The return to the border village was quiet.
Kael walked beside his father, Dren, while Lira followed close behind. Her hands occasionally brushed Kael's back, as if needing to reassure herself he was real—that he had survived, that she had survived. The snow had softened in the wake of the storm, melting beneath the subtle warmth of spring's edge.
The path to their old home was still familiar despite the years. Bent trees, broken fence posts, and the lopsided wooden gate that had somehow survived a decade of silence. The house stood where Kael remembered it, though the roof sagged slightly, and frost clung to the stone walls. It had the air of something abandoned but not forgotten.
When they reached the steps, Dren hesitated.
"It's still standing," he muttered.
Kael glanced at him. "It waited for you."
Dren gave a half-hearted laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Then I suppose it's time we came home."
They entered together. The door creaked the same way it had when Kael was a child.
Inside, the air was thick with dust, but Lira's eyes immediately swept the room, already noting what needed cleaning, fixing, replacing. She was always like that. Always fixing things.
Elira stood at the threshold, watching them.
Kael turned to her. "You coming in?"
She gave a soft smile. "This part… this is yours, Kael."
He took a step forward. "You're family too."
Elira looked away, brushing her hair behind her ear. "I need to check on my village. Make sure they're alright. I've been gone too long."
Kael nodded slowly. He understood. Elira had her own ghosts. Her own healing.
"I'll come find you soon," he said.
She smirked. "You better."
With a nod to Dren and Lira, she turned and walked down the snow-covered road alone, the wind picking up behind her like a soft farewell.
Kael spent the next hour helping his parents settle back into the home. The magic concealing the gauntlet shimmered faintly under his skin, hidden beneath layers of spellwoven cloth and illusion. A precaution.
He wasn't ready to explain everything.
After clearing out the hearth, Kael stoked a fire. The warmth was welcome, filling the cottage with flickering light. Dren sat at the edge of the table, staring into the flames as though they might give him answers. Lira busied herself in the kitchen, wiping counters, opening cabinets, humming the tune she used to sing when Kael was a boy.
It was too normal. Too peaceful.
But Kael welcomed it.
For now.
Eventually, Dren broke the silence. "Kael."
He looked up.
His father leaned forward. "What… happened to us?"
Kael hesitated. The fire crackled.
"There was… someone," he said slowly. "A guide. I don't know what he was. A ghost. A memory. Maybe a remnant left behind by something older. He… pointed me in the right direction."
Dren's brows furrowed. "You followed a ghost?"
Kael gave a small smile. "You were missing. I followed anything that offered hope."
Dren didn't answer immediately. His jaw tightened, but not in anger. In uncertainty.
"And the gauntlet?" he asked next, quieter.
Kael looked at his hands.
Gone.
The magic worked. It was hidden.
"I left it behind," he lied gently. "It wasn't safe. I didn't want it near you."
Dren studied his son's face. For a long while, Kael thought he might push further. But then the old warrior sat back, sighing.
"You've changed."
Kael nodded. "So have you."
That night, Lira prepared a meal worthy of celebration. Roasted game, wildroot stew, flatbread spiced with thyme and salt. The table was small, but it held all three of them for the first time in over a decade.
They spoke cautiously at first—about the past, about the village, about things that didn't hurt. But as the night wore on, walls lowered. Laughter returned. Dren even told an old hunting story that made Lira roll her eyes and Kael chuckle.
For a few hours, the world was quiet.
The fire burned low. Candles flickered against the wooden walls.
Kael looked at his mother. She was smiling again, though her eyes still held shadows. She hadn't asked what happened to her during the kidnapping. Neither had Dren. And Kael didn't force it.
They would share when they were ready.
He didn't need every detail. He just needed them.
But the world wasn't done watching Kael.
Above the house, high in the night sky, a figure cloaked in wind and shadow floated silently. No wings. No tether. Just presence.
Its eyes—if it had any—glowed faintly like starlight, watching the house below.
It did not move.
It did not speak.
But it saw Kael.
And it waited.