Eloise**
The journey from the fields to Caius's home is nothing short of breathtaking.
Everything around me is vibrant, alive—exactly how I envisioned it when I first wrote about Aeloria. Rolling hills stretch into the distance, dotted with towering trees whose leaves shimmer in shades of deep emerald and gold. The sky shifts from violet to soft indigo as the sun lowers, casting warm hues over the landscape. Every now and then, a gentle breeze carries the scent of pine and wildflowers, making me feel like I'm walking through the pages of my own novel.
But this is not a dream. It's *real*.
Caius walks beside me, leading the way. He moves with ease, like he knows every step of this land by heart. His presence is commanding even in silence, his posture strong yet oddly relaxed. I glance at him from the corner of my eye, wondering what he must be thinking. Does he feel relieved to be home? Or does it remind him of everything he's lost?
The path slopes downward, leading us toward a town nestled in the valley below. From where we stand, I can see the warm glow of lanterns flickering through the streets, smoke rising from chimneys, and figures moving about, finishing their day's work. It's a place I've written about a hundred times but never *seen* with my own eyes.
As we step onto the cobblestone streets, heads begin to turn.
People notice Caius immediately. Some pause in their tracks, eyes widening. Others whisper amongst themselves, their gazes filled with something I can't quite place—respect, wariness, maybe even awe.
And then, one by one, they begin to bow.
I freeze. My heart pounds.
The entire town acknowledges him, murmuring his name like a prayer.
"Lord Caius..."
"The fallen hero returns..."
"The Lion of Aeloria walks among us once more..."
I look up at him, my breath catching in my throat. His expression is unreadable, but there's something in his gaze—something guarded, almost tired. Like he expected this reaction but didn't want it.
"They still honor you," I say softly.
He exhales, shaking his head. "Honor," he murmurs. "Perhaps. Or perhaps they only remember the legend, not the man."
I don't know how to respond to that.
The people continue to watch him with reverence. Some seem hesitant, as if afraid to approach, while others smile warmly, relieved to see him return.
A small child tugs at his mother's sleeve before pointing at him. "Mama, is that the hero from the old stories?"
The woman hushes the child but gives Caius a nod of respect.
I swallow hard. This is different from what I imagined. I thought the people might shun him, might resent him for failing to save them the way heroes are supposed to. But instead, they revere him, even as he stands before them, no longer the shining warrior they once knew.
I turn to him. "How do you feel?"
Caius's gaze sweeps over the town, his jaw tightening slightly. "I feel... like a ghost walking through the remnants of a past I no longer belong to."
My chest tightens at his words.
The fallen hero. The legend that lived on even when the man behind it had been cast aside.
I grip the strap of my bag a little tighter. This is why I'm here. To change things. To *fix* this.
Because he deserves more than to be just a ghost of his own story.
*Cauis*
The town eventually fades behind us as I lead Eloise toward my home. The weight of countless eyes still lingers, their whispers trailing like ghosts in the wind. Their respect, their reverence—I once thought it was lost. Yet, here they are, still murmuring my name as if I am something worth honoring.
I do not know how to feel about that.
The path ahead is familiar, etched into my memory from years of walking it. The lantern-lit streets grow quieter as we move past the town square, the houses becoming sparser until we reach the outskirts where my estate stands. A towering structure of stone and iron, half-hidden beneath creeping ivy, worn yet strong against the passage of time.
It is not as it once was. Some parts remain untouched, frozen in the past, while others bear the scars of abandonment.
As we approach the grand doors, I steal a glance at Eloise.
She has been silent for a while now.
At first, I thought she was merely taking in the town, absorbing the world she once crafted from ink and imagination. But the way she walks—slightly stiff, her eyes distant—tells me otherwise.
Something is on her mind.
I slow my pace until I'm walking beside her. She doesn't notice at first, lost in whatever thoughts plague her. It's strange, seeing her like this. She had been so full of wonder earlier, her joy nearly blinding. But now... now that light has dimmed.
I don't like it.
"Eloise," I say, my voice quieter than usual.
She blinks, as if pulled from a dream, and looks up at me. "Hm?"
I study her face. There's something unreadable in her expression, something she is trying to mask. It bothers me.
"What's on your mind?" I ask.
She hesitates. Then, she shakes her head with a small smile. "It's nothing. I'm fine."
Lies.
I narrow my eyes. "You were silent the entire way here."
She shrugs, attempting to brush it off. "I was just... thinking. That's all."
It is not the answer I want.
But I do not push her. Not yet.
Instead, I step forward, grasping the iron handle of the grand door and pushing it open. The wood groans against the movement, revealing the dimly lit entrance hall beyond. Dust lingers in the air, though the space is not entirely abandoned. The house is still lived in, though it lacks the warmth it once held.
I step inside first, motioning for her to follow.
"I have something to show you," I say.
She hesitates for only a moment before stepping inside.
I lead her through the halls, past faded tapestries and candlelit corridors, until we reach a pair of tall wooden doors. The familiar scent of aged parchment and ink drifts through the air as I push them open, revealing my private library.
The room is vast, lined with towering bookshelves filled with worn tomes and forgotten histories. A grand window stretches across the far wall, allowing the moonlight to pour in, casting silver beams over the polished wooden floor. Dust motes swirl in the air, disturbed only by the faint flicker of lanterns.
This was once my sanctuary.
This was once *ours*.
Eloise steps inside, her eyes widening slightly as she takes it in. "This is..." She trails off, running her fingers along the spine of a book. "Incredible."
I watch her closely. "I spent most of my time here," I admit. "So did Isolde."
She stills at the mention of my wife's name.
I glance around, my gaze lingering on the large desk at the center of the room, where stacks of parchment and old quills remain untouched. "She loved books," I continue, my voice quieter now. "More than anything. We would sit here for hours. She'd read aloud while I planned for war."
Eloise listens in silence.
For some reason, I find myself saying more than I intend to. "This was the only place where I felt at peace. Even when the world outside was crumbling, this library remained untouched."
She finally turns to face me, her expression softer now. "Why did you bring me here?"
I exhale slowly, leaning against one of the bookshelves. "Because whatever it is you're thinking—whatever it is that's clouding your mind—I want you to understand something." I pause, meeting her gaze. "You may have created this world, but I have *lived* in it."
Her lips part slightly, as if she wants to say something, but no words come out.
I push off the bookshelf and step closer, stopping just a breath away. "So tell me, Eloise. What is it that troubles you?"
For a moment, she looks as if she might finally say it.
But instead, she drops her gaze and shakes her head once more.
"I don't know yet," she murmurs. "I just... I need to think."
I study her for a long moment, then sigh. "Very well."
I step past her and walk toward the desk, placing my hand over the worn wood. The memories here are thick, heavy. I don't know why I brought her to this place. Perhaps because it is the one part of me that remains untouched by war.
Perhaps because I want her to see that, even as a fallen hero, there are pieces of me that still exist beyond vengeance.
Or perhaps... I simply don't want to be alone in this room anymore.