A cheer rose from the forest below.
The expedition turned toward the sound. Hundreds of people had gathered along the road leading to the mountain: soldiers, healers, merchants, citizens, and families who had spent the last several days waiting for news. Some had climbed trees for a better view. Others stood shoulder to shoulder beneath the emerald canopy, their faces lifted toward the mountain as if they had been afraid to look away in case the dungeon opened again.
When they saw the expedition standing in the sunlight, the cheer became a roar.
People embraced one another. Soldiers struck their shields with the flat of their swords. Several of the older citizens simply began to cry, their relief too large to be contained by dignity. The news spread through the crowd before anyone had even reached the road.
The Dungeon Break was over.
Ten years of fear had finally come to an end.
Adrian descended the slope with the others, accepting greetings he barely had time to answer. A young elf pressed a handful of wildflowers into his hand. An elderly merchant bowed so deeply that Adrian had to catch him by the shoulders before he toppled over. Children ran alongside the expedition, asking whether the Keeper had truly been as large as the stories claimed, and Theron delighted in making the answers progressively less believable.
"Larger," the giant High Elf declared solemnly. "It had six heads, a tail that stretched from one end of the kingdom to the other, and a terrible habit of stealing breakfast."
"That last part isn't true," Mirelle said.
"You weren't there when it stole mine."
"You left your breakfast unattended."
"A technicality."
Adrian laughed, and for a moment the sound surprised him. It had been too long since laughter had come so easily.
At the foot of the mountain, King Eldaron waited in emerald armour, his golden hair moving gently in the breeze. His usual royal composure remained, but the tension that had lived in his shoulders since the expedition began was gone. Beside him stood Elaris and several members of the royal guard, all watching the returning party with the solemn attention reserved for people who had changed the course of history.
When Adrian approached, Eldaron stepped forward. The king looked first at the expedition, then at the mountain behind them. He drew a long breath, and for a moment the years seemed to weigh upon him.
"Nine hundred years, since the last dungeon break," Eldaron said quietly. "Nine hundred years of preparing for the day that one of the dungeons would break, of teaching our children to fear the mountain, of wondering whether we would be the generation that watched our kingdom fall."
His gaze returned to Adrian.
"And now the mountain is silent. Every time dungeons spawned was always dangerous, and this one was the most dangerous one we had in nine hundred years."
He bowed. Not the brief dip of a king acknowledging another ruler. Not a ceremonial gesture performed for the crowd. Eldaron bent deeply, offering Adrian a gesture of gratitude that made several nobles behind him stiffen in surprise.
"On behalf of Verdant Reach," the king said, "thank you."
Adrian immediately looked uncomfortable. "Your Majesty, you don't have to—"
"I do." Eldaron straightened, his voice carrying across the gathering without needing to rise. "You and the people who stood beside you entered a place that had defeated every expedition sent before you. You faced something we had feared for generations, and you returned not merely alive, but with an answer. Whatever history records about this day, let it record that Verdant Reach did not stand alone."
He turned toward the assembled citizens.
"The fear that has followed our people for nine hundred years, and having the most difficult and dangerous dungeon we have had in nine hundred years, has come to an end. We will remember those who prepared to defend us, those who risked their lives beneath the mountain, and those who waited for their return. We will not forget the price of our peace, but neither will we spend the rest of our lives fearing its loss."
The crowd answered him with another great cheer.
Adrian stood quietly among it, feeling the strange weight of a victory that belonged to far more people than himself. He had fought the Keeper, but he had not been the only one who had endured the Trial. The expedition had carried one another through its dangers. The soldiers had held their positions. The healers had kept the wounded alive. The people of Verdant Reach had waited, hoping that the world beyond their homes might still be kind.
For once, he was content to let the moment belong to everyone.
As the crowd began to move toward the city, Theron appeared at Adrian's side with two wooden cups of apple cider.
"You look like a man who needs a drink."
Adrian accepted one. "I look like a man who spent days fighting an ancient magical creature."
"Exactly. Very thirsty work."
They clinked their cups together.
The cider was sweet, cool, and faintly spiced. Adrian took a long drink, then looked toward the forest, where Ember had already abandoned his shoulder in favour of a group of children carrying baskets of berries. The little red panda scampered between their feet, accepted a treat from one child, and immediately attempted to steal another from someone else.
"He's going to become a menace," Adrian observed.
Theron followed his gaze. "Become?"
Adrian gave him a look.
Theron smiled into his cider.
For the first time in days, there was no immediate danger waiting around the next corner. The mountain stood silent behind them, the sky stretched clear overhead, and the people of Verdant Reach were free to celebrate without watching the tree line for signs of the coming disaster.
Adrian intended to enjoy every minute of it.
He had no idea how little time he would be given.
The celebration lasted well into the afternoon.
Music drifted between the enormous silver oaks, and the streets of Verdant Reach filled with the smells of roasted vegetables, fresh bread, spiced meats, and sweet pastries. Spirits wandered among the crowds, their translucent forms shimmering beneath the sunlight, while children ran between the tables with the boundless energy of people who had been told that something frightening was finally over. Even the guards seemed to have forgotten their usual severity. Several had removed their helmets, and one particularly solemn elf was attempting to teach a group of children how to salute with wooden swords.
Adrian watched the spectacle from the edge of the gathering, his cider resting forgotten in his hand.
He had spent so much time thinking about what might go wrong that he sometimes forgot what he was trying to protect. It was easy to become consumed by threats, responsibilities, and the next problem waiting to be solved. Yet here, beneath the great trees, people were laughing because they believed tomorrow would be different from yesterday.
That was worth more than any reward the dungeon could have offered.
A familiar voice spoke beside him.
"I believe you have earned a moment of peace."
Adrian turned to find King Eldaron approaching, no longer surrounded by the same wall of guards and advisers that usually accompanied him. The king had exchanged his ceremonial mantle for a simpler green cloak, though he still carried himself with the quiet authority of someone who had spent centuries learning when to speak and when to listen.
"I'm trying to enjoy it," Adrian replied. "I'm just waiting for something to explode."
Eldaron regarded him for a moment.
"Is that a common concern in Stonehollow?"
"More common than I'd like."
The king laughed, a warm and surprisingly unguarded sound. "Then perhaps your town has taught you to appreciate peace differently than we do."
"Maybe. Peace is easier to appreciate when you've had to repair a fence three times in the same week."
"A fence?"
"Long story."
"I suspect it is."
For a moment, they stood together watching the celebration. Then Eldaron's expression softened, and the conversation shifted into something quieter.
"You remind me of my father," he said.
Adrian glanced at him. "I hope that's a good thing."
"It is." Eldaron rested his hands behind his back. "He was not the strongest swordsman in the kingdom, nor was he the greatest mage. There were generals who could defeat him in a duel and scholars who knew more about magic than he ever would. Yet people followed him through years of hardship because he made them believe tomorrow could be better than today."
The king looked toward the gathering.
"He built roads where there had been mud, schools where there had been empty fields, and homes where war had left nothing but ashes. When people asked him how he intended to change the kingdom, he would tell them to start by making certain their neighbours had enough to eat."
Adrian smiled faintly. "Sounds like a sensible man."
"He was." Eldaron's gaze returned to him. "And when I look at you, I see something of that same stubborn belief. You face things that would frighten most people, yet you still speak of rebuilding, protecting families, and making certain a town has enough food for winter."
Adrian lowered his cup, suddenly aware that the king was not speaking casually.
"What are you really asking me, Your Majesty?"
Eldaron smiled. "If Stonehollow continues to grow, what sort of ruler will you become?"
The question lingered between them.
Adrian could have answered with ambition. He could have spoken of stronger walls, a larger army, expanding trade, and a future in which no neighbouring kingdom would dare threaten his people. Those things mattered, and he was not foolish enough to pretend otherwise. Stonehollow needed protection. It needed resources, organisation, and people who could make difficult decisions when the consequences were unpleasant.
But those were not the first things that came to mind.
He thought of the people who had chosen to build their lives in his town. He thought of the homes rising along its roads, the workshops filling with the sounds of honest work, and the children who deserved to grow up believing that their future belonged to them. He thought of the countless small problems that would never make it into a history book but would determine whether ordinary people could sleep peacefully at night.
"I don't know, I am just the mayor," Adrian admitted with a faint smile. "I suppose I'll try to make sure people have a place to live, enough food to eat, and a chance to build something of their own. I'll try to keep the roads safe, the walls standing, and the people who live there from having to worry about every little thing that might kill them."
Eldaron waited, expecting perhaps a grander political decree.
Adrian shrugged. "And if all else fails, I'll probably still end up helping someone rebuild a fence."
The king stared at him for a heartbeat before laughing a rich, unburdened sound. "A fine ambition."
"It's a very important fence."
"Of course."
The laughter faded, leaving a comfortable silence between them. Eldaron held out his hand.
"Whatever the future brings, Verdant Reach will stand beside Stonehollow. Not merely because you helped us today, but because I believe the friendship between our people can become something worth preserving."
Adrian looked at the offered hand, then took it.
"Stonehollow will stand beside Verdant Reach, too."
Their hands clasped firmly, sealing an alliance born not from royal decrees, but from shared survival.
Across the gathering, Elaris watched the exchange. She had spent much of her life surrounded by discussions of borders, treaties, trade routes, and military alliances. She understood their importance. Yet the sight of her father shaking hands with the mayor of a growing settlement carried a meaning that no formal treaty could entirely capture.
History, she thought, did not always change with the signing of a document or the declaration of a war.
Sometimes, it changed with a promise made between two people who intended to keep it.
Ember was having a considerably less philosophical afternoon.
Adrian found the little red panda perched on a low branch, surrounded by three children who were attempting to persuade him to climb down. Ember listened to their increasingly elaborate arguments with the expression of a creature who understood every word and had decided that none of them were sufficiently convincing.
One of the children held up a berry.
Ember leaned forward.
The child smiled triumphantly.
Then Ember snatched the berry, bounded to the other side of the branch, and began eating it while the children protested.
Adrian folded his arms. "You're setting a terrible example."
Ember looked at him, chewed, and swallowed.
Then he held out one tiny paw as if asking whether Adrian had brought more food. "I see how it is."
Mirelle joined him, laughing softly. "I think he has decided that the children are his personal servants."
"That makes two of us who need to discuss his behaviour."
"You say that as though you intend to do anything about it."
"I intend to complain. It's an important first step."
Mirelle's smile warmed as she watched Ember finally leap down into the waiting arms of one of the children. "I think he's happier than I've ever seen him."
Adrian's expression softened. "I thought he'd miss the forest."
"He will." Mirelle nodded. "But home isn't always a place. Sometimes it's a person."
Adrian watched Ember scamper across the grass, his little body moving with a confidence that had been missing when they first met. The familiar had found a place beside him without ceremony or negotiation. There had been no grand oath, no formal contract, no carefully worded promise. Ember had simply decided to stay, and Adrian had found that he was more than happy to make room.
Eventually, Mirelle reached into the leather satchel resting against her hip and carefully withdrew a bundle wrapped in soft green cloth. Every buckle had been stitched by hand, while the leather itself bore elegant silver embroidery depicting tiny leaves, paw prints, and ancient druidic symbols from the familiar sanctuary.
"This belonged to my master," she explained as she unfolded the cloth.
Inside rested a collection of miniature travelling equipment perfectly sized for Ember. There was a tiny bedroll woven from enchanted moss that would always remain warm, a collapsible drinking bowl carved from polished oak, grooming brushes, herbal medicines, a climbing harness designed for mountain travel, and several small leather pouches filled with dried berries and medicinal treats. At the bottom lay a little medallion bearing the insignia of the Familiar Guild.
Adrian stared at the collection. "You made all this?"
"I helped." Mirelle adjusted one of the straps. "My master believed familiars should be treated as companions, not possessions. He always said that if an adventurer expected an animal to share their dangers, the least they could do was make certain it had somewhere comfortable to sleep."
Adrian picked up the moss bedroll between two fingers. It was so small that it could fit neatly into his palm, yet the enchanted material held a faint warmth.
"That's a good philosophy."
"It is." Mirelle's gaze softened. "I thought Ember might appreciate having something of his own. Somewhere to sleep when you travel. A few familiar comforts."
Adrian looked down at the little harness and the neatly packed medicines. The thoughtfulness of it touched him more than he expected.
"Thank you, Mirelle. Truly."
She smiled. "You don't have to thank me. Just make certain he doesn't eat the herbal medicines all at once."
Adrian glanced toward Ember, who was now attempting to convince a second child to surrender a pastry. "I can promise to try."
"That is not particularly reassuring."
"It's the best I have."
Mirelle laughed, and Adrian carefully packed the equipment away. Ember eventually returned to him, climbed up his coat, and settled on his shoulder as if he had been conducting important business rather than negotiating for additional food.
The little familiar sniffed the bundle.
Then he looked at Adrian.
Adrian narrowed his eyes. "No."
Ember sniffed again.
"No, you are not eating the bedroll."
The familiar looked profoundly offended.
Mirelle covered her mouth to hide her laughter.
For several minutes, the three of them remained beneath the tree, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon. Adrian knew that the road back to Stonehollow would bring responsibilities with it. Reports would need reading, decisions would need making, and the town would have changed in ways he would need to understand.
But not yet.
For a little while longer, he allowed himself to stand in the sunlight and listen to the sound of people celebrating a future they had once been afraid they would never see.
By evening, the royal kitchens had become a battlefield of a different sort.
Ruby stood with her arms folded in front of a long wooden table, staring at a crate of supplies with the expression of a commander who had just discovered that someone had deliberately sabotaged her campaign.
"This is supposed to last the journey?" she demanded.
The royal cook, a broad-shouldered elf with an immaculate apron, looked as though he would rather face another Dungeon Break. "It is more than sufficient for the travelling party."
"For a travelling party that intends to eat once every three days, perhaps."
"We have included preserved vegetables, dried fruit, bread, cheese, smoked meat—"
"And not nearly enough fresh herbs."
The cook blinked. "Fresh herbs?"
"Do you expect people to eat bland food simply because they are travelling?"
Adrian appeared in the doorway at precisely the wrong moment.
Ruby turned toward him. "Good. You're here. Tell him."
Adrian looked from Ruby to the cook, then to the crate.
"Tell him what?"
"That the food needs improving."
He considered the supplies. "It looks fine to me."
Ruby's eyes narrowed.
Adrian immediately reconsidered his position. "Although I suppose there could be more herbs."
The cook gave him a look of betrayed gratitude.
Ruby pointed at the crate. "And more dried fruit."
"More dried fruit," Adrian agreed.
"And another sack of flour."
"Another sack of flour."
"And I want proper portions for everyone in Stonehollow. We are not going to arrive home and discover that the people who stayed behind have been living on stale bread while we enjoy a royal feast."
Adrian smiled. "That sounds reasonable."
"It is reasonable."
"It's also going to require a much bigger crate."
"Then find me a bigger crate."
The cook muttered something about impossible people and disappeared into the storeroom.
Adrian watched him go. "I think you frightened him."
"Good. It means he's paying attention."
Ruby resumed packing, directing two assistants with the efficiency of someone who had already decided how the supplies should be arranged. She had food for the expedition, additional provisions for Stonehollow, and a separate bundle of herbs and preserved ingredients she intended to distribute among the town's cooks and healers.
Adrian leaned against the table.
"You know, most people would consider it a luxury to have a royal kitchen prepare their travel supplies."
"Most people are wrong."
"I'm beginning to understand why the cook looked so afraid."
Ruby ignored him, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
By the time she finished, the crate had grown so large that two servants were required to carry it. Adrian looked at the towering stack of provisions and wondered whether they were returning to Stonehollow or establishing a second royal kitchen there. He decided not to ask.
The following morning, the royal court gathered for a farewell that was considerably more formal than Adrian would have preferred.
King Eldaron stood at the entrance to the palace gardens, with Elaris beside him and the assembled members of the expedition waiting nearby. The forest beyond the walls shimmered beneath the early sunlight, and the air carried the fresh scent of leaves still wet with morning dew.
Adrian had already packed his belongings. Ember's miniature travelling equipment had been secured safely among them, though the familiar had made several attempts to inspect the bundle for edible contents.
Julia stood with the Verdant Reach guards, her armour polished and her posture straight. As a Beastkin captain serving the kingdom, she had duties here that could not simply be abandoned because an expedition had ended. Her presence at the farewell was a reminder that the bonds formed beneath the mountain would endure even when the people who had formed them returned to their separate homes.
"I suppose this is where we part ways," Adrian said as he approached her.
Julia folded her arms. "For now."
"Try not to let the kingdom fall apart while I'm gone."
She gave him a flat look. "I was going to offer you the same advice about Stonehollow."
"Fair."
Her expression softened slightly. "You did something important here, Adrian. Not just for the king or the people who came to the mountain. You gave everyone a reason to believe that the future might be different."
Adrian scratched the back of his neck. "I mostly tried not to get flattened."
"And yet, somehow, you managed to accomplish both."
"That does seem to be a recurring problem."
Julia laughed quietly before holding out her hand. Adrian clasped it, and they exchanged a firm handshake.
"Take care of your town," she said.
"You take care of yours."
"I will."
There was no need for a grand promise. Julia had her responsibilities in Verdant Reach, and Adrian had his in Stonehollow. They had stood beside one another when it mattered. They would do so again if the need arose.
Eldaron approached next, his expression warm but serious. "The road is safe, though I have ordered additional patrols along the southern route. You will find food and fresh horses at the waystations. Consider it a small return for what you have done for us."
"You've already done more than enough."
"Perhaps." The king smiled. "But I have learned that gratitude is best expressed through action."
Elaris stepped forward before Adrian could answer. She looked more composed than she had during the first days of the expedition, though there was a brightness in her eyes that suggested she was trying not to become emotional.
"I hope you will return to Verdant Reach one day," she said. "Not because another crisis demands it, but because our kingdoms should have reasons to visit one another beyond war."
Adrian smiled. "That sounds like a much better arrangement."
"I would like to see festivals shared between our peoples. Trade routes that carry more than weapons and emergency supplies. Scholars who visit to exchange knowledge, craftsmen who teach one another their skills, and children who grow up thinking that the people across the border are friends rather than strangers."
"You should speak to the people who organise festivals in Stonehollow," Adrian said. "I suspect they would be delighted to have someone else help with the planning."
Elaris laughed. "I will remember that."
They clasped hands.
Theron, watching from nearby, leaned toward Mirelle. "The next generation might actually get this right."
Mirelle smiled. "You say that as though you're not part of the problem."
"I am a charming problem."
"You are a loud one."
"Those qualities are not mutually exclusive."
Adrian shook his head as he joined them. "Are you two ready to leave?"
Theron looked toward the waiting road. "I was ready yesterday. I have spent far too long in a kingdom where people expect me to behave responsibly."
"You have behaved responsibly?"
"Exactly. It has been exhausting."
A small figure came racing through the gathering before anyone could respond. "Mister Adrian!"
Mira reached him at full speed and wrapped both arms around his waist. Adrian staggered half a step, then laughed as he bent to hug her properly. Ember leaned down from his shoulder, sniffing at Mira's hair while she clung to Adrian as though he might disappear if she let go.
"You're leaving already?" she asked.
"We have a town to get back to."
"But you just arrived."
"That's a very fair complaint."
Mira pulled back enough to look up at him. "You have to visit again."
"I'll do my best."
"No, you have to." She glanced toward her father. "I'll make Dad bring me to Stonehollow if you don't."
Eldaron sighed with the resignation of a man who had just realised that his daughter had discovered a new form of diplomatic leverage.
"I see my opinion is no longer required."
"It never was," Elaris murmured.
Mira ignored them both. She turned toward Ember and pointed one small finger at his nose.
"You take care of Adrian, all right? Make sure he eats properly, and don't let him do anything stupid."
Ember tilted his head.
Adrian looked offended. "Why is everyone assuming I need supervision?"
Mira stared at him.
Theron raised one hand. "I would like to formally support the child's position."
"So would I," Mirelle added.
Even Julia's expression suggested that she was not inclined to defend him.
Adrian looked at Ember. "You're supposed to be on my side."
The little red panda climbed onto his shoulder and promptly began grooming one paw.
"Excellent," Adrian muttered. "A betrayal before breakfast."
Mira giggled and hugged him once more. When she finally stepped back, her eyes were bright but she was smiling.
"Come back soon."
"I will," Adrian promised.
He did not know exactly when he would return to Verdant Reach. He could not promise that the road would be easy or that the future would leave enough room for another visit. But he could promise to remember the people who had stood beside him, and to keep the door between their kingdoms open.
For now, that would have to be enough.
The expedition mounted their horses, secured their supplies, and began the journey south. As the road curved away from the palace gardens, Adrian looked back one final time. Eldaron stood with Elaris and Mira beneath the emerald banners, while Julia remained among the guards who had accompanied them to the gate.
Mira waved both arms.
Adrian waved back.
Then the road carried them beneath the trees, and Verdant Reach slowly disappeared behind them.
The roads winding south from Verdant Reach were alive with merchants once more.
Trade caravans travelled confidently beneath the towering emerald canopies, children waved excitedly as the expedition passed through small villages, and every inn they stopped at already seemed to know the story. News travelled faster than wagons ever could. Before Adrian had even crossed the first river leaving the kingdom, people were already speaking of the dungeon that would never again threaten Verdant Reach.
Naturally, the stories had become ridiculous.
One old merchant confidently explained to his customers that the Keeper had been a dragon the size of a castle. Another insisted Adrian had wrestled it with his bare hands after running out of mana. A travelling bard had apparently written an entire song about the battle, though Theron complained that the lyrics made him sound far less impressive than he deserved.
"I was there," the giant High Elf insisted as they rode past a roadside tavern. "I saw everything. If anyone should be consulted about the accuracy of this song, it should be me."
Adrian glanced at him. "You spent half the battle shouting advice from the back."
"I was providing tactical guidance."
"You told me to move left."
"You moved left, didn't you?"
"Because the Keeper was trying to crush me."
"And look how well my advice worked."
Adrian sighed. "I'm never going to win this argument, am I?"
"Now you're learning."
The others laughed, and the conversation moved on. Yet beneath the humour, Adrian found himself enjoying the journey more than he had expected. The forest no longer felt like a place waiting for disaster. Its roads were busy, its villages were alive, and the people they encountered spoke about the future rather than the next catastrophe.
It was a welcome change.
Still, every mile brought Stonehollow closer, and with it came the responsibilities Adrian had left behind.
He wondered how much the town had changed in his absence. Kael had promised to keep things running, but knowing Kael, that could mean anything from maintaining the walls to reorganising the entire military because someone had used the wrong kind of spear in training. Borin would have been overseeing construction, and Roxy would undoubtedly have found several things to complain about. Ruby had left enough provisions for a small army, which meant that at least one problem would not be waiting for him.
He hoped.
Ember slept curled inside the little enchanted bedroll Mirelle had given him, occasionally waking to nibble on a dried berry before promptly falling asleep again. The moss remained warm even during the colder nights, and the familiar seemed to regard the gift as one of the greatest treasures ever placed in his possession.
Adrian envied him a little.
For Ember, the world was simple. There was food, there were interesting smells, there were people willing to scratch behind his ears, and there was Adrian, who could generally be relied upon to provide all three.
For Adrian, the world was becoming considerably more complicated.
The further they travelled, the more often they encountered merchants carrying news from the eastern territories. Some spoke of strange movements in the marshes. Others mentioned settlements abandoning their homes, caravans taking longer routes, and unfamiliar banners appearing along roads that had once been considered safe.
Adrian listened, asked questions when he could, and stored the information away for later.
He did not yet know what the reports meant.
But he knew enough about the world to understand that peace rarely arrived everywhere at once.
Stonehollow announced itself long before the expedition reached its gates.
Smoke rose from dozens of chimneys, drifting into the afternoon sky. The sound of hammers carried across the surrounding fields, joined by the calls of merchants, the barking of dogs, and the distant shouts of workers moving timber from one construction site to another. Where there had once been a modest settlement surrounded by rough wooden defences, a growing town now spread across the hillside, its palisades strengthened and nearly doubled in length.
New houses stood beyond the older streets. Workshops had appeared near the main road, their doors open to display tools, furniture, leather goods, and freshly forged metalwork. A guild banner fluttered above a recently built hall, and several watchtowers rose over the walls, giving the guards a clear view of the surrounding countryside.
Adrian slowed his horse.
For several moments, he simply looked.
Stonehollow had grown.
Not dramatically enough to become a city overnight, but enough that he could see the difference even from a distance. There were more roofs, more smoke, more movement along the roads. The place looked less like a settlement clinging to survival and more like a community beginning to believe in its own future.
Theron rode up beside him, having left Ruby and Mira safely back at home, determined to ensure the core group made it back to Stonehollow without incident. "You look surprised."
"I left a town," Adrian admitted, looking at the horizon. "And I've returned to a town. Just... a much bigger town."
"Perhaps they were simply frightened you'd be disappointed if nothing changed while you were away."
Adrian smiled. "That would be a very expensive way to impress me. It's only been three weeks; there's really no logical need for that much structural change."
"Then it is fortunate that you have excellent taste."
"I have no idea how you have survived this long, Theron."
"Pure charm."
"Of course."
The guards stationed at the main gate spotted the approaching party. One of them leaned over the heavy wooden railing, squinting at the riders before suddenly straightening up in surprise.
"Open the gate!" he shouted down into the courtyard. "The Mayor is back!"