"The mansion has a proper training hall where I can practice without worrying about destroying our current home. It has security formations that will keep you safe when I'm away. It has space for all of us to live comfortably without being cramped."
"And most importantly," he added, looking directly at his father, "having you resign from frontier duty means I don't have to waste mental energy worrying about whether you'll survive the next Rift incursion."
Thorne's expression hardened. "I can't resign. Those positions are—"
"Essential, I know," Vaelor interrupted. "But Father, you're LV29. You've been stuck at that level for five years because frontier duty doesn't provide enough time for proper cultivation advancement. You're getting older, slower, and the Rifts are becoming more dangerous."
He softened his tone, letting genuine concern show. "How many close calls have you had this year? Three? Four? How many times have you come home with injuries that took weeks or even months to heal?"
Thorne said nothing, but his silence was answer enough.
"You've done your duty," Vaelor continued quietly. "More than your duty. Twenty-three years of service, hundreds of missions, countless lives saved. You've earned the right to retire with honor."
"The border needs experienced warriors—" Thorne started.
"The border will survive without one LV32 sentinel," Vaelor said bluntly. "I can't survive without my father." (AN: Damn, I am cooking)
The raw honesty of that statement hit Thorne like a physical blow. His son—his normally analytical, emotionally reserved son—had just admitted vulnerability.
Aunt Mira was crying openly now, tears streaming down her face. Uncle Torven looked torn between pride and uncertainty.
Lyanna had gone very quiet, her youthful enthusiasm replaced by mature understanding. She was old enough to know what frontier duty meant, old enough to have spent years worrying whether Uncle Thorne would come home from each deployment.
"I need you here," Vaelor said, maintaining eye contact with his father. "I need all of you safe, healthy, and not constantly at risk. That's not a burden—that's what family means."
Thorne stood motionless for a long moment, wrestling with decades of ingrained duty and warrior's pride. His entire adult life had been defined by his service to the border defense. Giving it up, even for legitimate reasons, felt like abandoning his post.
But he was also a father. And his son—his extraordinarily talented, impossibly advanced son—had just asked him to stay alive.
"I'll... consider it," Thorne finally said, his voice rough with emotion. "File for honorable discharge. They should approve it given my years of service."
Vaelor nodded, recognizing this was as much concession as he'd get tonight. His father needed time to process, to make the decision feel like his own choice rather than something imposed.
Uncle Torven cleared his throat awkwardly. "The mansion... we really can't—"
"You can," Vaelor said simply. "And you will. Because I've already bought it, and I'm not living in a twelve-bedroom mansion by myself. That would be ridiculous."
Despite the emotional tension, Lyanna giggled at the mental image. The sound broke some of the heaviness in the room.
Aunt Mira wiped her tears, trying to regain composure. "When... when is all this happening?"
"Deliveries start tomorrow at 7 AM," Vaelor said. "The food provisions arrive first, then furniture, then vehicles at 9 AM. We can move in whenever you're ready—the mansion is fully prepared."
"Tomorrow," Uncle Torven repeated, looking slightly dazed. "This is all happening tomorrow."
"Unless you want to wait longer?" Vaelor offered. "But I figured sooner was better. Why spend another night in cramped conditions when we don't have to?"
Aunt Mira looked at her husband. Uncle Torven looked at Thorne. Thorne looked at his son with an expression mixing resignation and acceptance.
"Tomorrow," Thorne confirmed quietly. "We'll move tomorrow."
Lyanna literally bounced with excitement, her earlier seriousness evaporating. "I'm going to have my own room! An actual bedroom with space for all my stuff!"
"And we're eating that Crimson Phoenix Chicken tonight, right?" she added hopefully, looking at her mother with pleading eyes. "Please? We can't let it go to waste!"
Aunt Mira looked at the fortune sitting in their kitchen, then at her son and nephew, then back to her daughter's hopeful expression.
"Yes," she said, a tremulous smile finally breaking through. "Yes, we're eating it tonight. All of it. A celebration meal."
"YES!" Lyanna pumped her fist in the air, then immediately dashed toward the kitchen. "I'll help prepare everything!"
As the fifteen-year-old disappeared, chattering excitedly about cooking methods, Uncle Torven shook his head in bewilderment.
"I still can't believe this is happening. Yesterday we were worried about whether we could afford academy fees. Today we're moving into a mansion and eating ingredients that cost more than our house."
"Life changes fast sometimes," Vaelor said with a slight smile.
Thorne stepped closer to his son, placing a hand on his shoulder. When he spoke, his voice carried the full weight of a father's emotion.
"You've grown so much. Not just in power—in maturity, wisdom, responsibility. I'm proud of you, Vaelor. More than I can express."
"Thank you, Father."
They stood like that for a moment, the connection between father and son strengthened by honest vulnerability rather than warrior's stoicism.
Then Thorne's expression shifted slightly—still proud, but with an edge of something else. Concern? Wariness?
"There's something I need to tell you," he said quietly. "About your mother. About what really happened."
Vaelor's attention sharpened immediately. Finally.
"I haven't been entirely truthful about her death," Thorne continued, his voice dropping. "The truth is more complicated, and potentially more dangerous, than I've let you believe."
Before he could continue, Lyanna's voice rang out from the kitchen. "Uncle Thorne! Vaelor! Can you help carry things to the dining room? This is too heavy!"
Thorne grimaced at the interruption, then offered his son a slightly apologetic look. "Later tonight. After dinner. We'll talk properly then—just the two of us."
Vaelor nodded understanding. Some conversations required privacy, without well-meaning family members hovering nearby.
"I'll hold you to that," he said.
"I know you will."
They moved toward the kitchen together, where Aunt Mira and Lyanna were carefully preparing the extraordinary ingredients with the kind of reverent attention usually reserved for sacred rituals.
The Deepwater Dragon Fish sizzled in a pan, filling the kitchen with an aroma that made everyone's mouths water. The Jade Spirit Vegetables were being delicately seasoned. The Golden Vitality Fruits had been sliced for dessert.
And the Crimson Phoenix Chicken—the crown jewel of the meal—was being prepared with Aunt Mira's full culinary expertise, treating the premium meat with the respect it deserved.
"This is going to be the best meal we've ever had," Lyanna said dreamily, her eyes glazed with foodie obsession.
"It better be, considering it costs more than six months of groceries," Uncle Torven muttered, though his own stomach growled with anticipation.
Dinner preparation took another hour—partially because the ingredients required careful handling, partially because none of them wanted to rush something this special.
When they finally sat down at their modest dining table, plates loaded with food that glowed faintly with life energy, the atmosphere had shifted from shocked concern to cautious celebration.
"To new beginnings," Thorne said, raising his glass of water in an improvised toast.
"To family," Aunt Mira added, her voice still wavering with emotion.
"To that mansion with twelve bedrooms!" Lyanna contributed enthusiastically.
"To Vaelor," Uncle Torven said sincerely, meeting his nephew's eyes. "Who apparently became the most successful Hunter in Thornhaven City while we weren't paying attention."
Vaelor smiled, raising his own glass. "To all of us. And to many more meals together."
They drank, then began eating.
The moment the first bite of Crimson Phoenix Chicken touched their tongues, conversation ceased entirely.
Lyanna made a sound that was almost inappropriate(you know what mean), her eyes rolling back with pure culinary ecstasy(girl why is your eyes rolling back, it foooooood.).
Uncle Torven froze mid-chew, his expression suggesting he was experiencing a religious revelation.
Aunt Mira's hands trembled as flavor exploded across her palate—not just taste, but sensation. The meat seemed to dissolve perfectly, releasing waves of warmth that spread through her entire body. She could feel her fatigue from a long day's work simply evaporate, replaced by invigorating energy.
Thorne's warrior instincts immediately recognized what was happening. The meat wasn't just delicious—it was fundamentally nourishing. Each bite strengthened his body, purified his qi channels, even provided minor healing to old accumulated injuries.
"This is..." Aunt Mira whispered. "I feel twenty years younger..."
"My chronic back pain is gone," Uncle Torven said with wonder, rolling his shoulders experimentally. "Just... gone. After ten years..."
Lyanna wasn't speaking at all, too focused on eating with the single-minded intensity of a true food lover finally tasting something worthy of her obsession.
They ate slowly, savoring every bite, the dinner stretching across two hours as course after course revealed new miracles.
The Deepwater Dragon Fish made their thoughts clearer, sharpened their mental acuity. The Jade Spirit Vegetables literally made their skin glow with health, purging toxins they didn't know they'd accumulated. The Golden Vitality Fruits for dessert left them all feeling more alive than they had in years.
By the time dinner concluded, the entire family sat in satisfied silence, processing not just the meal but everything it represented.
Their lives had changed. Fundamentally, irrevocably changed.
Tomorrow they'd wake up in a mansion. They'd drive luxury vehicles. They'd live without financial worry for the first time in their lives.
But more than that—they'd been reminded that family meant taking care of each other. That success wasn't just personal advancement but lifting up the people you loved.
"I'm going to miss this house," Aunt Mira said quietly, looking around at the modest living room that had sheltered them for so long.
"We'll take the memories with us," Uncle Torven assured her, squeezing her hand.
"And make new ones in the new place," Lyanna added with a yawn, the rich food and emotional exhaustion finally catching up with her. "Better memories. With bigger kitchens and better food."
Her priorities were clear.