The convoy slowed as the sun poured gold over the road ahead. Not a harsh light — a warm one, like the day itself had been waiting for him. The cars stopped. The gates opened — not with steel and noise, but with the quiet grace of arms opening to embrace a son. Mirshad stepped out. He didn't rush forward. He stood still, eyes fixed on the home before him. The walls that had watched him grow. The ground that had felt his bare feet. The air that once carried his laughter. He did not think of the hardships. He thought of the memories.
The hall was full. His mother. His father. Uncles. Aunts. Cousins. The family that had carried his name before the world did. They had seen him since his rise. They had hugged him during the world meeting. But this… this was different. This was his land. They didn't cheer. They didn't bow. They opened their arms and spoke only three words: "Welcome home, Mirshad."
His mother walked to him slowly, as if each step was holding back the flood in her eyes. "I'm not crying again," she said — before the tears betrayed her. He laughed, pulling her close. "Don't worry, Maa… this time, I'm staying longer." His father stood behind her, smiling. "They may call you a god… but for us, you're still the boy who raced the wind down this street."
Laughter rippled through the courtyard. The younger cousins came forward shyly. The older ones clapped him on the back. No security was needed here. You don't guard a god in the arms of his own blood.
He walked the yard in silence. His hand brushed the wall where he once scrawled names in chalk. He leaned against the tree that had outlived storms and summers. He stopped at the step where he once sat with a schoolbag, waiting for the day to begin. Even Sophia and the Reapers stepped back, letting him move alone. This was not for the world. This was for the boy who had never left.
By afternoon, they were all seated in the courtyard. No thrones. No ceremony. Just the air of belonging. Tea passed from hand to hand. Jokes tangled with laughter. Sara fed Amir between scolds. Malik, Rayyan, and Jabir traded jabs like boys again. Sophia leaned into his side, her smile saying more than words. Baba sat quietly, watching the circle — the family, the warmth, the rare peace. There was no talk of battles. No whispers of the next war. Only home. The world knew MRD. But here…They had never stopped calling him Mirshad.