The march to Oakhart had been long, four days of steady travel, but at last the city's walls rose on the horizon like a promise. Sunlight glinted off the spires, banners rippling in the wind, and the distant hum of the city reached them even before they passed through the outer gates. For many, the return was a celebration. For Lyra, it was a reminder that victory always carried a cost.
Behind her, Rory sat securely with Elise, who kept her hands steady on the reins as she guided the boy through the bustling streets. He was small, untested by war, yet his eyes sparkled with excitement and wonder. Every few moments, he peeked past Elise's shoulder to take in the massive city, pointing toward walls, towers, and distant streets as though cataloging them all.
"It's… so big!" he whispered, awe cracking his voice.
Lyra allowed herself a faint, weary smile. "It is," she said softly. "Bigger than anything you've seen before."
Lieutenant Shawn, riding slightly ahead, chuckled. "Told you, kid. Three times bigger than Berthold. Wait till you see the palace."
Selene rode in front of Lyra, gripping the saddle horn with a nervous, almost desperate tension. She had never ridden a horse alone, and even with Lyra's protective presence behind her, every sway of the animal made her stiff with caution. Lyra's hand rested lightly on Selene's shoulder, a subtle anchor of reassurance, while her other hand guided the reins with steady precision.
The crowds lining the streets erupted in cheers, a tidal wave of voices and movement. Selene flinched, lowering her gaze instinctively. Lyra felt a pang of sympathy but said nothing; she had promised Selene safety, and that promise began with keeping her calm in the center of this celebration.
"Look!" Rory exclaimed, pointing toward a grand fountain at the heart of the city. "It's… it's like a castle in itself!"
Elise chuckled softly, glancing down at him. "Careful, Rory. Don't get so distracted you forget to hold on." She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, a protective anchor in the midst of the jubilation.
Lyra's thoughts, however, drifted elsewhere. She remembered her fallen knights, who would never return to their families. She recalled villages left in ashes—like the Burnt Village, its children forever marked by war—and Berthold, a town still struggling to regain order under the young leader Gessa. Each memory weighed heavily, a silent testament to the price of victory.
The cheers of the Oakhart citizens swelled as they approached the city gates. Soldiers and nobles alike lined the streets, voices calling out in unison:
"General Lyra! Hero of Oakhart!"
"Long live our defenders!"
Selene pressed herself closer to Lyra, her small frame almost trembling beneath the protective steadiness of the general. Rory, in contrast, could barely contain his excitement. "They're cheering for us!" he shouted, his voice swallowed by the crowd.
Elise's hand rested lightly on his shoulder. "Not for us," she said gently. "For your general and her knights. You're along for the ride, but remember—heroes come first."
Lyra's expression remained calm, but inside, her chest tightened. Every cheer echoed the sacrifices she could not undo—the lives lost, the families broken, the villages that might never fully recover. Peace was a fragile thing, harder to secure than any battlefield victory.
At last, the gates loomed overhead, carved with centuries of history: hunting scenes, battles won and lost, the triumphs of the kingdom immortalized in stone. The gatekeepers saluted as Lyra's unit passed, and the crowd surged forward, pressing against the barriers, shouting and waving.
Inside, Oakhart's streets stretched wide and inviting. Marble and stone gleamed under the sunlight, merchant stalls erupted with color and life, and children darted between the legs of cheering citizens. Lyra's boots hit the cobblestones in rhythm with her thoughts: every smile, every cheer, every polished street reminded her that victory was only half the battle; peace demanded its own vigilance.
When they arrived at the palace gates, Lyra halted, her posture commanding. "Elise," she said, voice low, precise. "Guard Selene and Rory. The three of you stay behind and do not draw attention."
Elise inclined her head. "Understood, General."
Lyra leaned down slightly, giving Selene's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "We're almost there. Stay steady."
Selene nodded, gripping the saddle horn tighter, trusting Lyra's presence behind her.
The palace itself was a monument to Oakhart's power. High walls, gilded balconies, and sweeping staircases reflected the kingdom's glory, while courtiers in their finest attire lined the grand hall, whispering and watching the hero return. At the far end, the throne room awaited—the chamber where the King, his children, and the court would pass judgment, reward bravery, and in a heartbeat, alter the course of lives.
Lyra's heart hardened as she stepped into the chamber, Lieutenant Shawn and Captain Rita close behind. She bowed formally, eyes scanning the room, noting every noble's expression, every flicker of expectation.
At the center, King Aldric rose, laughter echoing through the hall. "My heroes have returned!" His eyes glimmered with a mix of amusement and pride. "Tell me of your journey, General. And do not spare a detail!"
Lyra met his gaze steadily, already strategizing how to navigate the celebrations, the accolades, and the subtle politics that would follow. She had returned to Oakhart a victor, but victory had its costs—and within the King's court, every cost would be measured against ambition, loyalty, and the future of those she loved.
The doors of the throne room closed behind her with a solemn finality. Outside, the cheers continued—but inside, a far more intricate battle was about to begin.