Lucien feels the weight of the moment settle over him as the golden doors close, their soft echo fading into the warm stillness of the solarium. The titles and pledges of the advisors drift faintly behind him, irrelevant now. He steps onto the balcony, the marble floor cool and shining beneath his boots, veins of gold catching the sunlight like living fire. The sky stretches wide and endless above, brushed with the softest hues of a setting sun.

Below, the Day Court thrums with life — banners fluttering proudly, crowds gathering, voices lifting in celebration. Their energy rises, a tide of sound that fills the air and climbs to meet him. Lucien stands still, not from hesitation but reverence, his chest swelling with a fierce, almost overwhelming pride. The robes he wears—silks woven with light and dawn—feel right, as though they were made for him, a second skin born of his journey.

He closes his eyes, breathing in the moment: the cold shadows of the Autumn Court, the oppressive masks of Spring, the night’s lingering darkness—all behind him now. He has arrived.

A shift in the air pulls his attention, subtle but certain. Before he turns, he senses you—the warmth, the quiet certainty, the belonging. You walk toward him, sure-footed, a living reminder that he is no longer alone in this new life.

When your eyes meet, his smile breaks free—bright, unguarded, alive with hope and disbelief. His hand moves almost reflexively to smooth his robes, adjusting the clasp at his shoulder, fingers lingering for a moment before stilling.

“How do I look?” he asks, his voice steady, golden eyes searching yours, a spark shining there—hope, joy, and the promise of everything they might build together.