The house was small.
Not cramped, but lived in. The kind of place where every wooden plank had absorbed years of footsteps, every wall carried quiet memories, and every corner smelled faintly of herbs, smoke, and something warm that could only be called home.
Voren sat at the table, hands resting on his knees, posture stiff.
He didn't know what to do with himself.
Iris's grandmother moved slowly across the room, her back bent with age but her hands steady as she laid out bowls and plates. Iris hovered beside her, tying her hair back, reaching for things before her grandmother even asked. They moved together with the ease of people who had done this a thousand times before.
"Sit, sit," the old woman said without looking at him. "You've already done enough standing for one day."
Voren nodded and sat straighter, feeling oddly out of place.
Every glance they threw his way carried a softness that made his chest feel tight.
Not awe.
Not fear.
Gratitude.
And something deeper.
"You remind me of your father," Iris's grandmother said suddenly.
Voren then looked up.
She smiled at him, eyes crinkling at the edges. "Aldric Kaleid. He has that same look. Like he didn't know how to walk away when something felt wrong."
She placed a steaming pot at the center of the table. The aroma rose instantly, rich and filling, making Voren's stomach twist with hunger.
"When he saw injustice, he stood up," she continued. "Even when it cost him. Especially when it cost him."
Her gaze softened further. "You did the same today."
Voren swallowed.
"I didn't —" he said, paused. "I just… acted."
She chuckled. "That's what makes it real."
The table was soon full.
Thick slices of roasted root vegetables glistened with oil and herbs. A stew sat bubbling gently, steam curling upward, heavy with the scent of meat and spices. Fresh bread, still warm, rested in a cloth at the side. There was a small dish of pickled greens and another of sliced fruit, bright and colorful against the wooden surface.
It was simple food.
But it felt indulgent.
Voren clasped his hands together instinctively.
"Thank you," he said, bowing his head slightly. "For the meal."
Iris's grandmother waved him off. "Eat first. Gratitude tastes better after a full stomach."
They sat together.
The first bite nearly made Voren sigh.
The stew was rich, the meat tender enough to fall apart, the broth layered with flavors that spoke of patience and care. It wasn't refined. It wasn't fancy.
It was honest.
Across from him, Iris ate quietly, stealing glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking. Her cheeks were still faintly pink, her eyes bright in the warm light of the room.
Her grandmother watched them both with a knowing smile.
"So," the old woman said casually between bites, "I heard you awakened."
Voren nodded. "Yes."
Her brows lifted. "Lucky boy. You know how rare that is?"
"I do," he replied.
She hummed. "Most people live their whole lives without ever touching mana. To awaken and become a mage… that's Heaven's favor, whether people admit it or not."
Iris groaned softly. "Grandma…"
The old woman laughed. "What? It's not my fault you didn't awaken."
Iris's face flushed red. "You didn't have to say it like that!"
"Oh hush," her grandmother said, teasing. "You've got other gifts. Not everyone needs mana."
Iris muttered something under her breath and focused very hard on her food.
Voren smiled faintly.
Then, without warning, Iris's grandmother pushed her bowl aside and stood.
Voren stiffened.
She bowed.
Deeply.
"Thank you," she said, voice steady but thick with emotion. "For today. For protecting us. For standing up to Holt."
Voren nearly choked.
"Please—!" He stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. "You don't have to—raise your head, please."
She looked up, surprised by the urgency in his voice.
"I didn't do anything special," Voren said, flustered. "Anyone would have done the same."
Her eyes softened. "No. Many wouldn't have."
She straightened slowly. "You did what was right, when it mattered."
Iris watched him, her heart swelling painfully.
Her grandmother smiled again, this time gentler. "This house is yours too, Voren. Come whenever you wish. You're family here."
She then tilted her head mischievously. "We could even make it official one day. You and Iris—"
"Grandma!" Iris squeaked, face turning scarlet.
The old woman laughed, delighted. "What? I'm only joking."
Iris buried her face in her hands. "Please stop."
Voren chuckled softly and returned to his seat, pretending very hard to focus on his food.
Time passed.
The conversation drifted into smaller things. The market. The weather. Iris's grandmother complained about her aching knees. Iris talked about a neighbor's cat that kept stealing food.
Voren listened.
For once, he didn't feel like he was standing at the edge of something fragile.
He felt… included.
When evening came, the light outside dimmed to amber.
Voren stood to leave, as Iris walked him out.
Then, They stopped just beyond the doorway.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Iris stepped forward.
She wrapped her arms around him.
Tight.
Close.
Her body pressed against his, warmth seeping through fabric and skin. Her fingers curled into his shirt as if she were afraid to let go.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For today. For always."
Voren hesitated, then returned the hug, arms tightening around her.
It lingered.
And neither of them pulled away too quickly.