Victor's last moments on Zandar were mostly feasts and meetings.
He and his Generals all attended feasts with the Green Visconte commanders. The two armies had fought side by side in multiple battles, earning the respect of one another. While the Generals were drinking and conversing, Victor went to get some air on a nearby terrace.
The terrace overlooked the harbour, where ships rocked gently under a pale gold morning light. A cluster of Luxenberg banners snapped crisply along the wharf; half were already lowered, crates and trunks stacked beside them. Victor stood with his hands clasped behind his back, shoulders wrapped in a deep blue travelling cloak.
"So it's decided," Alphonse said quietly as he approached. "You depart tomorrow."
Victor nodded. "I have lingered too long already. My family must be growing restless, and my people deserve to see that their king still breathes. But I leave Madena and Zandar to its true ruler—and I trust you wholly with its future."
A gull cried overhead. The sea breeze tugged at Victor's cloak, carrying with it the warm smell of tar, salt, and fish.
"You were invaluable to me," Alphonse said. He meant it deeply. "Without your massive contributions during this war, it may be me and my supporters locked away in a dungeon."
Victor nodded. He knew that without his army, Alphonse and his faction would face defeat, and more people would needlessly die in a civil war started by greedy people.
They stood outside a moment longer, scholars of war marvelling at how swiftly peace made them strangers to purpose.
The morning chosen for King Victor's departure arrived long before the sun touched Madena's rooftops. A pale, pearl-colored light washed over the harbour, softening the edges of ships, piers, and the great stone warehouses. The sea was calm—unnervingly so—as if it understood the gravity of the moment and agreed to behave.
The city stirred early. Fishermen paused in their preparations to watch from the docks. Traders climbed onto balconies overlooking the water. Even the street urchins of the lower quarter crept up the hill, drawn by the rare sight of a king's fleet taking leave.
For the first time since the siege's end, Madena felt truly united by a single act of witness.
King Victor's fleet rode gracefully in the inner harbour. Their hulls were painted in Luxenberg's deep navy blue, lanterns glowing faintly at their sterns. On each ship, men were already at work: lines being coiled, gangplanks secured, final barrels and crates loaded aboard.
Standard-bearers held the golden Eagle banners stiff between their gloved hands, waiting for the command to mount them.
Prince Alphonse arrived on horseback, flanked by his honour guard. He dismounted at the quay and approached the prepared dais where Victor stood.
The king looked striking despite the early hour—cloak draped neatly over his shoulders, sword at his hip, the faintest smile on his face. His Generals stood behind him in orderly ranks, some bleary from the feast but all proud.
The two leaders withdrew a short distance from the crowd to the edge of the quay, where the sea lapped against the stone.
Alphonse spoke first. "Your support was more than an alliance. It was… salvation. For me. For my people."
Victor chuckled lightly. "Careful, Alphonse, you make it sound as though I am the hero of this story."
"You played the part well."
"But you finish the tale," Victor replied. "Madena is yours now. Florenzia too. The whole continent is under rule. This era will bear your mark more than mine."
Alphonse felt the weight of those words settle upon him like a mantle of iron, yet also like a shield.
"Then allow me to promise," he said firmly, "that you and your family shall always be welcome in my lands. And if one day you need assistance, the Kingdom of Visconte's Army will march to your aid."
Victor bowed his head, deeply moved.
A trumpet sounded—clear and high across the water.
Luxenberg soldiers snapped to attention.
Grand Admiral Nelson, Victor's chief naval commander, shouted the boarding orders. Men moved swiftly up the gangplanks in disciplined columns. Boots thudded against wood. Generals saluted Prince Alphonse as they passed, each gesture a silent farewell.
Mariners cast off mooring lines; sailors perched in the rigging like dark, fluttering birds preparing to spread their wings.
Citizens lined the quay, waving kerchiefs, scarves, and cloth strips. Even the stoic Madenan dockworkers raised their caps. The city might once have feared these foreign soldiers—but after the siege, they had learned to respect them.
Another trumpet blast.
The Eagles of Luxenberg unfurled atop their masts, catching the soft morning breeze. The fleet began to drift outward, oars and tugboats guiding them until the wind could claim their sails.
The people watched in reverent silence as dozens of ships departed from its shores.
Victor himself stood tall at the rail of the Holy Trinity, cloak fluttering behind him. When Alphonse raised his arm in salute, Victor answered with a crisp gesture of his own.
Moments later, the sails filled fully. The ships leaned gently and surged forward.
Alphonse watched until they were little more than outlines against the glowing horizon. Until the last glint of sunlight on a mast vanished. Until the sea had swallowed the fleet into its vast, shimmering expanse.
Only then did he let out a slow breath.
Victor Luxenberg was gone.
The alliance remained—but the days of war were now part of history.
The Holy Trinity cut steadily across the open sea, its sails filled with a strong easterly wind that promised swift passage. For King Victor Luxenberg, the sudden shift from the noise and triumph of Madena's harbour to the quiet rhythm of the open water was peaceful.
It would take around 3 months to return home; they would also need to pick up the remaining soldiers who were in Sinolla. Despite the long time it would take, Victor was excited to return to Hannover. It had been too long since he was there; he missed his children, he missed his queen, and he missed his people.