The road home stretched long and familiar beneath the autumn sun. After weeks of relentless training, exams, and the nerve-racking simulations, Alexander finally returned to his family estate for the semester holidays. The moment he passed through the gates, the smell of freshly cut grass and the sight of the stone manor nestled among oaks made something in his chest unclench. Home wasn't a place he had much time for anymore, but it was still… safe.
The first few days melted away in a quiet rhythm—sleeping past dawn, walking through the gardens with his wolf padding at his side, and rereading some of the old tomes in his father's study. He let the weight of academy life slide off his shoulders, enjoying the small comforts he didn't realize he had missed: his mother's cooking, the sound of the hearth in the evenings, and the calm silence of halls that carried no whispers of competition.
On the fifth morning, he sat at the dining table with his parents. The smell of warm bread and spiced broth filled the air, and sunlight streamed through tall windows, catching in his mother's silver hair. His father sat straight-backed as always, quiet and commanding without effort, while his mother hummed softly as she served him more stew than he could possibly finish.
For a while, the only sound was the clinking of cutlery. Then, almost without planning to, Alex spoke.
"Father. Mother." He hesitated, fingers tightening around his spoon. "Why… why have I never seen your powers?"
Both of them stilled. His father's hand paused above his cup, and his mother's gentle humming faded.
"You're both… extraordinary, aren't you?" Alex continued, voice low but steady. "I hear it everywhere. They say you're Awakened, Mother. And you, Father… Ascendant Rank. Titles people treat like legends. But I've never once seen what that means. Not even a glimpse."
His words hung heavy in the air. He half-expected reprimand for asking, but what he got instead was silence—deep and measured. His father's gaze, sharp as tempered steel, met his.
"You have never needed to see it," his father said at last. "Power is not a performance, Alexander. It is a burden."
His mother reached across the table, her touch warm on his wrist. "And sometimes… to protect you, it is better hidden."
Alex swallowed, torn between frustration and understanding. "But how can I dream of reaching your heights if I don't even know what those heights look like?"
His father leaned back, eyes narrowing slightly. "You dream by walking your own path. Not by chasing ours."
His mother's hand lingered, her smile carrying both pride and sorrow. "When the time is right, you will understand, my son. For now… build your strength, little by little. That is the way of the unblessed."
The words settled into him, heavier than he expected. He nodded, though unease still stirred beneath his skin. He wanted to see. He wanted to know. Yet all he had was mystery.
For the rest of breakfast, nothing more was said. But Alex knew the question had drawn a line—one that would not vanish easily.
The following days carried a strange energy. Alex spent hours outside with his wolf, running through the woods, practicing the basic sword drills his father had taught him years ago. Sweat soaked his shirt, and his hands blistered on the hilt, but the burn of training was strangely comforting.
One evening, his father joined him. They stood in the training yard under a pale moon, wooden swords in hand.
"Show me what the academy has taught you," Darius said.
Alex nodded, lunged forward, and their blades clashed. The spar was fierce, or at least it felt that way to him. He tried everything he had learned—footwork drills, sudden feints, sharper swings—but his father blocked each strike effortlessly. Not lazily, not mockingly, but with a calm precision that made Alex's efforts seem small.
By the time he dropped his sword, panting, he was drenched in sweat. His father hadn't even broken rhythm.
"You've improved," Darius said, voice even. "But your heart is rushing ahead of your body. Patience, Alexander. Patience and discipline will carry you further than fury ever will."
Alex wanted to ask him to stop holding back. To unleash even a fraction of the power that made him an Ascendant Rank. But the words stuck in his throat.
Later, as he sat by the fire with his mother, she gently combed through his hair with her fingers the way she used to when he was younger.
"You look restless," she murmured.
"I just… I want to know what you two can really do," he admitted, voice low. "Everyone at the academy talks about strength and legacy, about heroes and legends. And yet, my own parents are legends I've never seen."
His mother's hand paused for a moment, then resumed its gentle rhythm. "Strength isn't always what you see, Alex. Sometimes it's what you choose not to show."
He looked into her soft, determined eyes and saw no weakness there—only something veiled, hidden deep beneath.
That night, lying awake in his room, Alex stared at the ceiling. He felt caught between two worlds: the academy, where being unblessed meant struggling to keep up, and home, where power sat across the breakfast table but remained untouchable.
The fifteen days slipped by faster than he expected. The holidays ended with a quiet farewell at the gates. His mother kissed his forehead, whispering words of blessing though he knew she spoke them as a mother, not as an Awakened. His father clasped his shoulder with a grip that felt like iron, eyes meeting his with unspoken pride.
"Go back," Darius said. "And do not look for our shadows. Cast your own."
With his wolf trotting beside him and his pack slung over his shoulder, Alexander left home once more. The road stretched ahead, leading back to the academy, back to struggle, and back to the path he was still carving.
Yet this time, a new weight pressed against his heart. He knew now that greatness sat within his bloodline. But greatness cloaked in silence was harder to face than he had ever imagined.
Still, he clenched his fists and whispered to himself:
If I am unblessed, then I will make my own blessing.
And so, with the shadow of his parents' strength lingering behind him, Alexander returned to the academy determined to step out of it.