Yen and Lily

The soft tick of fingers against carved wood echoed through the formal hall.

Yen sat alone on the high-backed armchair, carved obsidian trimmed in deep gold, tapping his index finger in steady rhythm against the curved armrest. His other elbow rested on the throne's edge, knuckles curled under his chin as he leaned slightly forward—still, composed, but unmistakably coiled.

The light that filtered through the stained-glass windows painted long shadows across the polished marble floor, fractured into reds and deep ambers. Incense burned low in the golden basin behind him, faintly veiling the air with spice and smoke. Every detail in this room was meticulous. Order. Structure. Control.

Just like him.

Finally, the doors creaked open.

Two men entered in contrast sharp enough to slice the tension that clung to the space. They stepped into the hall side by side—one rigid, one radiant.

Arkon came first. Tall, straight-backed, immaculately dressed in dark robes embroidered with storm-gray sigils. His jaw was square, set tight as always. His hair was bound in a perfect knot behind his head, no strand out of place. A sword hilt peeked from beneath his cloak, gleaming like it had never once seen dust.

Beside him walked Zion, dressed like a festival had exploded over his body and he'd simply walked out wearing it. His robes were crimson, threaded with silver patterns that shimmered as he moved. One earring swung lazily from his left ear—an emerald drop that caught the light with every casual step. His grin was wide. Sweet. Dangerously charming. And his dimples appeared as if summoned by magic.

Both men bowed deeply in unison.

"Patriarch." The greeting was formal. Respectful.

Yen didn't move.

His voice cut the air without a pause.

"Who planned the delayed notice."

The question hung like a blade.

Zion's smile widened immediately. "Surprise!" he chirped, throwing his arms out.

Arkon coughed beside him, side-eyeing his companion like he was regretting every life choice that led them here. "I apologize," he said quickly, voice clipped. "It was a misstep. I should have sent word myself. Zion insisted he'd—handle it."

Yen's gaze slid from one man to the other. He didn't speak.

Didn't have to.

The silence said everything.

Zion glanced around dramatically as if trying to diffuse the weight in the room, his head swiveling toward the throne, then around the tapestries behind it. "Where's Lady Lily?" he asked, peeking behind the chair like a child looking for sweets.

Yen's eyes narrowed.

Zion met the glare and instantly raised both hands in exaggerated surrender. "I was just asking," he said with a flash of teeth. "It's been years. Thought she might've come to greet her beloved guests."

"She's resting," Yen said flatly.

Zion opened his mouth to tease—but one look at Yen's face shut him up.

Turning his attention, Yen shifted his gaze to Arkon, the one with actual discipline. "And the troops?" he asked. "Is the banquet prepared despite your ambush?"

Arkon, who had already anticipated the question, nodded once. "Yes, my lord. The estate was alerted as soon as we entered the lower provinces. The staff mobilized without delay. The outer courtyard has been prepared for the soldiers—food, drink, rest. Everything is in order."

Yen leaned back at last, finally releasing his chin from his knuckles. His shoulders rolled once as he stood, the folds of his dark robes catching the candlelight like moving silk. The sigil on his chest—ink-black, serpent-like—seemed to ripple as he moved.

"Good." His tone warmed, but only by a degree. "Let us join them."

He gestured to the side without looking.

"Jang. Wine for everyone."

The servant emerged from the corridor without a word, already bowing and moving to obey.

Zion whistled in satisfaction, rubbing his hands together as he fell into step beside Arkon. "Three years of border patrols, frozen mountains, and tent sex with mosquitoes," he sighed dramatically. "Do you know what that does to a man's soul, Patriarch?"

Yen glanced over his shoulder with the ghost of a grin.

"Then welcome back to civilization."

Zion chuckled as they walked through the side corridor that led toward the outer courtyard, the sharp click of boots echoing behind them. Despite his casual tone, Zion's eyes were sharp, flicking along the halls he hadn't walked in years. Every tapestry, every servant he passed, every vase that hadn't moved—he noticed it all. The estate was pristine. Not a hair out of place.

And not a single trace of Lady Lily.

"Is she truly resting?" Zion asked again, this time quieter, as the three of them passed beneath a golden archway.

Yen didn't answer right away.

"She needed rest," he finally said. That was all.

Arkon gave Zion a look that clearly meant: stop asking.

But Zion? He was smiling again.

As the banquet came into view, the courtyard buzzed with life—rows of soldiers feasting under the lantern-lit sky, tables groaning under the weight of roasted meats, spiced vegetables, and glistening fruits. The scent of fresh bread and charred spices wafted through the air.

Greetings erupted the moment the Patriarch entered.

Yen didn't raise a hand. He didn't smile. But his presence alone pulled all attention like gravity. The soldiers stood, fists over their hearts in salute, until he nodded once, silently permitting them to sit again.

The three men approached the main table.

Zion slid into his seat with a relaxed sigh and reached for a cup before it had even touched the table. "Gods," he groaned. "Real wine. Not that piss they rationed at the camps."

Arkon took his seat with the stiffness of a man still on duty. "My report," he began, already pulling out the sealed scroll tucked in his belt.

Yen raised one hand, stopping him.

"We'll speak over food. No war talk until I've had meat in my mouth and wine on my tongue."

Zion choked on his drink.

Arkon blinked. "...Of course, my lord."

As the servants laid silver dishes before them, Zion leaned toward Yen with a low grin. "Don't worry. We'll give you the full report once you've stuffed yourself. We're good boys now."

Yen's expression didn't change, but his voice carried steel beneath the surface. "Then act like it."

Zion's grin faltered for half a second—but he nodded.

Yen sat at the head of the table like a king at ease. But make no mistake—this was a predator's stillness. Watching. Calculating. His fingers curled loosely around his goblet as he took his first sip of wine, gaze heavy on the men across from him.

Three years apart.

A long-awaited return.

But nothing inside these walls had loosened.

The throne still stood.

The grip still held.

And everything—everything—still moved by the Patriarch's will.

Yen's gaze kept flicking toward the wing where he left Lily.