Mr. Valmire turned his sharp gaze toward Kael, studying him in the quiet that followed the journey. The older man's expression remained composed, but something was probing beneath it, a careful weighing of choices not yet spoken.
"Kael," he asked, his voice calm and measured, "what's your plan now? Will you return to the academy, or is there something else you wish to pursue?"
Kael hesitated for half a breath. His fingers brushed absently against the cuff of his sleeve before he glanced sideways at Ronan, as if grounding himself in something familiar. A small, almost sheepish smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"No," he said quietly. "I'll return to the academy."
Mr. Valmire's eyes softened with faint amusement. "Convenient. We're heading back there as well." His lips curved slightly. "Care to join us?"
Kael dipped into a respectful bow. "That would be our pleasure."
With a casual flick of his hand, Mr. Valmire opened his storage ring. A ripple of light unfolded through the air like disturbed water, and from it emerged a grand flying boat—sleek and polished, its dark wooden body gleaming beneath the fading sunlight. Silver runes shimmered faintly along its edges, pulsing with restrained Aether. The vessel hovered soundlessly above the ground, casting a long shadow across the grass.
"Hop on."
One by one, they boarded. Boots tapped against polished wood. Fabric rustled. The faint hum of the vessel vibrated beneath their feet, alive with quiet power. The evening sky burned gold and amber above them, streaked with long ribbons of orange that bled into deepening violet. Wind curled past the railings as the boat rose smoothly into the air and glided toward the nearby camp.
The descent drew eyes at once.
Mr. Alden looked up from the camp below, spotting the approaching vessel. Recognition flashed across his face, and he strode forward with surprising speed. "Alaric!"
"Alden?" Mordek replied warmly as he stepped down from the boat.
Vexara followed behind, her posture guarded, while Lirith stayed close to her side, small fingers gripping fabric as if reluctant to let go.
Mr. Alden's expression shifted the moment he noticed Lirith. His gaze sharpened. "Did those elders truly allow you to take Lirith out of their sight?"
Before anyone else could answer, Vexara stepped subtly in front of Lirith. The movement was instinctive—protective, immediate. Her shoulders straightened. "No," she said. "I took her." Her chin lifted slightly. "I wanted her to see something beyond walls and locked rooms. At least once." A quiet firmness settled into her voice, carrying a restrained edge that made the air tighten.
Mordek rested a hand lightly on her shoulder. "Easy," he murmured. "Don't be rude, Vexara."
Mr. Alden chuckled softly, lifting a hand to dismiss the tension. "It's fine." His gaze moved back to Lirith, gentler now. "A sister shielding another isn't exactly uncommon."
"Good evening, Sir," Ronan greeted.
Thanks to Mr. Alaric's healing, no wounds remained visible on Ronan or Kael. Skin had closed, bruises faded, but the exhaustion beneath the surface lingered. Ronan still felt the dull ache buried deep inside his chest—heavy, slow, like something fragile trying to mend.
Mr. Alden's eyes drifted toward him and Kael. He stopped. The warmth in his expression vanished. His eyes narrowed. "What happened?" The question came quietly, but the force behind it landed heavily. "You're hurt."
Ronan instinctively straightened. "I'm fine now," he said quickly. "Nothing serious." "Nothing serious?"
Mr. Alden's voice sharpened instantly. The shift made Ronan flinch before he could stop himself. "Do you have any idea how rare soul recovery materials are?" Alden snapped. "Soul injuries aren't scraped knees or broken bones."
Ronan lowered his gaze. The anger wasn't unfamiliar. Neither was the concern hidden beneath it. Still, hearing it made guilt coil unpleasantly in his stomach. "Hey." The bark of Alden's voice cut through him. "Look at me when I'm talking to you." Ronan lifted his head slowly.
Mr. Alden's jaw was tight. "How many times do I need to remind you to be careful?" His brows furrowed deeply. "You push too far every single time. I'm reaching my limit with your recklessness." Ronan swallowed. "If you ever do something like this again," Alden said, voice low and firm, "I swear I'll stop teaching you swordsmanship."
The words struck harder than shouting. Ronan's throat tightened slightly.
Before the silence could grow heavier, Mr. Alaric stepped in. "Alright, enough." His tone remained even, carrying the easy authority of someone used to calming storms. "Ronan fought a Hollowed Spirit. He got injured. He survived. That's what matters." He glanced toward Ronan. "Go rest."
Sir Valmire appeared behind them, his expression unreadable. "We leave for the academy tonight," he said. "Mordek. Alden. We need to discuss something." Then his gaze shifted toward the younger group. "Kids. Rest."
As the adults moved away, voices lowered into quiet discussion. The tension eased like a rope finally loosening. Ronan exhaled slowly and nudged Darius with his elbow. "Help me out," he muttered. Together, they slipped toward the kitchen area of the flying boat.
The space smelled faintly of herbs, polished wood, and stored spices. Lantern light glowed warmly from enchanted fixtures overhead, painting gold across metal counters.
Ronan rolled up his sleeves and grabbed the Rock Eagle meat. The knife slid through dense muscle with a satisfying resistance.
Soon, Kael wandered in, followed by Garrick. Within minutes, the quiet kitchen transformed. Metal clinked. Water splashed. Someone laughed too loudly.
Kael leaned against a chair like a self-appointed supervisor while Garrick efficiently handled the cleaned portions with practiced precision.
Outside, near the railing, Gorvath stood alone. His hands tightened at his sides. The sounds of laughter drifting from the kitchen only sharpened the bitterness sitting inside him. "Ronan's just a commoner," he muttered quietly. His jaw flexed. "Why does everyone treat him like some kind of hero?" The words tasted sour. "We fought too." His gaze dropped. "We bled too."
Inside, Vexara and Lirith approached Sylphie. Sylphie smiled warmly the moment she saw them. "I'm Sylphie."
"Vexara," she replied. She gently rested a hand atop Lirith's head. "And this is Lirith."
Lirith looked up at Sylphie with quiet curiosity. "Ronan," she said softly. "Kitchen. Help."
Sylphie laughed under her breath. Her hand moved instinctively to ruffle Lirith's hair. When they entered the kitchen, the scene greeted them immediately.
Ronan stood cutting meat that clearly hadn't been washed. Darius worked beside him, rinsing pieces with visible patience. Garrick sliced clean cuts with neat precision. Kael sat comfortably in a chair. Doing absolutely nothing.
Sylphie's eyes drifted upward. An apron hung near the doorway. She grabbed it slowly, tied it around her waist, then folded her arms.
Her gaze locked onto Kael. "Kael." Her voice came sweet. Far too sweet.
Kael straightened instantly. "N-No, I'm helping."
Sylphie raised a brow. "Helping?" Her eyes flicked meaningfully toward the chair. "By sitting?"
Kael laughed awkwardly. "I was supervising. Mm."The sound alone carried judgment.
Kael looked desperately toward Ronan. "Tell her I was helping."
Ronan froze. This was a trap. He knew it. Still, survival instincts kicked in. "Yeah," he said quickly. "He was helping."
Sylphie slowly turned toward him. The look she gave held enough disappointment to make Ronan suddenly very interested in slicing meat. "Don't talk to me," she said flatly.
Ronan bowed his head without hesitation. "Yes, ma'am."
She grabbed a basket of vegetables and shoved it into Kael's arms. "Wash these."
Kael sighed under his breath but hurried to obey.
Darius nearly choked trying not to laugh.
Garrick failed.
Ronan only smiled quietly, warmth spreading through him despite the lingering ache in his chest.
For a while, the kitchen became something gentle. The steady rhythm of chopping. The scent of fresh herbs. The sound of running water. Soft teasing. Small arguments over seasoning. Laughter came easier than expected. For a little while, it no longer felt like a place filled with survivors. It felt like people who belonged together.
Later, when Ronan stepped out from the kitchen, he nearly collided with Mr. Alden. Alden tapped him lightly against the chest. "I sent word to Ms. Amara," he said.
Ronan blinked.
"She's preparing things to help your soul injury." Then Alden smirked faintly. "I just hope you survive her reaction."
Ronan's expression crumbled. The colour drained from him. "Oh no." Alden chuckled. "Best of luck." Ronan stared blankly into the distance. "Then I should enjoy my final meal while I still can."
Alden barked a laugh before turning toward Valmire, Alaric, and Mordek. "I'll be leaving." Then he glanced back one last time. "And don't cause trouble for Alaric or Sir Valmire."
Without missing a beat, Ronan straightened and gave an exaggerated salute. "Yes, sir."
Alden shook his head with faint amusement, then bowed respectfully toward Sir Valmire before stepping from the edge of the flying boat.
Aether gathered beneath his feet. He descended smoothly through the open air, disappearing toward the ground below. The flying boat resumed its journey. Night gradually deepened around them. By seven in the evening, the deck had transformed entirely.
Lanterns hung along the railings, their warm glow swaying gently with the movement of the ship. The long table at the center looked almost festive beneath the soft light.
Three grills crackled at the center, smoke carrying the rich scent of roasted meat into the cool night air.
Bowls of sauces surrounded them. Freshly sliced cuts of meat. Square chunks ready for skewers. Vegetables neatly arranged. Stacks of unused skewer sticks. Eleven white plates circled the table, each paired with tongs and utensils.
At the center sat a steaming pot of soup. Its aroma drifted outward—warm, savory, comforting. Sylphie placed it proudly. Ronan sat between Kael and Sylphie. Across from him sat Darius and Garrick. Lirith nestled beside Sylphie, with Vexara beside her, then Gorvath.
Mr. Alaric, Mr. Valmire, and Mordek sat near Darius. The meal began. Conversation flowed naturally. Smoke curled upward into the dark sky.
"Sylphie," Mr. Valmire said after tasting the soup, "this is excellent."
Mr. Alaric nodded in agreement. "Truly."
Sylphie's cheeks warmed faintly. "Thank you." She glanced toward Vexara and Lirith. "But they helped. We made it together."
Meanwhile, Ronan and Darius had become entirely absorbed in grilling. They experimented endlessly. Meat-only skewers. Onion-heavy combinations. Odd sauce pairings. Too much spice. Too much sweetness. Chaos disguised as cooking.
Lirith curiously sampled sauce after sauce. Sylphie intercepted her hand just before she reached the brightest red bowl. "No."
Lirith blinked. Sylphie pointed firmly. "That one is fire pretending to be food." Sylphie give Lirith a different one to test.
Mr. Valmire sampled nearly every sauce.
Kael, however, looked confident. "I'll try it." He dipped a skewer deep into the blazing red sauce.
Ronan opened his mouth. Too late. Kael bit down. A second passed. Then another. Sweat burst across his forehead instantly. His eyes widened. "Why—" He coughed. "How do you people eat this?"
Ronan and Darius calmly bit into heavily coated skewers. Neither reacted. Darius slid a small bottle of milk toward him. "Drink."
Kael seized the bottle like a lifeline. "This feels illegal," he gasped between gulps.
Laughter spread across the table. Even Mordek smiled faintly. Utensils clinked. Voices overlapped. The flying boat drifted beneath a sky scattered with stars.
For the first time since the battle, Ronan felt the tightness inside him loosen. The ache remained. The exhaustion remained. But surrounded by voices, warmth, and the smell of food, something inside him quieted.
The night stretched gently onward. Eventually, Mr. Alaric rose from his seat, stretching his arms overhead. "Alright," he said. "Everyone, clean up together."
A chorus of groans erupted around the table. But people stood anyway. No one left the table alone.