Luna yanked her hand away from Richard's grip and instinctively stepped behind Revan, peeking out with a furrowed brow.

  "What do you mean, future husband? I'm nine!" she protested, her voice sharp.

  Richard raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Your father never told you? Huh. Strange." He offered a smug smile. "Well, I guess you know now."

  Luna's scowl deepened.

  Richard turned his gaze to Revan, barely giving Luna a second glance. "As the heir of House Gildarion," he said with a practiced air of nobility, "I thank you for protecting the future queen of Durnhold."

  Revan hesitated, unsure how to respond to any of this. "It was… my pleasure," he said politely, though his brows furrowed slightly.

  "I'll take care of things here, my prince," Darian stepped in smoothly. "You may return to the camp."

  Richard gave a small, royal nod. "Bring the carriage."

  "At once." Darian turned and whistled sharply through his fingers.

  Moments later, an ornate carriage pulled by two pristine white horses rolled into view. Golden trim glinted in the sunlight, the Gildarion crest emblazoned on the side. The coachman hopped down and opened the door with a deep bow.

  "Princess," Richard said, gesturing to the open door as if expecting obedience.

  Luna hesitated. "I think I'll stay with Revan," she mumbled, half behind him again.

  Richard's smile didn't budge. "You've been through so much. You need comfort. And protection." He glanced pointedly at Revan. "Proper protection."

  "I'm fine," Luna muttered, frowning.

  Revan leaned down toward her. "It's okay. We'll be home soon," he whispered gently.

  After a reluctant sigh, Luna stepped toward the carriage. Revan walked beside her, but just as he reached the steps, Richard's hand suddenly landed on his chest, stopping him.

  "You can take my horse," Richard said, tone clipped and final—like an order, not an offer.

  Before Revan could reply, Richard stepped into the carriage and pulled the door shut behind him.

  The coachman returned to his seat, snapped the reins, and the carriage rolled forward, carrying Richard and Luna away.

  The carriage rolled steadily away from the ruined base, flanked on each side by a squad of ten soldiers. Their armor gleamed under the sun, marching in perfect formation.

  Revan approached one of the horses that had been left behind, gently stroking its neck before climbing into the saddle with practiced ease.

  "I'll take my leave now, Lord Darian," Revan said, nodding politely.

  "Have a safe journey, young lord," Darian replied with a warm smile.

  Revan urged the horse forward, following the carriage at a steady pace from behind. As he rode, his eyes drifted upward toward the clear sky. The clouds moved lazily across the blue, calm and unbothered by the chaos that had unfolded just hours earlier.

  His thoughts drifted—back to the way Oliver had wielded raw Etherea, striking down Lord Cervarin with a single blow.

  'It's possible for me to become strong.'

  A small smile tugged at Revan's lips.

  Then, a thought crossed his mind—sharp and sudden. His brow furrowed.

  'Now that I think about it… who even is Oliver? And why does Aunt Vanya hate him so much?'

  He frowned deeper, replaying the exchange between them. There was history there—tense and complicated.

  After a moment, he let out a long sigh, then laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in the saddle.

  "I'll just ask Father when I get home," he muttered to himself, half in defeat, half in curiosity.

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  Meanwhile inside the carriage. The interior was lined with velvet cushions and polished wood, softly rocking with every turn of the wheels.

  The gentle sway of the carriage made the silence inside feel heavier.

  Luna sat with her knees tucked up on the plush seat, her chin resting on her arms as she leaned against the small window. Her eyes hadn't left the rear view—the boy on horseback, following them at a quiet distance. Revan. The way he sat in the saddle, the wind catching his dark hair, the way he looked up at the sky every now and then… made something stir in her chest.

  She didn't understand it.

  But it was warm. Quiet. Like safety.

  Across from her, Richard had been watching her for a while.

  "Why isn't he riding with us?" Luna asked, still watching Revan through the glass.

  Richard leaned back slightly. "Because I didn't invite him," he said simply, as if that explained everything.

  Luna blinked and turned toward him. "What?"

  "My father told me I should spend time with the future queen," Richard said with a faint smile. "So. That's what we're doing."

  Luna raised an eyebrow. "My father never told me anything about that."

  Richard shrugged. "Well… now you know."

  Luna blinked, then looked away, her lips pressing into a thin line.

  Richard tilted his head slightly. "You seem really focused on him."

  Luna flinched. Just a little. "He's my friend."

  "Hm." Richard's tone turned casual, but there was something sharp behind it. "What do you think of him?"

  Luna didn't answer right away. Her eyes drifted back to the window, where Revan still rode behind the carriage. He was adjusting the reins, his posture steady, his expression calm—like he belonged out there, with the wind and the sky.

  "He's… brave," she said softly. "Kind. Strong. Smarter than he lets on." A small smile crept across her lips before she could stop it.

  Richard scoffed lightly. "He's not that strong, you know."

  Luna turned toward him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

  Richard's grin widened with satisfaction. "Oh. So you don't know."

  "Don't know what?"

  "He's not even an Etherean," Richard said, smugness clear in his voice.

  Luna's eyes widened in quiet surprise. Her thoughts flashed back—Revan shielding her in the garden, kept trying to save her even after being knocked down. She slowly turned and sat properly across from Richard, her gaze dropping to her hands.

  "…Yet he still tried to protect me," she murmured, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. There was something warm about that—something real.

  Richard's smile faltered slightly, though he quickly tried to recover. "He's just playing hero."

  Luna looked up at him. Her voice stayed calm, but firm.

  "That's what my father always says," Richard continued, straightening his collar. "The weak pretend to be heroes so they can feel strong."

  Luna didn't respond. She simply stared at him for a moment, then turned back to the window, her expression unreadable.

  But inside… something about Richard's words didn't sit right with her.

  Silence fell between them, thick and awkward. Richard opened his mouth to say something else, but paused.

  His eyes wandered to Luna again. The way the sunlight hit her hair, how quiet she'd become. There was something about her now that made him lose his words.

  "You… you look prettier than most girls our age," he blurted suddenly.

  "Hmm?" Luna glanced over her shoulder, not quite catching it.

  "N-nothing," Richard said quickly, turning his face toward the opposite window. He suddenly looked more confused than proud, like even he didn't know why he'd said it.

  Luna gave him a strange look, then shook her head and returned her gaze to the trees outside. Leaves rustled past, and birds flew in the distance. The world beyond the glass felt quieter than the world inside.

  They rode in silence for a long while—until a soft knock tapped against the side of the carriage, signaling their arrival.

  The coachman's voice came from outside as he dismounted. A moment later, the carriage door swung open, letting in sunlight and fresh air.

  At the top of the hill ahead stood a grand tent, its banners flapping in the breeze.

  Richard stepped out first, then turned and offered a hand toward Luna.

  But she ignored it, gripping the carriage door herself, lifting the hem of her dress slightly as she stepped down with practiced grace.

  As Luna stepped down from the carriage, her gaze drifted toward the rear—where Revan was already off his horse, gently running a hand along the animal's neck. There was a quiet calm in the way he moved, as if nothing could shake him.

  She lingered without realizing it, her eyes drawn to him.

  Then Revan looked up and noticed her watching.

  He smiled—soft, warm, effortless.

  Luna quickly looked away, but not before a faint blush crept across her cheeks.

  'What was that?' Revan blinked, trying to make sense of the moment.

  He shook the thought from his head and started walking toward Luna and Richard, raising a hand in greeting.

  But before he could say a word—

  Someone was hurled from the grand tent.

  A massive hand—formed entirely of molten lava—had flung the man like a ragdoll, his body trailing black smoke as it crashed across the ground.

  Instinctively, Revan stepped in front of Luna, pulling her behind him. His arm rose in a protective stance, Etherea flaring to life across his body in a white-silver aura.

  "Behave yourselves," Richard said coldly, barely glancing at the chaos as he addressed Revan and Luna.

  The tent flap burst open.

  A towering figure stepped into the sunlight, nearing forty, his presence commanding and unmistakably noble. Broad-shouldered and muscular, his powerful frame was wrapped in richly tailored garments bearing the golden crest of House Gildarion.

  Fiery red hair crowned his head, swept back in thick waves, and a matching beard framed a strong, square jaw. Atop his brow sat a golden crown, ornately forged and adorned with gleaming rubies that caught the light like flame.

  But it was his eyes that struck like lightning—burning with the color of molten lava, alive with heat and fury. Each step he took radiated strength and authority, the kind that silenced rooms and bent lesser wills.

  Both of his arms blazed with flowing lava, dripping onto the scorched earth below, steam rising from every step.

  "Get me back my Ether Stones—now!" he roared, his voice like thunder rumbling through molten rock.