Anthony didn't even make it ten full minutes into his "peaceful forest" YouTube video before the universe decided to spit directly in his coffee again.

He was still on the cot, boots off, uniform half-unbuttoned, eyes half-lidded.

Birds chirping from the phone speaker.

Wind in the trees.

A calm little river sound.

Then his aide showed up again—same careful knock, same "sir" voice that always meant somebody did something stupid.

Anthony didn't open his eyes. "If this is about another mural, I swear to—"

"It's personal, sir."

Anthony opened one eye slowly. "That's never a good start. Speak."

The aide cleared his throat like he was about to read a death report.

"Sir... it's about the Towson Estate maids. Maria Houshi. Amaiya Shinobu. Amazona."

Anthony sat up fully. "...Of course it is."

The aide, trying to stay professional while delivering the most unprofessional news possible, continued:

"Amaiya confessed to Henry. At the same time Princess Alicia confessed to Henry."

Anthony stared.

David, sitting nearby with his drink, immediately muttered: "No."

The aide nodded like a man reporting weather. "They got drunk. They argued. They... uh... kissed him."

Anthony's eyelid twitched.

David's face did that blank thousand-yard stare Marines got right before they started yelling.

"And then," the aide continued, voice cracking a little, "they... slept with him. All three. First time for all three. Imported Jack Daniel's involved."

There was a long silence.

Then Anthony leaned back and looked at the ceiling like he was praying to any god listening. "...I'm gonna beat my son with a Bible."

David blinked. "Which one?"

Anthony answered instantly. "The thick one. The one with the maps."

David slowly nodded. "Fair."

The aide, now fully committed, kept going.

"Maria confessed to Aiden at the bar. Chloe and Queen Olga were... unhappy at first. Jealousy. But then they realized Maria is strong—physically and magically—and she's known Aiden the longest, so... they stopped complaining."

Anthony's mouth opened.

Then closed.

Then opened again.

"Of course they stopped complaining. Everybody stops complaining when they learn the 'new girl' is a fucking raid boss."

David's lips twitched. "That's the most accurate sentence you've said all week."

The aide continued, helpless now:

"Amazona confessed to Zachary under a tree during moonlight. Very romantic, sir."

Anthony squinted. "Please tell me nobody got crushed."

"Not reported, sir."

Anthony exhaled. "Good. Because that woman could hug a tank and win."

"And," the aide added, like tossing a grenade into the room for fun, "Luu-luu is in a relationship with Owen. Lieutenant Owen Towson. Navy. Destroyer is docked in Ken."

Anthony stared dead at him. "...My goblin son. Dating the halfling princess."

"Yes, sir."

David raised his drink. "I hate to say it, but that's kind of beautiful."

Anthony pointed at him. "Don't encourage this."

The aide wasn't done.

"One of General Rawlins' dragon kids—1st Lieutenant Rodney Thomas Rawlins—had sex with Princess Maia."

David choked on his drink.

Anthony just blinked.

Then he nodded once, like a man accepting that reality was a broken machine.

"...Cool."

The aide looked relieved Anthony didn't ask follow-up questions.

And then—

"One more thing, sir. Jackson asked to speak with you."

Anthony sighed. "Of course he did."

The aide hesitated. "He wants dating advice."

Anthony slowly turned his head toward David, eyes flat.

David raised his hands. "Don't look at me. I'm not qualified. My son just bagged a princess. I'm disqualified from giving moral guidance."

Anthony grumbled, "Bring him in."

Jackson walked in wearing a half-zipped Woodland MARPAT jacket, hair a little messy, ears twitching like his wolf half could smell danger.

Which, to be fair, it could.

He stopped two steps inside and instantly clocked Anthony's expression.

"...Dad. Why do you look like you're about to invade a country?"

Anthony pointed at him. "Sit."

Jackson sat.

Anthony leaned forward, elbows on knees, the voice of a father and a general mixed into one dangerous tone.

"Before you say anything," Anthony said, "I already heard."

Jackson blinked. "Heard what?"

Anthony's eyes narrowed. "Don't play dumb. I will ground you. You are twenty-four and I will still ground you."

Jackson held up both hands. "Whoa, whoa. I didn't do anything! I haven't even— I mean—"

David coughed into his fist. "He's innocent for now."

Jackson looked betrayed. "Colonel, what the hell."

Anthony cut in, "I heard about Henry. I heard about Aiden. I heard about Zachary. I heard about Owen. I heard about Rodney Rawlins and Maia. I heard about Joshua and Iris."

Jackson's jaw slowly dropped.

"...Why is everyone acting like this is a damn season finale?"

Anthony stabbed a finger toward him. "Exactly. So if you're coming to tell me you knocked up Grace Cambel in the inn pantry, I'm jumping off the fucking wall."

Jackson's ears went straight up. "WHAT— NO!"

Anthony leaned back slightly, still suspicious. "Then why are you here."

Jackson swallowed, rubbed the back of his neck, and his cheeks went a little red.

"...I like her."

Anthony's face didn't change, but the tone softened by half a millimeter.

"Grace."

Jackson nodded. "Yeah."

Anthony stared at him for a long moment, the kind of stare that made grown men confess crimes they didn't commit.

Then he exhaled through his nose.

"Okay."

Jackson blinked. "Okay?"

Anthony nodded once. "Okay. That's not a war crime. Yet."

David muttered, "Give it time."

Jackson shot him a look. "Stop."

Anthony held up his hand. "Tell me exactly what you want."

Jackson hesitated, then spoke honestly.

"I want to ask her out," he said. "But she's... older than she looks, technically, but she's also a widow. And she's Dark Elf. And she's had... you know. Life. And I don't want to come off like some horny idiot Marine trying to collect a trophy girlfriend in a foreign land."

Anthony's eyebrows rose—genuinely surprised.

"...That was mature."

Jackson shrugged awkwardly. "I'm not twelve."

Anthony nodded. "Good. Because if you were, I'd throw you like an annoying little shit."

David snorted quietly.

Jackson continued, quieter now.

"She's been kind to me. Real kind. Not 'oh you're a Towson' kind. Just... kind. We talk. We joke. She listens. And I— I think I make her laugh. Like, really laugh. Not the polite kind."

Anthony's stare sharpened—less drill instructor, more father.

"You're serious."

Jackson nodded. "Yeah. I am."

Anthony leaned back, crossing his arms. "Alright, pup. Here's the blunt truth."

Jackson braced like he was about to get hit.

Anthony delivered it anyway.

"Rule one," Anthony said, "do not treat her like a mission."

Jackson frowned. "What?"

"You're a Marine," Anthony said. "Your brain tries to solve shit. Fix shit. Protect shit. 'How do I win' shit. That mindset will ruin you with a woman who's already survived losing someone."

Jackson slowly nodded.

Anthony continued.

"Grace is not a prize. Not a 'dark elf exotic.' Not a 'war girlfriend.' Not a 'vacation romance.' You don't go in there thinking you're saving her. You go in there respecting her."

Jackson's ears flicked. "I do."

"Good," Anthony said. "Now prove it."

He raised another finger.

"Rule two: You do not rush her grief. Ever."

Jackson swallowed. "Yeah."

"If she talks about her husband," Anthony said, "you don't get jealous. You don't compete with a dead man. You listen. You honor it. Because that's part of who she is. If you can't handle that, you leave her the hell alone."

Jackson's throat bobbed. "I can handle it."

Anthony nodded once. "Good."

He raised a third finger.

"Rule three: Don't do the 'we can protect you' speech."

Jackson blinked. "Why not?"

"Because she's already lived through being a Dark Elf in a human city," Anthony said. "She knows fear. She knows survival. If you come in acting like Captain Savior, she'll either laugh at you or pity you. Both will hurt."

Jackson winced. "Okay."

Anthony leaned forward.

"Instead, you offer her something normal. A date. An hour. A meal. No pressure. No 'my daddy's a general' bullshit. Just you."

Jackson nodded, more confident now. "So... how do I ask?"

Anthony rolled his shoulders like he was about to brief an op.

"You ask direct. Not fancy. Not poetic. Direct."

Jackson waited.

Anthony spoke like he was writing it on a wall.

"'Grace. I like you. I want to take you out when you're free. Food, walk, whatever you want. If you're not ready, I'll respect that.'"

Jackson blinked. "That's it?"

"That's it," Anthony said. "Men overcomplicate. Women aren't puzzles. They're people."

David raised his drink. "Some are puzzles."

Anthony glared at him. "Shut the hell up."

David smirked.

Anthony looked back at Jackson.

"And if she says no," Anthony said, "you don't sulk. You don't act wounded. You don't get weird. You keep treating her with respect. You keep being her friend if she wants that."

Jackson nodded slowly. "Okay."

Anthony's eyes narrowed.

"Now here's the part you're gonna hate."

Jackson sighed. "What."

"Don't fuck her the first night," Anthony said flatly.

Jackson choked. "DAD!"

Anthony didn't flinch. "I said what I said."

Jackson's ears flattened in pure embarrassment. "What the helly—"

Anthony cut him off. "You want her? For real? Then you don't turn her into a stress relief. You build trust. You show her you're not like the people who hurt her kind. You show her you're not a tourist."

Jackson's face was red as a flare in a night sky, but he nodded.

"...Yeah."

Anthony's voice softened slightly.

"Physical shit will happen when it happens," Anthony said. "But make her feel safe first. Safe enough that if she says yes, it's because she wants you, not because she's scared you'll leave or because she feels like she owes you."

Jackson swallowed hard. "I get it."

Anthony nodded. "Good."

Then he added, deadpan:

"And for the love of God, don't propose in a week like a damn Disney prince."

Jackson snorted despite himself. "Wasn't planning on it."

Anthony leaned back.

"Also," Anthony said, "small gift. Something thoughtful. Not expensive."

Jackson tilted his head. "Like what?"

"Coffee beans," Anthony said. "Spices. A blanket. A book. Something from home. Something that says 'I paid attention.'"

Jackson nodded, eyes brightening. "She likes that mint tea she makes."

Anthony pointed. "There you go. Find her something that makes it easier to make that tea. Don't be stupid."

Jackson actually smiled.

"...Thanks, Dad."

Anthony stared at him for a second.

Then, quietly, "Don't make me regret it."

Jackson stood up. "I won't."

He hesitated, then asked the question he'd been scared to ask.

"...What if she says yes?"

Anthony's mouth twitched.

"Then you take her on that date," he said. "You treat her like she matters. You keep your hands respectful. You make her laugh. You don't lie. You don't play games."

He paused.

"And if you ever hurt her," Anthony added calmly, "I'll break your legs. Then I'll heal you. Then I'll break them again."

Jackson blinked.

David nodded approvingly. "Solid parenting."

Jackson sighed. "Love you too."

Anthony waved him off. "Get out before I start crying."

Jackson walked out fast, ears high, clearly terrified and encouraged at the same time.

David watched him go, then looked at Anthony.

"You're getting soft."

Anthony stared at the wall.

"I'm getting old," he corrected. "There's a difference."

David smirked. "You're still gonna freak out when he brings her home."

Anthony answered without hesitation.

"I'm gonna be polite," he said. "Then I'm gonna interrogate her like it's a counterintelligence screening."

David laughed. "There it is."

Anthony leaned back, the forest sounds still playing in the background.

And even though his life had turned into a romantic geopolitical clusterfuck, he couldn't deny one thing:

For the first time in a long time, his kids weren't just surviving.

They were living.

Even if it was giving him a damn headache.

The DMV waterfront looked like a damn festival.

Aircraft carrier piers packed with families, flags, camera crews held back behind stanchions, MPs and base security running lanes like it was a controlled riot, and a wall of noise that hit you in the chest before you even got down the gangway—kids screaming, spouses crying, somebody's dad yelling "THAT'S MY BOY!" like it was a touchdown.

Another month had passed since the Black Dogs got crushed.

A month of rubble turned into streets again. Roofs re-laid. Wells cleared. Ports reopened. Feoth and Garan sitting at 80% rebuilt, which was insane by any historical standard and still somehow not enough for the engineers who were already bitching about the remaining 20% like it personally offended them.

And back on the other side?

Vult sat through an international tribunal in chains, listening to translators turn his ideology into cold legal language. A few of his survivors got life. Most got death row.

Vult's sentence got "electric chair" for about five minutes until somebody with common sense changed it to what he deserved:

Firing squad.

AMRs.

No speeches. No throne. No myth.

Just the sharp end of consequence.

Now the Joint Corps Force—what was left of it that rotated home—was pouring off ships into the DMV like a tide of camo and seabags.

And the other tide?

Eostians.

Anthony stepped down first because of course he did—four-star now, too stubborn to let protocol make him look soft.

His sons followed in a clump, Wayne right behind them with that Navy swagger like he owned the damn water, Rawlins walking like he was still on a parade deck, and Killian half-drifting because his attention kept snapping to everything at once.

Behind them came the Eostians in borrowed clothes.

Not armor.

Not bikinis.

Borrowed Earth clothes.

Claudia wore a simple long dress and a cardigan, hair braided back, looking like a church lady who could still cut you in half.

The curve of her belly was visible now—subtle but real—and every Marine who noticed it immediately stopped making jokes and started acting like they'd never seen a pregnant woman in their lives.

Celestine wore a long coat and jeans and looked like she was trying not to show how overwhelmed she was by everything—but her eyes kept widening anyway.

Maia, in a hoodie and leggings, looked personally offended that modern clothing was this comfortable.

Kaguya was the only one who looked like she'd been born here: neutral expression, hands folded, silently judging the universe.

Olga Discordia walked like she was in a museum she intended to buy. Chloe stuck close to Aiden's side, scanning faces and exits out of habit.

And Luu-luu—tiny, smug, and wearing an oversized jacket that looked like it swallowed her whole—kept whispering "By the gods..." every time she saw something bigger than a castle.

Which was every five seconds.

They reached the bottom.

And the noise hit them.

Thousands of people. Mixed races everywhere—humans, elves, halflings, lamia, orcs, goblins, cyclops—some in uniforms, some in suits, some in summer clothes, some holding signs.

One little kid—human—ran by wearing a toy helmet and yelled, "WELCOME HOME!"

Luu-luu flinched like it was a war horn.

Claudia blinked hard. "There are... so many."

Anthony grunted. "Yeah. That's called Monday."

Celestine turned slowly, staring at the skyline of D.C. in the distance—Washington Monument, high-rises, bridges, highways crawling with vehicles.

Her voice came out small.

"...Your nation is loud."

Wayne clapped her shoulder gently. "Wait until you see New York."

Celestine looked like she might faint.

Rawlins shouted over the crowd, "Alright! Keep 'em moving! If you see your family, hug 'em, cry a little, then keep it pushing! We are not clogging the pier because somebody missed their dog!"

A Marine somewhere yelled, "SIR MY DOG MISSED ME!"

Rawlins shouted back, "YOUR DOG CAN WAIT GODDAMMIT!"

Anthony didn't even get ten steps before a woman barreled into him like a missile—one of his wives—arms around his neck, face buried into him like she was trying to fuse their ribs together.

Anthony's voice softened in a way that would've shocked half of Selenus.

"I'm home."

Behind him, his sons got tackled too—siblings, partners, friends, people crying and laughing all at once.

And the Eostians?

They stood there like tourists watching a hurricane made of love.

Olga's eyes flicked to a mixed-race couple kissing, then to a lamia mother lifting her toddler, then to an orc in a suit holding a bouquet.

She exhaled slowly.

"This... is what unity looks like."

Chloe, still guarded, murmured, "Or madness."

Aiden smirked. "It's both. You'll fit right in."

They got escorted through the controlled lanes, past buses and vans, past MPs trying not to stare at the "visitors from another continent," past reporters getting told "NO QUESTIONS" in six different languages.

Claudia paused to watch traffic.

Hundreds of cars. Smooth, fast, constant.

"No horses," she whispered.

Anthony nodded. "We UNE folks killed the horse industry. Sorry."

Maia pointed at a highway sign like it was sorcery. "Those words are glowing."

Wayne said, "Reflective paint."

Maia looked offended. "That is still magic."

Celestine stared at a billboard advertising a law firm. "...You hire warriors to argue with words?"

Anthony shrugged. "More dangerous than swords sometimes."

Kaguya, deadpan: "I believe that."

Luu-luu saw a DC Metro train sliding by and literally grabbed Owen's sleeve. "Owen. Owen. Owen. There is a metal snake."

Owen sighed like a man who'd accepted his life choices.

"It's public transportation, babe."

Luu-luu squinted. "It is blessed."

Anthony stopped walking so abruptly that two Marines behind him almost collided.

Everybody looked at him.

He pointed across the street like he'd spotted a holy relic.

"...Burger King."

Rawlins blinked. "Ant, we got Pentagon dining, we got base chow, we got—"

Anthony cut him off. "I have not had Burger King in three and a half months. I did not cross dimensions to be denied a Whopper."

Wayne laughed. "He's serious."

Aiden raised a hand. "He's always serious about food."

Claudia stared at the sign of the nearby Burger King—bright, bold, unapologetically tacky.

"Is... is that a fortress of food?"

Anthony nodded. "Yes."

Celestine, wary: "Why is it called a King?"

Anthony opened his mouth, then paused.

"...Because capitalism is a religion and this is one of its temples."

Kaguya nodded once. "That tracks."

They went in.

The moment the doors opened, the smell hit them—salt, grease, grilled beef, sugar, fries.

Luu-luu froze.

Maia inhaled like she was about to cry. "Why does it smell like happiness?"

Olga looked around at the bright tiles, the menu boards, the soda fountain like it was a magical apparatus.

Chloe stared at the people casually eating—no fear, no guards, no knives on tables—and whispered, "They're... relaxed. In public."

Aiden leaned down. "Yeah. That's kinda the point."

Anthony marched up to the counter like he was assaulting a strongpoint.

The cashier looked up, eyes widening as the line behind Anthony filled with Marines, sailors, and—very obviously—foreign royalty trying to pretend they weren't royalty.

Anthony spoke clearly.

"I need a Whopper meal. Large. Extra pickles. Extra fries. And whatever the hell the spicy chicken sandwich is called now."

The cashier blinked twice. "Uh—yes, sir."

Anthony turned his head slightly. "Everybody order."

That was a mistake.

Because Maia stepped up next and pointed at a picture.

"I want... that."

Cashier: "That's a double bacon—"

Maia: "Yes."

Cashier: "Meal?"

Maia: "Yes."

Cashier: "Drink?"

Maia stared at the soda fountain like it was witchcraft. "I want... the green one."

Anthony muttered, "Sprite."

Celestine approached like she was negotiating peace.

"Excuse me," she said politely. "What is a... 'chicken nugget'?"

A Marine behind her whispered, "Oh my God."

Rawlins, already smiling: "Ma'am, that is American diplomacy in edible form."

Claudia stepped up next, quiet but determined.

"I want something... simple."

Anthony pointed. "Whopper Jr."

Claudia nodded. "Yes. That."

Then she paused and added, almost shyly—

"And... fries."

Anthony grinned. "That's my girl."

Claudia blinked. "What?"

Anthony waved it off. "Nothing. Fries are a universal truth."

Olga ordered like she was building a potion recipe: one of everything she'd seen on the board that sounded interesting.

Chloe ordered a plain hamburger and bottled water, suspicious of joy.

Kaguya ordered coffee.

Anthony stared. "It's Burger King."

Kaguya sipped the cup like it was medicine. "I require bitterness to remain balanced."

Wayne laughed so hard he had to lean on the soda machine.

They sat—an absurd table full of generals, sons, princesses, queens, and killers turned rebuilders, surrounded by regular Americans who had no idea they were sharing a room with history.

Anthony unwrapped the Whopper like it was sacred.

He took one big bite.

His eyes closed.

A long, reverent exhale.

"...Fucking perfect. Some good unhealthy food."

Rawlins shook his head. "This is what you missed?"

Anthony pointed with the burger. "You don't get it."

Celestine took a cautious bite of her chicken sandwich.

Her eyes widened.

Then she took another bite—bigger.

Then another.

Claudia ate a fry.

Paused.

Ate another.

Then looked at Anthony with genuine alarm. "These are... addictive."

Anthony nodded gravely. "Now you understand why our civilization is both powerful and obese."

Maia stole one of Anthony's fries without asking.

Anthony slapped her hand lightly. "Touch my fries again and I will bomb a nation."

Maia grinned with her mouth full. "You love me."

"I love the alliance," Anthony corrected. "The fries are sacred."

Luu-luu climbed onto her seat and held up a chicken nugget like a priest holding a relic.

"THIS," she declared, "IS DIVINE."

Owen muttered, "Please don't start a religion."

Too late.

Olga watched the room—humans, non-humans, laughter, ease—and for the first time since her capture, her shoulders loosened.

"This country," she said quietly, "is terrifying."

Anthony took another bite, chewing slowly.

"Yeah," he agreed. "But it's ours."

Chloe looked at Aiden, then down at her hands, then at the people around them.

"...Maybe," she admitted, "it's not as cruel as I thought."

Aiden nudged her gently. "It can be. But it can also be good. Depends on who's holding the power."

Anthony swallowed, wiped his mouth, and leaned back.

"Alright," he said. "Enjoy your food. Because after this, we're doing the part everyone hates."

Wayne groaned. "Paperwork?"

Anthony nodded. "Immigration. Housing. Security briefs. Cultural orientation. And for the love of God, nobody say 'concubine' in front of Homeland Security."

Celestine blinked. "Why."

Anthony pointed at the menu board. "Because this place is the only nation that matters right now, and I'm not getting banned."

Rawlins raised his soda cup. "To victory."

Claudia raised her fries, still baffled.

"To... Burger King."

And the table—warriors, queens, maids, butlers, knights, Marines—laughed like the war had finally let go of their throats.

For now.