The morning sun filtered through the thin curtains of Arlan's room, painting the wooden walls in hues of gold.
He sat on the edge of his bed, gripping the letter of admission in his hands.
It was real. The past was real.
He had returned.
The realization brought with it a torrent of emotions: relief, confusion, and a creeping sense of dread.
His body trembled—not from fear of what lay ahead, but from the weight of knowledge he now carried.
He could change things.
He had to.
As he stared at the letter, his thoughts drifted to the one person who had haunted his final moments.
Erias.
Arlan's mind replayed the Abyssal King's final words, a revelation that cut deeper than any blade.
Erias had been more than a friend—he had been a brother-in-arms, someone Arlan trusted implicitly.
To learn that Erias had been working with the forces of the Abyssal King all along…
A sharp pang shot through his chest.
How many lives had been lost because of Erias?
How much suffering could have been avoided if Arlan had seen the truth earlier?
"I should have noticed," Arlan muttered, his voice heavy with self-reproach.
"The signs were there. His knowledge, his timing, his disappearances…"
But back then, Arlan had been too consumed with survival, too grateful for the camaraderie Erias offered in a world that often felt cold and unforgiving.
Now, he knew better.
He clenched his fists, crumpling the letter in his hands.
"This time, I won't be fooled. I'll stop him before he can betray anyone."
The day passed in a haze.
Arlan wandered through the small village where he had spent his childhood, the familiar sights and sounds filling him with an odd mix of nostalgia and detachment.
He stopped abruptly in front of the blacksmith's forge.
Smoke curled from the chimney, and the clang of a hammer on metal echoed from within.
It was the same as he remembered it: the sturdy stone walls, the pile of scrap metal near the entrance, the faint scent of coal and molten steel.
His throat tightened.
"Arlan, is that you?"
The voice startled him.
He turned to see a man emerging from the forge, wiping soot-streaked hands on a rag.
It was his father.
Older than Arlan had ever allowed himself to remember, but with the same weathered face and kind eyes.
Behind him, a boy of no more than fourteen followed, holding a bundle of tools. Arlan's younger brother, Darin.
"Dad… Darin…" Arlan whispered, his voice cracking.
The sound of his voice must have carried, because moments later, another figure stepped out of the house nearby.
His mother.
Her apron was dusted with flour, her expression one of confusion and growing concern.
"Arlan? What's wrong?" she asked.
Arlan's vision blurred.
Without thinking, he rushed forward, throwing his arms around his father.
The man stiffened in surprise, but Arlan didn't care.
The warmth of his father's presence, the solid strength of the man who had shaped his childhood—it overwhelmed him.
"Arlan?" his father asked, confused but gentle.
"What's gotten into you?"
But Arlan couldn't answer.
His voice broke into a sob as he clung to the man, as though afraid he might vanish if he let go.
"Hey, what's going on?" Darin asked, bewildered.
"Why are you crying?"
Their mother approached cautiously, her hand resting on Arlan's shoulder.
"Sweetheart, are you hurt? Did something happen?"
Arlan shook his head, finally pulling back enough to look at them.
His father, his mother, his brother—they were all here. Alive.
And they had no idea how much he had missed them.
"I'm fine," he managed, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.
"I just… I just missed you all."
His mother frowned, her gaze searching his face.
"You've been here the whole time, Arlan. What's this about missing us?"
Arlan forced a laugh, though it sounded hollow even to him.
"I guess I'm just… nervous about leaving for the academy. It's hitting me harder than I thought it would."
The excuse seemed to satisfy them.
His father chuckled, ruffling Arlan's hair.
"That's all? You had us worried, son. You'll do great. You've been training for this your whole life."
Darin crossed his arms, his expression half-teasing.
"I guess this means you'll miss me the most, huh?"
Despite himself, Arlan smiled.
The moment felt surreal, as if he were caught between two lives.
This was the family he had fought to protect, the people he had sworn to avenge.
Seeing them alive and well was both a blessing and a reminder of what was at stake.
That evening, as Arlan sat alone in his room, the weight of his mission pressed down on him once more.
His parents and brother were safe now, but how long would that last if the Abyssal King rose again?
He glanced at the spear leaning against the wall.
The path ahead was clear.
He had to reach Astralis Academy.
He had to put and end to Erias's plans...
He had to kill him.
No hesitation. No mercy.
But for now, he allowed himself a brief moment of peace.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but tonight, he was home.