Kael reached the front door of his home just as the sun hovered at its highest point in the sky.
The house, with its faded paint and creaking steps, always felt like a world apart from the grand spires of the university or the cold halls of power in the city. Yet, here, surrounded by the scent of herbs and old wood, Kael found solace.
It was home.
He was home.
He washed his feet and hands outside, the cool water refreshing against the heat of the day. Stepping inside, he was greeted by the familiar sight of his grandmother, her head bent, stirring a pot on the stove. The rhythmic sound of her spoon scraping the edges of the pot was as comforting as it was familiar. She didn't need to look up to know he had arrived; she always knew.
"Kael," she turned, her smile warm and voice soft, "you're just in time. I'm making your favorite."
He smiled, setting his bag on the chair and crossing the small room to her side. "You spoil me, Grandma. Let me help."
"Nonsense," she protested, waving a hand as if to dismiss his offer. "You've been studying all day. Rest, child."
Ignoring her gentle insistence, Kael took up a knife, his fingers deftly chopping vegetables for the simmering stew. The two worked in companionable silence for a few minutes, the smell of simmering broth filling the small kitchen. The rhythmic chopping and stirring made the world outside seem distant, less complicated.
After a few moments, Kael broke the tranquility. "I've been thinking about entering a debate competition at university," he said, his tone casual as he continued to chop. "If I win, I could have dinner with Simhika Arctura."
The wooden spoon in his grandmother's hand paused mid-stir, her face suddenly serious, almost grim. "Simhika Arctura? Of House Valeran?"
Kael nodded, sensing the sudden tension in the room. He had expected this reaction. "Yes. It could open up a lot of opportunities for me, Grandma. Maybe even get me a good job — something stable."
His grandmother set the spoon down and turned fully to face him. There was a shadow in her eyes now, a quiet storm brewing just beneath the surface. "House Valeran may be the symbol of unity, but only when the final word is theirs. You don't belong in their world, Kael. We don't belong in their world."
Kael felt a familiar tightening in his chest, an old weight that pressed on him from deep within.
He had always been an outsider, a misfit in every room. At the university, his classmates' whispers hung in the air like storm clouds, each word a reminder of his family's troubled past. Here, in the quiet corners of his home, the echoes of that history loomed like a dark shroud, suffocating his dreams and stifling his sense of belonging.
In the spaces between love and memory, Kael felt the aching solitude of his existence.
He blinked, the question slipping out before he could catch it. "Then where do we belong?"
His grandmother shook her head, her voice trembling slightly as she continued. "Those houses — Valeran and the others — they will chew you up and spit you out. They're not like us. They live by their own rules, rules we can never understand. Stay away from them."
"I know what people say about us," Kael murmured, looking down at the cutting board.
She needed to let go of the past, to move on. She deserved it. He deserved it.
It was crucial for her to grasp this truth, to see that moving forward was not just a choice but a necessity for both of them. She needed to understand that.
"I hear the whispers. But this is my chance, Grandma. My chance to finally make something of myself."
Her eyes softened, yet the worry remained etched on her face. She reached out, gently placing a hand on his arm, her grip warm and grounding. "I just don't want to lose you like I lost your father."
His father had walked away one night and never returned, leaving behind a fractured family and an ache that had never truly healed. Kael knew that memory haunted her.
But Kael wouldn't let his father's choices dictate his future. He refused to wallow in the shadows of a man who had never once turned back to look at them, who had left them for nothing.
"I will not let his irresponsibility affect my life," Kael said, his voice firm but quiet. He didn't meet her eyes, focusing instead on the vegetables in front of him. "I can take care of myself."
His grandmother sighed deeply, the sound filled with resignation and a hint of something more — fear, perhaps, or sorrow that lingered just below the surface.
But there was always something more.
Kael never asked about it and he was not interested to know either.
She knew she couldn't hold him back forever. "If this is what you want... then I'll support you, Kael. But be careful. Those people… they don't care about us. They never have."
Kael turned to her, the weight of her words settling over him like a heavy cloak. He pulled her into an embrace, feeling her frailty against his strength, and assured her, again and again, until she smiled once more.
That night, after the food was prepared, they celebrated his birthday with a modest dinner. It was just the two of them, but it was enough. They laughed, teased, and told stories of times long gone, filling the house with warmth and joy. His grandmother made him promise to make a wish when he blew out the single candle on the cake she had baked — a small, lopsided thing, but to Kael, it was perfect.
"Make it a good wish," she said, her wrinkled hands on his shoulders as she watched him, eyes filled with the same warmth and love that had raised him since he was a child.
"I will, Grandma," Kael said softly, closing his eyes and allowing himself to dream. He wished for her happiness, for her safety, the words of his heart escaping into the universe like whispered hope.
But deep down, he also wished for something more — something that had always seemed just beyond his grasp.
A place where they truly belonged.