Chapter No.48: - Grant Welcome.

As Simon and Ivan stepped into Tempo Prezioso, the moment their names were confirmed at the entrance, they were instantly enveloped by the most exquisite fragrance of Italian cuisine either of them had ever experienced—rich herbs, truffle oil, fresh-baked bread, and a hint of slow-cooked meat. It was like being embraced by luxury itself.

But it wasn't the aroma that stopped them in their tracks—it was the view inside.

The restaurant's interior looked like something straight from a king's golden dream. The floors were intricate mosaics, depicting scenes of valor, celebration, and history, crafted with such detail they seemed to move underfoot. The walls were lined with golden trim, arching and swirling into floral patterns that shimmered under the grand chandelier lights. Pillars of white marble twisted with gold ran across the entire building, connecting ceiling to floor like the spine of a sacred temple. Every piece of furniture was hand-carved, every table set with crystal and polished silverware. The ambiance wasn't just high-class—it rivaled the throne rooms of emperors.

Both Simon and Ivan stood frozen at the entrance, momentarily overwhelmed.

Then came a clap.

All heads turned toward the source—Commander Kael, clad in full ceremonial uniform, stood near the center of the hall. His sharp eyes locked onto Simon, and with steady, deliberate steps, he walked toward them.

As he moved, a hush fell over the room, and guests instinctively shifted to the sides, creating a clear path. All eyes turned to Simon, the young man in a perfectly tailored black three-piece suit and crimson tie, radiating calm authority. At his side was Ivan, in his uniquely styled blue shirt and white Gurkha pants—less formal, but carrying a hidden edge to his aura, like a sheathed sword waiting to be drawn.

The two cut strikingly different figures, yet somehow, they matched.

When Commander Kael reached them, he placed a firm hand on Simon's shoulder and spoke with a voice that carried through the entire hall.

"Welcome the hero of our base—White Flame Knight, Simon!"

The room erupted in cheers and applause, echoing off the golden-lined walls. Glasses were raised, voices called out in celebration, and the air vibrated with admiration.

Simon stood momentarily stunned. He'd come for a quiet dinner. This… this was a full-blown celebration—a party thrown in honor of victory, and of him.

Commander Kael leaned in, his voice both respectful and warm.

"Young man, thank you for coming. It's truly an honor."

Simon gave a small bow, regaining his composure.

"Commander Kael, the pleasure is mine."

Ivan, standing to his side, still looked a bit lost—his mind caught somewhere between disbelief and awe. But Kael turned to him next, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

"You're Ivan Tarnell, right? The one who saved Alpha Team in the wilderness?"

Ivan blinked, unsure how to respond. But the uniform and authority in Kael's voice commanded respect.

He nodded.

"Yes, sir."

Kael's eyes lit up in recognition and then turned to Simon.

"He's your guest?"

Simon didn't hesitate.

"He is."

At that, Kael threw his head back and let out a roaring laugh that filled the entire hall with energy.

Simon and Ivan exchanged confused glances. What was so funny?

Seeing their expressions, Kael finally calmed himself and said with a grin,

"Birds of a feather flock together."

Though neither of them fully understood what was going on, they were slowly pulled into the flow of the evening. Glasses were offered, conversations bloomed, and laughter floated like music.

Soon, Ivan's story of saving Alpha Team began to spread across the room. Whispers turned into praise, and respect gathered around him like a growing flame. It wasn't long before Simon, too, heard the full tale—and his gaze toward Ivan held something new: a quiet pride.

As the night went on, dinner was finally served. Guests took their seats at intricately set tables under glowing chandeliers.

Simon, Ivan, and Commander Kael shared a table, positioned near the center of the grand hall, a subtle mark of their importance.

And as silver clinked against crystal and conversation flowed like wine, it became clear—this night was more than just a celebration.

It was a recognition of strength, of unity, and of the rising legends that now sat among them.

As Simon and Ivan sat at the elegantly set dining table, surrounded by laughter, music, and flickering candlelight, Commander Kael leaned back in his chair, a glass of fine wine in hand. His eyes settled on the two young men before him—not as soldiers or heroes, but as individuals.

His tone softened, and genuine curiosity laced his voice.

"Tell me something… Why did you do it?"

He looked at Ivan.

"Why did you risk everything to save my team?"

Then, his gaze shifted to Simon.

"And you… Why did you fight for the base, when you could've walked away?"

For a moment, silence fell over the table.

Simon didn't respond immediately. He stared into his glass, watching the ripples of red swirl like thoughts too complex to voice. His face remained calm, unreadable—but there was something behind his eyes. A storm perhaps, or maybe a grave memory.

Before Simon could speak, Ivan broke the silence.

"Simon once told me…" Ivan said, his voice low but firm, "that one should follow what is right—even if it means fighting through hell and back."

Kael's eyebrows rose, surprised by the simplicity and weight of those words. Then slowly, a smile broke across his face—genuine and proud.

"Then you have good company," he said, eyes gleaming. "And a good compass."

Simon didn't say anything. He only glanced at Ivan, then looked away, lost in his own reflections.

Dinner continued with soft conversation and respectful glances from nearby tables. As the evening came to an end and dessert plates were cleared, Simon and Ivan stood.

Kael offered politely, "I can have you both dropped off. It's the least I can do."

Simon shook his head, smiling faintly.

"Thank you, Commander. But we've got something to discuss on the way."

"Fair enough." Kael nodded, watching them go with a thoughtful look.

---

Outside, the world had gone quiet. The streets were empty, bathed in the soft silver glow of moonlight. The air was crisp, carrying with it the distant sounds of the city's breath—gentle, alive, and undisturbed.

Simon and Ivan walked side by side, no words exchanged. Yet, there was no awkwardness between them. Just calm silence, the kind shared between people who didn't need to speak to be understood.

They walked like that for a while, until they reached a familiar place.

A small playground, slightly rusted, its swings creaking gently in the night breeze. This was where they used to spar, play, and joke before things got serious—before Astral Lords and battlefield titles.

They both stopped.

Simon turned, the moonlight outlining the sharp angles of his face.

"So," he said softly, "what did you want to talk about?"

Ivan looked at the playground, then back at Simon.

his easygoing expression was replaced by sharp determination. Serious.

his eye met Simon's, unwavering.

"I want to know... how to burn hotter."