The streets were quiet as I made my way home. The sun dipped low behind distant mountains, painting the city in gold and crimson. Even after Wave 5, after storms, lightning, and near-death experiences, this—walking home—felt strangely grounding.
My hand rested on the hilt of my sword as I approached the house. The same modest home that had weathered years of hardship, its roof patched, its walls slightly cracked, stood waiting. But now, it would see a different Ashura stepping inside.
I pushed open the door softly. The familiar creak greeted me. The smell of herbs and lingering warmth drifted through the air. And then I saw her.
Mother.
She sat by the table, her shoulders slightly stooped, hair tinged with silver, skin lined with the marks of fifty-six years. She looked tired—not just from age, but from illness. Her hands trembled slightly as she held a worn teacup.
"Mother…" My voice was low, carrying the weight of exhaustion, battle, and emotion all at once.
She looked up, eyes narrowing slightly. "Ashura… is that you?" Her voice was weak, fragile, but beneath it, the warmth of recognition.
I stepped forward, placing the Elixir of Youth on the table. Violet light shimmered from the vial, reflecting in her eyes.
"I… I made this for you," I said simply, trying to keep my tone calm, though the surge of emotion behind it was immense. "Drink it. You deserve better than this."
Her fingers shook as she picked up the vial. She looked at me, eyes filled with disbelief. "Ashura… you didn't have to—"
I interrupted softly but firmly, stepping closer. "I did. This isn't for me. It's for you. For your health, for life… for everything you've sacrificed for me and our family."
She hesitated, then slowly, reverently, drank. The liquid shimmered as it flowed down her throat. A faint violet light wrapped around her form.
At first, she gasped, eyes widening. Energy seemed to surge through her veins. Muscles flexed, stiffness melting away. Her posture straightened. Her skin glowed with vitality, soft and firm. Her hair's silver strands darkened slightly, shining with a rich brown-black sheen.
I watched, breath catching in my chest. This… this is what it feels like to bring back life.
Mother blinked, then stood. The lines of age were gone. She moved toward me, steps strong and confident. For a woman of fifty-six, she looked as though she could run through the forest barefoot, strong and untouchable.
Ashura Bellet, hardened by dungeons and storms, felt a pang of pride. "Mother…" I murmured, and she smiled, a brightness I hadn't seen in years.
"You… you did this for me?" Her voice trembled, but it was strong now, vibrant. "Ashura… my son. You've truly grown…"
I smirked faintly, brushing a hand through my sweat and blood-streaked hair. "I grow… for those worth protecting. You're worth protecting."
Her hands gripped mine. Warm. Alive. And for the first time in years, I felt the weight of my victories settle—not as pride in my power, but as family secured, loved ones saved.
She laughed softly, a sound I had missed for years. "I feel… young again. Strong again. I could take on the world if I wanted!"
I chuckled, letting my usual arrogance peek through. "Don't get any ideas. I'd still beat you."
Her eyes sparkled mischievously. "Is that a challenge?"
I shook my head, smirking. "Not today. Today… we enjoy this. Tomorrow, I go back to storms, dungeons, and hell itself."
She smiled, resting her hands on my shoulders. "I've always believed in you, Ashura. Always."
And for a moment, in that quiet home, the storms outside and the horrors behind me didn't matter. The violet sparks lingering on my body reflected in her renewed eyes, and I realized something simple, yet profound: I fight not for power. I fight for this. For them. For her.
I glanced at the vial now empty on the table. Mission accomplished. Victory was sweet, but the war… the world… would never stop. And neither would I.
I sat down next to her, letting the warmth of home and family wrap around me. A storm may rage outside, calamities may rise, but here, in this moment… peace.
For now.