The inner courtyard of the palace had been transformed into a glittering spectacle.
Tapestries of deep crimson and gold hung from the marble arches. Lanterns swayed above, enchanted to dance like fireflies. Courtiers in their finest silks mingled with guards still in half-polished armor. Servants moved swiftly between the columns, trays piled with roasted meats, fruits, cheeses, and goblets of amber mead.
At the center sat a grand banquet table, with King Aldren and Queen Mirella presiding. To the King’s immediate right sat Inigo. Beside him, Lyra adjusted the new silver cloak draped over her shoulders—the official mark of her knighthood.
"It itches," she whispered.
"Looks good, though," Inigo replied, slicing into a haunch of venison.
"I’d rather wear bark and furs again."
Across the table, a plump baron leaned toward the Queen, whispering something with a sly smile. The Queen nodded politely, though her gaze kept drifting back to Inigo. So did half the court’s.
It was clear now that this wasn’t just a feast—it was also a spectacle. A statement. The outsider had won their war. And now the realm wanted to claim him as their own.
"Are you... used to this?" Lyra asked under her breath.
"No," Inigo muttered. "Back home, I was nobody. Just another guy in a uniform. Now I’ve got kings and nobles eyeing me like a prize horse."
"Same thing, in their eyes."
Suddenly, a voice rang out—a clear baritone. "My King! If I may..."
All turned as Duke Halvar of the Western Reach rose, goblet in hand. A veteran noble with a square jaw and silvered hair, his presence alone commanded attention.
"Tonight we celebrate victory not only over the Red Wyrm," he declared, "but over fear itself. For centuries, the dragon ruled our skies. But now, a man has come from beyond the stars, and with our own Lady Lyra, they struck it down!"
Applause followed. The Duke raised his cup to Inigo.
"I propose we make his stay permanent."
King Aldren raised an eyebrow. "Permanent, Duke Halvar?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. Let the man choose his own estate. Lands, title, vassals. Let him build a legacy here. He’s proven himself more than worthy."
Inigo’s jaw tightened. He felt Lyra glance at him.
Before he could speak, a younger noble—a marquess from the southern plains—stood up.
"I agree. Let us grant him lordship over Emberreach. Rebuild it in his name. A citadel of skyfire to protect the realm!"
More voices joined in.
"A new order of knights!"
The King raised a hand and the clamor ceased.
"Inigo," Aldren said calmly. "What say you?"
The eyes of the court turned once again to the man from another world.
Inigo rose from his seat slowly, his plate untouched, the goblet near his elbow still full.
He took a moment to find his words.
"I didn’t come here for power," he began. "Or land. Or titles. I came here because I crashed through the sky and landed in a forest."
A few nervous chuckles rippled through the back rows.
"I’ve fought wars," he continued. "I’ve flown machines across continents. I’ve seen what happens when men with too much ambition reach for too much authority."
He paused, eyes scanning the crowd.
"I’m honored—truly. But I don’t want a crown. I want purpose."
He looked toward Lyra.
"And right now, my purpose is beside her."
Lyra blinked, caught off guard. A faint smile crept up her lips.
"I’ll help where I can," Inigo went on. "I’ll protect what needs protecting. I’ll fight again, if I must. But I don’t need marble walls or a gold seal to do that."
King Aldren nodded slowly.
"Then you shall have neither—unless you ask."
The nobles, disappointed but not insulted, began to murmur among themselves.
As Inigo sat back down, Lyra elbowed him lightly.
"You handled that well."
"I half expected them to throw me into a political marriage."
"They still might. Watch out for the Duchess of Rhent."
"I saw her eyeing me."
The music began again, a slow ballad played by strings and flute. Dancers took to the lower hall. Bards whispered lyrics about dragons and steel steeds. Wine flowed like water.
As the moon climbed high above the palace towers, Inigo and Lyra eventually slipped away from the feast, their bellies full and their minds heavy with everything that had transpired.
They wandered into the palace garden, torches lining the stone paths. Roses and night lilies bloomed in glowing clusters.
Lyra leaned against a fountain’s edge, dipping her hand in the cool water.
"So," she said. "No lordship. No tower. Just... you. Me. And a war machine."
Inigo laughed quietly. "Sounds about right."
He hesitated. "I don’t know what ’home’ even means anymore."
The wind rustled the leaves. A lone nightbird sang in the trees.
"You could make one here," she said gently.
"Maybe," he murmured. "But not in a castle. Not behind velvet ropes."
"You’ve been with me since day one. When I didn’t know how to survive in this place. When everything was strange. You were the only thing that made sense."
Lyra met his gaze. "So what now?"
He pulled a folded parchment from his jacket—an official seal from the Royal War Office.
"While we were at the feast, this was slipped to me. Quietly. No fanfare."
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"
"A request. From the King’s Marshal. Scouts spotted strange movements beyond the northern rift. Something big. Rumors of... tunneling beasts. Monsters we haven’t cataloged yet."
Inigo nodded. "A dangerous one."
Lyra smirked. "I’m in."
He tucked the letter away.
"I’m a knight now, remember? I don’t sit in halls and sip wine. I draw steel."
Inigo looked out toward the stars.
"Let’s leave at dawn."
She stood beside him. "Together?"
"Well, I’d like to ride on that metal beast of yours soon."