The journey back to River's End was a victory lap and filled with relaxed shoulders.
With their accounts full of Credits and spirits high, the Iron Swords tore down the old beaten road. The sun dipped beyond the horizon, casting long shadows across the plains.
Regius rode at the rear. His matte-black cycle hummed smoothly, syncing with his pulse. A phantom heat lingered in his left wrist.
He remembered the throbbing ache beneath his black gloves in Aurus City—the residual cost of channeling two of his summons simultaneously. His energy reserves were almost full due to his Soul Palace churning out energy with terrifying efficiency. But the strain of holding two summons in his mind at once had left him feeling a little stretched, just one of the aspects he needed to train and improve over time.
"River's End in sight!" Milo shouted over the comms. "I can smell Sarra's cooking from here!"
"You're smelling your own desperation, Milo," Vera laughed.
The town of River's End appeared around the bend. It was a sprawling collection of houses and stores nestled in the crook of large river. There were no shields or defense turrets here, only basic walls and the grit of the rurals.
Milo ditched his cycle. He skid it to a halt in front of a modest two-story house with a bright blue door and a freshly-cut garden. Before the engine had spun down, he was off the seat, sprinting up the path.
"Honey! Tavus! The conquering heroes has returned!"
The blue door flew open. A woman with flour on her apron and hair the color of autumn leaves stepped out.
"Dear!"
He caught her in a spin, lifting her off her feet while she laughed and swatted at his dusty clothing.
"You're late," she scolded, though she kissed his cheek. "Two days late. I thought the monsters ate you."
"A horde of insect monsters tried!" Milo set her down. "But we made quick work on them."
A skinny boy of fourteen—nearly fifteen—pushed past them; Tavus. He had his father's messy hair and his mother's gentle eyes, but he carried himself with the awkward, vibrating energy of a teenager desperate to prove he was grown.
"Did you get it?" He bounced on his heels.
"Get what?" Kael asked, stepping off his cycle and removing his helmet. "We only brought back dirty laundry, kid."
Tavus's face fell for a second before Olin chuckled, tapping the strapped bag on Milo's bike.
"Ignore the brute, Tavus. We brought gifts."
Regius dismounted last. Ensuring his gloves were secure, he watched the reunion with a heavy longing. This wasn't his world. His was filled with ornate halls, whispered conspiracies, brutal politics, and cold starlight.
This warmth, this noise... it was something he was still getting used to even after two years.
"Young Lord Regius!" Sarra noticed him, wiping her hands on her apron and dipping into a curtsy. "I didn't know you were—I mean, the guest room isn't cleaned properly!"
"Sarra, please. If you call me that title in your own home again, I'll have to sleep in the shed."
She laughed. "Well, I do not advise that! The shed is full of my husband's junk, so the guest room it is. Come in! All of you. Don't you dare leave those muddy boots on my carpet!"
The "invasion," as Vera called it, was swift and chaotic.
Milo's house was not built to contain five armored hunters, but they made it fit. Kael claimed the sofa in the living room, looking like a boulder that had decided to take a nap. Olin took over the kitchen table, organizing his scrolls. Regius stood by the window, his arms crossed and his eyes squinted.
He scanned the street. He checked the sightlines from the neighbor's roof. He calculated the structural integrity of the front door.
"Boss."
Regius turned. Vera was standing there, blocking his view of the window. She held out her arms and put her hands on his shoulders.
"The battles are in the borders," she said. "Don't bring it into this home."
Regius blinked. "I'm just checking the—"
"They're fine," she physically steered him towards the dining table. "Sit down. Eat a bread roll or something. That's an order from your elder, young man."
Regius looked at her. "Alright… alright."
He allowed himself to be manhandled into a chair.
Regius sat, took a bread roll, and for the first time in a long while, he stopped analyzing his surroundings.
———
The next afternoon, a part of the backyard became a training ground.
Regius stood in the center of the dusty sandlot behind the house. The sun was high, baking the ground. He had shed his tunic for a light linen shirt, his gloved hands resting casually at his side.
Across from him, Tavus held a steel, yet dull practice sword. The boy was sweating, his face hardened to a grimace of concentration.
"Again," Regius said.
Tavus lunged. It was a clumsy strike, telegraphed by his shoulders and eyes.
Regius stepped to the left, caught the boy's wrist, and tapped him on the ribs with two fingers.
"Dead."
Tavus groaned, lowering the sword. "I'm too slow. How can I be faster?"
"Speed is useful. But anticipation is also important. Don't just look at my hands. Look at my eyes. My eyes will tell you where I'm going before my feet do."
He ran the boy through the drills for another hour. Basic footwork. Momentum. Breathing cycles. Regius enjoyed the simplicity of it. There were no assassins here. Just spending the time under the heat of the sun.
A palm slapped Tavus's back.
"Ouch! Could you at least hold back more?" Tavus argued, rubbing his back.
"It's to teach you to respect your elders more."
"Elders? You're only three years older than me!"
Regius laughed. "Still older than you."
They took a break in the shade of the backyard porch. Sarra came out a minute earlier, bringing out a pitcher of lemon-infused water. Tavus chugged the water from his mug, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.