The ramp of The Wanderer sealed shut with a soft hiss, cocooning the three of them in the ship's quiet, sterile interior. The vessel was functional, lacking the ornate grandeur of the academy's halls. It was a tool, not a home, and the low hum of its engines was a constant reminder that they were in motion, leaving behind the only life Zander had known for years. Vanguard stood perfectly still near the cockpit entrance, his blue optic a single, unblinking star in the dim light.
Zander drifted toward the main viewport, a wide expanse of armored crystal that framed the sky-port beyond. He pressed his palm against the cool surface, watching as ground crews unlatched the final umbilicals and stepped back. There was no countdown, no roar of engines—just a subtle tilt in gravity as the ship lifted free with silent grace.
The academy shrank beneath them. At first, Zander expected to see a mountain peak drop away, but as the ship descended, his breath caught. Clouds rolled beneath them, cotton-white and endless, and then the truth revealed itself. The academy wasn't perched on a mountain at all. It was suspended in the upper atmosphere, a citadel of steel and light hidden high above the Earth.
He stared, equal parts wonder and bitterness rippling through him. For years, he had trained in an ivory tower not just distant from the world, but cut off from it entirely. He had lived in isolation, in an airless bubble, drilled to protect a world he had never touched.
Sensei's voice broke the silence, calm but weighted. "Detachment breeds clarity, but also blindness. Today, you begin to see."
The words stuck to Zander like burrs, clinging as The Wanderer cut downward.
They pierced the cloud layer in a rush of mist, and suddenly the Earth spread open below them. Green forests sprawled, rivers wound like silver threads, and the sapphire ocean caught the light of the sun. Zander leaned forward, forehead nearly touching the viewport, drinking it all in. For the first time in years, he was seeing the real world.
"Where are we headed?" he asked softly, eyes still on the horizon.
Sensei opened his eyes from meditation, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "A warrior must know what he protects, Zander. Not as myth, but as flesh. You will feel its weight. Our first destination will give you that reminder."
An hour later, The Wanderer angled toward a private spaceport nestled in lush greenery at the edge of a sprawling city. The ramp hissed open, and Zander stepped into a storm of sensation.
The air hit him first—humid, alive, thick with scents his academy-trained senses almost magnified too sharply. Rain-soaked stone, street food sizzling, the faint sweetness of blooming night-flowers. The symphony of the city followed: the hiss of transit lines, the distant honk of traffic, the hum of countless lives. It nearly overwhelmed him.
They disembarked, Vanguard's heavy steps echoing behind. Zander scanned everything, a soldier cataloguing details, but then his gaze snagged on something that froze him. Rising over the city skyline, half-lost among glass towers, was an old clock tower—gaudy, ornate, stubbornly preserved against modernization.
His chest tightened. That clock tower. He had once dared his friends to climb it.
The realization slammed into him. His throat dried, and his heart hammered in a rhythm older than any training drill. He turned toward Sensei, eyes wide, but words caught in his throat.
Sensei gave a simple nod, his expression unreadable. "A warrior's journey often circles back to its roots."
The world blurred as Zander began walking, then striding, then running through streets that seemed to unlock memory at every turn. The corner store where he had spent his allowance on candy. The cracked sidewalks where he had scraped his knees. Parks echoing with laughter that belonged to another time. With each step, the hardened warrior shell cracked, and beneath it, the boy he once was returned.
At the end of a quiet street lined with flowering trees, there it was: a house. Ordinary. Weathered. With its crooked fence still leaning the same way.
His legs faltered. He stepped onto the walkway, heart thundering, just as the door opened.
A woman stood framed in the light. Her hair carried more silver than memory, her face more lines, but her eyes—warm, dark, unshaken—were the same eyes that had once been his entire world.
"Zan…?" she whispered, voice breaking.
The name tore through him. No title, no rank, no academy number. Just Zan.
"Mom." His voice cracked as he surged forward, wrapping her in a desperate embrace. For a heartbeat, he feared crushing her with his strength, but all that dissolved in the familiar scent of her cooking spices, her laundry soap, her warmth. She clutched him fiercely, as if holding him would anchor him to this world.
Figures crowded the doorway. His father stood tall, broad-shouldered, his face stern but undone by the wet glimmer in his eyes. He said nothing, only set a heavy, grounding hand on Zander's shoulder. His sister, Elara, burst forward, her grin mischievous, her words tumbling out.
"Zander! You're huge! I can't believe—" She grabbed him, tugging at his sleeve as though testing if he was real.
And then Leo, his younger brother, simply stared. Wide-eyed, silent, worship written plain across his face.
Zander's composure shattered. He wasn't a weapon, a student, or an anomaly. He was a son. A brother. Home.
His mother's tears dampened his uniform as she whispered, "We missed you so much."
"I missed you too," he choked out. His voice broke, but he didn't care.
Behind them, Sensei and Vanguard remained at the edge of the street. The master's arms were folded, his expression neutral, but his eyes were sharp with meaning. He didn't intrude. This wasn't his moment. It was Zander's.
Later, inside, his mother insisted on a meal. The kitchen was cramped compared to the academy's dining halls, but the smells were richer, warmer, alive. Bowls of rice, simmered broth, roasted meats—it was more food than Zander remembered, and his enhanced body devoured it in silence, every bite tasting of comfort and memory.
Elara peppered him with questions: "Did you really fight in zero-gravity? Can you break steel with your hands?" Leo stared in awe, hanging on every word. His father listened quietly, nodding once or twice, eyes proud but measured. His mother just kept watching him, as though memorizing every detail to make up for the years stolen.
Zander answered clumsily, awkward, humbled. He realized how much he had missed, how much had changed without him. His sister was no longer the child who chased fireflies. His brother had grown into wide-eyed admiration. His parents had aged while he trained in the sky.
And yet, in this small kitchen, time seemed to fold, bringing everything back together.
From the shadows of the doorway, Sensei finally spoke, his voice quiet but carrying weight.
"This," he said, gesturing to the family around the table, "is what you protect. Remember it. Every trial ahead, every danger—we endure them not for power, but for this."
Zander swallowed hard, looking at the faces of the people he loved. For the first time, he understood—not just with his mind, but with his bones—what was truly at stake.