The sun stood at its zenith when the column appeared on the horizon.
The city had been waiting. All morning, citizens had poured onto the main street, hanging banners and decorating balconies with flowers. Vendors carried baskets of fresh pastries, children clambered onto rooftops, and elders stepped out of their homes, leaning on walking sticks. Even those who didn’t believe in miracles had come out today to greet those who had returned from the bloodiest battle in the duchy’s history.
And now they were here.
At the front marched the thinned ranks of the army. It was no longer the shining, hope-filled force that had departed just days earlier. These soldiers wore dented and battered armor, their heads and arms wrapped in bloodied bandages, their faces weathered by the harsh winds of the mountain pass. Yet they walked with heads held high. They walked in victory.
At the very head of the column, riding side by side on white horses, were two figures.
Randel Aichenwald. His armor was covered in deep scratches from enemy blades. His cloak was burned through in three places. The fresh marks of battle still lingered on his face. He rode steadily, eyes fixed forward, and in his gaze there was no pride—only weariness and a quiet calm.
Beside him rode her.
Her golden armor blazed so brightly in the sunlight that it was almost painful to look at. The helmet with no visor slits hid her face completely, turning her from a person into a living symbol. The embodiment of the power that had stopped the horde. The miracle that had saved them all.
The city erupted in cheers.
“
The Guardian! The Guardian!
”
“Glory to Aichenwald!”
“They won! We’re alive!”
Flowers rained down beneath the horses’ hooves. Women wept openly. Men clenched their fists, gazing at the returning soldiers with a gratitude too deep for words.
Amanda rode in silence. She looked at the jubilant city, at the people throwing flowers at her feet, and felt something tighten painfully inside her chest.
They’re looking at me. They believe I’m a goddess. That I saved them. But I… I just stood on that rock. Leo and Torglin did everything. Randel killed the khan. I only… I only raised my hand.
But she didn’t say it. She couldn’t. Not here. Not now.
She watched Randel.
She studied his profile — straight, calm, and confident. The way his hand rested on the pommel of his sword. The way he sat in the saddle — effortlessly, naturally, as if he had been born there.
And she thought about what had happened in the gorge.
He had killed Gul-Nadar. The one they called the Stone-Throat. The one who had crushed entire armies. The one before whom kings trembled. He had met the khan in single combat, and less than a minute later the warlord lay in the dust with his throat slit.
How did he do it?
Amanda wondered.
After fighting twenty enemies, after being knocked to the ground… where did he find the strength?
She remembered the book. The very one she had been reading before her death, back when she was Yamada Light. In that book, Randel had been killed right at the beginning. He hadn’t even had the chance to show what he was truly capable of. Now, having seen it with her own eyes, she finally understood why.
The author killed him too early,
she realized.
Because if Randel had lived, he would have destroyed all the enemies by himself. He didn’t need heroes. He didn’t need mages. He only needed this one man. And the author was afraid. Afraid that the readers would end up loving him more than the main character.
She smiled beneath her helmet. She wanted to tell him this. To tell him that he was the greatest warrior she had ever seen. That he was the real hero, not her. That her only role was to stand beside him and shine.
But she stayed silent. Because she didn’t know how to say it. Because she was afraid that speaking it aloud would shatter the legend that had saved them all.
Then he turned to her.
He couldn’t see her eyes — the helmet hid her face completely. Yet he felt her gaze on him. Through the metal. Through the magic. Through the lies.
“You’re looking at me,” he said.
“No,” she lied.
“You’re lying. I can feel it.”
He nudged his horse closer. Their mounts walked side by side, almost touching.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“About how you killed the khan.”
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“It was a good strike.”
“It was a brilliant strike.”
He smiled. She could feel it — in the subtle change of his breathing.
“Are you blushing?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
“Shut up.”
He reached out and, without even looking, placed his hand on her leg. Right over the golden armor. Right in front of the entire city.
Amanda flinched.
“What are you doing?!”
“Holding onto my woman,” he answered calmly. “So she doesn’t run away.”
“I’m in full armor. I’m not going anywhere.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
She wanted to protest, but the words caught in her throat. Because his hand was warm even through the metal. Because the whole city was watching. Because… she liked it.
“You’re impossible,” she whispered.
“I know,” he said, squeezing her leg a little tighter. “But you love me.”
“Where does that confidence come from?”
“You said it.”
“That was on the battlefield. I was in shock.”
“Words spoken in shock are the most honest ones.”
She didn’t reply. She simply looked forward at the palace growing ever closer, feeling the steady warmth of his hand on her leg.
They were waiting for them at the entrance to the palace.
Tywin Aichenwald stood on the top step, leaning on his cane. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t waving. He simply watched the approaching column, and in his eyes was something rarely seen on the old duke’s face.
Relief.
Beside him stood Roxana. Her scarlet eyes were bloodshot — she hadn’t slept in days, poring over reports, issuing orders, and praying to gods she had never believed in.
A little further back was Eleonora. Her face was pale, her hands trembling. She was looking at only one person.
Randel dismounted first. The sound of his boots striking the stone tiles echoed across the square, drowning out the cheers of the crowd.
He took a step toward his family.
“Son,” Tywin’s voice cracked. “You’ve returned.”
“I promised I would, Father.”
The old duke stepped forward and embraced him. Tightly. Harder than he had since Randel was a child. Roxana couldn’t hold back any longer and rushed to them. The three of them stood together, forgetting titles, forgetting protocol, forgetting who was supposed to be what.
Amanda watched them as she dismounted. She felt out of place. Like an outsider. But at that moment, Eleonora lifted her gaze and looked at her.
“Come here, child,” she said, her voice soft as a mother’s touch. “You are part of this family too.”
Amanda took a step forward, and that was when she felt someone’s hand settle on her...
“Randel!” She jerked away as if scalded.
He stood right beside her, his palm resting openly and shamelessly on her ass. Right there, in front of the entire court.
“What?” he asked with an innocent expression.
“Get your hand off!”
“But I just wanted you to know — I’m glad you’re mine.”
“Remove. Your hand. Right now!”
He did. But with the air of someone doing her a favor.
“You are unbearable,” she hissed.
“You’ve said that before.”
“I’ll say it again!”
“Go ahead. I love it when you’re angry.”
She froze. Because there was something in his eyes that stole her breath. Not mockery. Not teasing. It was raw, hot, living desire.
“Enough,” she whispered.
“Enough of what?”
“This. You already… I already…”
She trailed off, feeling her cheeks burn. Randel leaned closer.
“You already what?”
“My lips hurt,” she blurted out. “And they’re bruised. From your… from all the constant…”
He smiled. Wide. Happy. So genuinely that even Tywin, turning around, raised an eyebrow.
“Is that my fault?”
“Yes!”
“Good,” he stepped even closer. “Then I’ll be gentler.”
“Randel!”
He laughed — a real, loud laugh that seemed to chase the clouds away from above the palace. And Amanda, despite the embarrassment, despite the burning shame, despite her face glowing so hot it probably showed even through her helmet, smiled too.
“Come on,” he said, taking her by the hand. “I’ll introduce you to the family. Officially.”
“I already know them.”
“Now you’ll know them as family.”
She didn’t answer. She simply walked beside him, feeling his fingers squeeze hers, and thought that perhaps this was what happiness truly was. Not being a goddess. Not being a hero. Just walking next to the person who looked at you like you were his entire world.
Eleonora embraced her first.
“My child,” she whispered, pulling Amanda tightly against her chest. “You saved my son. You saved all of us. Thank you.”
Amanda didn’t know what to say. She simply stood there, feeling the warmth of a mother’s arms, and something inside her began to melt.
Roxana approached next. Her scarlet eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but she held herself together.
“I won’t say ‘thank you,’” she said. “Because you’re family now. And family doesn’t thank. We simply… accept.”
She extended her hand. Amanda removed her gauntlet and shook it. The two women looked at each other, and there was no hostility in their gazes — only respect.
Tywin approached last. He studied Amanda for a long moment — her golden armor, the helmet that hid her face — and in his eyes was something she had never expected to see.
“I don’t know how,” he said quietly. “But I know one thing: without you, my son would be dead. My duchy would have been destroyed. My family…” His voice trembled. “My family would not have survived.”
He lowered himself onto one knee.
“You are not a guest in this house. You are part of it. Always.”
Amanda stared at the old duke kneeling before her, and she felt tears sliding down her cheeks beneath the helmet.
“Please rise,” she whispered. “I’m not…”
“You are worthy,” Randel said, stepping up beside her. “You have always been worthy.”
He gently removed her helmet.
The crowd gasped. None of the citizens had ever seen her face. Only the golden mask, only the armor, only the symbol. Now they saw a girl standing before them. With red eyes. With tear-streaked cheeks. With lips that were genuinely bruised and swollen from kissing. With a face that showed everything — fear, joy, exhaustion, and love.
“Is that her?” someone whispered in the crowd.
“The Guardian?”
“She’s… she’s just a girl…”
Amanda looked at the people staring at her and waited. She waited for disappointment. For contempt. For fear.
But instead, an old soldier — the very same one who had fought beside her in the mountain pass — dropped to one knee.
“Glory to the Guardian!” he shouted.
The crowd took up the cry.
“Glory to the Guardian!”
“Glory!”
“Glory!”
Amanda stood there, feeling as though the ground had fallen away beneath her feet. She didn’t know if she deserved this. She didn’t know if what she had done was right. But she knew one thing — she was here. She was alive. And beside her was a man who looked at her as if she were a miracle.
“Come on,” Randel said, taking her hand. “Enough tears. It’s time to celebrate.”
“My lips still hurt,” she reminded him.
“I promised I’d be gentle.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Want to test me?”
She looked at him. At his smile. At his eyes. At his hands holding hers so firmly. And despite everything — the embarrassment, the fear, the aching exhaustion — she smiled.
“I’ll test you,” she said.
And they walked into the palace together, beneath the roar of the cheering crowd, under the eyes of those who still believed in miracles — and those who had just realized that miracles were simply people who refused to give up. Even when the whole world stood against them.