Amelia Watson

  Amelia’s POV

  The golden morning light streamed through the tall windows of the quaint little café, casting long streaks of warmth across the wooden floors and illuminating the delicate porcelain cups placed on each table. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the faint sweetness of pastries, creating an atmosphere that was both inviting and nostalgic.

  I leaned back in my seat, adjusting slightly to get more comfortable. My fingers curled around the warm ceramic of my coffee cup as I brought it to my lips, letting the rich bitterness spread across my tongue before setting it back down with a satisfied sigh. It had been a while since I’d taken a moment like this—just sitting in a café, basking in the early sunlight, waiting for someone important.

  Five more minutes passed, and then the bell above the entrance chimed softly, announcing a new arrival.

  I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

  Amanda walked in with effortless grace, the kind that naturally drew eyes toward her. Dressed in a casual yet elegant maxi dress—a white blouse with a long black skirt—, her auburn hair tied neatly into a ponytail, she looked as radiant as ever. The sunlight from the windows caught on the strands of her hair, giving it a rich, fiery glow, and I noticed how almost every pair of eyes in the shop flickered toward her—some subtle, some outright staring.

  I smirked to myself. My sister had always had that effect on people.

  As she made her way toward me, her gaze met mine, and her lips stretched into a warm smile. “Amelia, it’s been so long. How are you?”

  The giddiness bubbled up inside me before I could stop it. Seeing my sister after months—it felt like a rare occasion worth celebrating.

  Amanda, being a high-ranking hunter in the World Union’s hunter association, had an insane workload. Ranked among the top hundred hunters in the world, her schedule was relentless, barely giving her any free time to enjoy a normal life. But, to my surprise, she had texted me a few days ago, telling me she was taking a day off, and that we should spend it together—just us sisters.

  I leaned in, a smirk playing on my lips. “Well, I’m well, but honestly, I’m just shocked that my sister actually remembered me.”

  Amanda winced, her face immediately filling with guilt as she placed her purse to the side and sat down. “I know, I know. My schedule is insane, but the pay is really good—and if dad hadn’t asked me to join the Union, I might have gone solo. Plus, I just bought a penthouse near Westminster, and let me tell you—shifting was a complete nightmare.”

  I raised a brow. “And it didn’t occur to you to call your lovely, responsible, totally helpful younger sister to assist?”

  She gave me a sheepish look, fixing a lock behind her ear. “I meant to, but between dealing with moving companies and setting everything up, it slipped my mind.”

  I clicked my tongue and shook my head in mock disappointment. “Tsk, tsk. So I really was forgotten. Poor me, no one remembers me, and I’m left to fend for myself.” I wrapped my hands around myself and acted almost hurt.

  Amanda groaned, her shoulders sagging as she covered her face dramatically, I could feel her urge to face palm. “Alright, alright, I get it! I’m a terrible sister. Just give me my punishment already.”

  I pretended to think for a moment, before giving her the inevitable. “Hmm… how about you pay for everything today? I mean, you’re loaded in the first place, and I’m just a student who doesn’t have much cash in the first place.”

  She dropped her hands from her face and rolled her eyes. “I was going to do that anyway. And you ‘poor’,” she scoffed, unconvinced.

  I grinned triumphantly. “Then no hard feelings.”

  Amanda chuckled, and with that, we turned our attention to the menu.

  “I was waiting for you, by the way,” I said, flipping through the pages. “I haven’t had breakfast yet.”

  Her brows lifted in surprise. “Really? You must’ve been starving by now.”

  “Oh, I was,” I said dramatically, placing a hand on my stomach. “But I endured it, because I wanted to have a proper meal with my dear, precious sister.”

  She gave me an unimpressed look. “You’re really milking this guilt trip, huh?”

  “Just making up for lost time,” I replied with a cheeky grin.

  Amanda shook her head in amusement before waving down a waiter. A young man, probably in his early twenties, approached us with a polite smile and a notepad in hand.

  “Good morning, ladies. Are you ready to order?”

  Amanda gestured for me to go first. I quickly skimmed through the options again before deciding. “I’ll have the full English breakfast, with extra mushrooms. And another cup of coffee, please.”

  Amanda arched a brow. “Eating like a queen, huh?”

  I shot her a look. “Didn’t you say the entire day was on you?”

  She huffed a laugh before turning to the waiter. “I’ll have the same, but no mushrooms. And add a croissant on the side.”

  “Certainly. Would you like any condiments with that?”

  I tapped my chin. “Some jam for the toast would be great.”

  The waiter nodded, jotting everything down before collecting our menus. “Alright, your orders will be out shortly.”

  Once he left, Amanda leaned back in her seat, exhaling softly. “You know, as much as I love my job, it’s nice to just sit down like this. No missions, no strategy meetings, no life-or-death situations. Just…breakfast with my sister.”

  I smiled. “Well, you did say today was all about us. No work talk, just some good old sibling bonding.”

  She nodded. “Exactly. So tell me, what have you been up to? How’s life treating you in the academy?”

  I sighed, drumming my fingers on the table. “Pretty normal, honestly. I’ve just been focused on my own goals. You know, trying to carve out my own path instead of relying on Dad’s name. While I’m getting better at conjuring magic, I don’t think I’ll be getting out of his shadow for the time being.”

  Amanda tilted her head slightly, her expression softening. “You’ve always been like that. Independent, stubborn.”

  “Stubborn? Excuse me, that’s rich coming from someone who cried her way through almost everything at one point after the great Adam Griffin helped her out,” I shot back playfully.

  She laughed, but somehow seeming hurt playfully. “Fair enough. And why drag Adam in this. He did indeed help me during my time in the academy, but don’t you know how quirky that guy can be. He is your Professor now.” She said with a raised brow, arms crossed.

  I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. “Is that right, but you were the one who liked those quirks of his, have you forgotten when you said how cool and handsome he was,” I said with a chuckle, slightly louder as the other eyes turned to us.

  Amanda’s blushed in embarrassment as she rebuked me. “Was that the case? I was simply grateful of him for being a friend, that’s all.”

  She straightened, taking a moment, and continued on our previous topic. “But, you shouldn’t push it too much. Things take time, when I was in the academy, the pressure of being Edward Watson’s—the world’s strongest hunter—daughter was a burden I felt too. But, I think it’s something that no one can deal with if their roots are like that.”

  I leaned back, heaving a sigh, as if releasing some burden in Amanda’s presence. “I just don’t want to be a burden to him. It’s not about the money, or proving something to anyone else. I just want a life of my own. Free of his name, his title, to be just me.”

  Amanda studied me for a moment before nodding. “I get it. But even now, as I work in the Union, I being compared to dad at a daily basis, how I carry myself, how I complete a task assigned to me, and how well I can do on my own. And honestly? I admire that about you. You’re not trying to take the easy way out. You want to stand on your own two feet.”

  A warm feeling spread through my chest at her words. “Well, when you put it like that, I sound really cool, don’t I?”

  She rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless.

  The conversation drifted into lighter topics—funny memories from our childhood, embarrassing stories neither of us wanted to remember but laughed about anyway. By the time our food arrived, we were already deep in reminiscing about an incident where we had accidentally set off the security alarm at home while trying to sneak out for a midnight snack.

  Being Amanda’s fault entirely.

  The meal was as delicious as expected, but more than that, it was the company that made it special. Amanda and I didn’t get many chances like this, so I treasured every second of it.

  As we finished up, Amanda suddenly grinned and leaned in. “So, since I’m paying…how about we go shopping after this?”

  I gasped, placing a hand on my chest. “Is my sister actually offering to take me shopping? What’s next, is the world ending?”

  She swatted at me playfully. “Don’t get used to it. Or, if you don’t we don’t have to.” She inclined her head in response.

  I laughed, feeling genuinely happy. “Alright, alright. Let’s make the most of today.”

  After finishing our breakfast, Amanda and I stepped out into the bustling streets of London. The food had been rich and filling, so we took a slow walk to digest it, taking in the sights and sounds of the city. The crisp morning air carried the scent of fresh pastries from a nearby bakery, and the gentle warmth of the sun made the stroll even more pleasant.

  As we wandered, Amanda nudged me and pointed to a boutique across the street. “Let’s check that out. You need new clothes anyway, don’t you?”

  I glanced at my outfit—simple jeans and a sweater. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

  She gave me a look. “Nothing. But it doesn’t hurt to have more options. Besides, I need new clothes too. Unlike you, I care about what I wear.”

  With that, we stepped inside the store, greeted by the scent of fresh linen and the hum of soft instrumental music. The place had a cosy, modern aesthetic, racks of casual clothes, dresses, and accessories arranged neatly. We each went our separate ways, browsing through the selection. I picked out a few casual outfits—simple dresses, sweaters, and a stylish coat—while Amanda grabbed a handful of clothes that matched her effortlessly elegant style.

  After trying on a few outfits, I stepped out of the dressing room in a fitted navy dress with a soft flowy skirt. Amanda looked up from her seat and immediately smirked.

  “What?” I narrowed my eyes at her.

  She rested her chin in her palm, her smirk widening. “Nothing. You just look nice. I’m sure Ryuya would think so too.”

  I froze mid-step, feeling heat rise to my cheeks immediately on her remark. “W-What does that idiot have to do with this?”

  Amanda simply leaned back in her seat. “Oh, you know, I was just wondering if there’s been any progress since the last time I met him.”

  I scoffed, turning away. “Like that blockhead would notice anything. I’ve been dropping hints for three years! Does it take a genius to figure it out?”

  Amanda nodded along, feigning deep thought. “Yeah, he must be a complete idiot, a blockhead, a piece of meat for a brain to not like my adorable little sister. He is perhaps, gay?”

  “Right?!” I threw my hands up, feeling the frustration boil over. But felt bad on her last remark. “I don’t think he swings that way.”

  She laughed at my reaction before shaking her head. “But you still like him.”

  I grumbled, crossing my arms. “That’s beside the point.”

  Amanda hummed before tilting her head and I grumbled in frustration as Ryuya’s face appeared in my head. “Compared to him, Jiwoo is so much more mature. No wonder Jiyoung fell for him.”

  She glanced at me with a raised brow. “You mean the current first rank, Park Jiyoung? Daughter of Park Yujin?”

  “Yes,” I nodded. “I mean, they both were pretty close every chance I saw them. So, I think she began to foster feelings for Jiwoo. You remember Jiyoung, right?”

  “Of course. I met her last time when I visited lock during the second year festival.” She said. “But, from the way I remember her, she isn’t that close to any boys, specifically only a few, but, for Seo Jiwoo to steal the ice-queen’s heart, he must be good. He was your classmate during the first year before leaving lock, right? The guy who saved you inside that basilisk dungeon?”

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  I leaned against the counter, thinking for a moment, comparing about Jiwoo and Ryuya, as I nodded to her question. “Yeah…Jiwoo is definitely mature for his age. Almost too mature sometimes—plus, his abnormal skill set and strength for his age, I still can’t sometimes believe what he did inside that dungeon.” I took a pause, letting the gap build before saying. “But, I can’t say Ryuya doesn’t care. He’s just…slow when it comes to this kind of thing.”

  Amanda gave me a knowing look before nudging me toward the counter. “Let’s pay and go. I want to see more of the city before heading back.”

  After we paid for our clothes, storing the bags inside our dimensional storages, we stepped back onto the streets, taking our time, exploring the shops, some stalls on the streets, after walking aimlessly for a while, something caught my eye—a small flower shop nestled between two stone buildings.

  The sign above the entrance was painted in soft pastels, its delicate script reading “Azure Blooms.” The place was tiny compared to the towering buildings around it, but that only made it stand out more, like a hidden pocket of serenity in the middle of the bustling city.

  I nudged Amanda and gestured toward the shop. She followed my gaze and, after a brief pause, nodded.

  As we stepped inside, the air was filled with the rich scent of flowers, fresh and earthy. The shop was cosy, the walls lined with vibrant bouquets, from roses and lilies to exotic blooms I couldn’t name or had seen before.

  Some even had an essence of mana, which made their petals shimmer with delicate light.

  At the counter, tending to a set of flowers, was a young woman with blonde hair tied loosely, strands framing her face as her azure eyes glimmered faintly even in the soft light of the shop. She moved gracefully, her presence almost blending with the flowers around her, as if one with the beauty around her.

  Another woman, older with silver strands, was speaking with a few customers to the side, explaining the meanings behind the flowers they were looking at, taking time to stark a conversation and laughing to steady the conversation.

  The blonde haired woman noticed us and approached with a warm smile—similar to a sunflower in full bloom. Her voice was gentle as she greeted us, and we exchanged pleasantries before she gestured for us to look around freely.

  As we browsed the arrangements, Amanda suddenly pulled out her phone. I glanced over, noticing how her expression first showed shock, then shifted to mild surprise.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, peeking at her screen, but she typed something right away.

  She sighed and put the phone away. “Well…Dad wants to have dinner tonight.

  I nearly dropped the bouquet I had been admiring. “Wait, what?”

  Amanda shrugged, smirking. “Yeah, I know. Shocking. Our ever-busy, workaholic of a father suddenly wants to have dinner. At my place.”

  I blinked before laughing. “Well, he must be feeling lonely if he’s making the effort on his own accord.”

  Amanda exhaled. “I suppose. It’s been a while, so I guess we should make it special. Let’s pick out some flowers.”

  We looked over the selection before I pointed to a beautiful bouquet of white and blue flowers. “How about these? They feel…timeless.”

  The florist, who had been watching us with a soft smile, stepped forward. “That’s a lovely choice. The white camellia symbolizes admiration and longing, while the blue forget-me-nots represent eternal love and remembrance.”

  Amanda and I exchanged a glance, an unspoken understanding passing between us.

  “These were Mom’s favourite, weren’t they?” I said quietly.

  Amanda nodded, her expression soft but gentle. “Yeah…She always used to keep them in the house, even Dad used to give her these flowers on her birthday.”

  A silence fell between us, not heavy, but nostalgic—remembering our mother. After a moment, Amanda patted my head lightly. “Good choice, Amelia. I guess, you have the same choice as Mom.”

  We bought the bouquet, thanking the florist before stepping out of the shop. As we walked, I held the flowers carefully, the scent bringing back faint memories of our childhood.

  “So, your place, huh?” I said, looking up at Amanda with a grin. “Let’s see if you actually made it liveable after all that moving.”

  Amanda chuckled. “Don’t worry. It’s better than you think.”

  With that, we made our way through the streets, ready to end the day with an unexpected family dinner. But somehow, I was also nervous over the thought of meeting Dad after a long time.

  By the time we returned home, our hands were full with expensive wine and an assortment of sweet desserts for after dinner. The walk back had been nice, filled with idle chatter and laughter, but as we stepped into Amanda’s penthouse, my jaw nearly dropped in awe.

  The place was gorgeous. And the only thought that festered my mind was: “when will I get to own a place like this of my own?”

  The large glass windows offered a panoramic view of the city skyline, the golden hues of the setting sun casting a soft glow over the sleek, modern furniture. The entire space was meticulously decorated—elegant yet cosy, stylish but not overbearing. A plush, cream-colored sofa sat in the middle of the living room, a glass coffee table beside it, and a massive flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. The kitchen, visible from where I stood, had a marble island with polished wooden stools, the countertops gleaming under the soft overhead lighting.

  I exhaled sharply, my eyes scanning the place with a tinge of jealousy.

  “You know,” I muttered, crossing my arms, “this is ridiculously unfair.”

  Amanda smirked knowingly as she set the bags down. “What is?”

  I shot her a deadpan look. “Your place is way too nice. Meanwhile, my room in the lock’s dormitory is like a college student’s first attempt at decorating. That’s how much of difference there is.”

  Amanda chuckled, tossing her newly bought coat over the back of a chair. “Well, little sister, some of us have taste, but with good taste, stuff like this doesn’t come cheap.”

  I rolled my eyes in annoyance. “Some of us also don’t have the budget of a Fortune five-hundred CEO.”

  She winked. “Well, if you’re that jealous, I could let you move in with me. But rent isn’t going down for a while in this economy.”

  I huffed. “Not a chance. You’d lord it over me forever.”

  She grinned. “Exactly.”

  Just as I was about to retort, a sound came from the kitchen—soft clattering, the faint sizzle of something cooking. Amanda and I exchanged a glance before cautiously moving forward, stepping past the living room.

  As we rounded the corner, our mouths fell open in shock.

  Standing by the stove, wearing a dark apron over his white t-shirt, was our father—Edward Watson, the leader of the World Union, the first-ranked individual in the entire world—calmly cooking dinner.

  The evening light streamed through the windows, illuminating the faint traces of steam rising from the pan as he flipped something with ease. His blond hair, slightly tousled, caught the glow of the sunset, his expression as unreadable as ever.

  “…Is this real?” I whispered to Amanda, hiding like children to avoid his gaze.

  She nodded, equally stunned. “I think so.”

  I frowned. “Wait, since when does he ever show up early to dinner? Doesn’t he always come late?”

  Amanda shrugged in disbelief. “Beats me. I gave him a key to my place when he last visited, but I didn’t think he’d actually use it.”

  Our father, seemingly unbothered by our shock, glanced up at us with his usual deadpan expression. “You two are staring. Is there something on my face?

  Amanda cleared her throat. “Dad…are you cooking?”

  I shook my head, trying to process this bizarre sight.

  He turned back to the stove. “I do know how to cook. I just never did. Since we planned dinner, I figured I might as well make something good. Knowing it’s been a long time seen we sat down and ate together.”

  Amanda and I blinked at him.

  “Okay,” I said slowly, still processing the fact that the Edward Watson was standing in my sister’s kitchen, making dinner like it was just another Tuesday.

  Amanda recovered first, stepping forward. “Let us help, then.”

  But Dad simply shook his head flipping the meat in the pan. “No need. Go get changed and freshen up. Dinner will be ready soon.”

  His usual authoritative tone left no room for argument. As we turned to leave, I caught sight of his hair swaying lightly as he continued cooking, utterly unbothered by the absurdity of the situation, but there was a faint smile on his lips, and I could tell it was genuine, and somehow it felt good.

  By the time we returned, freshened up and in more comfortable clothes, the dining table was already set. And when I saw what was on the table, I nearly dropped my fork.

  The dishes looked like something straight out of a five-star restaurant—succulent meats, perfectly plated vegetables, rich sauces drizzled over steaming portions of food. The aroma alone made my stomach growl, as I almost salivated.

  Dad sat across from us, his posture relaxed as he gestured to the table. “Eat.”

  We didn’t need to be told twice.

  The moment I took my first bite, the flavours melted in my mouth. My eyes widened, and I glanced at Amanda, who had a similar expression of shock.

  “This is amazing,” I muttered, almost in disbelief.

  Amanda, still chewing, nodded in agreement before looking at our father. “Dad, where did you learn to cook like this?”

  He smirked slightly. “I read a book.”

  I nearly choked on my food. “You read a book?”

  He nodded. “Yes. Several, actually. Cooking isn’t difficult if you understand the theory.”

  Amanda snorted. “Of course you’d say that.”

  She leaned back in her chair, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “So, you’re telling me that all this time, we’ve been eating subpar meals, when you had the potential to make food this good?”

  Dad raised a brow. “You’re implying I had an obligation to cook for you?”

  “Not an obligation, you’re our father,” Amanda said, grinning, almost exaggeratingly. “But come on, Dad. You had this level of talent and just chose not to use it?”

  Dad looked vaguely amused, a gentle smile of his lips as he ate. “Neither of you ever asked.”

  Amanda mock-clutched her chest. “That hurts, Dad.”

  For the first time in forever, our father actually looked slightly wounded. Not in a serious way, but the way he scoffed and shook his head told me he was taking it in stride.

  “Eat before the food gets cold,” he muttered.

  We laughed, but obeyed.

  As we ate, Dad eventually turned to me. “How’s your preparation for the joint exam going? Do you need any help preparing?”

  I swallowed my bite and nodded. “It’s going well. I’ve been training hard, making sure I’m covering all my weak spots. I think I’ll be ready by the time it happens.”

  Dad nodded approvingly. “Good. Don’t overexert yourself, but don’t get complacent either.”

  I smirked. “I’d never get complacent. That’s more Ryuya’s thing.”

  Amanda snickered, and Dad shook his head with a small sigh.

  The conversation continued, flowing easily between us. Amanda eventually steered the topic back to the unexpected dinner.

  “So, what made you decide to have dinner with us today?”

  Dad didn’t hesitate, didn’t falter. He simply answered with quiet sincerity.

  “Because I missed my daughters and wanted to spend time with you.” He paused, his fork placed on the plate. “And, your mother’s death anniversary is coming up so I wanted all three of us to go together this year. As a family.”

  A small silence settled over the table, the weight of his words sinking in.

  It was then that I remembered the flowers.

  I quickly stood up, retrieving the bouquet from where I had set it aside earlier. With a careful hand, I placed it in front of Dad.

  He looked at it, and for the first time that night, his expression wavered. The hardened expression over his face melted for a moment, and all I saw was a man full of sorrow and longing, a man who had been placed at the centre of it all, as a saviour, a leader and a beacon for others to follow.

  I couldn’t even come to imagine what burden he had to face in his day to day life. And that’s why I wanted to be independent so I wouldn’t be burden on him, to be able to help Dad in his odorous journey.

  “Your mom used to love these flowers,” he murmured, his voice softer than usual. His fingers brushed the petals, as if lost in memory, like those flower ignited something extinguished in his heart. “I haven’t seen them since she passed away.”

  He exhaled, then looked up at us with a warm, genuine smile—the kind he rarely showed.

  “Thank you, kids.”

  Amanda and I exchanged a glance, sharing a silent understanding.

  Dinner continued, filled with light conversation, teasing, and warmth. And for the first time in a long while, it felt like home.

  ***

  Lucas Claymore

  The dim lighting of the dungeon made visibility difficult, but my [Night Vision] skill adapted swiftly. The moment my foot pressed against the rough ground, I melded into the shadows, silent as death. Before me loomed the massive arachnid dungeon boss, its hulking body the size of a truck, its armoured legs clicking menacingly against the stone floor. Eight glowing red eyes locked onto me, their eerie luminescence cutting through the darkness.

  I dashed forward, twisting my body as the beast’s serrated claw came crashing down, missing me by inches. The wind howled around me as I reinforced my body with a wind affinity spell, using it to propel myself with bursts of speed. My daggers flashed, the left one striking its chitinous leg while the right slashed its underbelly. A screech erupted from its maw as I flipped backward, avoiding a second strike that cratered the ground where I had just stood.

  Every movement was fluid, my [Dual Wielding] skill guiding me as I executed perfect slashes and thrusts, dodging with a dancer’s grace. The fight raged on, but the creature was unrelenting. Its thick exoskeleton absorbed many of my strikes, and each attack it threw forced me to move at my limit.

  Then just when I was having the thoughts of victory—disaster struck. As I drove my right dagger into its torso, it lodged deep, refusing to come loose. Before I could react, the beast’s leg slammed into my side, sending me flying like a ragdoll.

  Pain exploded through my ribs as I crashed into the dungeon wall, the impact shaking my very bones.

  Blood blurred my vision as I struggled to breathe, feeling a sharp stab in my lungs. My right arm hung limply at my side—dislocated. My body screamed in protest, but I had no time to wallow in pain. The arachnid was already charging, its maw opening to release a jet of venomous mist. Gritting my teeth, I grabbed my arm and, with a sickening crack, forced it back into place.

  A fresh wave of agony surged through me, but I steeled myself, reaching into my belt to retrieve a healing potion. The bitter liquid burned down my throat as I tore a strip from my already tattered shirt and wrapped both of my daggers tightly to my hands—if I lost my grip now, I wouldn’t survive.

  “No more running,” I muttered under my breath, my teeth clenched.

  With a roar, I dashed forward, weaving through the beast’s attacks. This time, I was reckless, abandoning defence for sheer aggression. My blades danced in a deadly rhythm, carving through its legs and abdomen. The arachnid screeched in agony as I slashed at its glowing eyes, blinding it with ruthless efficiency. My body begged for rest, but I pushed on, my arms moving faster than thought, my breath ragged.

  Days worth of exhaustion finally catching up to me.

  Finally, with one final strike, I severed its last remaining limb. The monster collapsed, twitching, its massive form now a mutilated heap of exoskeleton and blood. I stood atop its corpse, my body drenched in its dark, steaming ichor. My breaths were shallow, my vision swaying. But it was over.

  Staggering forward, I spotted a glowing gate at the far end of the dungeon. My feet felt like lead as I forced myself toward it, my vision blurring with exhaustion.

  As I stepped through, the shift was almost unbearable—the sudden change in air, the disorienting brightness. My knees buckled, but before I hit the ground, a firm hand caught me.

  “Master Lucas? Are you alright, sir?”

  I blinked up to see Helmond, his silver hair tied in a neat ponytail, his usual composed expression betraying the faintest hint of concern. Relief flooded my system, though my voice came out hoarse. “I’m fine, Helmond.”

  His eyes flickered over me, noting the blood, the torn clothing, the exhaustion I tried to mask. He straightened but did not release his hold entirely, as if anticipating I might collapse again.

  “What time is it?” I said, unsure how long had gone by since I entered the dungeon.

  “It is past midnight, Master Lucas,” he said, his voice gentle. A thin smile streaked past his face as he supported me. “Happy birthday, Sir.”

  I stared at him, momentarily caught off guard. Fumbling for my phone in my dimensional artifact, I checked the date—March 19th. My birthday. I let out a quiet chuckle, shaking my head. “Thanks.”

  Helmond gave a small nod. “Shall we return home, Sir?”

  Despite my aching body, I agreed. The Claymore estate was only a short drive away, but before we left the facility owned by my family, I cleaned myself—Helmond’s persistence pushed me to take a full body check up for any leftover or unseen injuries.

  The journey home felt longer as Helmond briefed me on the household’s affairs. “They’re preparing a family dinner for tomorrow, so it would be best to clear your schedule, Young Master.”

  I hummed in acknowledgment, my head leaning back against the seat. Even after consuming a high-grade healing potion, my muscles ached with a dull, persistent pain. Soon, the towering gates of the Claymore mansion came into view. Helmond parked the car smoothly, and I stepped out, inhaling the crisp night air.

  The foyer was quiet when we entered, the servants absent—just the way I liked it. Helmond walked beside me, his hands slightly poised, ready to catch me if I faltered. “Master Lucas, would you like something to eat or would you prefer to rest?”

  I patted my stomach. “I could eat.”

  Together, we made our way to the kitchen. The lights were on, and as I stepped in, I saw her—my mother, Priscilla. She sat at the counter, her head resting on her folded arms, a homemade cake beside her. My footsteps slowed, something stirring in my chest. The cake was imperfect, childishly decorated, a cartoonish drawing of a boy scrawled in frosting.

  I swallowed thickly.

  She stirred, stretching slightly before her gaze met mine. Her eyes widened, and she fumbled to hide the cake, but it was too late.

  “I wanted to surprise you,” she admitted sheepishly, sleep still lingering at the end of her words. “But you disappeared the moment you got home.

  I stared at the cake, at the woman who had spent time making it for me, exhaustion and emotions warring within me. Then, for the first time in what felt like ages, I smiled—small, but genuine.

  “This is better than a surprise, Mother.”

  She exhaled, shaking her head. “You sly kid. You look better without a frown.”

  The warmth in her voice settled something deep inside me. Tonight, for the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to simply be her son.