The morning air in the cabin smelled of sizzling bacon and fresh-brewed coffee... the kind of golden, quiet morning I had only ever dreamed of back in my past life. Sunlight spilled through the windows, painting the wooden walls in warm, honeyed hues.
I set the plates on the table."Grandpa, it's time for breakfast."
He looked up from sharpening his sword and glanced at the space beside me. His brows knit."Where's Joey?"
"I'm here, Grandpa," a soft voice piped up from just behind him.
Grandpa nearly jumped out of his chair. His hand flew to the hilt of his blade, eyes narrowing into a predator's glare... until he saw Joey standing there, perfectly casual, wearing a small, smug grin. Silent as a shadow, he'd been there the whole time.
For a man whose instincts had once saved him from ambushes on battlefields, not noticing a kid in his own kitchen was a mortal insult.
"How…?" Grandpa muttered, shaking his head. "How can I not notice that? I must be getting senile."
"No, you're not," I said quickly, sliding the bacon platter onto the table. "He just moves… differently. Like a cat burglar on nap time duty."
Grandpa eyed Joey again, this time with professional curiosity."You move really silently, kid. And quick, too."
Joey's grin faded. He shrugged, gaze dropping."I learned on the street. Move without a sound so no one notices me. Move fast when they do. So I don't get caught."
For a long moment, Grandpa said nothing. Then, to my surprise, his lips curled into a grin."Do you want me to train you, Joey? You could train alongside Alden."
Joey blinked. His usual guarded mask cracked just a little."Train… what?"
"Your abilities," Grandpa said simply, as though that answered everything.
"Say yes, Joey!" I leaned across the table, grinning wide. "Grandpa's the strongest. Learning from him is… well, kind of like cheating at life."
Joey hesitated, his shoulders twitching like he wanted to retreat. Then, half out of skepticism and half out of some buried curiosity, he muttered,"And… what do I even have to train?"
That was when I realized... I had never asked him about his gift.
Joey's cheeks flushed faintly as he lifted his hand."Uhm… only this."
A thin, silvery thread slipped from his fingertip, delicate as spider silk. It trembled in the morning light, sticky enough to cling to the air itself.
Grandpa leaned forward, testing it with his calloused fingers. His brows rose."Oh… it's sticky."
Joey nodded, voice quiet."Yes. I can make it hard for a moment, like… a wire. But it's small. Useless. People would laugh at me when they saw this."
Grandpa's eyes gleamed..., not with mockery, but with the sharp recognition of a man who'd survived wars by turning scraps into weapons."This is perfect for you, Joey. Trust me."
Joey stared at him, blinking like someone had just told him his rags were actually royal silk. His strange little gift… a source of shame all his life… was suddenly treated like treasure.
From my spot, I couldn't help but grin. It was subtle, but I saw it: the tiniest crack forming in his walls, the beginning of trust.
"Alright," Grandpa said at last, standing and pulling a pair of slim daggers from the shelf. "You'll train with these. Strike, move, adapt. Use your speed and precision. At the same time, you'll train your aura with Alden. Alden, you'll keep up your River Blade training and guide him in learning aura basics. Every day. No excuses."
"Yes!" Joey and I shouted together, our voices colliding with a burst of adrenaline.
Grandpa snorted, rubbing his ear."Not so loud, you brats. I'm right here."
And so it began.
Our days fell into a rhythm. Mornings started with sword and dagger drills in the clearing, blades flashing beneath the rising sun. Joey moved like smoke..., quick, hard to pin down, but clumsy at first with the weight of real steel. More than once, he ended up flat on his back, groaning at the sky.
"Ughhh… I think the earth likes me too much," Joey complained once, sprawled out.
Grandpa barked at him, though always with a glint in his eye."Get up, rat. If you can trip, you can learn not to."
By midday, the drills shifted to aura exercises. I showed Joey how to feel for his own energy, how to breathe into it, how to let it sharpen his focus instead of draining him. He groaned, complained, cursed under his breath..."Why does breathing feel like torture?"...but he tried. And that was more than he'd done for anyone before.
Afternoons were calmer. Shop duties, ledgers, counting coins. Joey's hands, which had once been quick for snatching food from stalls, proved just as quick at flipping through records. He absorbed numbers like they were secrets only he could decode.
One day, as we tallied inventory, Joey frowned thoughtfully at the ledger."Hey, Alden. If I sell three crystals at double price, then mix in two herbs at half profit… I'm basically a money wizard, right?"
I nearly dropped my quill laughing."Money wizard? More like a greedy wizard. Just don't turn the shop into your personal dungeon loot, alright?"
He smirked, flicking his pen into the ledger with theatrical flair, like throwing a dagger."No promises."
Even Grandpa chuckled at that, muttering something about "clever rats" and "profit margins."
Evenings were the hardest. Training aches sank into our bones, leaving Joey groaning on his straw mattress. Yet, after the complaining faded, there was always the same quiet confession.
"I… I'm happy. I didn't know it could feel like this."
He thought I never heard him, whispering into the dark with his back turned. But I did. And I smiled every time.
Because this wasn't just about training. It wasn't just daggers or ledgers or aura.
It was about trust. About home. About turning a boy who had only ever survived… into someone who might finally live.