[Oliver’s PoV]

  “—Alert. Governor, do you read? We’ve locked onto your signal. Maximum alert. We need immediate support!”

  The voice crackled through Oliver’s comm.

  It was the first of many.

  Within seconds, notifications from every Great House reached them. The comms were alive again, and they were all screaming the same thing: they had found him.

  Oliver blinked through the flood of messages. Around him, the others were receiving them as well. Over the next few minutes, each of them was being updated and communicating with their respective bases.

  “How long?” Mordred’s voice came over, sharp and impatient. He paced back and forth across the cracked stone, his shadows twitching at his feet. “The Energy distortion should’ve been too massive. How long were we gone?”

  Oliver kept staring at the horizon.

  Dozens of ships were approaching. Their silhouettes cut through the dark sky.

  Rescue fleets.

  Every one of them armed and ready, their hulls marked with the insignias of the Great Houses.

  “Six months,” Alan said beside him.

  Oliver turned to look at him.

  Alan exhaled, shaking his head. “We’ve been missing for six months. Even compared to what happened on Fantasia-3, this is…” He trailed off, his voice fading into disbelief. “This is insane.”

  Oliver nodded, his gaze drifting back toward the Tower.

  Now that the chaos had settled, he could feel it. The flow of Energy radiating from the structure.

  “It makes sense,” he said finally. “The Energy field around the Tower and this world was distorting time. We weren’t cut off from communication; we were cut off from reality.”

  “The tombs of the Sovereigns are never simple,” Alan muttered, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

  Oliver couldn’t disagree.

  He stared at the Tower, its colossal form reaching into the dark clouds above.

  Six months.

  Half a year had passed in what felt like days.

  Oliver and Alan walked side by side as they moved away from the center.

  “I wish I could go with you,” Alan said, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “But I still owe Mordred. I can’t walk away from that yet.”

  Oliver gave a small nod. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Alan stopped, turning to face him. “When the time comes, though, when it really matters, I’ll be there.” His tone was firm, his eyes steady. “I mean it.”

  Oliver met his gaze but didn’t answer right away. He didn’t want to drag any of them into the storm he was walking toward. The fight ahead wasn’t one meant for friends; it was one meant for monsters. But now that his identity was out, that illusion of distance was gone.

  He forced a smile. “Of course.”

  For a moment, neither of them spoke. The wind carried the sound of the departing ships, the clatter of soldiers preparing for evacuation. Then Alan squinted at him, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  “Hell, you look old,” he said, shaking his head with mock disbelief.

  Before Oliver could reply, Alan stepped forward and punched him on the shoulder. The impact wasn’t hard, but it still stung enough to make Oliver wince and rub the spot.

  “That’s what you get this time,” Alan said, already turning away. “Next time you piss me off, that punch won’t be so friendly.”

  Oliver chuckled, watching as Alan walked toward the landing zone. He raised a hand in a quick, casual wave before climbing the ramp into one of the Lot transports that had begun touching down across the plaza.

  The air thrummed with the rhythmic pulse of engines.

  One by one, the ships of the Lot House arrived, dark vessels with glowing insignias etched into their hulls. Their cargo bays opened, and soldiers streamed out in precise formation.

  They moved efficiently, rounding up the surviving mercenaries, the ones who had surrendered after the battle, and loading them aboard. The prisoners didn’t resist. Most were too exhausted, too broken to care.

  Oliver stood at the edge of the plaza, watching it all unfold. The rhythmic rise and fall of the engines filled the air.

  Alan’s ship was already rising, its lights cutting through the haze as it ascended into the sky. He watched it until it vanished beyond the clouds.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Nearby, Mordred was overseeing the transfer of the prisoners. He didn’t look back, didn’t acknowledge Oliver even once. His focus was entirely on his prize, Khan, still bound in shadow's chains, being escorted toward one of the smaller transports.

  As soon as the Lot began to depart, a second wave of ships approached. The insignia of the York House gleamed on their hulls.

  As Oliver approached the Yorks’ landing area, he spotted Katherine immediately, though she didn’t look his way. Not at first.

  She was all business, barking orders, directing her soldiers as they moved through the plaza. The medics rushed to the wounded, scanning them with portable diagnostic drones.

  Katherine barely spared him a glance as she moved between her people, her voice calm but precise. “Get the priority cases onto the first transport. Move!”

  Oliver stood a few meters away, watching her work.

  When her ship finally touched down, its landing thrusters sending a gust of wind across the plaza, she turned toward him.

  For a moment, she just stood there.

  Her expression was unreadable, her posture tense. She looked as though she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

  He felt it too, the awkward distance, the invisible wall that had formed between them.

  'There’s no pausing a friendship,' he thought, his chest tightening. 'We’ve both changed a lot.'

  He forced a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  Katherine nodded once, a silent acknowledgment, then turned toward the medics as they began loading the wounded.

  The first transport’s engines roared to life, shaking the ground beneath their feet. Oliver watched as soldiers carried stretchers up the ramp.

  Two of the stretchers awaiting to be carried, caught his attention, Isabela and Astrid.

  Both were pale, yet awake and breathing.

  Katherine and Oliver moved closer, standing beside them as the medics worked.

  Isabela’s eyelids fluttered open first. Her gaze was unfocused, her voice weak but filled with disbelief.

  “I think I’m dead… or I died.”

  Astrid stirred beside her, blinking slowly. “Then I must’ve died too.”

  Oliver couldn’t help it, he almost laughed.

  Before he could respond, one of the medical officers stepped in, his tone brisk and professional. “We’re increasing the anesthetic dosage. They’ll sleep through the transfer. We'll get them to the second transport as soon as possible.”

  “Understood,” Katherine said, her voice steady.

  The officer nodded and moved away, leaving them alone for a brief moment.

  Oliver crouched beside the two women. He looked at their faces, bruised, exhausted, but alive.

  “You’re not dead,” he said quietly. “Neither of you. It’s a long story, but… I’m alive. I’m fine. And so are you.”

  “You son of a bitch.” Astrid’s voice cut through. Her mouth, as always, was quick to fire before her brain caught up. “You still owe me dinner!”

  Oliver couldn’t help but smirk, the corners of his mouth twitching.

  “Hey!” Isabela chimed in from the next stretcher, her voice slurred by the sedatives running through her veins. “Why dinner with you? He should be having dinner with Katherine.”

  Oliver blinked, taken aback.

  Astrid snorted. “Excuse me?”

  But Isabela wasn’t done. Her words tumbled out, loose and unfiltered. “I’m serious! I’ve never seen anyone cry that much for someone. He owes her at least that.”

  Her tongue was heavy, her voice stretching the syllables, the drugs doing their work.

  Before Oliver could say anything, the medical officer returned. He began pushing the gurney forward, guiding both women toward the waiting transport.

  “Let's put them under until we reach orbit.”

  Oliver stepped closer to the stretcher, his hand gripping the edge as the medics prepared to move them.

  “Hey, I'm not dead and I don't plan on dying” he said firmly, his voice carrying a weight that silenced both of them. “I promise.”

  Astrid managed a faint grin. “I’ll hold you to that, boss.”

  “Good to hear that,” came Katherine’s voice from behind him.

  Oliver turned.

  She was standing a few meters away. The air around them was alive. Soldiers shouting, engines roaring, crafts approaching and departing.

  But in that moment, it all faded into the background.

  He met her eyes. “I’m not going to die,” he said again, slower this time, the words deliberate. A promise meant for her.

  Katherine’s lips curved into a small, tired smile. “Thank you.”

  Oliver stepped closer, his voice steady. “When this is over, we’re having dinner.”

  Her brow lifted slightly. “Only when it’s over?”

  She stepped forward resting her head against Oliver’s chest.

  “It’s close to ending,” he said with quiet certainty. “You’ll see.”

  For a moment, Katherine’s composure slipped. The faintest blush colored her cheeks, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer. “Dinner… as friends.”

  Oliver chuckled, shaking his head. “As friends? It’ll be a date.”

  Her eyes widened. “A date.” She repeated the word as if testing its weight. “A date. I… I like that it’s a date.”

  It was such a rare thing. Seeing Katherine York, general of the York's elite. The woman who had faced down a god without blinking, suddenly flustered. The nervousness in her voice, the faint pink in her cheeks, it was something Oliver never thought he’d witness.

  He smiled, his chest tightening with something that wasn’t quite pain, but wasn’t far from it either.

  Before he could say anything more, a voice shouted from across the landing strip.

  “Second transport departing! Princess, we need you aboard. Now!”

  Katherine turned toward the voice, still looking dazed. She took a few steps back, her gaze lingering on Oliver.

  “Don’t forget your promise,” she said, her tone soft but firm.

  Oliver nodded, raising a hand in a small wave. “I won’t.”

  She hesitated for a heartbeat, then turned and jogged toward the waiting ship. The ramp closed behind her.

  He watched as the vessel lifted off. The ship ascended into the dark sky, joining the countless others that were ferrying soldiers, civilians, and wounded away.

  The plaza was quieter now. Only a handful of soldiers remained, those waiting for the final transport.

  Oliver exhaled and turned toward his Hoplites.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  One of them placed a hand on his shoulder. The others followed after.

  Oliver reached into his uniform, pulling out the metallic card. He glanced once more at the sky, where Katherine’s transport had vanished, and then pressed the card.

  The world around him dissolved into light.

  The ground vanished beneath his feet, the pull of the teleportation field tugging at his body.

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