The morning sun bled softly over Bluff's End, spilling golden light across the crooked fences and weather-worn roofs. Darian stepped outside, rolling his shoulders, the ache of last night's battle still sitting heavy in his bones. His house looked like a ruin—broken shutters, sagging beams, and a porch that seemed ready to collapse if the wind so much as sneezed.
"Alright," he muttered to himself, cracking his neck. "If we're gonna live like a family… this place has to stop looking like a wolf's den."
He grabbed the battered axe he'd used on wolves before and trudged to the treeline just past the field. The twins followed a few steps behind, curious.
Ren, with his wide eyes and hesitant steps, clutched a stick like it was a sword. His little face carried that soft, innocent glow children weren't supposed to keep in a place like Bluff's End. Rin, however, walked differently—arms crossed, sharp eyes tracking everything. Where Ren was a pup, Rin was already shaping into something colder, sharper. A predator in the making.
Darian raised the axe and brought it down on the first log. Thwack! The wood split clean. A small notification flickered in the edge of his vision.
[Woodcutting Lv. 2 → Lv. 3]
"Not bad," Darian muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.
He kept chopping, setting aside stacks for repairs. Soon, another message pinged:
[New Skill Acquired: Carpentry Lv. 1]
[Carpentry Lv. 1 → Lv. 2]
You've begun shaping wood into something useful. You're not a master craftsman, but you can build, patch, and repair with passable skill.
He grinned faintly at that. For once, his strength was going toward something that didn't involve blood.
"Father," Ren piped up timidly, watching as Darian hammered together a crude patch for the porch. "You're… really good at this."
Darian chuckled. "Good? Kid, this porch wouldn't last through a strong sneeze. But give me time. I'll make it livable."
Ren smiled shyly. Rin, however, stood with her arms crossed, eyes cold and judging.
"What's with that look, Rin?" Darian asked, quirking a brow.
She tilted her head slightly, her gaze like ice. "You swing an axe like you're killing something. Even when you're fixing the house. It's… scary."
Darian paused. He didn't know whether to laugh or feel cut. "That's just how I am. You'll get used to it."
Rin didn't answer—just kept watching, like a wolf deciding whether to trust the hunter who fed it.
Darian set the axe down on a stump, rubbing his hands together. "Alright, you two. Enough standing there like chickens staring at the rain. You're gonna help me with this. Maybe you'll learn something useful."
Ren blinked. "Help? With the axe?"
Darian smirked. "Not the axe, not yet. You'd chop your foot off before the wood. But you can carry, stack, maybe even swing a hatchet. Small steps."
Ren's face lit up, eager. "I can do that!" He rushed forward, grabbing a piece of split wood and dragging it over to the pile, stumbling but determined.
Rin didn't move. She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Why? You're already doing it. What's the point?"
Darian shot her a look. "The point is you won't always have someone else to do the hard work for you. The world doesn't give handouts, Rin. You work, or you starve."
She held his gaze for a moment, her eyes sharp, then shrugged with an almost mocking little smirk. "Fine. But if I get splinters, I'll blame you."
He barked out a laugh. "Good. Blame me. Just don't stand there doing nothing."
So the morning began.
Ren worked with all his tiny might, arms trembling as he carried each piece. His face scrunched with effort, sweat dripping down his forehead, but he never complained. Every time he dropped a log onto the pile, he looked up at Darian, searching for approval.
"You're doing good, kid," Darian said at one point, patting his son on the back. "Keep it up."
Ren beamed, chest puffing with pride.
Rin, meanwhile, moved slower. She didn't waste energy, didn't push herself like Ren did. Instead, she observed—how Darian lifted, how he balanced the axe, how he split the wood clean. When she finally picked up the hatchet, she copied him with eerie precision, her small arms swinging in the same rhythm. The wood didn't split as clean, but it cracked enough.
Darian stopped, watching her for a moment. That cold, calculating look in her eyes unsettled him. She wasn't just helping—she was studying.
[Notification: The twins have gained "Woodcutting Lv. 1."]
By midday, a respectable pile of firewood sat stacked near the house. Darian leaned on the axe, wiping his brow, his muscles warm from honest labor. The twins sat on the porch steps, panting, their hands dirty and faces flushed.
"Not bad," Darian said. "You two did alright. Ren's got spirit. Rin's got… efficiency. Between the two of you, maybe you'll make decent survivors."
Ren smiled wide, proud of the praise. Rin just narrowed her eyes and muttered, "It was work. Nothing more."
Darian smirked. "You sound just like me when I was your age."
Darian leaned on the axe, eyes drifting between the twins as they caught their breath on the porch. Ren's face was bright, open, full of that unguarded innocence. Rin's, on the other hand, had that sharp, unreadable glare—like she was sizing him up rather than looking at him.
He squinted, muttering to himself, What's going on inside that little head?
As if answering his thought, a strange glimmer pulsed across his vision. For a brief second, the world shifted—letters, numbers, and faint lines of text appeared over his children's heads.
[New Skill Acquired: Appraisal Lv. 1]
Ren – Level 3
Thought: I want Father to say I did well again…
Skills: None
Relationship: Warm trust (Fragile, seeking approval)
Rin – Level 3
Thought: He's watching me too closely. Don't show weakness.
Skills: None
Relationship: Hostile (Cold resentment, buried curiosity)
Darian blinked, staggering slightly. "The hell…?" He rubbed his eyes, but the text remained, faint but clear.
"…Appraisal," he whispered, realization dawning. A skill some adventurers dreamed about—rare as a diamond and just as valuable. The ability to see through others: their level, their thoughts, their relationship to him.
He chuckled bitterly. "So that's what it takes. Nearly dying in a cave, fighting like a beast, and cutting wood with my own damn kids. And now the world decides I get this gift."
Ren tilted his head. "What are you laughing at, Father?"
"Nothing, boy," Darian muttered, hiding the grin. But maybe… maybe now I'll finally understand you both.
[Appraisal Lv. 1: You can now see the basic stats, skills, thoughts, and relationship status of those weaker or equal in level to you.]
The afternoon sun hung low, spilling golden light through the half-broken shutters of Darian's home. The twins sat at the rough wooden table, their small legs dangling as they waited. Darian stood at the hearth, brow furrowed in concentration.
The smell of sizzling meat filled the room—boar strips, salted just enough, cooking in an iron pan he hadn't touched in months. Alongside it, he boiled a pot of roots and wild herbs, the kind a desperate man usually choked down alone. But this time, he took care—cutting the pieces smaller, easier for the twins to chew, even sprinkling in a bit of dried spice he'd been hoarding.
"Lunch is almost ready," he muttered over his shoulder.
Ren's eyes brightened immediately, hands gripping the table edge. Rin, arms crossed, only gave a small hmmph, though her stomach betrayed her with a growl.
Darian smirked. "Don't pretend you're not hungry. I can hear your belly louder than your mouth."
Rin shot him a glare sharp enough to cut wood, but she didn't answer.
A short while later, Darian set two plates down. One for Ren, one for Rin. He didn't sit immediately—just stood there, arms folded, watching them pick up the food.
Ren took a cautious bite, then grinned. "It's good!"
Rin eyed the plate, suspicious. Slowly, she picked up a strip of meat and chewed. She said nothing, but her hand moved faster toward the next piece.
That made Darian chuckle under his breath.
He finally sat down with his own plate, eating slower, quieter. For the first time in years, the house wasn't filled with silence or yelling—it was filled with the sound of utensils tapping, chewing, and the faintest sigh of contentment.
After lunch, Darian stood, wiping his hands. "Alright. Time to make this place less of a pigsty."
The rest of the afternoon was spent outside. Darian hauled beams of cut wood toward the walls, pried off rotted planks, and hammered in replacements. His muscles burned, but he kept going, sweat dripping down his face. Every strike of the hammer felt like carving away a bit of his past, replacing it with something sturdier.
Ren watched with wide-eyed wonder, sometimes holding nails or handing over tools with clumsy eagerness. Rin stayed back, arms folded, leaning against the doorframe, pretending not to care—but her eyes never left him.
Every so often, Darian would glance back at them. And each time, that flicker of Appraisal lit up in his eyes, showing him what words could not:
Ren – Thought: I want to help more, so Father will be proud.
Rin – Thought: Why is he trying so hard now? He never cared before.
Darian gritted his teeth, driving another nail into the frame. I'll make you see it. Both of you. This house, this life—it won't fall apart again.
Two days later, the old shack didn't look like the same house anymore.
The crumbling boards had been replaced with fresh-cut timber, the roof patched to keep out rain, and the front porch—once half-collapsed—now stood straight and sturdy. Smoke rose from a repaired chimney, carrying the smell of fresh wood and hearth-fire.
But it wasn't just the house.
Where weeds had once choked the yard, Darian had dug up the soil and marked out a small garden. A few rows of tilled earth stretched neatly along the side, planted with seeds he'd scrounged and borrowed from neighbors. He had even lined the edge with flat stones, giving it the look of something cared for, rather than abandoned.
Darian stood back, arms crossed, sweat dripping from his brow. His shirt clung to his body, torn at the shoulders from hauling, hammering, and digging. For once, he wasn't looking at a battlefield or a pile of corpses. He was looking at a home.
Behind him, the twins stepped out.
Ren's eyes went wide, his jaw dropping. "It's… it's like a whole new place!" He ran forward, circling the garden, touching the wood beams like he couldn't believe they were real.
Rin, however, stood still, arms folded as always. Her sharp eyes scanned the house, then the garden, then him. She gave no words of praise, but for the first time since he'd brought them back, her expression softened—if only slightly.
Darian noticed. He turned his face away, pretending to check the fence, but a faint smile crept at the corner of his lips.
"Well," he muttered, his voice rough. "It's not much. But it'll hold. And it's ours."
Ren came running up, tugging at his arm. "Can I plant something too? Please?"
Darian chuckled. "Tomorrow. Soil needs to settle first. But yeah… tomorrow, we'll plant together."
Rin finally spoke, her voice cool but edged with curiosity. "…Why are you doing all this?"
Darian looked at her, meeting her piercing gaze head-on. For once, he didn't flinch. "Because I should've done it a long time ago."
Her eyes lingered on him for a moment, searching his face for weakness, for a lie. But all she found was a man covered in sweat, scars, and dirt—yet standing firm.
She turned away with a small tch, but Darian caught the faintest shade of red on her cheeks before she disappeared back inside.
For the first time in years, the house of Bluff's End wasn't just shelter.
It was home.
That evening, the three of them sat together at the small wooden table. The smell of stew filled the house—nothing fancy, just boiled rabbit with wild herbs, but to the twins, it tasted like a feast compared to the cold scraps they were used to.
Ren shoveled his food with wide-eyed enthusiasm, while Rin ate slower, her sharp gaze still cutting toward her father now and then, as if expecting him to say something stupid.
Halfway through the meal, Darian leaned back in his chair, letting out a long sigh. His voice broke the quiet:
"Have I ever told you about your mother?"
Both twins froze. Ren blinked, spoon halfway to his mouth. Rin's brows narrowed, sharp curiosity flickering in her cold stare. They shook their heads almost in unison.
"No," Ren whispered. "You… never talk about her."
Darian's eyes softened, and for once, his scarred, brutal face didn't look so harsh. He let a small smile creep onto his lips.
"Well," he began slowly, "I was sixteen. Just a stable boy back then. Worked for one of the richest families in the city. Long days shoveling muck, feeding horses, fixing tack, getting yelled at for breathing wrong. Most days I smelled worse than the barn itself." He let out a dry chuckle.
Ren grinned faintly. Rin tilted her head, curious despite herself.
"And then," Darian continued, "one evening she came to the stables. Not supposed to, really—too fine, too proper for a place like that. But she loved the horses. And gods help me, the way she looked at them… it was like she saw them, not just their bloodlines or their worth. First time I saw her smile, I forgot every word I knew."
Ren leaned forward eagerly. "So you fell in love right then?"
"Pretty much." Darian smirked. "Of course, she didn't make it easy. For weeks she treated me like I was just another dirty stablehand—and she wasn't wrong. But little by little, we talked. She asked about my life, I asked about hers. I made her laugh once, and I thought my heart was gonna leap right out of my chest."
Rin's eyes narrowed slightly. "…What happened?"
The smirk faded. Darian stared into the stew, his expression hardening. "…Life. She was meant for things far beyond a boy like me. I was young, stubborn, thought love alone could defy the world. Maybe it could have… if I hadn't made mistakes." His voice dropped. "And then she was gone."
The twins went quiet. Ren's shoulders sagged, spoon still in his hand. Rin studied her father carefully, searching for cracks in his mask.
After a long pause, Darian forced a smirk and looked up at them. "But you two? You're the best parts of her. Don't ever forget that."
Ren smiled shyly at his bowl, cheeks red. Rin said nothing, but for the first time her gaze softened—a faint flicker, like a crack in winter ice.
They finished dinner quietly, but the silence wasn't cold anymore. Something had shifted.
The house was still. The only sound was the low crackle of embers in the hearth and Ren's soft, steady breathing in the other room. Darian sat at the table, running a rag over the edge of his broken sword, more out of habit than purpose. His thoughts drifted like smoke—back to a woman's laugh, the warmth of her hand in his, and the day he lost her.
He didn't notice Rin at first, standing at the edge of the hallway. Her pale eyes gleamed in the dim firelight, sharp as a hunter's even now. She lingered there, silent, before stepping closer.
"…Father," she said quietly.
Darian blinked and looked up. "Can't sleep, Rin?"
She shook her head, bare feet padding against the floor as she came to sit across from him. "You said before… about Mother. You never told us what happened."
The words sank into him like a knife. He stared at her for a long moment, jaw tight beneath the bandages. His hand trembled slightly as he set the sword aside. "…Are you sure you want to know?"
Rin's gaze hardened, though her voice was softer. "Yes."
Darian leaned back, folding his arms. His voice was gravel, heavy with years of silence. "She died… the day you and Ren were born."
Rin's eyes widened. She sat still, like a statue, as if waiting for him to go on.
"I was just a boy then," Darian continued, his voice low, almost ashamed. "Sixteen. A stable hand for a rich family. She… she was everything I wasn't. Kind, gentle, far too good for me. And yet she loved me. We were foolish, reckless, young. And when the day came that you two entered this world… it cost her everything."
His hand clenched into a fist on the table. "She bled out before I could even hold her hand one last time. And all I could do was sit there, helpless, with two wailing infants who had stolen the only light I ever had."
Rin flinched. Her voice trembled. "…You blamed us."
"Yes." The word escaped before he could stop it. His shoulders slumped. "For years, I blamed you. I told myself it was your fault. That if not for you, she'd still be alive. But the truth, Rin…" He met her gaze, eyes raw and hollow. "…The truth is, I hated myself. For not saving her. For not being strong enough. For being a boy who thought he could protect someone, and failed."
Rin's lips quivered. Tears welled in her sharp eyes, breaking the mask she always wore. She shook her head, voice cracking. "I… I'm sorry. I'm sorry for taking her away from you, Daddy."
The word hit Darian like a hammer. Daddy. She had never called him that before.
He rose from his chair slowly, his heavy steps echoing in the small house. Rin looked down, shoulders trembling, ashamed of her tears. But then his arms wrapped around her, pulling her close.
"No, Rin," he whispered, voice breaking. "No, it wasn't your fault. It was never your fault. You didn't take her from me—the world did. Fate did. Not you. Never you."
Rin buried her face against his chest, sobbing quietly. For once, she wasn't the cold-eyed predator glaring at him across the room. She was just a little girl, broken by truths too heavy for her shoulders.
Darian stroked her hair gently, his bandaged hand rough yet careful. "I've made a mess of things. I've been angry, bitter, blind. But you and Ren… you're all I have left of her. And I swear, I'll do better. I'll be better."
Her muffled voice came through the tears. "You promise?"
He kissed the top of her head, eyes shut tight. "…I promise."
When the sobs finally quieted, he carried her to the bed where Ren slept peacefully. Rin clung to him the whole way, unwilling to let go. Darian lay down beside them, his children curled against him on either side.
For the first time in years, as sleep slowly pulled him under, Darian didn't dream of flames and loss. Only warmth