Walking down the stairs was a challenge for Kael. Each creaking wooden step was a sound he hadn't heard in two decades. He remembered these same stairs charred and collapsed during the invasion. The morning light filtering through the large living room window felt unreal ; he only recalled seeing a gaping hole open to a sky of ash.
Then, the scent hit him: the smell of warm bread and freshly brewed coffee. The smell of his home. The scent of his mother, Lena, who was bustling around the kitchen with a smile. She was there, alive and radiant, without the fatigue and fear that had etched lines into her face during the last years of her previous life.
"Kael, there you are! Sit down, you need to eat up for tomorrow," she said in a cheerful voice.
His father, Corvus Valerius, was already at the table, a steaming cup in his hand. He was a man built like a rock, whose mere presence was enough to be reassuring. A powerful warrior of the Fury class, Kael had seen his broken body defend a gate to his last breath. Today, he was reading the local newspaper, looking completely relaxed.
"Sleep well, son?" he asked, without looking up, a slight smile on his face.
Kael nodded, his throat too tight to speak. He sat down. The food placed in front of him—a simple plate of eggs and toast—seemed as foreign as an artifact from another world.
This is a lie, he thought, as his mother poured him a glass of milk.
This room, this light, their smiles... all of this is just a memory playing in reverse.
"So, nervous, little cousin?"
An arrogant voice broke the quiet scene. His cousin, Marcus, had just entered, already dressed in the guard apprentice's uniform. Having Awakened to the Fury class like Corvus the previous year, Marcus never missed an opportunity to remind Kael of his superiority.
"Don't worry," he continued, sitting down heavily and serving himself a much larger portion of food than Kael's. "Even if you end up as an Artisan, you can always polish my armor. It's respectable work".
Lena frowned. "Marcus, be nice".
"But I am nice!" he replied with a wide grin. "You have to be realistic. Not everyone is cut out for greatness".
Kael said nothing, slowly chewing his bread, which tasted of dust—the taste of his memories.
"To be a great warrior," Marcus pontificated, puffing out his chest, "you need power. My [Increased Strength] ability already lets me lift twice my own weight. That's the key. Raw power".
Kael put down his piece of bread. He looked up from his plate for the first time, and his gaze met Marcus's. It wasn't the look of a sixteen-year-old. It was an old, cold look, an abyss of ice reflecting a thousand lost battles.
Marcus stopped smiling, suddenly uncomfortable without knowing why.
"Strength is just a tool, Marcus," Kael said, his voice low and perfectly calm. "A hammer is useless if you don't know where to strike".
An strange silence fell over the table. The remark wasn't aggressive, but its disarming precision and maturity completely deflated his cousin's arrogance. Corvus lowered his newspaper, watching his son with a glimmer of surprise in his eyes. Lena seemed just as perplexed.
The awkwardness was broken by Marcus's forced laugh. "Easy for someone who doesn't have any! We'll see what you're made of tomorrow, philosopher".
The rest of the meal was tense. When it was over, Kael got up to leave. His father also stood and placed a heavy, warm hand on his shoulder. The touch was so real, so alive, that Kael almost faltered.
"Don't let your cousin's bluster get to you," Corvus said in a gentle voice. "You've always been more thoughtful than him. That's a strength, too. Tomorrow, no matter what happens, we'll be proud of you".
Kael just nodded, unable to meet his gaze. He felt the weight of that hand, the weight of that trust, and the weight of a future only he knew. It wasn't comforting. It was a burden.