The fresh aroma of coffee floated in the air, a silent invitation to contemplation. Bitter notes mingled with the salty breeze drifting through the open veranda, carrying the serene sound of waves crashing against distant rocks.
Seated at the hand-carved oak table, Orion watched the golden projections hovering before him. The divine rewards still pulsed with energy as they slowly spun.
He observed them for only a moment. No surprise lit his eyes. No ambition hardened his features. A subtle nod was his only acknowledgment.
To him, these were not trophies, but reflections. Everything displayed had been built with more than strength. The rewards did not define his journey; the steps taken—and those who walked beside him—did.
His gaze left the holograms and fixed on Lyra. She sat facing the sea, twisting a loose strand of hair. Her fingers moved lightly, but her eyes... were distant. A soft melancholy clung to them like the final chord of an unfinished song.
She, too, was wandering through memories.
Orion smiled—a disarmed smile, stripped of crowns and robes. Just a man.
"And now?" he asked, voice softened by a faint weariness. "We've explored so much... the world feels small."
Lyra looked up, a playful light sharpening her gaze—the rare kind that precedes calculated chaos.
"How about another auction?"
The smile that followed could destroy plans but sweeten the path to the ends of the world.
"Who knows?" she added, stretching as if shaking off afternoon lethargy. "Maybe we'll find another Capsule of Destiny. That last chaos was epic. I'll never forget those desperate immortal cultivators... chasing what was already in our bag."
Orion laughed—a pure, weightless sound.
"That old temple elder nearly pissed himself when you said the artifact was cursed."
Lyra tilted her head, feigning modesty.
"He couldn't look at me afterward," she smiled. "And to think we escaped three rival sects with just charm, improvisation... and a pinch of luck."
"The battle in the Scarlet Desert was better," Orion raised an eyebrow. "You convinced an elemental dragon we were sent from heaven."
"Dragons are like giant cats," Lyra shrugged. "Flatter them, and they're your best friends. Though... that one looked lonely."
"And the Temple of Eternal Night?"
"Ah, the Mirror of Shadows..." she sighed theatrically. "Disguising myself as High Priestess was my best role. I nearly exploded trying to hold back laughter."
Laughter filled the veranda, mingling with the sea's sound and the coffee's aroma—light, relaxed.
Orion leaned back, setting his cup down slowly. His eyes no longer sought the sea. They sought time. Memories. The paths that led him here... and the duty calling him back.
"Time to return," he murmured, almost to himself. "I've been away from the empire too long."
Lyra didn't answer immediately. The wind gently stirred her hair. When she spoke, her voice was softer, intimate.
"Do you have to go?"
Orion turned slowly, his gaze locked on hers. The golden light of dusk painted his face with honey and amber.
"It's not about leaving or staying with you, Lyra. It's duty. They need me."
She looked away. For a moment, her strength drained. Only the woman behind the strategies, flawless lies, and perfect disguises remained—small before this farewell.
"So... is that it?"
Orion said nothing. He stepped toward her. His steps lacked the firmness of an emperor—hesitant, reluctant.
He stopped before her and took a deep breath.
"What if... you came with me?"
Lyra blinked, startled. Time froze. The sea halted. The sun hesitated.
She didn't speak immediately. But her eyes said everything—shining like they only do before a 'yes.'
"Let me think..." she said, a restrained smile forming. "I'll tell you later."
Orion already knew. His eyes held the answer.
Days later
The silence over the eternal fields of Eryndor broke as two travelers walked side by side.
The grass danced in wide waves, as if the world itself celebrated their return from distant lands.
Hills rolled beneath a golden, cloudless sky—seas of jade swaying to the breeze of an ancient world.
Orion's eyes stayed fixed on the horizon, where the capital's towers rose like sentinels against time.
To his left, Lyra walked silently, the wind stirring her loose hair, her gaze roaming the sky.
Neither spoke, but the silence was not empty—it overflowed with unspoken promises, shared memories, and everything still to come.
"The last time I saw these gates... I felt different," Orion said, his gaze steady. "Will the empire be the same?"
Lyra answered with her characteristic lightness.
"Do you want it to be?"
He hesitated.
"Maybe not. Maybe I'm the one who needs to change."
The word hung between them like a subtle perfume: Change. Always a burden and a blessing for emperors.
Change too much, lose respect.
Change too little, the empire rots.
As they neared, patrols appeared.
First, two scouts with wide eyes of recognition.
Then, trumpets echoed.
Then, drums.
When Orion crossed the gates, soldiers knelt.
Guards hesitated before speaking.
Citizens stopped mid-step.
Slowly, the capital pulsed.
But among all the watching faces, Orion searched for only one: hers.
And Lyra was there.
Always a step beside him—never behind.
Imperial Palace
The main hall doors opened with a restrained boom.
Counselors stood in flawless formation—reports, forecasts, and recommendations organized in enchanted scrolls.
Caio spoke first.
"The harvests overflow, Your Majesty," he bowed. "Thanks to the divine power granted to us."
Immediately, understanding flowed through Orion's mind:
Power: Absolute Authority.
Climate control for five years.
Stability guaranteed.
He remained calm.
Listening outwardly.
Reflecting inwardly:
Five years without drought, plagues, cruel winters... time to solidify our foundations.
Feroz presented commercial growth charts.
The diplomatic counselor proposed new alliances.
The military commander detailed army maneuvers.
Security reported suspicious border movements.
The political strategist outlined gold flow routes.
The civil counselor warned about population growth and cultural tensions in newly integrated provinces.
Orion absorbed it all.
His eyes showed no rush, only depth.
"You did well," he said finally.
"But the work has just begun."
"This empire... has only awakened."
His words echoed like decree and prophecy.
Under the starlight
In the palace's inner garden—among silver-leafed trees and fountains whispering ancestral songs—Lyra walked alone.
No ornaments.
No formal attire.
Just herself—raw and true as the emotions swirling within.
Orion found her there.
In silence.
As if he knew she was waiting.
"You don't have to stay if you don't want to."
She turned, serene.
"I came for you. Not for the empire. My choice is made."
He stepped closer and took her hand.
"This empire may be my duty."
"But being with you... is my choice."
There, the emperor was not distant.
Just a man returned—not for glory, but for love.
The next morning
The council chamber emptied.
More silent.
Only Orion and Ankar remained.
"I want to prepare a wedding ceremony," Orion declared firmly.
"I want Lyra as my empress."
Ankar's eyebrows rose.
"Your Majesty... this is significant."
"I know."
"She is intelligent, loyal... immensely capable."
"But what makes her worthy of the throne beside you?"
Orion thought deeply.
Answered calmly.
"She is strength in silence."
"Courage without arrogance."
"With her... I am not the emperor."
"I am myself."
Ankar watched him.
In years of service, never had he seen Orion so sure—and so human.
"She completes you."
"She gives me peace."
The counselor smiled, moved.
"Then she will be the empress this empire deserves."
"Leave the rest to us, Your Majesty."
"We will create a ceremony worthy of the love you described."
Orion nodded.
His eyes turned to the window, where the city towers touched the sky.
"Thank you, Ankar."
"This time... it's for me."
"And for her."