Back at Emberhallow, the throne room was unusually still. Not cold, not hostile—just quiet, the kind that pressed into your ribs and made words feel heavier than they should.

  Queen Elira sat in her high-backed chair, fingers laced too tightly to be calm, silver hair braided and draped over one shoulder like polished thread. Behind her, King Thalion stood motionless, hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed ahead with the same unreadable depth as the Soul Prism that pulsed faintly behind the dais.

  “How long has he been gone?” Elira asked, her voice soft but firm—like silk drawn over stone.

  The steward bowed low, his tone careful. “One week, Your Majesty. There were initial sightings near the southern ridge, but nothing since.”

  The Queen’s expression stayed composed, but something flickered behind her eyes. “He’s only six.”

  A cough broke the tension.

  Prince Garron stepped forward, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “He’s also Kael. You really think the kid who taught himself three languages before age five and stole a wyvern egg from the treasury vault is going to stay put forever?”

  “Garron,” Thalion said, his tone flat with warning.

  Garron raised both hands in mock surrender. “I’m not saying it was smart. I’m saying it’s exactly what he’d do.”

  A few attendants dared to laugh—but it died the instant Thalion’s gaze shifted their way.

  “Send a party,” the King said, his voice leaving no room for questions. “Discreet. No banners. I want him found before the other Houses catch wind of it.”

  Garron’s smirk faded. “Should I lead it?”

  Thalion nodded once. “You will. Take Elric with you. He knows the forest routes Kael favors.”

  Elira rose from her seat, slow and deliberate, walking toward the tall windows overlooking Ira’s rolling hills and spires. The dawn painted the sky in soft orange hues. “He’s my son,” she said quietly. “But even I know he was never meant to be bound to this palace.”

  Far from royal halls and search parties, Kael balanced on one leg atop a mossy cliff, a stick in each hand and absolutely no idea what he was doing. Rimuru floated beside him, wobbling like a gelatin statue trying to achieve enlightenment. Together, they looked less like warriors training and more like a sculpture titled

  “This is technically training,” Kael muttered, adjusting his stance by a fraction.

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  Kael took a bite anyway.

  Their camp perched on a high bluff overlooking the western valley—a patch of soft moss and weathered stone just far enough from Emberleaf to feel like solitude. Rimuru spun lazily in the morning light, casting tiny rainbows onto Kael’s hoodie.

  Below, the village stirred. Smoke curled from cookfires. Mana totems hummed faintly. Laughter drifted through the trees.

  Kael watched it all in silence. “I wonder when they’ll notice I’m not coming back.”

  

  

  

  

  Kael snorted.

  

  

  A breeze tugged at his hoodie, carrying the scent of pine and ash. He closed his eyes, letting the wind pass over him. “They’ll come eventually. But they’re not dragging me back. Not when I’ve got a village, a slime, and a warhammer-sized goblin waiting on breakfast.”

  Rimuru squeaked proudly, puffing up like a glowing badge of honor.

  Down in the valley, Emberleaf woke. Doors creaked. Smoke thickened. Somewhere, a pot clattered, followed by a curse in three languages. Life moved on—unaware that Kael’s old world was already on its way to collide with the new one he had built.

  Earlier that morning in Emberhallow, Garron tightened the straps of his cloak and slipped a letter into his satchel—sealed with the Queen’s crest and the quiet weight of expectation.

  He paused in Kael’s old room. Dust covered the shelves, slippers lay kicked under the bed, and a small wooden slime carving stood on the desk like a forgotten guardian. He picked it up, turned it over, and smirked. “You better not have started a war.”

  Queen Elira stepped into the doorway, the hem of her robe brushing the stone floor. In her hands was something small and carefully wrapped—a braided mana-thread bracelet, faintly glowing at the seams.

  “Give this to Kael,” she said, offering it to him. “For protection.”

  Garron raised a brow. “You know he won’t wear it.”

  Elira smiled softly. “Then wear it for him. He’s still my son, even if he forgets to act like one.”

  Meanwhile, Emberleaf thrived in its usual brand of chaos.

  Gobrinus chased two goblin children away from Rimuru, waving a ladle like a war banner. “He is not a toy! Stop poking him!”

  Rimuru bounced to safety behind a crate, then leapt onto it like a conquering hero.

  Across the clearing, Zelganna barked orders at a group of trainees. “Trip again, and you’re sparring with Nanari!” That ended all arguments immediately.

  Near the forge, Nanari knelt beside Kael, sketching glowing glyphs into the dirt. “Self-warming food pots,” she explained. “If I enchant them properly, they won’t burn down the kitchen. Again.”

  Kael raised a brow. “The ‘again’ part doesn’t inspire confidence.”

  “Noted,” she said flatly.

  Rimuru, still perched on her crate, mimicked Kael’s slouch with exaggerated precision—then promptly rolled off the edge with a soft thud.

  Kael didn’t look up. “Flawless form.”

  Rimuru wobbled indignantly, pride undented.

  Later that day, as the sun climbed higher, Kael stood again on the cliffside, arms crossed, eyes on the valley below.

  

  

  Kael didn’t flinch.

  

  

  He exhaled slowly, gaze fixed on Emberleaf.

  “Guess they were bound to come looking eventually.”