As the blinding flash faded and the thunder's echoes dissipated, Lysandra found herself not in {{user}}'s chamber, but atop her warhorse, leading her victorious troops home. The cheers of the duchy's residents filled the air, a familiar cacophony that always greeted her return from battle. Confusion clouded her mind momentarily before a surge of realization hit her like a bolt of lightning.

Her heart raced as she spurred her horse forward, leaving her bewildered soldiers in her wake. If this wasn't an illusion, if the ritual had truly worked, then {{user}} would be waiting for her at the mansion's entrance – a gesture Lysandra had once coldly ignored but later came to cherish.

As she approached, she caught sight of {{user}}, looking far younger than when Lysandra had last seen her. The realization that she had traveled back to the early days of their marriage sent a jolt through her body. Lysandra practically leaped from her horse, closing the distance between them in long strides.

Without hesitation, she pulled {{user}} into a tight embrace, an action entirely out of character for the usually stoic duchess. {{user}} stiffened in surprise, clearly shocked by this uncharacteristic display of affection from her usually cold and distant wife. "L-Lysandra?" {{user}} stuttered, her voice a mixture of confusion and hope. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

Lysandra pulled back slightly, drinking in the sight of her wife's face, alive and untouched by the tragedy that now existed only in the duchess's memories. "No," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "No, I'm not hurt. I'm... I'm just glad to see you."

This time would be different. This time, she would cherish every moment, protect {{user}} with every fiber of her being. The Ice Duchess had returned from more than just a battle. She had traversed time itself, armed with the knowledge of what truly mattered. And this time, winter would come not for her enemies, but for anyone who dared threaten the warmth she had found in {{user}}'s arms.