Location: Tavara – Private Airspace, Midnight
The humming of the jet engines sliced through the silence as Damien stared out the window, Tavara's city lights glittering below like constellations trapped in a bottle. His hand rested atop Nora's, her fingers curled gently beneath his. The throne was gone, but something intangible—profound—had settled within them.
They were no longer rulers.
They were guardians.
"Back where it all started," Nora whispered, her eyes reflecting the velvet night. "Feels... heavier somehow."
Damien gave a quiet nod. "Because this time, we're not just returning as heirs or fugitives. We're returning with eyes watching us from every shadow. Some waiting to welcome us… others to destroy us."
Their jet touched down on a secluded runway outside the capital. Waiting at the hangar was Ava, Nora's personal assistant and silent bodyguard, now dressed in sleek tactical gear, her sharp gaze scanning the dark perimeter.
"You're early," she said, voice flat but relieved.
"Trouble?" Damien asked.
Ava nodded once. "A convoy tried tailing us on the highway earlier. Not our usual enemies. These guys had diplomatic tags—foreign."
"Spies?" Nora asked.
"Possibly. Or opportunists who know what just happened in Skyward Apex."
Damien's jaw tightened. "Let them come. We're not the same people we were before."
As they entered the waiting SUV, Nora leaned toward him. "Do you ever think… this will end? That we'll have a life without enemies or weapons or titles?"
Damien took her hand and kissed her knuckles. "I used to think the world had no place for peace. But now, I believe we can carve one out. Even if we have to burn everything else to make space for it."
The drive toward their penthouse was eerily quiet—too quiet. Ava tensed as they approached a tunnel beneath the main highway.
"Stop the car," she ordered the driver, but it was too late.
BOOM.
The tunnel ahead exploded in a controlled detonation, collapsing concrete and flame into their path. Screams echoed. Ava launched out of the vehicle, scanning for threats. Damien instinctively shielded Nora as the second car behind them erupted in flames.
"Ambush!" Ava called, already firing into the smoke.
From the shadows, figures emerged—cloaked in black, using scramblers to block comms. This wasn't a petty assassination squad.
Damien opened a hidden compartment in the SUV and pulled out a custom pistol, passing Nora a slender dagger etched in old Tzarian runes—hers from the temple.
They fought like a single heartbeat. Damien moved with brutal precision—every shot deliberate. Nora, graceful and lethal, wove through the chaos with the fluidity of a dancer, her blade a whisper of death.
In under two minutes, it was over. Six attackers down. One fled—but not far.
Damien pinned him against a wall, fist at his throat.
"Who sent you?" he growled.
The man laughed bitterly. "You took the throne... but you forgot the war. Tavara doesn't belong to you."
"Then who does it belong to?" Nora asked sharply, stepping beside Damien.
The attacker coughed blood, smiled. "To the one you left behind. To the child who was never meant to survive."
Damien's heart froze.
"What child?" he snapped.
The man's eyes dimmed. "The legacy… didn't end with you."
He collapsed, lifeless.
Nora turned to Damien, her face pale.
"Could he mean—?"
"I don't know," Damien murmured, cold realization washing over him. "But we're about to find out."