A Journey That Changed The World

”So, Arch, what’s it like having so many beautiful wives? It must be amazing,” Magnus asked, slurring as he was seven beers into their night out.

”Tiring but fulfilling,” he answered. ”But they help me out in ways no one could understand and keep me grounded now I’ve become a Dragon God.”

Once those words left his lips, the table went silent as Lioran looked at him with a strange expression, causing Archer to lift his hand to create a ball of the purest mana Thrylos had ever seen. The four young men instantly felt the cosmic aura emanating from their friend, but it vanished as he retracted it within himself with a confident smirk. ”I’m still the same Archer you all know, just stronger and wiser.”

”How old are you now?” Lyndon questioned.

”Twenty-two.”

”He’s the baby of our group!” Magnus exclaimed, amused and excited. ”I can’t believe it!”

Archer laughed at this and continued drinking the Avidia Beer, but now it was like water, prompting him to pull out some Dragon Ale that Sera made for him. When he downed a mouthful of it, it burned his throat. While tasting the new drink, Lioran was telling stories about his time in the legions and how he’s getting married soon. ”When?” he questioned after hearing that.

”A few weeks from now, I did tell Nala, but I guess she didn’t tell you or she forgot,” his best friend answered after a mouthful of ale.

”Am I invited?”

”Yes, but only bring two wives, please, there’s not enough space for all of them.”

Archer chuckled at this and nodded in agreement. ”That’s fine, I need to spend time with each wife anyway, so I’ll split up who I bring.”

”What are you planning?” Cian questioned as he stood up.

”Gonna tour the empire and take each one with me for a few days.”

The orange-haired young man smiled. ”That’s good, it will make them happy, especially Maeve. Does everyone want more drinks?”

Magnus nodded; he was already halfway to being drunk, which amused Archer, but Lyndon answered. ”Yes!”

Cian chuckled and made his way toward the bar while dodging other patrons, who were standing around, throwing glances at Archer as they drank their beverages. But he wasn’t fazed by the attention thanks to the Dragon Knights standing nearby, making sure no one tried to attack Archer, who sighed when Thalion stepped out of a portal with ten others and demanded to guard him. The others laughed but were nervous thanks to the pressure the knights were putting on them.

He had to tell them to rein it in so as not to scare other people in the pub. The night stretched on with laughter and half-remembered tales. Archer spun stories of old adventures, narrow escapes, strange lands, improbable luck, while the drinks kept coming. Hours later, Lyndon and Magnus were blackout drunk, slumped at the booth, and Cian could barely stand without swaying like a ship in a storm. He was going to use a teleportation spell, then paused.

He had no idea where they lived so he would need his friend’s help. He turned to the young lion man who was giving him a silly smile. Lioran shook his head and stepped forward without a word, gesturing westward toward the quieter manors beyond the city’s heart. ”They live that way, brother,” he revealed with a grin.

Before anyone could protest, Archer scooped up both young men as though they weighed nothing, one over each shoulder, and started walking. Cian trailed behind, concentrating hard on not falling over with the help of Lioran, while he navigated the crowds of Dragonheart City. All around them, the night was alive: laughter, slurred songs, the occasional shatter of glass.

Nearby, a group of Homeguard soldiers waded into a clumsy brawl, armored shoulders shoving drunken fighters apart as Archer sidestepped yet another staggering reveller. The city lights blurred past, and the distant manors slowly drew nearer. The Dragonknights circled them seconds later after stepping out of a portal, making Cian and Lioran jump out of their skin. He let out a low, amused laugh at their stunned expressions, but he didn’t slow down.

If anything, his pace quickened, his towering bodyguards parting the crowd, carving a path through the bustling streets. After several brisk minutes, the group reached the western gate. The Homeguard stationed there snapped to attention and waved them through without a word. As he passed, every soldier along the wall dropped to one knee in perfect unison. Lioran, walking just behind, couldn’t hold back a chuckle.

”Seems the whole city’s in love with you, brother,” he teased.

Archer snorted, the corner of his mouth curling. ”They’re well paid, far better than the other realms. Loyalty’s easier when the coin flows.”

He glanced sideways at Lioran, tone shifting to business. ”Now, where exactly do these two live, Lio?”

”A few miles down the road,” his friend answered, lifting a hand to point northwest. ”That way.”

They pressed on along the wide, hard-packed road. Carriages clattered past in both directions, wheels kicking up faint dust, while merchants on foot gave the group a wide berth. Men and women alike stole glances, some openly staring, others trying and failing to be subtle, as the small party moved through the flow of traffic. Archer caught every look, the quick double-takes, the parted lips, the sudden hushed whispers.

A young woman selling apples from a handcart flushed scarlet and promptly looked anywhere else. He couldn’t help the slow, wicked grin that spread across his face. ”Gods, it’s like they’ve never seen a man walk before,” Archer murmured, voice rich with amusement.

Lioran snorted beside him. ”They’ve seen plenty of men. Just not ones who make the Homeguard kneel and the street clear like the enemy has arrived.”

Archer’s grin widened, but he said nothing more, content to let the road carry them onward. It gradually thinned as they left the main trade route behind, turning onto a quieter, tree-lined lane of pale gravel that wound gently uphill. The clamor of the city faded, replaced by birdsong and the distant low of cattle. After perhaps another half-hour’s steady march, the manor came into view.

It was no modest country house. Stone walls of warm grey rose three stories high, flanked by ivy-draped towers and broad windows that caught the late-morning light like polished steel. A wrought-iron gate stood open, and beyond it a wide gravel courtyard swept up to double doors carved with twisting vines and roaring lions. Waiting in the courtyard was a knot of perhaps a dozen guards in dark green livery trimmed with silver, the household colors of House Veyne.

‘Must be Magnus’s house If I remember correctly,’ Archer thought when seeing the soldiers’ colors.

The moment the group appeared at the gate, the guards stiffened, hands dropping to sword hilts. Then they moved fast. Boots pounded gravel as six of them broke into a run, shouting something about intruders and the masters. Archer didn’t stop walking. His Dragonknights stepped forward in perfect unison. Steel rasped as blades cleared scabbards; the air itself seemed to thicken with the low, warning growl.

The charging guards skidded to a halt so abruptly that two nearly collided, weapons half-drawn, faces paling as they registered the towering, horned silhouettes blocking their path. ”Stand down,” Thalion rumbled, voice like stones grinding together. ”You will not touch him.”

The household guards hesitated, eyes darting from the knights to the man at the center of the group, Archer, still carrying Magnus and Lyndon slung over his shoulders like sacks of grain. Recognition hit them in waves. Helmets were hastily removed; swords sheathed. Several dropped to one knee, murmuring apologies. ”My emperor, forgive us.”

Archer waved a hand lazily. ”No blood, no harm. Just open the doors.”

Before anyone could move, the heavy oak doors swung inward. Two women stepped out onto the wide stone landing. The first was tall and statuesque, her dark auburn hair braided with silver thread and pinned high, wearing a deep emerald gown that shimmered faintly. The second was smaller, more compact, with cropped ash-blonde hair and the lean, coiled build of someone who still trained with steel every morning.

Her simple grey riding dress was belted with a sword-belt, the blade at her hip well-used and gleaming. Lioran let out a soft, knowing laugh beside Archer. ”There they are,” he said, nodding toward the women. ”Magnus’s wife, Lady Seraphine, and Lyndon’s, Lady Elowen. You’ll want to put their husbands down before they decide you’ve kidnapped them.”

Archer’s grin returned. He shifted his shoulders once, then lowered both unconscious men to the gravel with surprising gentleness, propping them against each other like toppled statues. Seraphine’s sharp green eyes flicked from the slumped forms of her husband and brother-in-law to him, only for them to drop to one knee in respect as she spoke. ”Greetings, my emperor.”

Lady Elowen was shocked and muttered in a low voice. ”So Lyndon was telling the truth. You two are friends.”