Chapter 165 A Father's Worry

Chapter 165 A Father's Worry
Caelum's POV
I waited near the western gates of the Ranges for Ilaria's arrival, pacing the stone flagstones of the gatehouse courtyard. The afternoon sun was beginning to dip behind the sharp granite peaks, casting long, dark shadows across the timber stalls and iron hitching posts.
"Commander, if you walk back and forth across that line one more time, you are going to wear a groove directly into the granite," Soren said with a chuckle, leaning his back against the wooden guardhouse door with his arms crossed over his dark coat. "She is twenty years old, Caelum. She is traveling with a full squad of elite Citadel guards and two senior ward-masters. She is completely fine."
"I know she is fine, Soren," I muttered, stopping to check the western horizon for the fourth time in fifteen minutes. "That does not mean the carriage cannot lose a wheel on the upper mountain pass. The roads are rough after last week's rainstorm."
"Her carriage is reinforced with structural iron-wards crafted by the best student in Ashveil," Wren called out from the upper gate terrace, where she was reviewing the evening guard rotation with two junior officers. "The wheels could survive a direct collision with a fallen boulder. Sit down before you drive the sentries completely crazy with your pacing."
"I am not driving anyone crazy," I insisted, though I stepped away from the line and stood near the stone mounting block. "I just want her home safe before dark. Is a father not allowed to welcome his daughter back from the capital?"
"You are acting like she is ten years old again," Soren teased, shaking his head with a warm smile that crinkled the skin around his eyes. "Remember when she tried to ride that young mountain stag through the lower stables?"
"She broke two fence posts and blamed the stag for poor steering," I remembered, a sudden laugh breaking through my anxious mood. "Mira was furious with both of us for an entire week because I laughed when Ilaria explained that the stag had ignored her precise navigation commands."
"You gave the stag a apple afterward," Soren pointed out, grinning broadly. "I saw you in the barn."
"The stag deserved a reward for surviving her command structure," I defended myself, shaking my head.
Right on cue, the sound of heavy iron-rimmed wheels and rhythmic horse hooves echoed up the winding mountain pass. A sleek, midnight-blue carriage bearing the silver crest of the Citadel rounded the final rocky turn, pulled by four magnificent bay horses whose coats glistened with sweat.
The moment the carriage slid to a complete halt near the mounting block, the wooden door swung open, and Ilaria stepped down onto the stone yard. She looked radiant, her dark hair bound back in a practical braid, her amber eyes bright with the excitement of returning home.
I set aside every shred of royal decorum and military composure. I stepped forward, caught my daughter under her arms, and swept her into a massive hug, lifting her feet off the ground despite her loud, mock-indignant protests.
"Dad!" Ilaria laughed, her arms coming around my neck as she tried to regain her balance in midair. "Dad, stop! There are archers watching from the upper parapets! You are ruining my terrifying reputation as a grand battle-mage!"
"Let them watch," I grinned, setting her down gently on the flagstones and taking her by the shoulders to inspect her. "Let them see that the grand battle-mage still gets lifted by her father when she comes home from school."
"You are embarrassing," she said, though her smile was bright and genuine as she hugged me again, resting her head against my chest for a long, quiet second.
Soren stepped forward, bowing his head with a broad grin. "Welcome back, Lady Ilaria. Did you leave any instructors standing at the Citadel, or did you challenge them all to debate trials before noon?"
"I left most of them intact, Master Soren," Ilaria replied smoothly, stepping past me to greet him and Wren. "Though Master Vane did complain that my history essays were entirely too critical of his provincial ancestor."
"Good," Wren said, coming down the terrace steps to embrace her warmly. "That old man needs someone to remind him that history is not a fairy tale written to make his family look noble."
Later that afternoon, we sat in the quiet solar of our private quarters, sipping hot spiced tea while the golden autumn sunlight poured through the high glass windows. Ilaria talked passionately about her upcoming final examinations, gesturing with her tea cup as she described complex tactical maneuvers, legal debates, and ward-construction theories.
"Dorian built a floating defensive ward that can absorb three consecutive kinetic strikes without losing structural integrity," she explained, her amber eyes bright with enthusiasm. "And Thalia drafted a comprehensive trade agreement for the border provinces that solved a thirty-year dispute over timber rights in three pages. She is absolute genius when it comes to economic structure."
"She sounds like a capable young woman," I remarked, taking a sip of my tea. "Her family has come a long way since the restoration."
"She works harder than anyone I know," Ilaria said softly. "She stays up half the night reading old treaties just to make sure her arguments have no weak points."
I listened to her with quiet, profound awe, marveling at how seamlessly she carried the burden of her royal title and her unique, fused power. She was everything we had dreamed of when we fought the war, a child born of two distinct worlds who belonged fully to the peace.
Yet, as a former commander who had spent an entire lifetime reading subtle shifts in the wind before a storm, a quiet knot began to form in my chest.
That evening, after Ilaria had turned in for the night to rest from her long journey, I stepped out onto the private balcony with Mira. The cool mountain breeze blew off the high peaks, carrying the crisp scent of autumn pine and rain. I pulled Mira close against my side, wrapping my heavy wool cloak around both of our shoulders as she rested her back comfortably against my chest.
"She is growing up so fast, Mira," I murmured into the quiet night air, watching the distant lights of the town burn softly in the valley.
"She is magnificent, Caelum," Mira replied softly, resting her hand over mine. "You do not need to worry about her strength. She is far more capable than we were at her age."
"I am not worried about her strength," I admitted, my voice dropping to a low, troubled rumble. "I am worried about the world she is inheriting. The dispatches from the distant provinces are getting worse. This sudden influx of untamed hybrid magic appearing in young children is causing panic among the old nobility in Ashveil. They see power they cannot control, and men who are afraid do foolish, violent things."
"They are afraid of change," Mira noted gently. "They have always been afraid of change."
"Fear makes men build cages, Mira," I said, looking down at her face in the moonlight. "And when the magic refuses to stay in the cage, they start looking for people to blame."
Mira leaned her head back against my shoulder, her dark eyes looking out over the quiet, illuminated valley below. "We built this peace on a strong foundation, Caelum. But peace is not a monument you finish building and walk away from. It is a garden. You have to keep weeding it every single day."
"I just hope our daughter does not have to carry a heavy sword to keep it growing," I whispered, tightening my arm around her as the cold night wind blew past us into the high mountains.