Five months had passed since their arrival in this world—and with time, routine settled into their lives like dust on old stone.
The sun hung low in the afternoon sky, casting warm golden light across the open path leading back toward the edge of Jurra Forest. Leo and El walked side by side, their baskets filled with supplies collected from the nearby town, Axbrid. Around them, life thrived in peaceful motion—an old man tugged gently at the reins of a beast-of-burden, a stocky creature somewhere between a cow and a horse, its broad back loaded with enormous sacks. Children darted between huts and fields, their laughter carrying across the breeze.
In the distance, nestled near the forest's border, stood the familiar wooden home of Old Man Tavon—sturdy, smoke rising gently from the chimney, as if welcoming them back.
"Matt!" El called out, waving.
Not far from the house, Matthew was shirtless, mid-swing with his sword. He paused, glancing their way, then raised his hand in greeting. Sweat glistened on his skin, his chest rising and falling with exertion. His once-lean frame had filled out in the past months—muscles carved like stone, shoulders broad and powerful. He now stood two inches taller than Leo, and his golden-brown hair clung to his forehead, damp from the afternoon heat. His features had matured—sharper jaw, deeper eyes. The boyish charm was gone, replaced by something more grounded, more compelling.
"You're back," Matt said, wiping his face with a cloth as they approached.
His gaze shifted to the baskets in their hands. "Looks like you brought a haul."
He squinted, eyeing the strange fruit in El's basket. "What's that?"
El grinned and held it up proudly. "Oh, this? It's a fruit! And let me tell you, it's one of my favorites. That's why I bought it."
Leo raised a brow. "Hey, now who's the one spending money on wants, huh?"
El rolled her eyes at him with a playful huff.
All three laughed, their voices echoing gently through the trees and stone, a shared warmth that made the foreign land feel just a little more like home.
The rhythmic chop-chop-chop of a knife against wood echoed softly through the house, mingling with the faint aroma of simmering spices. Inside the kitchen, Leo stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, hands busy as he prepared dinner—not just any dinner, but a special one.
He moved with quiet focus, slicing vegetables and tossing them into the bubbling pot, where meat sizzled and soaked up the flavors of garlic, soy, and vinegar. It was a dish close to his heart—adobo—the very one his mother used to make when he was a child. He could still remember her humming as she cooked, the warmth of the kitchen, the comfort of coming home. His Aunt Ciel had taught him how to make it after she passed, and now, here in a distant world, he was making it again.
But tonight wasn't about nostalgia alone. It was a quiet celebration—an offering of gratitude. A small feast to thank the man who had opened his home to three strangers without hesitation.
He gave it a taste, eyes narrowing with scrutiny. Then, a small smile crept across his face—satisfied.
Just then, the front door creaked open. Footsteps and laughter approached from outside.
"That smells divine," El said, closing her eyes to savor the aroma.
Matthew leaned forward, nose twitching. "Smells like… adobo?"
Leo grinned as he set plates on the table. "It is adobo."
The old man chuckled as he stepped inside, a curious expression on his weathered face. "What's the occasion? Something smells better than usual."
Leo scratched the back of his head, bashfully avoiding their gazes. "It's nothing, really. Just… this is my favorite dish. My mom used to make it for me when I was a kid. And well… I wanted tonight to be special. As a way to thank you, old man. For everything."
The old man blinked, surprised by the sentiment. Then a warm smile stretched across his face, eyes softening.
They gathered around the table, steam curling from the bowls. The first bites were filled with joy.
"This is so good," El mumbled, covering her mouth politely as she chewed.
Matthew, on the other hand, was already shoveling spoonfuls into his mouth like a starved soldier. "I miss this!" he cried, tears welling up—perhaps from the flavor, or from nostalgia. "I'm not crying! You're crying!"
Leo laughed softly, eyes turning to the old man who took his first bite.
A beat passed.
Then the old man's expression lit up like a child tasting sugar for the first time. "This is delicious," Tavon said. "I haven't tasted anything like this before."
A satisfied smile bloomed on Leo's face.
But then, the old man gave a long, playful sigh. "And now you've ruined my taste buds. With you all leaving in a few weeks, I'll be left with tasteless meals again."
They all laughed, the kind of laughter that felt like home. The kind that came only after trust had been built and wounds had begun to heal.
"Ahh, I'm going to explode," Matthew groaned, leaning back and holding his distended stomach. "That was too good."
Later, as they leaned back in their seats, full and content, the fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickers of light against the wooden walls. Smoke drifted lazily up through the chimney, disappearing into the starlit sky. Then, breaking the stillness, El spoke.
"Old man…" she said softly, her tone uncharacteristically serious. "I know it's a bit late to ask, but… why did you help us?"
Tavon looked at her.
"I mean, you found us—three strangers, lost ones, no less—in the middle of Jurra Forest. You had no reason to trust us, and yet… you gave us shelter. Food. You taught us." Her voice wavered slightly. "You didn't owe us anything."
Leo and Matthew both turned to the old man, waiting.
A long silence settled between them.
Finally, Tavon gave a slow, genuine smile.
"Because… I wanted to."
He reached for his cup, took a sip, then placed it down carefully.
"I told you I was once a warrior of Solis, yes? But not just a soldier. I was a Knight — sworn blade of the Radiant Order."
El nearly choked on her drink. "A knight?!"
"Second-highest military rank," she quickly explained to the boys, who gawked at Tavon with newfound awe.
He laughed, the sound rough like gravel. "That was a lifetime ago. But I never told you why I left."
They shook their heads.
His smile faded.
"I left… because I fell in love."
His voice trembled as if the words were sharp.
"Her name was Tricia," he said softly, staring at the empty cup as if he could see her in the reflection. "She was… the brightest light I'd ever known. I met her in Axbrid, during a mission with my fellow Soltice soldiers to hunt a beast in Jurra Forest. She worked in a pub — a waitress. I wasn't drunk, but I was gone the moment I saw her."
El leaned over and whispered, "Soltice—that's what they call their squads."
He chuckled, but it was a sad one. The old man continued, his voice quiet with memory. "She had raven hair and warm, brown eyes. Eyes that didn't flinch when they looked at a man who had killed. She saw me. Not the title, not the armor. Just me."
They leaned in, barely breathing.
"I courted her. Took years. But I married her."
El smiled. "Did you leave your post for her?"
"Not immediately. After our mission ended, I returned to Solis. But she wouldn't leave Axbrid. So I promised I'd come back. We wrote letters, and I visited when I could. Eventually, we bought our first home there."
He paused, the warmth in his voice turning heavier.
"Then she got pregnant. Our son… it was the happiest I'd ever been. I left my sword behind and swore to be a father. A good one. Our son was everything. He used to chase butterflies with a stick, pretending it was a sword. He wanted to be an adventurer… like the ones from stories."
Tavon smiled again — not of joy, but of remembrance.
The old man chuckled softly. "He begged me to train him. But I said no. I didn't want him near danger, near blood. I wanted peace for him, I wanted him to stay innocent."
Then, his voice dropped into something hollow.
"But the world doesn't care about innocence."
He clenched his fist.
"While I was away at Solis — a summons I couldn't ignore — Jurra burst open. Monsters spilled into Axbrid. When I returned…" His breath hitched. "The town was rubble. Bodies… everywhere."
Tavon trembled. "I ran to our house and saw her. My wife, fallen. In front of her… my son, holding my old sword."
His voice broke.
"He tried to protect her."
Tears streamed freely down his weathered cheeks. No one spoke. The silence was sacred.
"I buried them with my own hands."
Leo reached out, gently placing a hand on Tavon's back. Matthew wiped his face. El stared into her lap, fists clenched.
"I tried to leave," Tavon whispered. "Tried to forget. But I couldn't. So I stayed. At the edge of Jurra. Killing what tried to cross. Guarding what was left."
The fire crackled louder now, as if mourning with him.
"Then… I found you. Three lost souls. And I saw him in you — my son. His dreams, his foolishness, his courage."
He looked at them with trembling eyes. "Helping you… teaching you… it gave me purpose again. I failed my son. But maybe… I can help you live. Live the life he never got to. That's why I helped."
There was nothing left to say.
Leo stood and hugged him. Wordlessly. Matthew and El joined, wrapping their arms around the old man who once was a knight, a father, a protector — and still was.
That night, the silence was full. Of tears, of warmth, of understanding.
They had come here as strangers.
But they would leave as something more — shaped not just by the swords they carried, but by the love and sorrow of a man who gave them everything.
And as the embers in the fireplace glowed dimly, they knew:
This was not the end of a chapter.
It was the end of a prologue.
The real adventure was about to begin.