still want to be with you. But it feels different than before. More abstract. Like I'm going through motions of a relationship instead of genuinely feeling it."
The words hurt to say. Hurt worse seeing Lia's expression—pain quickly masked, but visible for a moment.
"I see," she said carefully. "So what do you want to do? End things now before it gets worse?"
"I don't know," Kaelen admitted. "Part of me wants to hold on, try to preserve what we have. Part of me thinks that's selfish—keeping you in a relationship with someone who's slowly losing capacity to properly reciprocate."
"Don't I get a say in this?" Lia asked, an edge to her voice. "You're making decisions about our relationship based on how you think I'll feel. But you haven't actually asked me what I want."
"What do you want?"
"I want you," Lia said simply. "Changed, transformed, emotionally distant—I still want you. I didn't fall in love with you because you were perfectly normal. I fell in love with you because you were willing to sacrifice everything for what's right. That hasn't changed."
"But I have changed," Kaelen protested. "I'm becoming something that might not be capable of the relationship you deserve."
"Then we adapt," Lia said firmly. "We figure out what our relationship looks like with your new nature. Maybe it looks different than before. Maybe it's less emotionally intense from your side. But that doesn't mean it's worthless."
"You deserve someone who can feel properly," Kaelen said.
"I deserve someone who's honest with me and tries," Lia countered. "Which you are. Stop deciding what I deserve and let me make my own choices."
She had a point. But Kaelen couldn't shake the feeling that he was being selfish, holding onto a relationship he might not be capable of sustaining.
"We'll try," he said finally. "But Lia—if it becomes clear that I'm too far gone, that I can't give you what you need—"
"Then we'll deal with it then," Lia interrupted. "Stop catastrophizing. We're both changed. We'll figure out what that means together. Like I promised."
Before Kaelen could respond, a servant knocked on the door. "The Princess is ready for you."
Time was up. Conversation tabled but not resolved.
They headed to Isabella's office, both carrying unspoken doubts neither wanted to articulate.
---
Isabella's office was surprisingly simple—functional desk, tactical maps, minimal decoration. The office of someone who actually worked rather than posed.
She gestured them to seats. "Let's be direct. Your transformations are concerning. Kaelen, you've merged with a Forbidden Blade at cellular level. Lia, your echo-scars are permanent and affecting your magic fundamentally. Neither of you is what you were a month ago."
"We know," Kaelen said.
"Do you know the implications?" Isabella asked. "You're unprecedented. No historical records of successful Blade integration. No documented cases of permanent echo-scar survival. You're both walking into unknown territory."
"What's your point?" Lia asked.
"My point is that I need to know whether you're assets or threats," Isabella said bluntly. "Can you maintain control? Or will your changes eventually make you dangerous to the people you're supposed to protect?"
"I'm in control," Kaelen said.
"For now. But you're still changing. What about in six months? A year? When does the weapon overwhelm the wielder completely?"
"I don't know," Kaelen admitted. "But I'm aware of the risk. If I start losing control, I'll remove myself from situations where I could hurt people."
"Will you?" Isabella challenged. "Or will the corrupted part of you rationalize staying, convincing yourself you're still fine until it's too late?"
Uncomfortable question. But fair.
"I'll monitor him," Lia said. "Regular evaluations, corruption checks, behavioral assessments. If he starts slipping, I'll know before he does."
"And if you're compromised too?" Isabella asked. "Your echo-scars affect your judgment. How can you reliably assess him when you're dealing with your own transformation?"
"Then we bring in third parties," Lia said. "Mage Karsten, Ronan, you. Regular check-ins with people who can be objective."
Isabella considered this. "Acceptable. But understand—if either of you shows signs of genuine instability, I will act. Titles won't protect you. Heroic deeds won't save you. I will neutralize threats regardless of past service."
"Understood," Kaelen said.
"Good." Isabella's expression softened slightly. "I don't want to threaten you. You saved the world. You're genuinely trying to do good. But I'd be failing my responsibilities if I didn't acknowledge the risks. You're powerful, changed, and potentially unstable. That requires management."
"What kind of management?" Lia asked warily.
"Regular monitoring. Controlled deployment. Careful mission selection that doesn't put you in situations likely to accelerate corruption." Isabella pulled out a file. "I've already assigned handlers. Ronan for Kaelen, Mage Karsten for Lia. They'll provide oversight and report any concerns directly to me."
"We're being babysat," Kaelen observed.
"You're being supervised," Isabella corrected. "There's a difference. You still have autonomy, authority, freedom of movement. You just don't have complete freedom from accountability."
"And if we refuse?" Kaelen asked.
"Then you're too dangerous to employ and I have you arrested," Isabella said flatly. "Those are your options. Accept reasonable supervision or face imprisonment. Choose."
Not really a choice. But that was Isabella's way—make the only viable option look like voluntary cooperation.
"We accept," Lia said before Kaelen could argue.
"Excellent." Isabella filed the paperwork with evident satisfaction. "You're dismissed. Get some rest. Real rest, not the stress-driven collapse you've been sustaining on. Starting tomorrow, we begin proper integration and management protocols."
They left her office in frustrated silence.
"We're prisoners," Kaelen said once they were clear of eavesdropping.
"We're managed assets," Lia corrected. "There's a difference. We still have more freedom than most people. We're just accountable."
"I don't like it."
"Neither do I. But Isabella's not wrong about the risks. We are dangerous. Having oversight isn't unreasonable." Lia paused. "And honestly? Having external monitoring might help. Keep us honest when we can't be objective about ourselves."
She was right. But Kaelen still hated it.
They returned to their separate quarters. The political propriety that kept them apart feeling more like enforced distance than mere appearance management.
"Tomorrow," Lia said at her door. "We start figuring out what comes next. But tonight, just rest. Actually rest. Can you do that?"
"I'll try," Kaelen promised.
Lia kissed him—brief, chaste, appropriate for the palace corridor—and disappeared into her room.
Kaelen entered his own quarters and found them empty, sterile, designed for function rather than comfort.
He sat on the bed and tried to feel something about the day's events.
Found only distant acknowledgment and strategic analysis.
The distance was growing faster than he'd admitted to Lia.
And he had no idea how to stop it.
Or if he even wanted to anymore.