The ancient halls of the Vale estate greeted Aren with quiet warmth.
The heavy doors swung open before him, the scents of old wood and soft candlelight filling his senses.
Home.
For a man who had lived through two lifetimes of war and loneliness,the very word still felt fragile —like a delicate flower growing in the cracks of a battlefield.
Selene met him at the entrance, her violet eyes shining with relief.
"Welcome home," she said softly.
Aren smiled — a small, private thing — and touched her hand in passing.
The weight of what he carried, he left unspoken.
At dinner, the family gathered as always.
Mira's laughter danced through the room.Elara's quiet pride shone as she recited some trivial school honor.Lyra teased Darian, and Darian blushed and grumbled as an older brother should.
It was normal.
It was perfect.
Aren listened more than he spoke, smiling easily, laughing where needed.No sign crossed his golden gaze of the meeting that had just carved new paths of fate into the bones of the world.
Inside, however, another Aren stirred.
Quiet.
Watching.
Remembering.
He remembered a different life.
A barren childhood.Empty streets slick with rain.No guiding hand.No warmth waiting at night.Only the cold struggle to survive one more sunrise.
In that world, strength was survival.Emotion was weakness.Dreams were for fools.
And then he remembered this world.
The Aren who once stood atop battlefields as Grand Duke.Unyielding.Unbending.A mountain no one dared challenge.
He had loved his family —but it had been a distant love, framed in duty and protection, not laughter and shared meals.
He had thought that giving them a shield was enough.
But now...
Now, after soul and soul had merged,after memory and memory had woven into a single, jagged tapestry,he knew better.
Family was not just something to defend.
It was something to live for.
Their smiles were not trophies he safeguarded from afar.
They were life itself.
A reason to fight harder —and, if necessary, to fall proudly.
Aren's golden gaze swept the table.
Mira, trying to secretly stuff an extra dessert into her napkin.Elara, pretending not to see but hiding a tiny smile.Darian, struggling under the endless expectation.Lyra, laughing freely as if no storm could ever touch her.Selene, sitting quietly beside him, her very presence a balm against the coming darkness.
He breathed in deeply.
He engraved this moment into his soul.
No matter what came —this was what he would protect.
Not crowns.Not glory.Not history.
Them.
After dinner, when the children scattered to their rooms,Aren retired early to his study.
Selene found him there later, and without a word, placed a warm cup of tea at his side before leaving him alone —trusting him, as always, without demanding answers.
He sat back in his chair, staring at the fire.
And began to work.
The ritual needed sacrifices.
Dark rituals demanded dark fuel.
But Aren — and the Circle of Guardians — would not stain their hands with innocent blood.
Only the worst criminals from each race would be chosen:murderers, slavers, traitors who had preyed on the weak.
Already, quiet messengers would be spreading through empires, through courts, through hidden enclaves.
No one protested.
No kingdom rose to defend monsters.
The sacrifices would be delivered willingly —by the hands of those eager to cleanse themselves of shame.
Aren scribbled quietly, crafting the silent wheels that would set everything in motion.
Three weeks.
Three weeks to live as a father, a husband, a grandfather.
Three weeks to prepare a world for the storm it could not see coming.
He leaned back at last, closing his golden eyes.
In the distant corridors of the house, he could hear Mira's soft singing.Selene's humming as she folded linens.The creak of old floors under familiar steps.
He smiled —a real smile,warm and aching all at once.
This was his world.
Not kingdoms.
Not battlefields.
Not songs of conquest.
This.
And he would damn even the heavens themselvesbefore letting it be taken away.