Chapter One: The Return of the Outcast

October in Port Avallon, the illustrious coastal city, was a season of breathtaking beauty.

From the sweeping seaside boulevard, one could catch a glimpse of the grandeur of Denvair Manor, the sprawling estate of the once-revered Earl of Denvair. Standing at the gate, Kael Renforth clutched a medal tightly in his hand, his gaze heavy with sorrow.

"Earl Denvair," Kael muttered under his breath, the pain in his voice unmistakable. "Five years have passed in the blink of an eye. On the battlefield, I fulfilled your wish—I became the strongest. But you asked me to forgive, to let go of vengeance…"

His voice faltered, his fingers tightening around the medal. "You were more than my commander—you were my father. How could I not avenge you? I made them pay, every last one of them."

Kael's voice dropped to a whisper. "But now… how can I face your wife? How can I face Lyria?"

A figure emerged from the shadows, a young woman who approached with measured steps and lowered her head respectfully.

"Major Renforth, please—accept my condolences."

Kael inhaled deeply, waving her words away with a heavy hand. "No need for pity. What's done is done. Now, I must face what remains."

His thoughts wandered back to that fateful day five years ago when he left Port Avallon under the Earl's banner, vowing to protect him at all costs. But fate had other plans. Kael returned victorious; the Earl did not.

As Kael stared at the manor gates, his jaw clenched. The estate that had once been teeming with life, where a dozen gardeners tended the grounds alone, was now overgrown and desolate.

"What happened here?" Kael murmured, his unease growing with each passing moment. Even after years of battle-hardened resolve, the sight of the manor's neglect sent a chill through him.

He pushed open the gates and strode inside, his boots crunching against the overgrown gravel path. At the grand entrance, his hand trembled as he reached for the doorbell.

Moments later, the door creaked open to reveal a gaunt woman with weary eyes—Lady Seraphine Denvair. Her face twisted with a mix of surprise and disdain as she recognized him.

"You… Kael Renforth?" she asked, her voice sharp and edged with disbelief.

"Lady Denvair," Kael began, his tone heavy with respect.

But before he could continue, her expression hardened, and her words cut him off. "Where is Alaric?"

Kael hesitated, the weight of the answer choking him.

Just then, a young woman's voice called out from inside the house. "Mother, are those men harassing us again?"

Kael's heart skipped a beat. The voice, though familiar, was sharper, angrier. He swallowed his words as the speaker emerged—a young woman who bore a striking resemblance to Lyria.

"Get lost!" she shouted, glaring at him with unbridled fury. "Haven't you harassed us enough? If you keep coming back, my father won't let you off when he returns!"

Kael's breath caught as he stared at the girl—this was Celine, Lyria's younger sister. Her delicate features and defiant stance stirred a bittersweet ache in his chest.

"Celine," he murmured, his voice low and almost reverent.

But Celine's expression didn't soften. If anything, her disdain deepened.

She scoffed, her hands pushing against his chest with surprising strength. "Don't play dumb, you shameless fraud. Get out! We don't welcome strangers!"

Kael staggered back as Celine's harsh words struck him. For all his accomplishments, his victories, and his sacrifices, he was still an outsider to the family he had sworn to protect.

As the heavy doors of the manor slammed shut behind him, Kael stood frozen on the threshold. The echoes of battle faded in his mind, replaced by a singular, burning resolve:

He had returned not only to reclaim what was lost but to fulfill a promise to the family he had failed. No matter the cost, he would atone for the past and protect the future.