After the chaotic morning "ladle beating," the small shack finally settled into an unusual calm.
Mira Crowe had forced Ethan to sit on the floor while she prepared a thin vegetable stew using the ingredients he had brought back. Liam sat propped up against the wall, looking healthier than he had in weeks, watching the two of them with bright, curious eyes.
Mira wiped her hands on her apron and sat down heavily on the only stool.
"Alright," she said, crossing her arms. "You've been acting strange for days, bringing back food and medicine like some secret rich kid. And now you come home glowing like you made a deal with a demon. Spill it, Ethan. But first…"
Her voice softened, the tough exterior cracking just a little.
"You should know where we really came from. Since you're clearly trying to carry the whole family on your shoulders now."
Ethan stayed quiet. He already had vague memories from the "original" Ethan Crowe's life, but hearing it from his mother made it feel more real — heavier.
Mira stared into the small pot of stew as if the past was simmering there with the vegetables.
"Your father… Harlan Crowe… was a fool with big dreams."
She let out a short, bitter laugh.
"He wasn't from the slums, you know. He came from a decent merchant family in the lower districts. Had some talent with numbers and trading. But he was too proud. Too stubborn. He said the system was rigged against small people, so he decided to 'beat it at its own game.' Started taking risks — smuggling small artifacts, joining shady caravans, chasing rumors of hidden dungeons."
Mira's grip on the spoon tightened.
"I was a laundry worker even back then. Met him when he brought in blood-stained clothes after one of his 'adventures.' He was charming, reckless, and had this stupid grin that made me believe we could actually escape the bottom. We got married young. I got pregnant with you soon after."
She glanced at Ethan with a small, tired smile.
"You were a loud baby. Always moving, even in the crib. Your father said you'd be a great adventurer one day."
Liam listened quietly, hugging his knees.
"Then came the bad years," Mira continued. "Harlan's deals went wrong. He borrowed money from the wrong people — the Black Thorn Guild. When he couldn't pay, they came for him. He disappeared one night when you were six and Liam was barely one. Said he was going to 'fix everything' and bring back enough money for us to move to the middle district."
She snorted. "We never saw him again. Some say he died in a dungeon. Others say he ran away to another city. I stopped caring which story was true."
Mira stirred the stew aggressively.
"After that, it was just us three in this rotting shack. I worked double shifts at the laundry and sometimes as a cleaner for the guard barracks. You, Ethan… you started working as soon as you could walk properly. Carrying water, running errands, picking up odd jobs in the market. You protected Liam like a little lion even when you were skin and bones yourself."
She reached over and flicked Ethan's forehead again — gentler this time.
"You've always been too stubborn for your own good. Just like your father. But unlike him, you never abandoned us. Even when Liam got sick with the Wasting Illness two years ago, you kept saying 'I'll find a way.'"
Liam looked down, guilt flickering across his young face. "I'm sorry I became a burden…"
"Shut your mouth, little one," Mira said sharply, but her eyes were warm. "You're not a burden. You're my baby. Both of you are."
She ladled the stew into three cracked bowls and handed them out.
"The Crowe family history is simple," she said, voice firm. "We're survivors. We came from nothing. Your grandfather was a failed tailor who drank himself to death. Your grandmother worked until her hands bled. We've been stepped on by nobles, guilds, and the system itself for generations. But we never broke completely."
Mira looked directly at Ethan, her gaze sharp and knowing.
"And now… I can tell you're carrying something heavy. That weird glow. The way you move like a ghost now. The sudden money and medicine. You made some kind of dangerous deal, didn't you?"
Ethan hesitated, then nodded slowly.
Mira sighed deeply but didn't hit him with the ladle again.
"I won't ask for details if you don't want to tell me. But remember this, Ethan Crowe — family isn't just blood. It's the promise that we don't let each other vanish. Your father broke that promise. Don't you dare do the same."
She pointed the spoon at him like a sword.
"If whatever you're doing gets too dangerous, you come home. We fight together. Even if it's with ladles and kitchen knives against the whole world."
Liam grinned weakly. "Mother with a ladle versus dragons… I'd bet on Mother."
Ethan couldn't help but laugh. The tension in his chest eased a little.
For the first time since arriving in this world, he felt the full weight — and warmth — of the family he was fighting for.
The Crowe family: A disappeared reckless father. A fierce, iron-willed mother who kept them alive through sheer stubbornness. Two brothers — one a former extra who refused to die, and one fighting a deadly illness.
Their history was one of poverty, loss, and endless struggle in the slums.
But Ethan was determined to change the ending.
As they ate the simple stew together, Mira suddenly narrowed her eyes at the faint crimson tint still visible in Ethan's aura.
"And if I find out you actually made a deal with a real devil…" She raised the ladle threateningly again, "I'll march into Hell myself and beat the horns off him."
Ethan nearly choked on his stew.
Liam burst into laughter, which quickly turned into happy coughing.
In that small, broken shack, the Crowe family shared a rare moment of peace and laughter.
Outside, the capital continued its march toward greater events.
The Slum Purge was coming.
The final fragment still waited somewhere.
And Lucifer Morningstar was undoubtedly watching with great amusement.
But for now, Ethan had something worth every risk — a real family worth protecting.