novelraw Chapter 174: RETURNING HOME
Chapter 174: RETURNING HOME
The journey from Eastmarch to Northreach took several days. They crossed frozen borders, traversed dense pine forests, and passed through train stations that were beginning to bustle again in the wake of the war.
Finally, the black SUV crossed the threshold into Iron Hearth.
Elara gazed out the window. The city was just as she remembered—factory smoke billowing in the distance, electric streetlights flickering to life along the roads, and citizens in thick coats walking along paved sidewalks. Yet, something felt different.
It felt... like home.
When she first arrived here, she was merely an exiled mage seeking sanctuary—Rianor’s partner in technological development. A stranger accepted for her utility, not for who she was.
But now? This city felt like where she belonged.
The car passed through the city gates. There were no grand welcomes or cheers. Only a few citizens glanced over, recognizing the vehicle’s license plate, before returning to their business. It was as busy as ever.
Rianor sat quietly beside her, his eyes fixed on the view outside, silent. Elara didn’t press him; she knew Rianor wasn’t the type for small talk during a journey.
In the front seat, Dom began to stretch his neck. The Ghost Squad members in the back also appeared more relaxed—their weapons no longer held in a high-alert position.
"Finally here," Dom muttered softly. The driver simply nodded.
The car drove past Alpha Building, the place where Elara first worked alongside Rianor. Back then, Iron Hearth wasn’t this crowded. Buildings were sparse, and the electrical grid hadn’t reached every district. The factories were still in their infancy.
Now, the city had transformed.
The Maglev station in the distance was swarming with passengers. Factories in the industrial zone operated twenty-four hours a day. The streetlights glowed brightly, lending the city a sense of warmth despite the biting chill outside.
The Thermal Mana Grid, as Rianor once called it. A city-wide heating technology that utilized mana circulation from the Central Power Station. Without it, Iron Hearth would be nothing more than a dead, frozen wasteland.
Elara offered a small smile. She remembered how she had helped design the mana filtration system for that very technology.
The car finally entered the castle courtyard. The black iron gates opened slowly, and the vehicle came to a stop right in front of the main entrance.
Dom hopped out first. He opened the trunk, retrieved the wheelchair, and snapped it open with practiced speed. The other Ghost Squad members disembarked, standing near the car in a respectful salute—their mission was complete.
"Thank you," Rianor said as he stepped out.
Dom nodded. "Mission accomplished, My Lord." He gave a brief salute before departing with his team. No unnecessary words, no empty pleasantries. They were professionals through and through.
Rianor opened the door on Elara’s side. He scooped her up—one arm beneath her knees, the other supporting her back—lifting her gently. Elara no longer felt shy. She wrapped her arms around his neck, allowing herself to be moved into the wheelchair.
"I can—"
"I know," Rianor cut her off. He adjusted her legs, took the blanket Dom had left behind, and draped it over her lap. "But let me do this."
Elara smiled. "Stubborn."
"You too."
A shared smile passed between them.
Rianor pushed the wheelchair toward the main entrance. Before he could even press the bell, the door swung open from the inside.
Aurelia stood at the threshold.
Her face beamed. Her eyes immediately locked onto Rianor, then Elara, and back to Rianor. Without a word, she stepped forward and pulled her son into a fierce embrace.
Rianor was slightly taken aback but didn’t pull away. He allowed his mother to hold him, his hand rising to return the embrace with a slightly stiff motion.
"Mother," he said softly.
Aurelia didn’t answer. She only squeezed tighter.
Watching from her wheelchair, Elara felt a pang in her chest—a mix of envy and joy. Envy, because she never had a mother who held her like that. Joy, because soon, this woman would be her mother too.
Aurelia released the hug. Her gaze shifted to Elara, and her smile widened.
"You must be exhausted," she said, her voice tender. "It was a long journey. Come inside."
She didn’t ask about Eastmarch—not right away. She took over the wheelchair herself, pushing Elara into the castle with a natural, effortless grace.
Rianor followed from behind, a faint smile playing on his lips.
Aurelia led them to her private chambers—not the cold, formal drawing room, but a cozy space with plush sofas and warm tea already waiting on the table. Two servants entered, setting out the cups and teapot, before silently withdrawing.
"Sit," Aurelia said, patting the sofa beside her. "I’m sure you want to rest for a moment."
Rianor sat on the opposite sofa. Elara remained in her wheelchair, but Aurelia reached for her hand and pulled her toward the sofa.
"Don’t sit in that chair," she said. "Sit here. I’m sure you’ll be much more comfortable."
Elara couldn’t refuse. With Rianor’s help, she moved to the sofa. Aurelia immediately sat beside her, her hand still clasping Elara’s.
"Mother," Rianor spoke up. His voice was steady, but there was a softer undertone than usual. "There is something I wish to tell you."
Aurelia looked at him. "I heard you went to Eastmarch."
"Yes."
"To meet Elara’s family."
"Yes."
Aurelia exhaled. Her gaze drifted to Elara before returning to Rianor. "I don’t know much about her family. Elara never spoke of them." She pressed her fingers gently over Elara’s hand. "But I know you wouldn’t go there without a reason."
Rianor nodded. "I went to ask for their permission. But what I received wasn’t permission."
Aurelia frowned.
"Her father said, ’Do as you wish,’" Rianor continued flatly. "It wasn’t concern. It wasn’t a blessing. It was... pure indifference."
Silence fell over the room.
Aurelia looked at Elara. Her eyes misted over, though she didn’t cry. She simply stroked the back of Elara’s hand with her thumb.
"You aren’t alone anymore," she said softly. "You know that, right?"
Elara looked down. A lump formed in her throat. She wanted to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.
"I know," she finally whispered.
Aurelia smiled. She didn’t press further. She didn’t pry. She was just there, holding Elara’s hand, offering the warmth Elara had never received from her own flesh and blood.
Rianor watched the scene from across the sofa, a small smile appearing.
"I will be marrying Elara very soon," he said, his voice suddenly breaking the silence.
Aurelia wasn’t shocked. She had already guessed. Since Rianor left for Eastmarch, since he took Elara without hesitation, since he won a war and returned only to propose to her—what mother wouldn’t know?
However, the timing did catch her off guard.
"When?" she asked.
"In a month."
Aurelia paused for a moment. Her eyes flicked from Elara to Rianor, and then she smiled.
"I’ve been preparing for this since the day you left," she said.
This time, it was Rianor’s turn to be surprised. "You’ve already prepared?"
"I am your mother." Aurelia stood up, retrieved a folder from a small table in the corner, and opened it before them. "I knew you would marry Elara sooner or later. I just didn’t know when. So, I started preparing from the beginning."
The folder contained a list—a very long one. Guest names, venue options, decorations, food, and even dress designs.
Elara stared at the list, her eyes wide. "This... this is too much."
Aurelia chuckled softly. "This is only the beginning. Rianor said in a month, so we have to move quickly."
Rianor sighed, resigning himself. "Mother, there’s no need to go overboard—"
"No need?" Aurelia looked at him. "You are the son of the Duke. Elara will be my daughter-in-law. This cannot be a small affair."
Rianor couldn’t argue. He only sighed again.
Elara looked at Aurelia with tearful eyes. "Thank you," she said softly, her voice trembling. "Thank you for... accepting me."
Aurelia looked at her. She didn’t say anything. She simply pulled Elara into a hug, letting the younger woman cry on her shoulder.
"You are family," she whispered. "From the moment you first arrived here."
In the treasury office, Rumina sat behind a mountain of correspondence.
Silas, her elderly assistant, stood beside her with a long list in hand. Other treasury staff were busy sorting documents at the back desks.
"This is the guest list for the invitations," Silas said, his voice flat and pragmatic. "All the nobles of Northreach, Duke Lumuri of Eastmarch, Duke Solari of Highgarden, and King Edward along with the royal family."
Rumina let out a long, weary sigh. Her expression was gloomy.
"Why?" she grumbled. "Why did that brother of mine decide to get married while I’m this busy?"
Silas didn’t answer. He simply waited.
"Duke Lumuri," Rumina read the list with a lazy tone. "Is he coming or not?"
Silas shrugged. "That’s up to him. What matters is that the invitation is sent."
"Duke Solari." Rumina wrinkled her nose. "A family enemy. But we’re still inviting him."
"Etiquette, My Lady."
"I know etiquette!" Rumina slammed the list onto the table. "But still! It’s a waste of paper!"
A staff member in the back let out a small chuckle. Rumina shot a sharp glare toward them, and the laughter was instantly extinguished.
Silas merely shook his head. "The budget for the invitations has been approved by Duchess Aurelia. We only need to execute."
Rumina sighed again, longer than before.
"Fine," she said in defeat. "Send them. But if Duke Solari actually shows up, I won’t guarantee his safety."
Silas didn’t reply. He simply made a note in his ledger.
In Highgarden, within the magnificent castle of the Solari family, Alistair sat in his study.
A messenger stood before him, bowing deeply. The report had been delivered—short, concise, and unadorned.
"The attack on Northreach was a total failure, Your Grace."
Alistair didn’t respond.
His hand held a luxurious crystal vessel—a gift from a noble seeking an alliance. The object was beautiful. Expensive. Entirely useless except as a display piece.
He heard the report. His eyes didn’t blink.
"A failure," he repeated softly.
The messenger dared not lift his head. "Yes, Your Grace."
Alistair didn’t speak.
His hand gripped the vessel. Slowly. Tight. Harder.
The first crack appeared on the crystal’s surface. A second. A third.
The messenger heard the sound—crack, crack, crack—but dared not move.
Alistair remained silent. His face didn’t change. He didn’t rage. He didn’t scream. He didn’t throw things.
He only gripped.
And the vessel shattered.
Crystal shards scattered across the desk, falling to the floor, splashing blood from his sliced palm. But Alistair didn’t feel it. He only stared at the fragments with cold eyes.
The messenger froze in fear.
Alistair stood up. He walked to the window, turning his back on the messenger. His bleeding hand gripped the window frame tightly.
From here, he could look north. Far. Toward Northreach. Toward his enemy.
"Leave," he said.
The messenger didn’t wait to be told twice. He turned and walked quickly, leaving the room in a stifling silence.
Alistair stood there alone, his hand bleeding and his eyes burning.
Outside, the wind blew from the north. Cold. But Alistair didn’t feel it. He only stared toward Iron Hearth and remained silent.
Night had fallen when Rianor and Elara walked through the castle gardens.
The electric lights around the garden glowed dimly, illuminating the path with a warm light. Snow Chrysanthemums began to bloom along the fence—white-blue petals that could withstand the freezing temperatures of Northreach.
Rianor pushed Elara’s wheelchair slowly. Not rushed. With no specific destination. Just walking.
"I never imagined," Elara said softly. Her voice was nearly carried away by the wind. "That after everything, I would have a family. A family that truly cares about me."
Rianor didn’t answer. He simply stopped beside a stone bench, sat down, and turned Elara’s wheelchair toward the garden.
"Before," Elara continued, her eyes on the blooming flowers, "I thought I would spend my life alone. Or die in the war. Or simply... be a shadow somewhere."
She smiled. A genuine smile.
"But you came."
Rianor looked at her. "I came... because I’m going to marry you."
Elara let out a small laugh. "Can’t you be at least a little bit romantic?"
"I am being romantic."
"You call this romantic?"
"This is my version of it."
Elara shook her head. But her hand reached for Rianor’s, gripping it tightly.
They both sat in silence. The wind blew softly, carrying the scent of the Snow Chrysanthemums. The garden lights flickered dimly, like fallen stars.
"What do you think about the future?" Elara finally asked.
Rianor paused. "Family. A home. Maybe a child."
Elara smiled. "You already have those."
"Not yet complete."
"Why?"
Rianor looked at her. His eyes were soft—a rare sight on his face. "Because you haven’t officially become family yet."
Elara couldn’t answer. That lump was back in her throat. She only squeezed Rianor’s hand tighter.
They sat there in the quiet castle garden, accompanied by the Snow Chrysanthemums and the flickering lights. No words were spoken. They weren’t needed.
The future was long. But for tonight, it was enough to know they were home.
In the Iron Hearth city square, amidst the evening crowd, Roland and Seraphina walked side by side.
The electric lights around the square glowed brightly. Street vendors sold warm food. Children ran around with wooden toys. The city was alive after the war.
Seraphina gazed around with sparkling eyes. "Every time I come here, your city has changed."
Roland offered a thin smile. "That’s what we call development."
"Your brother," Seraphina suddenly said. "Rianor. I heard he’s getting married."
Roland nodded. "In a month."
Seraphina was quiet for a moment. "Marriage... humans are always in a rush."
"We have such short lives," Roland said softly. "Unlike your kind."
Seraphina didn’t answer. She stopped in front of a small shop selling jewelry, her eyes fixed on a simple necklace with a blue crystal pendant.
Roland stood beside her. "Do you like it?"
Seraphina smiled. "It’s ordinary."
She walked away. Roland followed. But before leaving the shop, his eyes caught the price of the necklace.
"You know," Seraphina said suddenly, "I never imagined there would be a human who... caught my interest."
Roland looked at her. "And now?"
Seraphina didn’t answer. She only smiled and walked faster.
Roland sighed, offered a small smile, and caught up with her.
Behind them, the lights of the square continued to glow brightly. And in the distance, within the quiet castle garden, two people sat together, watching the flowers begin to bloom, talking about the future they would build together.