Rainsworth.
A kingdom of flourish with high-end tech and the the largest food production kingdom of the realm.
Alexander stood at the gaint gates that looked like they could stop titans. There were two gaurds, both covered with heavy golden-red armor and spear. Their presence exuded immense aura itself. Alexander approached them, they immediately realised who he was.
They bowed, "Sir Alexander! We greet your return. May I ask about the battle against the demon?"
Alexander patted ones shoulder, asking them to look with the heads held high.
"Thank you for your greetings," He replied with a smile.
"Pride, who's name was Lucian was strong. The battle ended without a clear winner."
"...J-Just how strong is he!?"
"Don't worry, i have injured him heavily. We can get time for preparation. Now, open the gate. Or will you have me standing?"
"Haha. Yes, Sir!"
The Gaurds put their spears down and pushed the gigantic door with their might. The door, as it opened let out a roar of wind, making Alexander's newly gifted cape flutter.
"Please enter."
"Sure will." Alexander fixed his hair straight as he entered the gate.
---
The sight beyond the gates was not what most expected from the second-largest kingdom in the realm.
No towering obsidian castles or floating sky palaces. No gold-lined streets or dragon-drawn carriages.
Instead, Rainsworth was… normal.
The roads were paved with smooth stone, clean and busy with life. Children ran alongside mechanical delivery carts. Farmers in light gear chatted beside automated irrigation machines. Streetlights powered by magic crystals hummed quietly, lighting even the back alleys. The technology here was advanced—far beyond that of most kingdoms—but it wasn't hoarded by the elite. It belonged to the people. And the people thrived.
Alexander walked along the main avenue, greeted by nods, waves, and cheerful vendors offering skewers, flowers, or drinks. No one treated him like a god or a stranger. He was just Alexander, the hero who had returned home.
He paused at a tea stand. The owner, an old man with a cybernetic arm, grinned toothlessly.
"Back from fighting demons, eh?"
"Something like that," Alexander said, smiling.
The man poured a cup. "Your usual. On the house. And the queen passed through here just yesterday, you know? Bought some mint leaves and asked about my joints. Lovely woman."
Alexander nodded. "That sounds like her."
Queen Rosantia of Rainsworth—wise, beautiful, and disarmingly simple. She wore no crown in public, no elaborate gowns. She was just a friend to many—a woman who walked through marketplaces, helped settle neighborly disputes, and knelt down to talk to children at eye level. When she walked with the king, it was not a royal parade. It was just a couple strolling through their city.
And the king—King Barthen—was a different kind of monarch altogether. A man of great strength, deep voice, and sharp judgment, but often seen in parks playing chess with the elderly or helping smiths test out new alloys. People respected him. Some feared him. But most of all, they trusted him.
Alexander looked up at the city skyline—low buildings, mechanical birds perched on rooftops, wind-powered elevators moving goods up and down tall grain silos. It wasn't majestic like the capital. It was better.
---
He reached the castle—majestic and serene.
Unlike the bustling city outside, the royal palace stood as a symbol of grace. Pure white marble, quarried from the kingdom's own mines, formed towering columns and smooth halls that reflected the morning light like glass. Elegant archways curved above lush courtyards, and the sound of fountains echoed softly across polished stone floors.
Servants moved briskly through the corridors—some bowing, some chatting quietly, and a few trying not to get caught sneaking a break behind the ivy pillars. The air smelled faintly of roses and old parchment.
Alexander stepped into the main hall. The royal throne stood ahead, carved from the same marble, but inlaid with veins of emerald and gold. It wasn't just a seat—it was art. And it was empty.
He turned to the nearest servant, a young man in formal blue attire who nearly tripped trying to bow.
"Excuse me," Alexander asked, brushing some dust off his sleeve. "Where's my father, the king?"
"The king? His Highness should be in the garden along with Her Highness," the servant replied, his eyes lighting up with recognition. "Prince Alexander, it's good to have you back."
Alexander gave a nod. "Thanks. And I'm just Alexander. No need for the royal fanfare."
The servant smiled awkwardly but bowed again out of habit.
Alexander turned and headed toward the palace gardens. He knew the way—he'd grown up running through the hedges and getting scolded for climbing the trees. The old guards used to chase him for stealing peaches, only to share one with him later behind the walls.
The marble halls gave way to open air as he stepped onto the gravel path that led to the garden.
The scent hit him first—fresh grass, jasmine, and mint. Birds chirped mechanically from enchanted trees, and soft glowing butterflies floated lazily between flowerbeds.
There, under the large sun-shaded tree at the center of the garden, sat two figures.
King Barthen, with his heavy cloak laid beside him and a wooden chessboard on his lap, was squinting in deep thought. His beard had grown slightly longer since Alexander last saw him, now streaked with a few more lines of grey. Yet his presence was as solid as ever.
Beside him, Queen Rosantia laughed softly, her hand resting on the King's shoulder as she watched the game. She wore a simple white dress, and her long dark hair was tied in a loose braid. No crown. No guards.
Just two people. Husband and wife. King and queen.
Alexander watched them for a moment, a smile creeping up his lips.
For all the wars and demons he had faced... this was the kind of peace he wanted to protect.
He took a step forward and called out.
"Checkmate, I hope?"
King Barthen looked up, his eyes sharp—but they softened immediately when they saw him.
"Well, well," the king said with a grin. "Look who finally decided to come home."
The queen didn't gave a single moment and launched herself on Alexander, hugging him so tightly that even lucain might not be able fight back, not because of strength but because of... Uhm.. l...love.
Alexander chuckled, catching her in his arms. "Easy, Mother. I just came back from a fight. My ribs are still attached, I think."
Rosantia pulled back just enough to glare playfully at him. "Then don't go off fighting alone next time. You didn't even write."
Barthen raised an eyebrow, setting the chessboard aside. "I told you he'd come back with half his bones broken and no sense of diplomacy."
Alexander shrugged. "Diplomacy's hard when the opponent's Pride incarnate."
He stepped closer and knelt slightly, more out of habit than protocol. "I've missed you both."
Barthen stood and placed a firm hand on Alexander's shoulder, his strength still enough to make the young prince wince. "Then stop vanishing like a ghost, and stay long enough to be missed properly."
Rosantia smiled warmly. "Come, sit. Tell us everything."
The three of them sat beneath the tree, sunlight breaking gently through the leaves above. The queen poured him a cup of mint tea from a flask she brought, while the king pulled a new chessboard from a pouch—smaller, portable, but worn from many games.
Alexander began recounting the battle. Lucian's overwhelming aura, the clash of blades and magic, the moment he thought he'd die, and the strange calm that followed once it ended. He also explained about landing in the elven realm, meeting the king of a kingdom he didn't remember the name of, a cute and adorable child helping him through the forest, the elder teaching him about the ways of the world.
King Barthen stroked his beard as Alexander spoke, his brow furrowed in places and his lips twitching in others, especially when Alexander mentioned the child who insisted on calling him "big bro hero" and made him wear a flower crown.
Rosantia's eyes sparkled with amusement. "You? Wearing flowers?"
"She was five," Alexander groaned. "I couldn't say no. Besides, the elder said it would offend their forest if I didn't accept."
"Ah yes," Barthen smirked. "The ancient and mighty force of peer pressure. Even the demons must fear it."
Alexander chuckled. "Honestly, it was the only time I got to rest."
"Rest is important," Rosantia said softly, handing him another cup. "Even heroes need a place to breathe."
Barthen nodded, more serious now. "And what of this Pride Demon? You said it wasn't a clear victory."
Alexander leaned back against the tree, the warmth of the sun filtering through the leaves. "He was wounded. I struck deep—but something tells me that wasn't his full power. It felt like... he was holding back."
Barthen's eyes narrowed. "That's not a good sign."
"It's worse," Alexander admitted. "He didn't care about the damage I did. He acted like he was just—testing me."
A heavy silence settled.
Rosantia's smile faded. "Then this isn't the end of it."
Alexander shook his head. "No. But I bought us time. A few months, maybe. He'll need to recover."
Barthen folded his arms. "Then we prepare. Quietly. Rainsworth has allies. And we still have the relics from the last war."
Alexander hesitated, then added, "There's more. The elf elder said something strange. That the world is... shifting. That something bigger than the demon kings is awakening. He called it a 'stirring of slumbering laws.' I don't know what he meant."
Barthen and Rosantia exchanged a look—one of those wordless royal conversations Alexander was never good at reading.
The queen finally spoke. "We'll look into it. For now, rest. Sleep here in the palace. Talk to the people. Be with us. Even if just for a little while."
Alexander nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "I'd like that."
Barthen grunted. "Good. Because your old room is still a mess and someone's got to clean it. Might as well be the one who made it."
Alexander gave a helpless laugh. "Guess it's good to be home."
And under the shade of the great garden tree, the hero of Rainsworth—Alexander, prince and warrior—finally allowed himself a moment of peace. Unaware that beyond the horizon, Pride was stirring… and so was something far worse, "the lazy schizophrenic king.!"