Chapter 194: Back to Frostvale

The village folk emerged from buildings more slowly, cautious but curious.

Many were elderly—this far from major trade routes, the young often left seeking opportunities elsewhere. But there were families too, children peering around their parents’ legs, faces showing wonder mixed with fear.

Jaenor dismounted first, his boots hitting packed ground that he’d walked countless times as a child. The memories flooded back, playing in that square, helping carry water from the wells, and being shouted at for climbing on the meeting hall’s roof.

“Jaenor?”

The voice was hesitant, disbelieving.

He turned and saw a woman, perhaps forty years old, with blonde hair streaked with grey and eyes that held recognition mixed with shock.

“Mother,” he said, warmth flooding through him.

His eyes welled up seeing her; so did hers. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she saw him walking into the village. She stood with other villagers, and while others were too focused on the beast towering over their village, she watched her boy come towards her.

Jaenor looked at her, at how he had been away from her and how he had missed every day, missing her touch and the way she smelled. Everything rushed back into his mind.

Rosaine moved toward him, then stopped, taking in the changes.

He was taller than when he’d left, broader, marked by power and recent combat. His eyes held depths they hadn’t before, and his presence was… different.

More substantial.

“You’ve grown,” she said, and her voice cracked slightly.

“When you left, you were just a boy. Now you’re…”

“Still me,” Jaenor assured her.

“Still the same boy you raised.”

That broke her hesitation.

She closed the distance and pulled him into a fierce embrace, and Jaenor returned it gratefully. The warmth of genuine affection, uncomplicated by politics or power, was something he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed.

Other villagers began approaching, recognition spreading. People who’d known him as a child, who’d watched him grow despite the curse his bloodline carried.

Morgana and Darian stood, watching them reunite with their families.

And then a commanding voice cut through the reunion.

“Everyone stand back! Clear the square immediately!”

The speaker was a woman in her forties, tall and powerfully built despite her age. She wore practical clothing marked with the symbols of village leadership, and her face showed both authority and deep exhaustion.

Chieftess Valara, Rena’s mother.

She strode into the square with a squad of village warriors behind her, clearly prepared to defend against whatever threat the divine beast might represent. But when her eyes found Rena and others, her stern expression cracked.

“Rena? Is that—Rena!”

The smaller woman jumped down the final distance and ran toward her mother, and Valara met her halfway. They collided in an embrace that spoke of months of worry finally released.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” Valara said, her voice muffled against her daughter’s hair.

“When you left together, when months passed with no word—”

“I’m fine, Mother. We’re all fine.”

Rena pulled back slightly.

“We are all back home.”

Valara looked past her daughter to where Jaenor stood, and her expression hardened slightly. But there was also reassessment there, noting the changes, the power radiating from him.

Before she could speak, another reunion was unfolding nearby.

Taeryn had spotted a woman in her late forties watching from the edge of the square—lean and weathered, with eyes the same green as his own. His mother, Natina. She’d been a hunter before age and injury forced her into less physically demanding work.

He approached more hesitantly than Rena had, uncertain of his reception. He’d left without proper goodbyes and had vanished into conflicts she couldn’t understand.

But when he got close enough, Natina simply opened her arms, and Taeryn went into them.

No recriminations, no demands for explanation.

Just acceptance that her son had returned alive.

And across the square, Baren stood frozen as a woman emerged from one of the houses.

Ryanna, his wife.

She was perhaps twenty-three, with auburn hair and a face that showed both strength and kindness.

They stared at each other across thirty feet of packed ground, both seeming afraid that moving would shatter the moment, proving it a dream.

Then Ryanna whispered, “Baren,” and he was running, closing the distance, gathering her into his arms with a desperation that made clear how much he’d feared he’d never see them again.

Jaenor watched these reunions, feeling something warm and painful in his chest.

This was why they fought. For moments like these, for people being able to come home, for families staying together despite the forces trying to tear them apart.

But the moment was interrupted by the arrival of the military forces.

From the militia camp came a captain, a man in his thirties with a competent bearing and nervous eyes. From the Brotherhood camp came something else entirely.

The figure that approached was not human.

He stood perhaps seven feet tall, with a build that suggested both power and surprising agility. His body was covered in short fur that ranged from golden brown to deep amber, marked with subtle stripes. His face was distinctly feline, with broad features, amber eyes with vertical pupils, and a muzzle that showed sharp teeth when he spoke. Pointed ears swiveled independently, constantly monitoring sounds around him.

One of the beast races, beings that existed in isolated populations across the realm, descended from humans who’d been changed by ancient magic during the wars before the Separation. They faced prejudice in most human societies, but the Brotherhood welcomed them, seeing their physical capabilities as gifts from their god.

He wore the golden armor of a Brotherhood general, ornate plates that fit his unusual physique perfectly, marked with rank insignia and religious symbols. A massive sword hung at his hip, and the Qu’achi energy that gave Brotherhood warriors their power radiated from him in visible waves of golden light.

“I am General Katujit,” he said, his voice carrying a slight growl from his feline vocal structure. “Commander of the Brotherhood forces defending this region.”

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