The stars stretched wide overhead, countless pinpricks of silver light scattered across the velvet sky.
A soft, warm breeze stirred the curtains leading to the terrace of the master bedroom.
There, beneath the open night, on a spacious terrace lined with flowering spirit-vines, two figures sat together at a small round table — Aren Vale and Selene Vale — a bottle of aged, ruby-red wine between them.
No servants.
No guards.
No duties.
Only the sound of distant nightbirds, the hum of spirit lamps flickering softly along the balcony railings, and the easy, steady beat of two lives finally breathing together in peace.
Aren leaned back in his chair, one long leg stretched out, his golden eyes half-lidded with quiet contentment.
His dark hair, streaked with silver strands, caught the soft light, making him look almost like a king sculpted from night itself.
Selene sipped her wine, her violet eyes shining under the stars, her raven hair loose around her shoulders.
"You're brooding," she said lightly, swirling the glass between her fingers.
Aren chuckled, low and rich.
"Am I?" he asked.
"You always get that look when you're thinking too much," she teased gently, resting her chin on one hand.
"Don't tell me you're already regretting your grand announcement?"
"Not for a second," Aren said immediately, and this time his voice carried a deep certainty.
He set down his glass and turned his full attention to her, as if she were the only star worth gazing at.
"For the first time in decades," he murmured, "I finally feel like I belong somewhere other than a battlefield or a throne room."
Selene smiled — a small, private smile, meant only for him.
"I always knew you belonged here," she said quietly. "With us."
Aren reached across the table, brushing his fingers lightly against hers.
The touch was simple, but it carried the weight of a lifetime.
They spoke for a while about small things first — the taste of the wine, the sound of the garden below, Mira's antics during dinner, Elara's stubborn devotion to sword forms.
Soft laughter filled the terrace, mingling with the night air.
Then, slowly, their conversation deepened — like two rivers joining quietly into one.
"Do you remember," Selene said, tilting her head back to gaze at the stars, "when you first brought me to this estate?"
Aren closed his eyes for a moment, as memories flickered past like fireflies.
"You were terrified," he said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Selene laughed. "I was seventeen! You were the Grand Duke. And you barely spoke five words to me the entire first week."
"I spoke with my actions," Aren said in mock offense.
"By glaring at every servant who so much as looked at me?" Selene said, arching an eyebrow.
He chuckled again, softer this time. "I didn't know how to be... this."
He gestured vaguely between them.
"A husband?"
"A man," Aren corrected gently.
"A man who could be soft. Who could be yours."
Selene's expression softened.
"You learned," she whispered.
"Because of you," Aren said, voice low.
"You taught me how to come home. How to laugh. How to hold our children without fear I'd break them."
He leaned closer, his golden eyes burning softly in the night.
"You built this home, Selene. You gave me Darian and Lyra. You created a place where even a man like me — forged by wars, raised by duty — could find peace."
He stopped — and for a moment, silence wrapped around them, gentle and real.
Selene looked up — and saw it.
The slightest tremble in Aren's hand.
The way he blinked slowly, once, twice, as if struggling against something within him.
And then, without sound or shame, a tear slipped free, tracing a slow, shimmering path down his cheek.
"Aren..." she whispered, rising from her chair.
He didn't pull away when she knelt beside him, cradling his strong hands between hers.
"You gave me everything," Aren said, voice roughened by feeling.
"You stood by me when I didn't deserve it.
You raised our children when I was lost in duty.
You waited for me when I forgot how to come home.
You—"
His voice broke slightly.
"You made me a man worth something."
Selene pressed his hand to her heart, her own eyes damp now.
"You were always worth it," she whispered fiercely.
"I would choose you again. A thousand times."
Aren pulled her into his arms, holding her as if she were the only real thing in the world — and maybe she was.
They stayed there for a long, long moment, until the tide of emotion ebbed, leaving only warmth in its wake.
Selene finally climbed onto his lap, curling against him, and Aren wrapped her close, his face buried in her hair.
They spoke again — about nothing and everything.
About taking the grandchildren traveling — seeing the Spirit Mountains, the Crystal Forests, even the famous floating universities.
About building a new garden.
About maybe adopting a spirit beast, just to terrorize Mira with it.
Simple dreams.
Happy dreams.
The night grew late, and the stars wheeled slowly overhead.
Eventually, Selene began to drift off against him, her breathing soft and even.
Aren gathered her easily into his arms and carried her back inside, laying her carefully on their bed.
He lingered there for a moment, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead.
"You gave me everything I never knew I needed," he whispered again, reverently.
Selene, half-asleep, smiled faintly and murmured, "Welcome home, Aren."
And for the first time in what felt like lifetimes, he truly was.
Home.