[Capital City of Solmere—Thorenvald Estate—Later —Night]

The carriage rolled to a stop in front of the Thorenvald estate—elegant stone walls, golden lanterns, and that faint air of "old money meets ancient drama."

Alvar had already peeled off toward his own mansion.

I slumped back in the seat, stretching my arms above my head until my joints popped. "Haaaah... finally. That was the longest journey of my life. My spine has officially filed for divorce."

Zephyy, perched on my shoulder, flicked his tail and peered out the carriage window with a huff. ’Master... I was expecting a grand welcome. Trumpets. Rose petals. Maybe a chorus singing your praises. Why is there no one here?’

I stifled a yawn and pushed the door open as one of the estate knights hurried forward, bowing as he held it for me. ’Because, Zephyy, I’m not some prince who expects fireworks when I come home.’

’But you could be,’ Zephyy argued, ears twitching. ’You have the charm, the power, and the posterior of—’

’Finish that sentence,’ I warned, ’and you’ll be sleeping in the pantry with the brooms.’

He huffed, tail swishing like an offended diva. ’I’m merely saying, a little dramatic entrance never hurt anyone.’

I smirked, walking toward the manor’s doors as the faint glow of chandeliers flickered inside. ’Maybe for you, but for me? Home should be warm, not grand.’

’Hmmph. Spoken like someone who’s never had a red carpet rolled out for them.’

I sighed just as the heavy oak doors creaked open and the ever-faithful butler of House Thorenvald appeared. Butler Godfrey —as polished and proper as the silver trays he worships.

He bowed low, voice as smooth and crisp as a freshly ironed napkin. "Welcome back, my lord."

I squinted at him. "Godfrey... why is your name God —"

He cut me off immediately, smiling with the weariness of a man who’s had this argument a hundred times. "My lord, not again, please."

. . .

. . .

"Fine, fine. But one day I’m getting to the bottom of this divine mystery."

He merely sighed through his nose, the butler’s equivalent of I regret my life choices.

I stepped inside, stretching my aching shoulders. "So, where is everyone? The place feels too quiet—"

And then I heard it. A faint, shrill sound. A sound that foretold doom. Tiny footsteps thundered down the hallway.

"What... what is that?" I muttered.

Before Godfrey could answer, a small tornado of maroon hair and determination collided with my stomach at full speed.

"BROTHHHHHHHERRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!"

. . .

I wheezed, staggering back as the air left my body. "I— guess this is— what it feels like when— a rocket— hits your vital organs! "

Zephyy moved nervously on my shoulder. ’Master, you alive?’

"Barely," I croaked, looking down at the pint-sized menace clinging to me like a baby koala.

There she was. Alina Thorenvald. Short maroon hair, golden eyes sparkling with mischief—an exact copy of me, if I’d been created in a smaller, louder, and infinitely more dangerous version.

"Alina," I gasped, "you shouldn’t— launch yourself directly at your brother’s stomach! Your brother is a fragile flower!!!"

She looked up at me, big eyes brimming dramatically. "BUT YOU WERE GONE FOR SOOOO LONG!"

"I was gone Six months—not six years!"

"I DON’T CARE!" she declared, tightening her grip until my ribs re-evaluated their life decisions. "I AM NEVER LETTING YOU GO AGAINNNNNNNNN!!!"

I sighed, eyes crossing slightly from lack of oxygen. "Wow. She’s louder than me. The world’s not ready for this level of chaos."

I had just started recovering from the first tornado attack—breathing again, seeing colors again—when the air suddenly shifted. A shriek echoed down the hallway.

" MY DEAREST SOOOOOOON!!! "

Oh no.

I barely had time to register the approaching storm before the bigger tornado —dressed in a flurry of silk, lace, and maternal dramatics—came barreling straight at me.

"Wait—MOTHER—NO—"

Too late. The second impact hit me with the power of a divine spell and an emotional opera combined. My spine folded like a letter.

" Welcome back, Leif! " Countess Liora Thorenvald cried, squeezing me within an inch of my afterlife. "Mother missed you to death!"

"Ahaha—yes—very—touching reunion—can’t—feel—lungs—" I wheezed, flailing helplessly between two generations of affectionate destruction.

Now, I—Leif Thorenvald—the once-proud heir of a noble house and the ruler of Frojnholm, reduced to a limp ragdoll in the loving chokehold of his seven-year-old sister and his overly dramatic mother.

Zephyy blinked from my shoulder, tail flicking. ’Now I see where you get it from, master.’

"SHUT UP," I gasped mentally.

"Leif, you look so pale! Have you been eating properly? Sleeping properly? You’ve gotten thinner!" Mother fussed, cupping my face with both hands— while still hugging me, mind you, because apparently personal space is not hereditary.

"Mother, you’re—cutting off—my oxygen," I croaked.

Alina piped up, her tiny arms wrapped around my neck like a baby monkey, squeaking, "He’s fine, Mama! He’s just pretending!"

Mother scanned me from head to toe, back to front, her hands fluttering like she was measuring my life force with her eyes alone. Meanwhile, Alina swung from me like some miniature, maroon-haired monkey, kicking her legs in delight.

Then—Mother froze.

Her sharp gaze locked onto my neck.

" Godfrey! Call the physician! Someone—SOMEONE BIT MY SON!!! "

I froze mid-groan. Oh no.

"Oh, Mom—it’s nothing, really; you’re overreacting—" I started, hand weakly pointing to the offending mark given by Alvar.

But she wasn’t listening. Her eyes widened like saucers, voice dropping into a trembling whisper, "Frojnholm... is filled with mosquitoes... but I never—never—heard of a frozen place having mosquitoes... they should—should... freeze in midair..."

I swallowed, glancing down at Alina dangling from me. "Mom... please—"

Mother’s hand shot to her cheeks. Her breath hitched. Her eyes bulged like she’d just discovered the Apocalypse.

" IS IT... FROJNHOLM SPECIALIZED MOSQUITOES?!"

Alina squealed, gripping me tighter. "Brother, what are specialized mosquitoes?"

"Do I even want to explain?" I muttered under my breath, weakly waving my arms.

Zephyy on my shoulder gave a slow, dramatic blink. ’Humans... never normal, never.’

And then... very casually, someone plucked both Alina and Mother off me as if I were an overstuffed backpack.

"You... both! Didn’t I tell you to act normal ?!"

Ah. Yes. That voice. That presence. That impossible level of calm authority that somehow made me feel simultaneously relieved and utterly mortified. My father, Viktor Thorenvald, had arrived.

I sagged with relief. "Thank you, Father. Truly. You just saved what’s left of my fragile soul."

Father smiled—just a little, like the sun peeking through storm clouds—and said, "Welcome back, my son."

Zephyy blinked at him, utterly flabbergasted. ’So... I guess you do have at least one sane person in this madhouse—’

"Now...We are hosting a grand celebration in honor of your return...and for becoming the ruler of frojnholm, leif!"

DA-DA-DUM!!!!!!!

I froze. Heart thudding. Brain short-circuiting.

’He... he proved me wrong,’ Zephyy whispered, disbelief dripping from every word.

And me? I trembled. Weakly. Pathetically. Spectacularly.

I really... really... cannot take a break, can I?

***

[ThorenVald Estate—Leif’s Chamber—Later]

I plopped onto my bed with a dramatic groan, letting my body sink into the mattress like a deflating balloon. Zephyy lazily licked one of his legs, tail swishing, clearly judging my theatrics. Nick was meticulously unpacking my things nearby.

"I shall prepare your bath, my lord," he said smoothly, glancing at me. "The Count wishes to see you in ten minutes."

I groaned, face-planting into the pillow. "Yes, Nick... I remember. Just... a little rest first."

Nick nodded, serene as always. "Until then, I shall ready your bath."

I waved a lazy hand, closing my eyes. Peace... for a glorious five seconds. Then, the door creaked open. A tiny, excited voice squeaked, "Brother... can I come in?"

I cracked an eye open. "Yes, Alina, come in."

She practically launched herself into the room, scuttling onto the bed like a small, maroon-haired tornado. Arms flung around me, she giggled.

I ruffled her hair, smiling. "Are you happy, little one?"

Her golden eyes sparkled. "Very much!" she said, hugging me tighter, her little legs kicking under the blanket.

I chuckled softly, thinking how much she must have missed me. For a six-year-old, being separated from her only brother for so long had been an injustice of monumental proportions.

Then she squinted at me, curiosity practically vibrating off her. "Brother... I heard you tamed a big dog!"

I blinked. "Dog?"

Wait... she meant the Crimson Pack.

"Yes! But... um... they’re not dogs, Alina. They’re wolves."

Her eyes went wide, sparkling with awe. "Wolves?! Brother... you’re... AMAZING!"

I puffed out my chest, half-proud, half-exhausted. "Am I?"

She nodded so vigorously I thought her head might spin off. Then, a small frown creased her forehead. "But... why didn’t you bring one? I wanted to play!"

I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, smiling warmly. "Alina... they would attract too much attention. People would get scared."

Her frown melted into a sly little grin, eyes glittering with mischief. "Then... I should come live with you, brother! This way... you’ll never leave me again!"

I laughed, lifting her slightly to hug her tightly. "Alright, little whirlwind. Next time... you’re coming with me. No more separations."

She giggled, snuggling closer, tiny arms squeezing around me like a warm, persistent hug.

And just like that, the capital city didn’t feel so big, so intimidating, or so lonely. With Alina clinging to me and Zephyy glaring judgmentally, I realized... maybe home wasn’t about grandeur at all.

Maybe home was just... this.