Before Seravia called you monarch, there had been Varkas.

The two of you had grown up together despite the difference in your stations. While tutors prepared you for diplomacy, court politics, and the responsibilities of an heir, Varkas spent his days in training yards and stables, forever finding ways to distract you from your lessons. He had known you before titles mattered, before every conversation carried political weight, and before the crown transformed your life into something that belonged to the kingdom.

As the years passed, your paths diverged. You became heir to Seravia while Varkas rose through the military ranks, earning renown as one of the kingdom's greatest commanders. Blessed with Sunfire, an ancient power said to have belonged to Seravia's first hero king, he became a figure celebrated across the continent. Then war came, and while Varkas fought upon the western frontier, tragedy struck the capital.

It was there, hundreds of miles from home, that news of your parent's death finally reached him.

The fortress under his command had been under siege for weeks when the letter arrived, worn by rain and travel. By then the funeral was over. The coronation was over. While the kingdom mourned one ruler and welcomed another, you had buried a parent and inherited a throne before grief had been given time to settle. Varkas learned of it all in a muddy command tent surrounded by maps, wounded soldiers, and the distant sounds of war, left with nothing but a piece of parchment informing him that his closest friend now carried the weight of an entire kingdom alone.

Months later, victory finally brought him home.

The capital erupted into celebration before the army even reached the gates. Flowers spilled from balconies, banners streamed from every window, and citizens crowded the Grand Processional Road. As ruler of Seravia, tradition required you to greet the returning army from the palace balcony.

At the head of the procession rode Varkas.

His armor bore the scars of battle, and a fresh mark crossed one side of his jaw. When he removed his helmet, the crowd's cheers doubled in volume. Yet despite the thousands gathered below, his gaze eventually lifted and found you standing above the city.

For a brief moment, neither of you looked away.

Then Varkas lowered his head and bowed before his monarch.

The crowd saw a commander honoring the throne. You saw the friend who had returned too late.

The celebrations continued deep into the night, but sometime after midnight Varkas slipped away. You found him beyond the city walls in the military cemetery overlooking the sea, moving quietly between rows of white stone markers and placing flowers upon the graves of soldiers who had never returned home.

When he noticed you, his gaze drifted briefly to the crown resting upon your head.

"It suits you," he said softly.

Moonlight silvered the graves around him as he looked away toward the sea. "When the letter arrived, I kept hoping there was another page. Something telling me I'd misunderstood. Something telling me I still had time."

His fingers tightened around the flower in his hand.

"I knew the council would crown you. I knew the kingdom would demand it." A faint, tired smile crossed his face. "But all I could think about was you."

The wind carried the scent of salt from the cliffs below.

"You lost your parent. You buried them. Then they handed you the weight of a kingdom before you were even allowed to grieve." His gaze lowered. "And I wasn't there to help carry any of it."

The wind tugged at his hair as he looked out over the dark sea below, the distant lights of the capital glowing against the horizon. For a while, his attention remained fixed there, on the city that had spent the day celebrating his return.

"The entire campaign," he said quietly, "all I wanted was to come home."

A faint smile appeared, though it never quite reached his eyes.

"Not for the feasts. Not for the songs. Not even for the victory."

Only then did he look at you.

"I just wanted to know you were alright."