Rain came without warning.

  Less than an hour after leaving the village, Leroy and Starmist found shelter beneath an apple tree whose age rivaled memory itself. Its trunk bore scars long healed, wounds carved by steel and fire during a war the land still remembered even when its people chose not to.

  A ring of weathered wood circled the tree, once fashioned as a resting place for soldiers. Time had worn its edges smooth, yet it remained sturdy enough to keep them from the mud below.

  Leroy stood beneath the tangled branches, watching rain thread through the leaves like falling silver.

  “We could fly higher and avoid this,” he said.

  Starmist sat curled against the trunk, unmoved by the suggestion.

  “No,” she replied softly. “I like the scent of wet dirt.”

  Leroy chuckled and lowered himself beside her.

  “Then perhaps we rest,” he said, glancing at the heavy sky. “At this pace, the storm may not pass until dawn.”

  The night deepened around them. Rain drummed against leaves and bark, merging with the chorus of frogs hidden in unseen pools. Darkness thickened until distance vanished, the world reduced to sound and breath.

  “When you spoke of wandering again like we did in our youth,” Leroy murmured, stretching his legs and pulling his beret over his face, “I did not expect nostalgia to arrive so quickly.”

  “Are you falling asleep?” Starmist asked.

  “Forgive me,” Leroy said, voice fading into drowsiness. "Commonfolk soul still lingers somewhere inside me.”

  A faint smile touched her lips.

  She watched the rain long after his breathing settled into sleep, azure eyes reflecting the quiet melancholy of falling water. The storm did not feel like interruption. It felt like memory made tangible.

  Morning arrived gently.

  A pale strand of sunlight slipped through the canopy, brushing dew from leaves. Birds announced the day with unrestrained song while a drop of lingering moisture slid from a branch and struck Leroy’s exposed ear.

  He stirred with a quiet groan, rubbing his eyes.

  “Morning, Starmist.”

  No answer came.

  She remained seated beside him, body turned toward his, a serene smile resting upon her sleeping face.

  “Even in sleep you smile,” Leroy murmured. “I wonder if you ever feeling sad.”

  The Green Wraith watched her in silence, allowing the moment to stretch without urgency. Birdsong filled the air between them, a gentle companion to waiting.

  Boredom arrived before impatience.

  Rather than wake her, Leroy withdrew his notes from his coat and began reviewing them. Observations from their journey. Fragments of thought. Questions without immediate answers. He crossed out lines, rewrote others, shaping reflection into something more deliberate.

  Thirty five minutes passed.

  Starmist awakened without stirring the air, as though consciousness returned to her with practiced grace.

  “Oh,” she said softly. “You are already awake.”

  “Yes. A drop of water made the decision for me,” Leroy replied.

  “You could have woken me.”

  “I have been awake only five minutes,” he said, slipping the notebook back into his pocket as he rose. “No harm done.”

  He stretched, gaze turning toward the horizon where sunlight now threaded through distant hills.

  “So,” he asked, “where to next?”

  Starmist unfolded a small map from within her pale blue mantle, its creases worn from years of use.

  “We should find breakfast first,” she said. “There is another village ten minutes from here by flight.”

  The map fluttered lightly in the morning breeze, its faded ink marking paths both familiar and forgotten, while the ancient apple tree stood behind them as silent witness to yet another departure in a world that never truly stopped moving.

  A sudden shout fractured the quiet morning.

  Both councilors turned at once.

  A goat herder stood at the edge of the clearing, staff trembling in his grip while his animals scattered around him in restless confusion. His mouth hung open, eyes wide with disbelief as he stared at the two figures beneath the ancient tree.

  For a moment he could not move.

  Leroy approached slowly, careful not to deepen the man’s alarm.

  “Good morning,” he said gently, pointing toward the eastern hills. “Is there a village in that direction?”

  The old shepherd did not answer. Words seemed caught somewhere between awe and fear. Starmist stepped beside Leroy, her presence quiet but reassuring.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  The man swallowed, voice barely steady.

  “No… no, this cannot be.” His gaze flickered between them. “Chairman Leroy… Lady Starmist… what are council doing in a place like this?”

  Leroy offered a small smile, one meant to dissolve distance rather than assert authority.

  “We are traveling,” he said.

  The shepherd’s tension eased in fragments. Conversation followed, simple and unguarded once the weight of their titles faded into something human. Before long, the man reached into his satchel and produced what little he carried for the day.

  Dried salted meat. A flask of lemon water.

  “An offering,” he said, pressing the bundle into their hands with shy insistence. “Please accept it.”

  Then, almost as an afterthought, he asked for their signatures. A keepsake for the child waiting at home, proof that the extraordinary had brushed against an ordinary life.

  Leroy obliged with quiet patience. Starmist followed, her handwriting elegant even upon rough parchment.

  The shepherd’s face brightened as though morning itself had settled there.

  Not wishing to linger or intrude further, he shook their hands and departed, returning to his herd with renewed energy while goats clustered around him like drifting clouds.

  Leroy watched him go, weighing the small parcel in his hand.

  “It seems our village breakfast has been replaced,” he murmured.

  They returned to their place beneath the apple tree, sharing the modest meal in silence. The food carried no refinement, yet its sincerity lingered longer than flavor.

  When the last bite was gone, Leroy brushed crumbs from his coat and rose.

  Without further delay, they stepped beyond the shade of the tree and lifted into the open sky once more, continuing their journey toward whatever waited beyond the horizon.

  They reached the Kingdom of Majaman by late afternoon.

  From above, the realm appeared ambitious yet unfinished. Expanding districts pressed against older stone quarters, as if the city itself strained toward a future it had not yet earned. Majaman had petitioned the Silver Chair more than once, each request denied with measured formality. The reason remained unchanged. Its king desired council status with fervor bordering obsession, while the kingdom’s prosperity and stability lagged far behind the standards required.

  Leroy and Starmist entered the palace without ceremony.

  The moment they stepped into the altar hall, chaos followed.

  King Chirin rose from his throne with startling urgency, robes trailing behind him as he rushed forward. Before either councilor could speak, he collapsed at their feet in a full prostration, his crown tumbling across the marble floor with a hollow clang.

  “An honor beyond words,” he declared, voice trembling with reverence. “Chairman Leroy, mighty as legend, and Lady Starmist, embodiment of grace. My kingdom is blessed beyond measure.”

  Leroy and Starmist exchanged a brief glance.

  “Your Majesty,” Leroy said, attempting composure, “please rise.”

  Chirin did not move.

  Leroy bent to lift him, but the king clung stubbornly to the stone as though anchored by devotion itself.

  “I have awaited this moment my entire life,” Chirin said, tears gathering without restraint. “I am grateful fate allowed me to witness such glory before death comes to me.”

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  The declaration dissolved into something even stranger as he embraced Leroy’s leg with desperate gratitude.

  “Your Majesty,” Leroy said quietly, glancing toward the watching courtiers, “all eyes are upon us.”

  Chirin only wept harder.

  The scene unfolded with an intensity neither councilor had anticipated. Emotion overwhelmed protocol. Reverence blurred into spectacle. When the king finally raised his face, it shone with childlike admiration.

  “Chairman Leroy,” he said, voice thick with emotion, “you are as they say. Noble, a leader forged by destiny.”

  His gaze shifted to Starmist.

  “And Lady Starmist… your elegance surpasses rumor. The Pearl of the Universe has graced my hall.”

  Moments later, two princes hurried forward, gently lifting their father away from Leroy with practiced embarrassment. Apologies followed in hushed urgency as they guided the emotional monarch back toward his seat.

  Starmist covered her mouth, laughter escaping in a soft ripple she could not entirely suppress.

  Chirin, now seated once more upon his throne, struggled to steady his breathing. When calm finally returned, Leroy and Starmist approached.

  “Your Majesty,” Leroy said, “forgive our sudden arrival. We wished only to observe your kingdom more closely. If our visit is inconvenient, we can return another time.”

  “No,” Chirin replied quickly, shaking his head. “Please forgive my earlier reaction. You are welcome here at any time. Majaman stands honored by your presence.”

  His voice still carried traces of reverence, but beneath it lingered something more complicated. Hope sharpened by longing. Ambition dressed in humility. A hunger not merely to be seen, but to be acknowledged as worthy of standing among powers that shaped the fate of the All Realm.

  They were led into the palace gardens, where trimmed hedges and shallow fountains attempted to create an illusion of effortless prosperity. Beneath the ordered beauty lingered a quiet strain, as if the kingdom’s ambition pressed even into its soil.

  As they walked, Leroy returned to the question he had asked in every realm thus far.

  “Tell me,” he said, “what of superhumans in your territory?”

  King Chirin clasped his hands behind his back, eager to answer.

  “Our lands lie near the Cristaliane Isles, the Peninsula of Hope,” he explained. “The region is guarded by Aqualord of the Regal Vanguard and an Elementalist. He seldom interacts with our people, choosing instead to protect his own domain. Yet his presence alone discourages trouble.”

  “So you face no superhuman disturbances?” Leroy asked.

  Chirin shook his head.

  Leroy slowed his steps and turned toward him.

  “You are certain of this?”

  “I would never lie to Chairman Leroy,” Chirin replied quickly.

  Starmist gently touched Leroy’s arm, drawing him back with a subtle gesture that spoke without words. Whatever the king’s eccentricities, he was not deceiving them.

  “Aqualord equal to Susanoo,” Chirin continued. “We have no cause for concern.”

  “I understand,” Leroy said.

  Before the conversation could end, Chirin summoned his children.

  Two princes and three princesses appeared with surprising readiness, dressed in formal attire as though they had anticipated the moment long before the councilors’ arrival.

  “Lady Starmist,” Chirin said with visible pride, “allow me to present my sons and daughters.”

  She greeted them with a gentle smile. The eldest prince nearly lost his composure when their hands met, color draining from his face as if overwhelmed by proximity to legend.

  “I would value your opinion of them,” Chirin added.

  Starmist considered the young royals for a moment while Leroy continued jotting observations into his notebook, his attention divided between diplomacy and quiet analysis.

  “You have raised strong children, Your Majesty,” she said at last. “They will carry your name with honor.”

  Chirin hesitated, wiping perspiration from his brow before speaking again.

  “Lady Starmist,” he began carefully, “I have heard that your brother, wise Lord Star, has three children. Might you convey a proposal of union between our houses?”

  The tip of Leroy’s pencil snapped.

  He paused, gaze lifting from the page.

  Starmist only laughed softly, her response calm rather than offended.

  “Your Majesty, you are most generous in your praise. I am certain—”

  Chirin stepped toward his eldest son, breath quickening, eyelids twitching with restless excitement.

  “They are exceptional, are they not?” he pressed. “Or perhaps… perhaps the greater honor would be if Lady Starmist herself were to—”

  Leroy moved forward, his voice cutting through the moment with quiet firmness.

  “Do not misunderstand, Your Majesty. Lady Starmist is here for discourse, not negotiation of marriage.”

  Chirin recoiled as though struck by his own misjudgment. He dropped once more to his knees, apology spilling from him with frantic sincerity.

  Leroy did not attempt to raise him this time.

  Instead, he offered brief thanks to the royal children and turned toward the exit without further ceremony.

  “Starmist,” he said, voice restrained, “we have hear enough.”

  She followed soon after, offering polite farewells before hurrying through the palace corridors to catch him.

  “Hey,” she said as they walked side by side through the hall, “why such severity?”

  Leroy opened his notebook, revealing annotations layered over earlier observations.

  “The kingdom has no superhuman conflict,” he said. “That much is true. But the king himself is the problem.”

  He turned a page.

  “Unus Bank records indicate Majaman pays tribute at three times its assessed obligation. He burdens his people to accumulate wealth, hoping that high tribute might purchase him a seat among the Silver Chair.”

  Starmist listened in silence.

  “The marriage proposal was desperation,” Leroy continued.

  Understanding settled across her expression, though she offered no immediate reply. Leroy’s demeanor had shifted, the warmth of earlier conversations replaced by a colder, more analytical resolve.

  They stepped beyond the palace walls and ascended into open sky, leaving Majaman behind as twilight gathered over its restless towers.

  “I thought you knew little of this kingdom,” Starmist said as she flew beside him.

  “Few kingdoms attempt such methods,” Leroy replied. “But the moment he mentioned the Cristaliane Isles, the pattern became clear.”

  Below them, Majaman shrank into the distance, a realm caught between aspiration and illusion while two councilors continued their odyssey toward truths that rarely revealed themselves without cost.

  They turned eastward once more.

  But unlike Cristaliane, whose fertile lands shimmered with abundance, these islands bore scars that time had failed to erase. The archipelago stretched across the horizon like a wounded memory, its soil fractured and its forests thinned by the remnants of a war once fought against the League of Transcendent.

  When Leroy and Starmist descended near the shore, villagers gathered almost immediately, running across the sand with urgency that held neither fear nor formality.

  Recognition arrived before introduction.

  “Starmist,” Leroy said quietly as waves broke behind them, “is this not the island where Amaterasu, Susanoo, Shogun, Knight Quasar, Oberion, and Lucretius halted the detonation?”

  She froze for a moment.

  Then she pointed toward the far right, where a barren stretch of land rose like a scar against the sea.

  “Yes,” she said. “That is where Quasar and Oberion fell. And where we failed.”

  Leroy followed her gaze, memory settling with uncomfortable clarity.

  “No wonder this place feels familiar.”

  They stood in silence, watching the desolate plain that carried echoes no wind could erase.

  “Amaterasu was shattered that day,” Starmist murmured. “Even Shogun could not calm her.”

  She drew a slow breath.

  “That is why I return here often with Sevenstar. To visit the graves of those we left behind.”

  Leroy’s voice softened.

  “We were stationed elsewhere,” he said. “If we had been here… perhaps the catastrophe might have been prevented. I still think of it sometimes. Especially when I see Quasar’s picture.”

  Their reflection ended as villagers reached them, placing garlands of woven flowers around their necks and guiding them toward the home of the village elders.

  “Lady Star,” one elder greeted warmly, “it has been too long since your last visit.”

  “And now you bring Chairman Leroy to such a distant place,” another added.

  They struggled to move through the growing crowd, curiosity pressing in from every side. Leroy, unfamiliar to many of them, drew particular attention as villagers sought to glimpse the face of a figure whose decisions shaped lives far beyond these shores.

  The arrival of elders restored order, gently dispersing the gathering so the councilors could pass.

  “You remember,” Starmist whispered, “the sorcerer who attacked us in the colosseum. This is where he first appeared.”

  Leroy nodded without reply.

  Inside the elevated home of the chief elder, conversation resumed with measured calm. They spoke of daily hardship, lingering damage, and the quiet resilience that sustained the island’s people.

  “The land remains barren,” Leroy observed after listening. “Plant Elementalist is still young. Restoration on this scale exceeds her present strength.”

  He paused.

  “May I ask why you refuse relocation?”

  An elderly man answered first.

  “This is our birthplace, Chairman Leroy. Even in ruin, our generations rest here.”

  A woman beside him added,

  “And the council, and Lady Star have never abandoned us.”

  Leroy leaned toward Starmist, whispering with quiet confusion.

  “Why do they call you Lady Star? That title belongs to your sister in law.”

  She gave a small shrug.

  “Let them.”

  Leroy cleared his throat and addressed the elders again.

  “I understand a sorcerer attacked this village some time ago. The threat has been neutralized. Yet you all remember that this island was once a battlefield.”

  “We remember,” the elder woman replied. “We also remember young superhumans who risked their lives to protect us.”

  The elder man nodded.

  “There are good superhumans and wicked ones, just as there are among commonfolk.”

  The woman reached for Starmist’s pale hand, holding it with quiet gratitude.

  “One of them was Lady Star,” she said gently. “She stood beside us when the realms felt abandoned.”

  Starmist returned the elder woman’s grasp with quiet warmth, her fingers resting gently against skin weathered by time and salt wind.

  The old man beside them turned his attention to Leroy.

  “Chairman Leroy,” he asked, “do you believe there are superhumans who are good and those who are not?”

  Leroy scratched the back of his head, searching for an answer that would not reduce complexity into something dishonest. Starmist watched him with quiet curiosity, knowing he rarely offered simple conclusions.

  “I suppose,” Leroy said at last with a faint laugh, “one could say so.”

  The elders smiled as though the answer had confirmed something they already believed.

  “We have read of you often in newspaper,” the woman said. “Now that we see you with our own eyes, we believe you are among the good.”

  “That seems a swift judgment,” Leroy replied, awkward sincerity slipping into his tone.

  “If you were not,” she answered gently, “Lady Star would not have brought you here.”

  Both Leroy and Starmist paused, caught between surprise and an unspoken awareness that the elder’s logic carried its own quiet truth. They exchanged a brief glance before Starmist dissolved the moment with laughter, cheeks tinted faintly with embarrassment while Leroy’s composure stiffened in response.

  “So,” Leroy said, pencil poised above his notebook, “in your view, goodness and cruelty depends on who wields it?”

  The elders nodded with serene certainty.

  Evening arrived like a slow tide.

  A bonfire was raised along the shore, its flames dancing against the dark as villagers gathered for celebration. Drums echoed across the sand, guiding traditional dances that moved with the rhythm of waves and memory. Coconut trees swayed in the sea wind while songs rose into the night, carrying stories older than the war that had scarred the island.

  Leroy and Starmist sat beside the elders, watching the performance unfold.

  From across the firelight, Leroy noticed young women glancing toward him with shy admiration. Their expressions held neither infatuation nor curiosity alone, but a deeper recognition. He stood as proof that one born common could rise beyond the boundaries imposed by circumstance.

  The Green Wraith returned their smiles with gentle restraint.

  Starmist noticed but said nothing, her attention drifting between the dancers and the sky above.

  Night revealed its vastness without obstruction. Stars and distant celestial bodies burned in hues of white, blue, and violet, scattering light across the heavens like fragments of forgotten promises. Beneath that endless canopy, the island’s scars seemed smaller, though never erased.

  For a while, neither councilor spoke.

  The fire crackled. Drums continued their steady heartbeat. And somewhere between music and silence, memory and hope coexisted in fragile harmony.

  The celebration faded into quiet.

  Villagers returned to their homes, leaving only scattered embers and the soft echo of waves folding into shore. Leroy and Starmist walked away from the village lights until darkness wrapped them in solitude, then lay upon the sand where sea and sky seemed to merge into one endless horizon.

  The tide advanced and retreated with patient rhythm, its breath steady against the island’s scarred coastline.

  For a while, neither spoke.

  “I know I ask this often,” Leroy said at last, eyes fixed on the stars, “but where is your home, Starmist?”

  She turned toward him briefly before returning her gaze to the heavens.

  “I no longer remember,” she answered. “It has been so long that I stopped searching for the memory.”

  “You have never considered returning?” Leroy asked, glancing at her.

  Starmist closed her eyes and shook her head.

  “No,” she said softly. “I am already home.”

  “All Realm?” Leroy asked, puzzled.

  “Perhaps not the finest in the universe,” she replied, “but it is the only one I know. And I love everything within it.”

  Silence followed, gentle rather than empty.

  Leroy watched the sky, where a streak of light suddenly carved across the darkness. A falling star traced its path far beyond the boundaries of their world, its tail glowing faintly before dissolving into the infinite.

  He smiled without turning his head.

  The ocean continued its quiet dialogue with the shore, and above them the cosmos stretched vast and indifferent, while two travelers rested between memory and belonging, suspended in a moment that felt both fleeting and eternal.