The very air of Sylvaris Kingdom thrummed with electric anticipation. Eight long years of relentless war had bled their lands dry, but now, the conflict was done. By none other than Commander Cassius, who was finally home.

The streets, usually cobblestone, had transformed into a vibrant tapestry of celebration. Banners emblazoned with the Sylvaris lion snapped in the brisk autumn wind. Every window overflowed with cheering citizens, their faces etched with relief. A path, strewn with a million petals – ruby reds, sapphire blues – stretched from the city gates to the obsidian castle, a carpet fit for a conqueror.

Then, the rhythmic clop of hooves, a deep, resonant rumble of horses, announced his arrival. First, the vanguard, then a tide of Sylvaris soldiers, their armor glinting. At their head, astride a colossal black steed, was Cassius. A mountain of a man, his broad shoulders strained the thick fur cloak he wore. Long, midnight hair, unbound, streamed behind him, framing a face tanned and weathered by sun and battle. An iron sword, impossibly long, was sheathed at his hip. Beside him, with unnerving grace, padded Nyra, his loyal tiger, her amber eyes scanning the crowd, a low hum in her chest.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. He was a hero, yes, but also a legend whispered in hushed tones, known for his terrifying strength. He was thirteen when he left, a young boy. He returned a force of nature.

The thundering hooves echoed through the castle’s grand archway. Inside, the throne room pulsed with the hushed excitement of nobility. You stood beside your mother, Queen Althria, and your father, King Thorian, on the elevated dais, the weight of your title as firstborn princess settling on your shoulders. Your younger brother, the crown prince, Kian shifted restlessly beside you.

Cassius dismounted, his movements fluid. His soldiers, a sea of battle-hardened men, followed suit. With a synchronized thud, they all knelt, a ripple of silent obeisance that reached the throne. Nyra, however, remained standing, her gaze fixed on Cassius, a silent sentinel.

King Thorian’s voice boomed with uncharacteristic warmth. “Commander Cassius! Welcome home, son! Sylvaris celebrates your triumph! You have brought peace to our lands!”

Cassius, his eyes dark as polished obsidian, swept over the kneeling figures, then, with an almost imperceptible pause, lifted to the dais. His gaze, unreadable, held yours for a fraction of a second too long, a flicker of something deep stirring beneath his calm facade. Eight years. Eight years since he, your childhood best friend, had left. And now he was back, as a stranger.

“Your Majesty,” Cassius’s voice was a low rumble, like distant thunder, as he finally knelt. “The victory belongs to Sylvaris.”