The sky did not tear open.
It simply made room.
At the edge of the floating city—where reality politely checked permissions before continuing—an ancient construct awakened.
The OALBAA Gate.
Only Authorised Living Beings Are Allowed.
No dramatics. No blinding light. No thunder that announced divinity.
The gate unfolded like a thought being remembered.
A young man stepped through.
He wore noble-blue clothing—simple in design, yet impossible to ignore. The fabric didn't shine, didn't glow, didn't scream importance. Instead, it absorbed attention quietly, the way deep water absorbed light. His boots touched the city's streets without a sound.
The gate closed behind him.
And the city… accepted him.
---
So this is what it looks like now.
He stood still for a moment, hands tucked casually into his coat pockets, eyes lifting toward the skyline.
The city had grown.
Not outward—but upward, layered with elegant bridges, floating walkways, and buildings that curved gently as if shaped by wind instead of tools. Towers of blue-white stone reflected the evening sky, while airships drifted silently between districts like lazy fish in an invisible ocean.
Cleaner, he noted.
More structured.
Less chaotic.
He smiled faintly.
"…They did well."
No alarms rang.
No one turned to stare.
To everyone else, he was just another noble visitor—well-dressed, calm, unremarkable in the most remarkable way possible.
That was intentional.
He began to walk.
---
The Hall of Records was his first stop.
Tall doors opened automatically as he approached, recognizing authority they didn't consciously understand. Inside, endless shelves stretched upward, filled with books that recorded not only history—but possibility.
Children sat at long tables, legs swinging as they read glowing tomes far too advanced for their age.
He paused, watching them.
One boy frowned at a page, scratching his head.
A girl beside him leaned over, whispering an explanation.
The boy's eyes lit up.
"…Good," the young man murmured.
He moved on.
---
The Public Library smelled the same.
Ink. Paper. Quiet determination.
That made him stop longer than expected.
Some things don't change, he thought, amused.
He ran his fingers along a shelf, pulling out a random book.
"Foundations of Domain Ethics."
"…Still arguing about this?" he muttered.
A librarian glanced up.
"Pardon, sir?"
He smiled politely. "Nothing. Just impressed you're still stocked."
The librarian laughed. "Some debates never end."
He nodded. Especially when they shouldn't.
---
The parks were livelier.
Children ran freely across grass that shimmered faintly with mana. Parents chatted. Elderly couples sat on floating benches, watching the artificial sunset paint the city gold.
He sat for a while.
Listened.
"…Mom says I might get into Blue Heaven Academy!"
"That's amazing!"
"They teach even normal kids there, right?"
"Yeah! They say it's safe!"
His gaze softened.
Blue Heaven…
---
He visited the academy next.
The Blue Heaven Official's Academy was smaller than he remembered—but warmer.
Young children practiced basic spell formations under the watchful eyes of instructors who smiled more than they scolded. Protective barriers shimmered overhead, layered redundancies ensuring not even a thought could harm the students.
A teacher noticed him watching.
"Are you visiting family?" she asked kindly.
"Something like that," he replied.
She smiled. "Then I hope they grow strong."
"So do I."
---
He ate at a restaurant near the central plaza.
Nothing extravagant.
Just warm food, mild seasoning, laughter around him.
A group of merchants argued over trade routes.
Two teenagers debated system rankings.
A couple quietly shared dessert.
He ate slowly.
Silly, he thought. I missed this.
---
By the time he reached the palace gates, the sky had deepened into evening.
The blue marble walls stood unchanged—timeless, impossible, patient.
As he stepped onto the palace grounds, something finally reacted.
The guards stiffened.
Not because of danger.
Because recognition had arrived too late—and too suddenly.
Every rune along the gate flared.
Guards dropped to one knee instantly.
"Welcome back," they said in unison.
He sighed softly.
"…You're a bit late."
One guard smiled sheepishly. "Apologies. Your aura has… matured."
"That's one way to put it."
Another guard stood and bowed deeply. "Please allow us to notify the family."
He nodded. "Go ahead."
---
Dinner that evening was… loud.
Not politically loud.
Family loud.
A long table filled the private dining hall, warm light reflecting off polished dishes and familiar faces.
Arc Sama sat at the head, eyes sharp but unreadably calm.
Akira Sama covered her mouth the moment she saw him.
"You grew taller," she said immediately.
He smiled. "That happens when you're not around."
She stood and hugged him anyway.
Yukimin stared for three seconds.
Then—
"…So you are real."
He laughed. "Disappointing, I know."
She punched his arm. "You vanished!"
"Temporarily."
Two uncles leaned back, observing.
"Well," one said, grinning, "he doesn't look broken."
"That's because he's stubborn," the other replied.
Their children stared openly.
The eldest girl tilted her head. "Are you really that important?"
He smiled at her. "Depends who you ask."
Dinner unfolded naturally.
Introductions were made—again, properly this time. Stories were shared. Complaints were aired.
At one point, someone asked, "So where have you been?"
He paused.
"…Everywhere," he answered.
The table fell silent.
Ark Sama cleared his throat. "We'll discuss details tomorrow."
Everyone nodded.
It was decided then.
Tomorrow, in the Monarch Hall—
He would speak.
Not as a myth.
Not as an exile.
But as himself.
And for the first time in fourteen years, the city slept knowing—
He was home.