The cold northern air hit me like a clean blade—sharp, honest, and unforgiving. Below, the Creighton estate rose out of Luminarc's urban sprawl not like a building, but like a statement. Lines of gleaming glass and hardened steel were woven through with spell-work; you could almost see the thrum of protective wards under the stone, humming a silent song of power. The gardens, carved into the architecture with geometric precision, were impossibly green against the metal.

Rachel met me in the garden pavilion. She was in a simple white coat, her dark hair unbound, wearing the specific calm she reserved for moments when the world was on fire. She didn't wait. The instant our eyes met, her composure broke into a radiant smile and she closed the distance between us in a few quick steps.

Her hug was a full-body collision of warmth and relief, pulling me in so tight I could feel the frantic beat of her heart. She buried her face in my coat for a long moment before speaking. "You're finally here," she said, her voice muffled but bright.

When she pulled back, her hands stayed on my arms, gripping me as if to make sure I was real. Her eyes, wide and searching, scanned my face. "You look… different."

"Stronger?" I offered.

"Quieter," she corrected, a soft smile playing on her lips. "The power of a High Radiant… it suits you. It's settled in you, not just sitting on top."

"It had to," I said, my mind flashing back to the mountain. "I just came from Hua."

Her expression softened with immediate understanding. "Seraphina?"

"She walked into the Frost-Heart Cavern without looking back."

Rachel nodded, pride and worry warring in her eyes. "She will emerge a winter storm," she said, her voice certain. Her hand slid down my arm to capture mine, her fingers lacing through mine in a familiar, possessive way. "Come on. Alastor is waiting."

She led me up a winding stone path that cut through the gardens. A stream, engineered to perfection, tossed silver light onto our boots. The air smelled of pine and cold water, with an undercurrent of the estate's advanced filtration system doing its best impression of a natural breeze.

Alastor was on the terrace overlooking the labs. Tall and spare, he had a stillness that made you feel he could command the space around him just by standing in it. His gaze swept over me—not judging, but assessing, taking in every change since he'd last seen me. Then his stern features broke into a warm, genuine smile. Instead of a handshake, he clasped my shoulder, his grip firm and grounding.

"Arthur," he said, his voice full of warmth. "It's good to have you home." He was the closest thing I had to a father, a man who had taught me more about patience and control than any sparring match ever could.

Kathyln emerged behind him, two steaming mugs in hand. Rachel's older sister had the same fine-boned face but carried an air of wry exhaustion that came from running the family's medical empire. She handed me a coffee that smelled like heaven and bumped her shoulder against mine companionably.

"You're taller," she stated flatly.

"And you're a liar," I replied, taking a sip.

"Fine. It's the aura, then," she conceded with a half-smile. "It's heavier. Try not to bend my balcony with it."

Isolde, Rachel's mother, stood at the far edge of the terrace, a solitary figure. The city lights caught on the dozen silver charms that adorned her wrist. As the Seer, she looked at me not as a person, but as a convergence of unseen forces. Her nod was a precise, calculated acknowledgment. "Your presence alters the atmospheric pressure," she said. It wasn't an accusation, just data.

"Yours does, too," I returned.

She accepted this with another slight nod and melted back toward the shadows. Rachel gave my hand a slight squeeze, a silent bridge across the chasm of her mother's intensity.

Alastor waved us to comfortable seats under a reinforced glass awning. Below, Luminarc was a river of quiet light and motion: sky-rails stitched districts together with silent speed, and cargo drones traced neon paths through the sky.

"How's Stella?" Kathyln asked, tucked into a chair in a way that defied ergonomics.

"Counting down to fifteen," I said, a warmth spreading through my chest. "She's building machines with far too many blinking lights. All fury, no mana."

Rachel's lips formed a small, proud smile. She knew the reports, knew why Stella channeled her energy into engineering. "She's brilliant," she said, her voice soft.

"She is," I agreed.

We spent the next hour talking about things that felt impossibly normal. Kathyln's new clinic expansion. Rachel's research into emotional resonance and spell stability. Alastor's ridiculous bonsai collection, which he claimed was a stress test for micro-scale containment arrays.

"You'll stay for dinner," Alastor said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I had the kitchen acquire those noodles you pretended not to enjoy last time you were here."

"The Blasphemy Noodles," Kathyln supplied, her expression deadpan. "They're a Class-4 culinary hazard."

"They are merely… spirited," Alastor countered, amused.

Rachel's phone chimed once before she killed the notification without a glance, her focus entirely on me. She stood, pulling gently on my hand. "You have a little time before my mother ambushes you for a prophecy," she said. "Walk with me?"

We went back through the quiet of the gardens. As soon as we were shielded by the trees, she stopped and turned to me, her expression serious. "I'm so glad you came," she said, her voice low and steady. "Not just for the council meeting. I just… needed to see you."

"Me too," I said, and it was the truest thing I'd said all day.

She looked like she was on the verge of saying something more, something important, but chose to let the moment hang between us instead. That silence, that choice, was a sign of trust more intimate than any words.

Isolde was waiting at the archway to the old wing, as if she knew we'd be there. "The observatory, after dinner," she stated. "There is something on the horizon you need to see."

"Is it going to ruin my appetite?" I asked.

"That," she said, already turning away, her charms chiming softly, "depends on your horizon."

Rachel exhaled slowly. "That's her version of a warm welcome."

"I got that," I said with a smile.

When we rejoined the others, Alastor looked at me, his earlier warmth replaced by a deep, discerning empathy. "You look like a man who has spent the last month carrying mountains," he said quietly. "Sit. Eat. For a few hours, remember the parts of you that are still human."

I sat, and Rachel settled beside me, her shoulder a constant, reassuring pressure against mine. For a little while, we all set our weapons down, and let the world be small enough to hold right here on this balcony.

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