Chapter 9: Return to Chronus
The gates of Chronus loomed tall before them, the golden banners of the kingdom fluttering in the morning wind. For once, the capital seemed quieter than usual—not with peace, but with the uneasy silence that followed the spread of frightening rumors. Word had traveled faster than their weary feet: a demonic lieutenant had emerged within human lands, and the famed Holy Knight Commander had barely returned alive.
At the head of the returning group, Alaric marched with his usual swagger, his silver-plated armor gleaming under the sun. He looked every bit the heroic commander the citizens adored—except his helmet was slightly askew, his cloak had a tear where Rowan had accidentally tripped on it during the journey back, and his grin was far too casual for a man who had just faced death itself.
"People of Chronus!" Alaric suddenly bellowed as they passed through the gates, throwing his arms wide. "Fear not, for your handsome, dashing, utterly magnificent Commander has returned to you in one piece!"
The crowd of soldiers at the gate blinked at him, unsure whether to cheer or to question why his left pauldron was dented in the shape of a frying pan.
Behind him, Rowan piped up helpfully, waving both hands in the air. "And don't forget about me! Rowan the Brave, Rowan the Unstoppable, Rowan the—"
"Rowan the Hopelessly Clumsy," Selene cut in dryly, tugging on her cloak to hide the dirt stains on it. "Need I remind everyone you spent half the fight last night unconscious after tripping over your own sword?"
Rowan gasped as though mortally wounded. "That was a tactical maneuver! I was distracting the demon with my, uh, superior acting skills!" He puffed out his chest. "I call it the Dead Fish technique. Very advanced."
The guards, who had been tense at first, broke into chuckles. The tension at the gate eased as laughter spread among them.
Icarus, walking silently beside Selene, allowed himself the faintest smile. He had long since grown used to Rowan's antics and Alaric's carefree bluster. Yet he could feel the eyes on him more than anyone else—the lingering stares, the whispers carried in hushed tones.
"Silver hair… silver eyes… is it true?" one guard murmured.
"They say he burned with moonfire when the demon appeared."
"Moonborn… could it be?"
Icarus kept his gaze straight ahead. The murmurs slid over him like a blade grazing his skin—not deep enough to wound, but sharp enough to remind him that his secret was slipping further from his grasp.
They reached the inner courtyard where squires and knights lined up in formation to greet them. Trumpets blared halfheartedly—more ceremonial than celebratory, for the mood in the capital had shifted. The demonic lieutenant had left scars not only on the battlefield but in the hearts of the people.
Alaric, ever the performer, stepped forward and raised a hand. "Yes, yes, we faced darkness and despair! But do not worry, for I personally smote the foul creature into nothingness with a single blow of my mighty—"
"—mighty stumble that landed you flat on your back," Rowan whispered loudly, cupping his hands like a town crier.
A ripple of laughter ran through the squires. Selene covered her mouth to hide her smirk. Even some of the senior knights failed to stifle grins.
Alaric spun dramatically, jabbing a finger at Rowan. "You dare undermine the heroic narrative I am crafting?"
"I dare!" Rowan declared, puffing out his chest. "Because without my Dead Fish technique, we wouldn't even be standing here right now!"
"Your what?" Selene groaned.
Icarus shook his head slightly, silver hair catching the sunlight. Even in the levity, his thoughts wandered back to the battle. The demon lieutenant's dying words still echoed in his ears: "The Ashura will come for you, Moonborn."
He clenched his fists subtly at his side. He could not allow himself to grow complacent.
Later, as the group disbanded to rest, the whispers continued in the city streets. Citizens stared at Icarus openly now, some in awe, others in fear.
"A savior reborn…"
"No, it's dangerous. The Moonborn only bring calamity."
"Didn't the first Moonborn seal the demons away ninety thousand years ago?"
"They say the demons hate him because of it…"
Icarus felt Selene step closer to him, her presence steady and grounding. She met the stares of the onlookers with a calm defiance, as though daring anyone to speak ill of him.
Rowan, of course, basked in the attention like a plant soaking sunlight. "That's right, folks! You're looking at the man who personally saved this city from doom!"
Selene raised a brow. "I thought you were unconscious?"
"Details," Rowan waved dismissively. "History will remember me as the brave sidekick who never left the hero's side!" He leaned closer to Icarus, whispering conspiratorially, "Don't worry, buddy. When they build your statue, I'll make sure I'm standing right next to you. With a bigger sword."
Icarus exhaled softly, something between a sigh and a chuckle. "You'd topple your own statue trying to climb it."
By nightfall, the group was summoned to the royal palace for a private audience. The true weight of what had transpired awaited them there.
But for now, in the twilight glow of the capital, laughter still lingered in the streets. For all the whispers and fear, for all the uncertainty about demons and Moonborn, there was also relief. Relief that they had returned. Relief that hope had not yet been extinguished.
And somewhere deep inside, Icarus allowed himself a moment of gratitude. For Rowan's foolishness, for Selene's unwavering presence, for Alaric's impossible optimism.
The world was darkening—but perhaps, just perhaps, it would not darken alone.
The royal palace of Chronus was a marvel of marble and gold, its great halls lined with statues of past kings, banners depicting victories long etched into history. Yet beneath its grandeur, there was an undercurrent of unease. Servants whispered as they rushed between corridors, courtiers lingered in hushed groups, and every knight on guard held their spears tighter than usual.
The moment Icarus, Rowan, Selene, and Alaric entered the throne hall, silence rippled through the chamber.
At the far end sat King Darius of Chronus, draped in robes of crimson trimmed with fur, his crown plain but commanding. His eyes were sharp, assessing, yet there was something tired about them—like a man who had seen too many winters and knew too well the weight of his crown.
Arrayed on either side of the hall were the nobles of Chronus: lords, barons, commanders, and advisors. Each wore expressions ranging from awe to suspicion.
Alaric, undaunted as always, strode forward and gave the world's most casual bow. "Your Majesty! Your shining beacon of justice has returned!"
Rowan immediately mirrored him, bowing so low he nearly faceplanted. "Yes, Your Majesty, and so has his equally important, not-at-all expendable sidekick!"
Selene rolled her eyes and executed a graceful, proper bow. Icarus bowed as well, silent, though he could feel every noble's gaze burning into him.
The King's voice carried across the hall. "Rise. Tell me, Commander Alaric. What truth lies behind the rumors? Did a demonic lieutenant truly set foot within our lands?"
The hall held its breath.
Alaric, for once, dropped his usual levity. His face hardened as he nodded. "Aye. It's no rumor. The lieutenant was real, and more dangerous than any foe we've faced in decades." He paused, then glanced at Icarus. "Were it not for… certain talents, none of us would be standing here now."
Murmurs erupted at once among the nobles.
"Talents?"
"Do you mean the boy?"
"Look at his hair—silver as the moon…"
A stout nobleman with a hawk-like nose slammed his staff against the floor. "Preposterous! Are we to believe a mere common-born child struck down a demon lieutenant when even seasoned knights perished?"
Another noble, tall and slender with calculating eyes, leaned forward. "Unless… unless he truly is what the whispers say. A Moonborn."
The word spread like fire through dry grass. Moonborn. Some gasped, others muttered prayers, and a few narrowed their eyes in outright hostility.
The King raised his hand, silencing the chamber. His gaze fixed on Icarus, who stood calmly, silver eyes steady. "Step forward, boy."
Icarus obeyed, walking into the open space before the throne. The nobles' whispers swirled around him.
"Cursed…"
"Blessed…"
"Dangerous…"
"Savior…"
King Darius studied him. "You fought with power unlike any knight. I would know the truth. What are you?"
The hall tensed. Even Rowan stopped fidgeting. Selene's hand drifted subtly toward her blade, as though ready to protect Icarus from words as much as weapons.
Icarus bowed his head. His voice was calm, neither boastful nor ashamed. "I am Icarus of Chronus, son of commoners. My strength is mine, born of my will and my training. If that strength resembles the Moonborn of legend, then I can only say that I will use it to defend this kingdom."
The words were humble, but his silver eyes gleamed with quiet conviction.
For a moment, silence reigned.
Then, the hawk-nosed noble sneered. "Empty words. Power such as his cannot be trusted! The Moonborn of old brought both salvation and destruction. Do we dare gamble the fate of Chronus on a boy we barely know?"
Others murmured in agreement.
But then another voice spoke—Lady Marienne, a noblewoman known for her fairness. "And yet, without him, we would all be mourning Chronus soldiers today. Would you rather the demons walk freely into our capital?"
The hall broke into heated argument. Some nobles praised Icarus as a savior, others branded him a danger. The word "Moonborn" clashed with "monster" in the same breath.
Alaric, watching from the side, sighed and muttered just loud enough for Rowan to hear, "Every time these lot argue, I swear I lose a year of my life."
Rowan whispered back, "Don't worry, Commander. You still look young enough to pass for, uh… forty?"
Alaric gasped, clutching his chest theatrically. "Forty?! I'll have you know I am in the prime of my thirties!"
Selene pinched the bridge of her nose. "This is a royal council, not a tavern."
The King rapped his scepter against the throne, silencing the chamber again. His expression was unreadable. "Enough. The boy's identity will be examined in due time. For now, what matters is that a demon lieutenant walked upon our soil. If one has come, more may follow."
At those words, the nobles fell silent. Fear flickered in their eyes.
And in the shadows of the hall, the whispers spread again—about Ashura, about war, about whether Chronus could truly stand against what was coming.
The council adjourned hours later in tense uncertainty. Some nobles left glaring at Icarus, others nodding to him respectfully.
As the group stepped out into the torch-lit corridors, Rowan muttered, "Well… that went better than expected. Nobody tried to stab you. Yet."
Selene gave him a look. "Your standards are abysmally low."
Alaric chuckled, though his eyes held a rare shadow of seriousness. "Still… the tide is turning. Icarus, lad, you've lit a fire in this kingdom. Just be careful. Fire warms… but it also burns."
The training grounds of the Chronus palace were quiet in the early dawn, save for the steady clang of steel meeting steel and the occasional grunt of exertion. Dew glistened on the grass, catching the first rays of sunlight.
Icarus stood at the center, blade in hand, his silver hair shimmering faintly as he practiced precise strikes. Each swing was measured, fluid, almost too disciplined for someone so young. His breaths came evenly, his movements controlled.
From the edge of the field, Alaric watched with arms crossed, his usual carefree grin replaced with something uncharacteristically thoughtful.
"You don't waste a second, do you?" Alaric finally said, stepping forward. "Even after saving the kingdom's backside, most lads your age would still be snoring."
Icarus lowered his blade and turned, silver eyes calm. "If I don't sharpen my edge, the next battle will."
Alaric chuckled, though there was pride in his gaze. "Spoken like a true knight. But listen here, Moonborn—"
"I told you not to call me that," Icarus interjected quietly.
"Ah, right, Icarus," Alaric corrected with exaggerated seriousness, though the smirk returned a second later. "Still, you need to know something. Strength isn't just about power. It's about how you carry it."
He tapped his own chest. "Our bloodlines, our gifts, they're a burden as much as they're blessings. I've seen men lose themselves chasing their potential, forgetting they're still human."
Icarus tilted his head. "And you haven't?"
For a rare moment, Alaric hesitated. Then he shrugged, though his eyes flickered with something deeper. "Let's just say I've had help carrying mine."
His tone made Icarus glance at him more closely. There was something there—something more than the easygoing commander everyone saw. Icarus remembered how, in the battle, Alaric had nearly unleashed something terrifying before restraining himself.
Alaric clapped a hand on his shoulder suddenly, breaking the tension. "You'll understand in time, lad. For now, just remember this: power's only as good as the smile it protects."
Icarus blinked, then allowed himself the faintest smirk. "That's… oddly profound for you."
"Oi!" Alaric barked a laugh. "I'm profound all the time! You just don't listen!"
Elsewhere on the grounds, Rowan and Selene sparred—or at least, they were supposed to.
Rowan swung his wooden practice sword with all the grace of a man swatting flies, grunting dramatically with each miss. Selene, on the other hand, moved like water, her blade knocking his aside with effortless precision.
"Come on, Rowan," Selene said, exasperated. "Focus."
"I am focused!" Rowan puffed, lunging forward. "Focused on surviving your merciless wrath!"
Selene sidestepped neatly, letting him stumble past her and trip over his own feet. He hit the ground face-first with a groan.
"Pathetic," she muttered, though her lips twitched like she was holding back a smile.
Rowan pushed himself up, grass stuck to his hair. "Don't underestimate me! One day, I'll unlock my true hidden potential and you'll all be begging me for mercy!"
"Your hidden potential is being a clown," Selene replied dryly.
Rowan tried again, charging at her with surprising speed. But just as her blade came down for a light tap to his shoulder, something strange happened.
For a split second—barely long enough to notice—Rowan's body seemed to blur, her strike passing through air where his shoulder had been. He tumbled out of reach, landing on his back, blinking in confusion.
Selene frowned. "What…?"
Rowan sat up, rubbing his head. "Ow. I, uh… slipped. Yeah, that was totally a dodge I meant to do."
Selene narrowed her eyes but said nothing. It was too quick, too subtle, like a trick of the light. She shook her head and reset her stance.
From the sidelines, Icarus had noticed. His silver eyes narrowed slightly. Rowan… had always been clumsy, but sometimes, just sometimes, he moved in ways no ordinary man could.
He decided to keep it to himself. For now.
Training went on until midday, punctuated by Rowan's exaggerated cries of agony and Selene's patient corrections. Alaric eventually joined in, turning the sparring into a chaotic mess of laughter and bruises.
By the end, Rowan was flat on the ground, arms spread wide. "Tell my future statue… to put me in a heroic pose…"
Selene stood over him, shaking her head. "Your statue would be lying face down."
Icarus chuckled softly at their bickering. For all the uncertainty looming over them, these moments of absurdity grounded him. They reminded him that not everything was shadow and prophecy. Some things were simple, human… worth protecting.
That evening, as the sun set over Chronus, Alaric pulled Icarus aside one last time. His voice was low, serious.
"You've seen the whispers, the fear. The nobles will fight you as much as the demons will. But don't let it weigh you down. One day, your path will carry you higher than you can imagine. Higher even than mine."
Icarus met his gaze. "And when that day comes?"
Alaric's grin returned, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Then I'll be proud to stand at your side. Until then, you've still got a lot of bruises to earn."
The Chronus capital, usually a bustling beacon of trade and laughter, had grown quieter in recent days. Rumors spread faster than merchants on market day—whispers of strange sightings in the northern wilderness.
Fishermen claimed to see black shapes lurking beneath the frozen rivers. Hunters swore they heard roars that shook the trees. And one caravan returned with half its wagons missing, its survivors too terrified to speak.
At first, the Council dismissed it all as superstition. But when two villages vanished overnight, leaving only scorched earth and claw marks deep in stone, even the most arrogant nobles began to pale.
Inside the war council chamber, tension hung thick.
Nobles argued, slamming fists on tables. Maps were unrolled, tokens scattered across them like desperate prayers.
"We cannot waste time chasing shadows!" one shouted. "The north has always been dangerous!"
"Dangerous, yes," Alaric interrupted, leaning casually against a pillar. "But villages don't just vanish. Unless the snow's suddenly learned to eat people."
The room fell silent at his remark, though some nobles scowled at his flippant tone. Alaric smiled anyway, twirling a quill between his fingers.
"Point is," he continued, voice sharper now, "this isn't bandits or beasts. Something's stirring. And if you'd stop bickering like drunken pigeons, we might actually prepare for it."
Icarus stood near the edge, observing. His silver eyes scanned the map, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Vanishing villages. Claw marks. Fire strong enough to burn stone…
It reminded him of old stories. Stories of beings who once stood above even the strongest knights.
The Ashura.
Later, outside the council chamber, Rowan caught up with Icarus and Selene.
"Did you hear that one noble?" Rowan groaned, mimicking the man's pompous tone. "'We should focus on tax reforms instead of fairy tales!'"
Selene rolled her eyes. "If he spent less time talking and more time training, maybe he'd be useful."
"Useful at being a scarecrow," Rowan shot back. "Though even crows have higher standards."
Icarus almost laughed but his mind lingered on the word that had stuck in his chest during the meeting. Ashura.
Selene noticed his silence. "What are you thinking?"
He hesitated, then spoke. "There's an old myth. About four generals who once served the Demon King. They say each of them rivaled the strongest humans of their time."
Rowan snorted. "Generals, myths, Demon Kings. Next you'll tell me one of them lives under my bed."
Selene gave him a sharp look. "Don't joke about things like this."
For once, Rowan grew quiet.
That night, Icarus couldn't sleep. He stood on the palace balcony, staring at the moon. Its light reflected in his silver hair, making him look ethereal—otherworldly.
Alaric joined him, unusually serious.
"You feel it too, don't you?" the commander asked softly.
Icarus nodded. "Something's coming. Stronger than anything we've faced so far."
Alaric leaned on the railing. For once, he didn't smile. "They call them the Four Ashura. I've crossed paths with one before."
Icarus turned sharply. "You have?"
Alaric's gaze hardened. "A hundred men died that day. Strong men. And it still walked away laughing. If even one of them has returned, Chronus is in grave danger."
He clenched his fist, and for a moment, the air trembled—the faintest ripple of his telekinesis leaking.
"But you don't need to worry about that yet," Alaric said suddenly, slipping back into his usual grin. "That's my job. Yours is to train until you can wipe the floor with me. Easy, right?"
Icarus met his gaze, and though Alaric's grin was playful, the weight behind his words was undeniable.
Meanwhile, far to the north…
A ruined fortress sat buried in snow. Its stones, blackened and cracked, pulsed faintly with crimson light.
Inside, in a hall filled with shadows, four figures stirred.
One voice, deep and cruel, broke the silence.
"The seal weakens. Soon, the world will remember the name Ashura."
Another voice, smooth and venomous, laughed. "Let them remember. Let them tremble."
The fortress shuddered as if the land itself recoiled.
Back in Chronus, Rowan sneezed violently in his sleep, rolling off his bed with a loud thud.
Selene, resting in the adjacent room, groaned. "Idiot.