Velhara had undergone a profound transformation since Averan's sudden disappearance. The kingdom, once vibrant with the pulse of life, now felt ensnared in a melancholic stillness. The air was thick with a pervasive sense of loss Averan's absence loomed over the realm like a relentless winter shadow, casting the land in shades of gray, quiet, cold, and permeated with uncertainty. The lively music that once accompanied the extravagant parties of the nobility had faded to distant, dull echoes, reminiscent of a forgotten era. Gatherings that had once buzzed with laughter and revelry had turned hybrid with a weight of solemnity; wine was poured into the finest goblets but often went untouched, while mirth became a rare commodity, cherished yet elusive. Even the sun itself seemed to take its time creeping above the rooftops of Averan's splendid marble estate, casting a pall of continued gloom over the beauty of the architecture that had once shone with distinguished elegance.
The Empire of Averan, so warmly referred to by the people as his majestic home, stood perpetually vigilant, its grand gates flung wide open and its doors left unlocked as if in a state of expectancy, faithfully awaiting the glorious return of its beloved master. Yet, with each passing day, his absence transformed hope into a haunting presence, muddled by unanswered questions and deepening fears that whispered through the hearts of all who dared to dream of his return.
In his absence, the gardens of Averan had become a sanctuary for the needy; weary souls sought refuge beneath the shade of its blossoming trees, rising each dawn with renewed hope, believing that perhaps the sun of his return would shine brightly upon their struggles. The guards who once stood firm, enforcing the order of the kingdom, had assumed a different role, now standing as silent sentinels of reverence, honoring the legacy of a man who had inspired the very fabric of their world. The people nurtured Averan's estate with the devoted care one would afford a shrine, protecting it not from would-be intruders but from the relentless march of time itself—a desperate attempt to keep alive the memory of a man who represented something greater than himself.
As the days dragged on, nobles adorned in their finest silk and brocade continued to drift toward Averan's residence, pretending to casually pass by yet secretly yearning for even a whisper of news regarding the mysterious fate of the elusive figure they all revered. Yet, time and time again, they were met with silence; even the most esteemed among them were at a loss, their wisdom rendered impotent in the face of an enigma that had woven itself into the tapestry of their lives.
Among all who suffered from this inexplicable absence, none bore the burden more acutely than Princess Elyria. Behind her carefully painted smiles and the weight of her royal obligations lurked a heart swollen with unspoken questions and anxieties. Her world, once aglow with vibrancy, had dulled into a dim and colorless existence. No suitor, regardless of their gallantry or noble lineage, could hold her gaze long enough for the light of attraction to spark within her. In her eyes, the only reflection she sought was that of Averan, the harbinger of hope and joy. And as each night descended and the stars took their places in the sky, her greatest fear emerged, a gentle but persistent whisper in the darkness: What if Averan never returns?
King Orvain, an observant ruler burdened with the weight of his duties, noted the profound silence that had enveloped his daughter, the court, and indeed the entire kingdom. He marveled at how the strongest knights of his realm softened at the mere mention of Averan's name, their formidable facades shaken by the absence of a man whose effortless charm and influence had cast an undeniable spell over Velhara. Jealousy flickered beneath the surface—an ember of resentment stoked by the realization that this stranger had captured the hearts of the people, including that of his beloved daughter. Yet even the king felt the heaviness of longing for Averan's return. Not just for his daughter's sake, or for the realm's brighter days, but for an inexplicable void his absence left within his own spirit.
Then, one fateful late afternoon, a whisper darted through the lower quarters of Velhara, spreading like wildfire through the alleyways and cobblestone paths. "He's back… He's back," the hushed tones echoed, igniting a spark of disbelief and anticipation among the people. The air crackled with renewed energy.
The chimes of bells rang out across the city, reverberating against the walls of buildings and warning of the remarkable event that was about to unfold. Feet hurried through the cobbled streets, a surge of excitement propelling them toward the marketplace. The square filled like a thirsty river, swelling with life as it caught the joyous rain of emotions, invigorating the hearts of all who gathered to behold the spectacle—the return of their missing hero.
And there he was, Averan, cloaked in midnight blue, riding a magnificent black stallion that pranced with regal grace into the very heart of Velhara. His long, flowing coat billowed elegantly in the wind, and his hair shimmered in the fading light, reminiscent of storm-touched gold. His eyes, those captivating deep pools, scanned the crowd before him, searching each familiar face as if he were unlocking treasured memories that had been placed in careful storage during his time away.
Cheers erupted from the gathered masses like the jubilant roar of a tide returning to shore, drowning out the silence that had persisted for so long. Flowers were joyfully cast into the air, a vibrant burst of color against the muted backdrop of sorrow that had settled over the kingdom. Elders wept openly, their tears a testament to the profound relief and joy they now felt; children ran gleefully behind his horse, filled with unrestrained excitement as if participating in a parade celebrating the return of hope itself. Suddenly, the empire thrummed with life once more, bursting into a cacophony, laughter and celebration.
Word of Averan's arrival reached the palace in mere seconds, riding on the wings of excitement that swirled through the streets. King Orvain stood at his balcony, his expression a mix of stoicism and disbelief, emotions swirling within him like the tempest outside. How could one man hold so much love and devotion in his hands? The quiet envy still lingered, a flame that had simmered softly beneath his ribs, but now it flickered with a new light. He yearned for Averan's return not merely for his daughter's happiness but for the reestablishment of the warmth that had slipped away from their kingdom.
Yet it was Princess Elyria's reaction, perhaps the most poignant and stirring of all, that captivated the imagination of the court. Upon seeing Averan once more, she froze in that moment, her heart racing as if it were on the brink of escape. Then, as the gravity of the situation enveloped her, she quickly fled her chambers, her steps determined and urgent. Elyria sought out her most exquisite gown, the one Averan had once complimented in passing, an ephemeral memory that had lodged itself in her heart. She adorned herself carefully, braiding silver threads through her hair, adding a touch of sandalwood oil to her neck, the rich scent fluttering around her like a thrilling promise. But she hesitated, choosing not to rush into his arms, preferring instead to wait for nightfall, when the world would be quiet, and it would be just the two of them.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a cloak of serenity over Velhara, Elyria slipped out of her palace, shrouded in the shadows of the night, her heart pounding with anticipation. The entire kingdom still vibrated with uncontainable joy, a collective euphoria that refused to dwindle, yet none had left Averan's grand estate. Nobles and commoners alike lingered, transfixed, as if the stars themselves had descended to greet their lost celestial body, their hopes rekindled in unison.
When Princess Elyria finally crossed the threshold into Averan's moonlit courtyard, every gaze turned toward her, but not one bore a hint of disdain. Whispers of their affection had not only taken root but had blossomed into an undeniable truth, resonating throughout the kingdom. And in that enchanted courtyard, as she stepped through the beams of silver light, the man she had longed for turned toward her…
Without uttering a single word, Averan welcomed her into his embrace. His arms enveloped her in warmth, wrapping around her like destiny finally catching up. In that sacred moment, when his lips brushed against hers—light, tentative, yet genuine—time itself seemed to halt, encapsulating their world in stillness. Elyria's breath caught, stifled by the weight of anticipation, and her eyes fluttered shut against the tide of emotion sweeping through her. Trembling hands found their place against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat.
She had waited endlessly for this moment, imagining it countless times in her dreams, and now, the reality of it washed over her like the gentle waves of the ocean lapping at the shore. Every yearning, every sleepless night spent wondering, culminated in this powerful embrace as the world around them faded, leaving only two souls intertwined in the bloom of rekindled hope. And as the night deepened, the stars shimmered overhead, witnesses to the love that had withstood the trials of absence and despair, now shining bright once more in the heart of Velhara.
That night, words became whispers, and whispers became sighs.
In the quiet sanctuary of Averan's empire home, beneath moonlight and firelight, Princess Elyria gave herself over to love and to the man whose presence had haunted her dreams. No titles. No courtiers. No royal expectations.
Just two hearts, naked and burning with longing too long restrained.
Averan touched her like he knew every part of her spirit before her body. His kisses, slow, deliberate, unlocked something ancient inside her, as though he'd waited lifetimes for this night. There was power in his embrace, more than strength… a knowing. As if the stars themselves responded to the rhythm of their union.
She had never imagined love could feel like this, endless and sacred, like the wind had chosen her for him.
Between soft gasps and intimate confessions, they shared stories that words alone couldn't carry. No truths that would unravel destinies. Just veiled fragments of who he was, and a deep yearning to keep her safe from all that he could not reveal.
"You are not like anyone I've ever known," she whispered against his chest.
"Neither are you," he murmured, brushing her hair from her face. "And yet, here we are… as if we were made for this moment."
When dawn crept in through the tall windows, she lay tangled beside him, draped in silken sheets, her body sore and satisfied, her heart fuller than it had ever been.
She didn't want to leave, but she had to.
As she returned to the palace just after sunrise, a light surrounded her, not of magic, but of joy so rare it seemed divine. Her attendants took notice first. They smiled among themselves but said nothing. The palace corridors whispered with curiosity.
Even King Orvain, reading in his private chamber, looked up as she entered, something different about her. She walked as if the earth moved for her, as if her soul had just been crowned.
"You look... radiant," the king said carefully.
Elyria paused, bowed slightly, and smiled. "I feel it."
He nodded, but inside, the weight of his thoughts pressed deeper. The people already adored Averan, but now his daughter's heart clearly belonged to him as well. A bond had been sealed, even if no one had declared it.
He's back, the king thought, and he's claimed not just the favor of Velhara, but the heart of its future queen.
And yet, strangely… he could not bring himself to oppose it.