The castle workshop smelled like steel, sawdust, and warm bread. Dozens of Frostpeak fighters trained in open courtyards between stone pillars, hammers clanging in the distance. Nothing here was polished, nothing decorative, everything built to be used.
As Solace, Arlenna, Thiago, Wine, and Dine stepped inside, a man with gentle eyes and tired hands looked up from repairing a cracked shield. He froze. His tools hit the floor. Then he ran.
"Wine! Dine!"
The twins launched forward, slamming into him so hard he stumbled back onto a bench. His arms wrapped around them instantly, one around each child, hugging them so tight it looked like he was trying to make sure they were real. Sobs hit his chest in silent, desperate waves. The crew looked away out of respect.
Finally, the man pulled back, cupping their faces with trembling hands.
"My babies... my babies... I thought—"
His voice cracked. He swallowed, hard.
"Thank you," he whispered to the crew. "Thank you for bringing them home."
He wiped his eyes, tried to steady himself, and stepped forward.
"My name is Mr. Hearthwell," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "And these are my children... Winner Hearthwell and Dinner Hearthwell."
Mr. Hearthwell stood tall, around six foot two, but carried a thin, almost delicate frame. His skin was pale from long hours spent indoors. Short, curly dirty-blonde hair framed his forehead in loose, uneven curls, and a clean-shaven face gave him a soft look that contrasted with the fear in his eyes.
Thick glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. the kind that told anyone who looked at him that his vision was terrible without them. The lenses caught the light just enough to hide part of his expression when he moved.
He wore a long white coat, crisp and practical, the unmistakable look of a doctor or someone who worked around medicine rather than violence. The coat's edges were slightly frayed, not from neglect, but from overuse.
He looked like a man who had spent his life helping people...
The kids puffed their cheeks in embarrassment.
"Dad! It's Wine and Dine now!"
He laughed, a watery, relieved sound.
"Right. Wine and Dine."
Then he faced the crew again.
"I owe you my life, my kingdom, everything I have."
He lifted his hand, and it glowed faintly, soft gold, warm and steady.
"I'm a Mender. Please, let me heal you. It's the least I can do."
Arlenna stepped forward first. Warm light washed over her. Her cuts closed, her bruises faded, and her shoulders relaxed like someone had lifted a boulder off her back.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Thiago stepped next. His ribs cracked back into place, his muscles loosened, and his breath returned full and clear.
"Oh finally," he groaned, stretching his spine. "I forgot what it feels like to not hurt."
Then the Mender turned to Solace.
"May I?"
His voice was gentle, hopeful.
Solace stiffened. She took a step back.
"No. I'm okay. I'll heal naturally."
He blinked, then bowed his head.
"Are you sure?"
Thiago opened his mouth to protest. Arlenna shot him a look that said let her choose.
Wonek approached, stone dust still on his hands from helping rebuild a crumbled stair.
"She doesn't like being touched," he said simply. "Leave her be."
Solace blinked. She hadn't said that out loud.
Wonek leaned against a pillar.
"My friend never liked healing through touch either," he said casually. "Didn't like hands on him."
Solace tilted her head.
"Who?"
Wonek smiled.
"King Nick Master."
Wonek continued.
"Nick has a healer who doesn't need to touch you. Works off energy instead of skin. Brilliant technique, actually."
He wiped his brow.
"If you'd rather that, She'll take care of you. No contact needed."
Solace perked up slightly.
"Really?"
Wonek clapped his hands once, loud and cheerful.
"Now then, rooms are being prepared for all of you. Food's being cooked. And you" he pointed at Solace "need a new shirt at least."
Solace blinked and looked down. Her mustard-yellow shirt was torn, burned, ripped at the sleeve. Her knees were scuffed.
"Oh," she muttered.
"I brought these clothes from home. I only have one more outfit. So I really hope it doesn't get destroyed..."
Thiago raised a brow.
"What outfit?"
Solace hesitated, then gave a shy grin.
"Black overalls. My favorite. They have a flower pattern on the left leg."
She patted her bag.
"They were a gift. I've had them forever. I don't want to ruin them."
Arlenna smirked.
"Well, we're in a castle. Try not to get thrown through anything."
Wonek scratched his beard.
"No promises. My hallways collapse sometimes."
Solace stared at him.
"Why would you say that?"
He grinned.
After the Hearthwell reunion settled, King Wonek met eyes with Solace and nodded toward the long hallway of the castle.
"You'll all stay here until you're healed and rested. In two days," he said, "we'll take a trip to see Nick. Gives you time to recover."
Arlenna nodded gratefully. Thiago saluted with his pouch halfway open.
Solace's reaction was very different.
"Two days?? What am I supposed to do for TWO DAYS??"
Wonek blinked.
"Rest?"
Solace stared at him like he had suggested she eat soup.
Day One
Arlenna collapsed into a real bed for the first time in weeks and slept like a rock. Thiago found the castle's training yard, hit a wooden dummy once, felt all his bones protest, and instead took a nap in the grass.
Solace, however, was a problem.
Wine and Dine were walking through the hall when suddenly.
SLAM.
Solace skidded into view, dropping into a dramatic crouch like a raccoon who had just spotted treasure.
"WINE. DINE."
The kids froze.
Solace pointed at Wine.
"Winner Winner."
She pointed at Dine.
"Chicken Dinner!!"
Then she sprinted down the hall like a yellow blur.
Wine gasped.
Dine shrieked.
They both chased her at full speed.
The entire castle heard their echoes
"GET HER!!!"
"NOOO, I'M NOT A DINNER—!"
"YES YOU ARE! RUN FASTER!!"
Frostpeak warriors stepped aside as Solace slid under tables, vaulted over chairs, and used Dine's panic as motivation to go even faster. Wonek passed by carrying a beam of wood and sighed fondly.
"She fits in," he murmured.
Day Two
Up on the balcony overlooking the courtyard, one of Frostpeak's senior fighters froze mid-step. He leaned over the railing, eyes narrowing, not in suspicion but in confusion and surprise.
He had seen Solace fight.
He had seen her run, dodge, and throw grown men like dolls.
But this?
Solace shook her head dramatically.
"No. No no no. If you're gonna play in Frostpeak, at least stand correctly."
She nudged Wine's foot with her own, shifting it slightly.
"No, your base is too wide. Look, like this."
She tapped Dine's shin lightly.
"And you, knee's gonna wobble. Tighten it."
The twins mimicked her instantly, focused and serious.
Solace nodded once, satisfied.
"Okay. Better. Now it's time to learn the important part."
The way she corrected the kids stances, the precision, the instinct, the way she adjusted them like someone who had taught before, or learned through instinct alone, made the veteran tilt his head.
"She's doing drills. No... a dance," he murmured.
He watched as Solace clapped her hands sharply.
"Okay! You put your left foot out, like this."
She demonstrated, clean and quick.
"Then you slam your arms like you're playing drums, big, like this!"
She exaggerated the movement, almost theatrical, hair flying.
Wine copied her.
Dine copied both of them but fell backward onto the ground.
Solace pointed at him dramatically.
"Yes! Good commitment!"
The senior fighter kept watching, perplexed. Not because the dance was silly, but because her movements were sharp, balanced, practiced, like someone who had been trained without knowing she had been trained.
"That... is not normal," he whispered.
Below him, Solace shouted,
"The more fun you have, the better it looks!"
The twins shrieked with joy and slammed their arms down wildly.
The Frostpeak fighter stepped back from the railing slowly.
"I need to tell the King," he muttered.
Not because Solace was dangerous.
But because she was unusual.
Different.
Special.
And in Frostpeak Dwelling, anything unusual went straight to Wonek.
Arlenna and Thiago were fully rested.
The twins adored Solace.
Half the castle was whispering about the mysterious mustard-yellow girl teaching chaos dances to royal children.
And Solace?
She was ready for anything.
So when Wonek said, "Pack your things. We leave for Nick tomorrow morning," Solace just tied the strap of her overalls and nodded, having absolutely no idea she was walking toward the man who had been waiting for her.
Later that afternoon
Wine and Dine clung to Arlenna first, squeezing her legs and babbling their thanks. Then they crashed into Thiago, who nearly toppled over from how hard they hugged him.
Finally, they turned to Solace.
Both kids paused.
They wanted to hug her.
They really did.
But by now, they understood her.
Wine wiped her nose and held out her hand.
Dine did the same beside her, trying not to cry.
Solace blinked, then knelt and tapped her hand against theirs, the little three-step handshake they had invented the night before.
Wine sniffed, smiling through it.
Dine outright burst into tears.
Mr. Hearthwell dropped to his knees, pulling both children close. His voice was thick, heavy with emotion.
"Solace," he said quietly, seriously, "if you need anything, anything at all, you don't hesitate to ask. I am in your debt forever."
Solace shifted, uncomfortable with the weight of the words, but nodded anyway.
Arlenna placed a gentle hand on Mender's shoulder.
Thiago gave him a silent promise with his eyes.
The castle gates opened with a groan.
A simple carriage waited, wooden, weathered, nothing special. To most people in Frostpeak, it was just transport. To Solace, it was magic.
The horses began to move.
The castle shrank behind them.
Wine and Dine waved until the road curved.
Mr. Hearthwell stayed long after, a hand over his heart, watching the carriage disappear.
Inside, Solace immediately stuck her head out the window with wide eyes.
"Woah, look at that rock! It's shaped like a bear!"
Arlenna grabbed the back of her shirt before she pitched forward onto the road.
"Solace. Inside."
"But it's cute—"
"Inside."
Solace huffed and sat properly. For about ten seconds.
Then another noise outside caught her attention and she popped halfway out again.
Thiago groaned.
Arlenna reached over and slid the carriage blind across with a snap.
"No falling out of the moving vehicle," she muttered.
Solace mumbled into the blind, "But everything's new..."
"Two days," Wonek had said earlier. "In two days, we'll visit the man who can help."
The carriage rolled on, toward the place Solace was excited about.
When Solace and the crew arrive, the palace is nothing like King Wonek's fortress. Where Wonek's is stone, sharp, and military-minded, Nick Master's palace is a true castle, with sweeping architecture, tall stained-glass windows, warm colors, and intricate banners hanging from every archway. It is beautiful in a way that feels lived-in, not decorative.
The entire capital reflects that.
Master Nick keeps his kingdom spotless, not through fear, but through respect. People follow his rules the way you follow a leader you genuinely admire. Streets are swept, gardens trimmed, murals clean, fountains running. Children play safely in open courtyards, merchants arrange colorful displays, and the city glows with an energy that says, "We take care of our home because our king takes care of us."
Just like King Wonek's people, Master Nick's citizens also treat their capital with pride. They do not bow in fear, they stand tall. Their kingdom is clean because he respects them, so they give that respect back tenfold.
To Solace, it is almost disorienting.
It does not feel like a kingdom ruled by a manipulator.
It feels like a kingdom ruled by a beloved guardian.
Which, in its own way, is exactly what makes Master Nick dangerous.
Solace is practically hanging out the window again as they pass stall after stall, halfway out the carriage window, pointing at a food stall.
"Is that flatbread? Wait, wait, oh my god they have plantain chips Arlenna, look, look"
Arlenna hooks two fingers into the back strap of Solace's overalls and pulls her in like she is reeling in a fish.
"Solace. Every place has bread. In. Before I accidentally break your overalls."
Thiago snorts from across the carriage.
"She's gonna fall out again."
Solace just blinks at them.
The carriage slows, wheels crunching over polished stone as the gates swing open. Trumpets sound, not forced, not dramatic, but warm and thunderous, the way a kingdom greets heroes returning from a long battle.
Crowds gather on both sides of the road, cheering, tossing petals, bowing with pride instead of fear.
And at the end of the path, Master Nick stands waiting.
Not guarded.
Not escorted.
He is shorter than they expected, barely five foot four with a soft, slightly chubby build that makes his posture look deceptively harmless. His beard is neatly maintained, trimmed clean along the jaw and stopping just at his neck, giving him an orderly, almost academic look.
A swoop of well-kept hair falls across his forehead, dark at the roots and brushed just enough to look intentional. His glasses catch the light as he lifts his head, the frames subtle but unmistakable, and behind them his blue eyes watch everything with sharp clarity.
He looks gentle. Approachable.
Two kings walk behind him, one on each side, like planets orbiting a sun.
Helper 1, the Perceptive King, was a white man of average height, around five-ten, with a frame so thin it made his movements look almost weightless. Short dark-blonde hair fell neatly across his forehead, and a pair of square glasses sat low on his nose.
His eyes, sharp behind the lenses, scanned everything. Vibrations in the ground, breaths in the crowd, subtle shifts in the wind. He could feel who in the city was excited, who was anxious, who was hiding something.
Calm. Quiet. Razor-sharp.
Helper 2, the Fearsome King, was also white, but where Helper 1 looked weightless, this one looked carved from stubborn stone. Five-seven and chubby, he had a thick gray beard and only a little hair left on top. Already losing the battle to age and stress. His resting face looked angry even when he felt nothing at all.
Yet his aura did all the talking.
Heavy. Pressured.
Like a storm pressing against the world.
People didn't look at him out of fear.
People looked away because instinct told them not to challenge him.
His presence hit like standing in front of a wildfire that learned to walk.
And still, both follow Nick.
Not because they are weak.
Not because they are intimidated.
Because Nick Master earns loyalty, not demands it.
When he steps forward, he looks like a ruler carved out of confidence and clarity, the kind of man you follow because he believes in something bigger than himself.
Solace feels it instantly. He does not look powerful. He feels powerful, a controlled storm wrapped in royal cloth.
As he walks toward them, Nick leads with calm, confident strides. The Perceptive King glides silently, eyes everywhere. The Fearsome King looms like a shadow behind thunder.
Together, they look like three different kinds of power woven into one unstoppable presence, like a formation designed by the gods.
Mind.
Sight.
Fear.
Master Nick is not just followed. He is supported, respected, and backed by power he earned.
When he finally stands before Solace, there is no question. This is a man who commands empires without ever needing to raise his voice.
As soon as the door opens, Nick's face breaks into a rare, genuine smile.
"Wonek!"
Master Nick steps forward and pulls King Wonek into a hug, firm, warm, brotherly. The crowd likes it. Cheers rise louder. They have not seen each other in over a month, and the reunion feels like two continents shaking hands.
Wonek pats him on the back, steps aside, and greets the first two men beside Nick, the Perceptive King and the Fearsome King. They nod in respectful acknowledgement, each radiating their own power.
Then Wonek turns toward Solace and her crew, gesturing them forward.
"Master Nick... allow me to introduce the Sovereign I told you about, Solace. And her crew."
The castle lights reflect in Nick's eyes as he takes them in. Just analyzing, the way only he can.