Night had fallen on Arrabell, but the capital city of Lanewright was still very much awake. A great banquet was being held in the city to celebrate the victory of the Hero’s Party, monumental in its size and splendor. The Demon Cult had terrorized the commonfolk of the country for years now, so the people were ecstatic to hear of the failed ascension of the Ancient Demon. Now, there can finally be peace again. The people had placed yellow streamers, banners, and flowers throughout the sprawling streets of the royal capital to show their appreciation of the Hero’s Party for their conquest, and a mood of jubilation pervaded every corner and alley of the winding roads.

  The carriage the Hero’s Party rode in toward the banquet, while sharing the same golden decorations on the outside, but had an entirely different mood on the inside. In the carriage, there was the Hero, the Wizard, and the Dwarf with grim faces. The Hero was missing his right arm, the Wizard had crutches for walking due to his mangled legs, and the Dwarf routinely let out wracking coughs into a rag that had been turned a different color than it originally was. Besides the coughing of the Dwarf, there was no sound to be heard or celebration to be had. It was the Hero who finally broke the silence.

  “Erica will be alright. We’ve been through worse before.”

  “Worse than *coughs* this? What kind of plan was that anyway, lad? Make the Demon underestimate us by getting beat half to death? Heaven above, there must have been something else we could have done. Mage, what do you think?”

  “I think my legs hurt. I do not think much beyond that at the moment.”

  “Damos, look, it worked out, right? The Ancient Demon is dead. If one of those managed to ascend, it would have been twice as bad as a Demon Prince. We did the best we could against insurmountable odds, and we won.”

  “Will you keep the same tone if the Elf doesn’t pull through, boy-o?”

  “I... I don’t want to think about that right now.”

  “And now you sound like John-boy here. Suppose he’s right even when he doesn’t think at all.”

  The carriage continued rolling through the streets. Everything had golden decorations, including the other carriages, so the Hero’s Party enjoyed some anonymity for the first time in a long while. Some kids were running after the Party’s carriage. They were throwing flowers and paint at each other and took to running between the large wheels. The driver ran them off with a shout, but his serious attitude did little to dampen their spirits.

  “Look at those kids, Damos. That sight is worth everything I have to give. I’m sorry you guys got caught up in it.”

  “I don’t want to hear that, lad. I’m just complaining. We all knew what we signed up for. How’s your arm feeling?”

  “He does not have the arm you are referring to, Dwarf. It would be more accurate to ask how his wound is doing.”

  “Heaven above, Mage. You don’t have to say it like that.”

  “Don’t worry about John, Damos. I’m doing just fine. The first aid I received did away with most of the pain. Let’s just focus on getting where we’re going.”

  The Dwarf knew, just as well as the Hero, that there is more to be discussed about the lack of his dominant limb, but Damos respected his desire to not discuss it right now and decided to observe the scenery on the way to the royal castle.

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  But the Dwarf was never one to stay silent for long. He quietly spoke, with some hesitation.

  “What of the Girl, Lucas?”

  The Mage looked at the Hero out of the corner of his eyes. He thought he saw more pain in the Hero’s face than when he was getting his shoulder stitched up and Force-Healed.

  The Hero closed his eyes, breathed in and out, and just shook his head. Another conversation deferred.

  After passing two checkpoints, one into the inner city and one into the castle itself, the Hero’s Party had finally arrived at the grandest celebration that Castle Arrabell had hosted in more than 60 years, since the coronation ceremony of the current king. A celebration was long overdue, but there has been nothing to celebrate, especially in recent times.

  The cultists of multiple Demon Princes had attacked and schemed relentlessly. The Followers of the Flame had regularly attacked settlements and minor cities. Even the Army of Truth had made a move, usually a more reserved contender for bringing about the apocalypse. The people of Arrabell needed this reprieve, and the King had spared no expense.

  The castle courtyard was immaculately decorated. Flowers, golden streamers, even the guards and servants were all adorned. Some thought must have been put into this celebration well before the Hero’s Party set out to defeat the Ancient Demon, and before the Triad Assault against the Army of Truth as well. If either operation had failed, Arrabell would have become a wasteland. The Steward must have gone forward with the preparations hoping he would live to see the next day.

  The carriage door was opened by the driver, and the Party set about the arduous task of climbing out of their vehicle. Many party-goers, members of the most prestigious class of people that Arrabell had to offer, were shocked to see the state of the Hero and his comrades, such as they were. They stumbled, groaned, and coughed their way down the carriage steps and started up the stairs to the huge gate of the keep. The Hero’s Party had trouble getting through the crowd, as everyone was too shocked to make way.

  “Gods, what happened to them?”

  “Father, look at the Mage!”

  “He... lost an arm.”

  The Party began to get frustrated by their lack of progress. The curious people had formed an effective wall against forward movement. The Dwarf had a heated look on his face, the Mage successfully hid his shame for the most part, but the Hero had the strangest visage of all. He ordinarily wore a great smile on his face when around the people of Arrabell, to show confidence and assure them of his strength, but the corners of his smile were beginning to fade.

  Finally, there was one voice that spoke above the rest. While not yelling, he managed to project his calm voice in such a way that everyone present heard his words clearly. In fact, his voice was on the softer side, but it still projected power.

  “That’s enough, everyone. Make way for the Hero’s Party.”

  The crowd directly began to part to the left and right sides of the grand staircase. Left standing in the middle, before the opened grand gate, was a youth of no more than 14. He was on the smaller side, blonde of hair, with a mischievous smile on his face. His outfit was smart and striking, befitting royalty. The Hero saw that it was the Third Prince and started up the stairs with a purposeful stride. Upon reaching the Prince, The Hero rendered the proper courtesy, bowing his head. He slightly stumbled and winced in pain when he realized he could no longer place his right hand across his heart, but the Hero recovered quickly and instead placed his left hand across his breast.

  “Lucas Davrain greets His Majesty.”

  “Lucas, it’s great to see you! At ease.” The Hero eased up and stood at full height with his arm at his side, attention rapt. “I heard of your success while I was on patrol in the west. I left the front immediately and made my way back home. Outstanding, my friend. I didn’t doubt you for a second. Let’s get inside for now.”

  At the words of the Prince, the grand doors were opened by the servants. The Party was led inside by the Prince and his entourage, which consisted of men dressed in clothing grander than any of the Party had ever worn.

  “The Ball is almost ready to begin. You’re all a little early. All the more time for us to talk.”

  The Party was lead through the grand halls to a more private wing of the castle. The ceiling became lower, and the furnishings became more comfortable and much more conducive to conversation and relaxation, a point that the designer must have focused on. The Party walked into a private parlor and took their seats. The Prince did not start for a moment due to the groans he heard from the Hero and his Party when they took their seats.

  “So, what happened?” A butler hands the Prince a clipboard with some papers on it. “I read the reports, of course. I’d just rather hear it in person.”