A Night With The Queen

Regalia glowed brighter than he remembered. Torches burned along every archway, and banners of silver and violet streamed down the stone walls. The air buzzed with excitement, with voices lifted in anticipation of their young queen’s coronation. Gregor was ushered through marble halls he once knew well, though each corner stirred a ghost—Marek, Solovet, Vikus, Ares. Too many names carved into his memory.

And then he saw her.

Luxa stood in the grand hall, dressed not in finery but in simple white, a circlet of silver resting lightly on her brow. Her hair, paler than the torches that lit the chamber, fell loose about her shoulders. When her eyes met his, the room seemed to still.

“Gregor,” she said softly, though her voice carried like a command.

He bowed awkwardly. “Luxa. Or… I guess I should say, Your Majesty.”

Her lips twitched in the faintest smile. “It has been too long.”

“Yeah,” he managed. “It has.”

For a moment, neither spoke. The weight of years hung between them, filled with battles fought, friends lost, promises broken. Finally, Luxa reached out her hand.

“You came,” she said simply. “That is enough.”

The coronation was unlike anything Gregor had ever witnessed. The throne room of Regalia overflowed with Underlanders—humans, bats, crawlers, even gnawers who had come in peace. The air rang with music, strange and haunting. Luxa walked the length of the hall with her head held high, though Gregor could see the tension in her shoulders, the burden she had carried for so long. When she took her seat upon the high throne and the circlet was replaced with a crown of gold, silver, and red rubies—the crowd erupted…

And through it all, Luxa’s eyes found Gregor’s, again and again, as though anchoring herself to the one person who had seen her at her strongest and her weakest, who had known the child she had been before she received the crown. And Gregor knew at that moment that he was no longer a child either.

That night, when the feast was done and the torches burned low, Luxa sought him out on a quiet balcony overlooking the city. The air was cool, carrying the scent of stone and moss.

“I did not know if you would come,” she admitted. “After all that has passed, I did not know if you had forgotten us.”

Gregor leaned against the railing, searching for words. “I wasn’t sure either. But when I got the invitation… it felt like I had to. Like I owed it to you. To all of this.”

She nodded, her gaze steady. “Perhaps you owed it to yourself?”

Silence stretched, but it was not uncomfortable. Below them, Regalia shimmered like a living jewel in the dark. Above, bats wheeled across the cavern ceiling.

He looked into her eyes and whispered, “Perhaps I owed it to myself to see you again. We saved each other’s lives. Perhaps I received your invitation for a reason neither of us knows yet.”

Luxa softly spoke, “Gregor, the Overland will always call you home. But know this—the Underland will always be part of you. And so will I.”

He felt his throat tighten, but he managed a smile. “I know I want to get used to that.” Looking over her shoulder and then back into her eyes, he whispered again, “I want to get used to all of this, but not as a warrior.”

Luxa’s answering smile was rare and radiant. For the first time in years, Gregor felt the weight of loss lift, replaced by something fragile but enduring—hope. The hope of better days—together.

As they parted, the first notes of dawn’s light crept into the cavern, Gregor realized that the Underland had given him one last gift: not war, not sorrow, but the chance to begin again. He also knew that, like the invitation itself, the Overland had only been a temporary summons—his true home lay below. He would not hurry home. His parents would only have to look toward the laundry grate to know where he had gone. They would know that he had gone where he really belonged, where they would bless him for going.