As Mozak journeyed back to his estate, the air carriage slicing through the sky, the landscape below morphed into the familiar surroundings he had longed to see. The trees whispered stories of the passing years, and the winding paths beckoned with a certain warmth that only home could provide.
Curiosity tugged at Mozak's thoughts, prompting him to inquire about his younger sister, Alja, whom he hadn't seen for three years. Turning to the driver, he sought news about her well-being, eager to bridge the gap that time had woven between them.
"The young lady has been doing fine, young master," the driver responded. "Over the last year, she asked a lot about you and was quite anxious about whether you would return. Now that the war is over, you can finally go home."
A sigh of relief escaped Mozak as the news of Alja's inquiries touched him. The bond of family, resilient even amidst the turmoil of war, emerged as a source of solace.
"That's good to hear," Mozak acknowledged, a genuine smile breaking through the weariness etched on his face. He then ventured further, his curiosity piqued, "Has she awakened yet?"
The driver's eyes sparkled with a glint of pride. "Yes, the young lady has awakened high-gold rank talent, and she acquired a diamond rank winged sabertooth as her soul-sign."
Mozak's fists involuntarily clenched at his sides, the revelation striking a chord within him. Even his younger sister, Alja, possessed higher talent than him. With silver-rank talent and a silver rank winged sabertooth as his soul-sign, Mozak couldn't escape the realization that the war had underscored the importance of power, a commodity he found himself lacking.
The conversation with the driver continued, delving into the events that unfolded during Mozak's absence. Despite the passage of time, the estate had retained its essence, a comforting constant amid the chaos of the external world. Finally, Mozak approached the familiar grounds that cradled the memories of his upbringing, eager to embrace the sense of belonging that awaited him.
As soon as the carriage touched down, Mozak was greeted by a heartwarming sight. His younger sister, Alja, rushed towards him with unbridled joy, tears streaming down her cheeks as she embraced him tightly. It was a reunion that spoke of relief, a respite from the anxiety and fear that had gripped her young heart during the tumultuous years of war.
Who could blame her? At just nine years old, Alja had weathered the storm of uncertainty, waking up each day in a house haunted by the fear of losing those she held dearest to the ravages of war.
"She's just a child," Mozak pondered, a surge of protective warmth enveloping him as he held Alja close.
Amidst her tears, Alja managed to voice the question that had undoubtedly plagued her every waking moment, "Where are mom and dad?"
"They have some matters to attend to with the head family, but they will return as soon as possible," Mozak explained, his voice carrying the weight of both responsibility and reassurance.
Alja's disappointment was palpable, but a soft smile graced her face. She might have wished for their immediate return, but the joy of having her brother back, safe and sound, eclipsed any fleeting sense of letdown. In his embrace, the familiarity of family and the promise of a reunion with their parents provided a comforting balm.
Mozak, with a mixture of relief and contentment, navigated through the rooms of the house. His murmurs echoed with a blend of nostalgia and acknowledgment of the passage of time. Each corner held memories, some marred by the shadows of war, while others retained the warmth of familial bonds. Home, with all its imperfections, felt like a sanctuary after the trials and tribulations of the past three years.
As he moved through the familiar spaces, Mozak couldn't help but reflect on the journey that brought him back to this haven. The war had transformed him, leaving scars both seen and unseen. Yet, the solace of home beckoned—a place to heal, reconnect, and, perhaps, find a new beginning.
Mozak quickly entered his room, a mix of nostalgia and anticipation accompanying him. His eyes scanned the familiar surroundings—the room that had been untouched by his presence for three long years. Dust particles danced in the sunlight filtering through the window, and the air carried a sense of suspended time.
He sat on his bed, surrounded by old boxes that contained fragments of the life he left behind. Rifling through them, he unearthed a picture, a snapshot from a happier time—a family portrait that included his brother Artur. The sight of it triggered a surge of emotions, and Mozak's heart quickened its pace. The pain of losing Artur during the war rekindled, a wound that refused to fully heal.
Artur's absence echoed in the silence of the room, and Mozak grappled with the weight of his brother's demise. When the news of Artur's death reached him, grief had consumed Mozak. Two days of inconsolable sorrow had followed, a torrent of tears that seemed endless. However, grief soon metamorphosed into a potent cocktail of anger and determination.
Intoxicated by this seeping anger, Mozak redirected his emotions toward the Inup warriors. His mourning gave way to a relentless pursuit of vengeance. Ignoring commands to retreat, he threw himself into perilous encounters, driven by a singular purpose—to exact retribution on those he held responsible for Artur's death. In the chaotic battleground, his actions earned him a grim moniker among the warriors: Mozak the Slaughterer.
The nickname spoke of his ferocity, the relentless pursuit of his personal vendetta against the Inup tribe. The scars on his soul mirrored the ones etched on his body, testaments to a journey marked by loss, grief, and the unyielding pursuit of justice in the midst of war.