Arata stood at the entrance of his new home, staring up at the massive structure before him. It wasn’t a traditional house—it was something much bigger, almost like a fortified estate, hidden within the outskirts of Mizukaza.

  The building loomed against the dim evening sky, constructed from reinforced stone and dark oak wood, its design both rugged and imposing. Large, rectangular windows lined the upper floors, some flickering with soft lantern light, their glow barely visible against the creeping dusk. Smoke curled lazily from a chimney at the far end, filling the air with the faint scent of burning firewood.

  It was nothing like his mother’s home in Honfaza. Her house had been small, simple, and warm. This place was built for many people—warriors, not families.

  A heavy hand patted his back. “Come on, kid,” Zetsubo’s voice broke through his thoughts as he walked past. “Let’s get you settled in.”

  The moment Arata stepped inside, he felt small.

  The common hall was vast, stretching wider than he expected. A long wooden table sat at the center, surrounded by mismatched chairs, some neat, others slightly pulled back as if their occupants had just stepped away. The lingering scent of cooked meat and warm bread drifted through the air, left over from dinner.

  To the left, a kitchen came into view, equipped with a large stone hearth, shelves filled with glass jars of spices, and barrels stacked against the walls. The scent of dried herbs mixed with the warmth of the fire gave the place a lived-in feel.

  To the right, an open training area took up an entire section of the home. Wooden dummies stood lined against the walls, racks of swords, spears, and shields gleaming under the dim lantern light. The floor bore scuff marks and faint burns, scars left behind by years of sparring.

  Further back, there were several doors leading to personal rooms, some slightly ajar, revealing glimpses of beds, bookshelves, and personal belongings—signs that this was a home, but not in the way Arata had known before.

  His small feet barely made a sound against the stone floor.

  This place was built for warriors… but it still felt like a home.

  The long wooden table was packed with roasted meat, freshly baked bread, and steaming bowls of stew. Plates and mugs clattered together as the group sat around, talking and laughing like they had no worries in the world.

  Arata sat quietly, his plate untouched. The warmth of the room clashed against the coldness still gripping his heart.

  “You’re gonna eat, right?” Kate nudged him, placing a piece of bread onto his plate. Her hazel eyes studied him with quiet concern. “You need to put some weight back on, kid.”

  “I… I’m fine,” Arata muttered, staring at the food.

  Beatrix rolled her eyes, grabbing a piece of meat. Her sharp, fox-like features twisted into a smirk. “You better start eating before Omega steals your portion.”

  Omega, mid-bite, looked up with a mouth full of food. “What?” he grunted, crumbs falling onto his plate. “If he doesn’t eat it, I might as well!”

  A faint chuckle rippled through the table.

  Arata hesitated. He wasn’t hungry—but under Kate’s expectant gaze and Beatrix’s playful warning, he finally picked up his fork.

  As he ate, he listened.

  Grundor, the sharp-eyed strategist, sat with one arm resting on the table, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the wood—a habit, perhaps, or a sign that his mind was always running.

  Omega, all brawn, and little subtlety, tore through his meal like it was a competition.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Beatrix, fast and cocky, twirled a knife between her fingers as she ate, barely paying attention to her food.

  Kate, the one who seemed to play the role of caretaker, kept an eye on him more than the others.

  Spiffy, the quietest of them all, leaned back against the far wall, arms crossed, his deep brown eyes watching everything, but saying nothing.

  They weren’t scared of him.

  They weren’t cruel.

  They were… normal.

  But he wasn’t.

  At some point, the conversation shifted.

  “I heard some noble from Honfaza passed through town yesterday,” Grundor mentioned casually, sipping from his mug.

  Omega scoffed. “Bet he looked down on everyone like they were trash.”

  Arata stiffened.

  The name of that town felt like a knife in his chest.

  “Honfaza’s always been corrupt,” Kate muttered, crossing her arms. “People think just because they have money and ‘divine knights,’ they can get away with anything.”

  Arata’s grip on his fork tightened. His fingers turned white from the pressure.

  Zetsubo noticed.

  “You alright, kid?” he asked, his voice calm but observant.

  Arata swallowed hard. A beat of silence passed before he forced himself to nod. “Yeah… just tired.”

  Zetsubo didn’t push further, but his golden eyes lingered on Arata for a second longer.

  Arata wasn’t tired.

  He was angry.

  Honfaza still existed. The people who killed his mother were still alive. Breathing. Enjoying their lives.

  That wasn’t right.

  They needed to suffer.

  After dinner, Kate led him to his room.

  The room was small but comfortable. A bed with clean sheets sat against the wall, a wooden dresser beside it. A single window overlooked the town, its distant lantern lights flickering in the night.

  “It’s yours now,” Kate said, setting the blankets on the bed. “You can decorate it however you want.”

  Arata stepped inside, his fingers brushing against the soft fabric of the blanket.

  He hadn’t had his own space in days.

  “…Thank you.” His voice was quiet, almost unsure.

  Kate smiled. Not the cocky grin Beatrix gave, nor the sharp smirk Grundor always had. It was warm. Genuine.

  “Get some rest.” She leaned against the doorframe. “Tomorrow’s gonna be a long day.”

  Then she left, shutting the door behind her.

  Alone in the room, Arata sat on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

  His fingers curled around his mother’s blood-stained necklace.

  He hadn’t let go of it since that night.

  The house was warm.

  The bed was soft.

  The people here were kind, in their strange ways.

  But it wasn’t home.

  Not yet.

  A chill suddenly ran through him.

  His vision blurred—no, his mind blurred.

  The air around him felt heavy, the distant sounds of Mizukaza’s nightlife fading into nothing.

  Then, he saw it.

  A distant figure, outlined in the moon’s glow, standing high above. Looking down at him.

  Its presence felt unreal—like it didn’t belong to this world.

  The voice came next. Deep, distorted, like it was speaking through water.

  “What shall I ever do with him?”

  The pressure in the air disappeared as quickly as it came.

  Arata gasped, blinking fast.

  His heart pounded against his ribs. His room was normal again—the same quiet space Kate had led him to. The lantern’s light flickered gently on the wall.

  Was that… real?

  He wasn’t sure.

  His fingers tightened around the necklace.

  Outside, the night continued as if nothing had happened.

  Thanks for reading! Chapter 7 drops soon—stay tuned! If you're enjoying it, feel free to leave a comment!

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