The morning sunlight crept across the dining room table, spilling over plates of steaming food in a way that felt almost unreal to Zander. The smells—fresh bread, eggs, herbs, and something fried in oil—were dizzying in their intensity. The academy had kept him alive, certainly, but meals there had always been gray, measured, functional. This was something else entirely. This was alive.
His mother moved with practiced efficiency around the kitchen, sliding more food onto his plate despite his protests. Elara was perched at the table's edge, legs swinging as she sipped juice, while Leo leaned forward, watching Zander with bright, unblinking eyes as though afraid his brother might vanish if he blinked.
At the head of the table sat his father, broad-shouldered, still in his work clothes though he wasn't leaving until afternoon shift. His hands were scarred, calloused, permanently marked by years of labor. He had said little since Zander's return, but his steady presence filled the room as strongly as the smell of breakfast.
Sensei sat opposite Zander, eating little, observing much. The lines of his face seemed softer in this domestic light, but his posture carried the same coiled readiness it always had.
It was Sensei who broke the fragile illusion of permanence.
"We will only remain here for one more day," he said, his voice calm but carrying the finality of a blade.
The room stilled. Elara's fork clinked against her plate. Zander's mother froze with a dish towel in her hand.
"So soon?" she asked, trying—and failing—to keep the disappointment from her voice.
"One day is a gift," Sensei replied. "Time enough to remember what is at stake. But not enough for the world to notice our pause."
Zander's chest tightened. He'd known their stay couldn't last, but hearing it out loud turned the knowledge into a wound. He caught his mother's eyes, and for the first time in years, he wished he could disobey Sensei. Just once.
His father finally spoke, his deep voice cutting through the heavy air. "Then let us not waste it." He looked at Zander directly, without pity or hesitation. "We'll spend this day together. As a family."
The city was alive in a way the academy had never been. Zander walked with his family through crowded streets where vendors called out in half a dozen languages, drones zipped overhead delivering packages, and the scent of street food mingled with the ozone tang of passing transit rails.
Everywhere he looked, life was moving—messy, unpolished, and utterly beautiful. He found himself slowing, watching a street performer juggle glowing orbs, watching children chase each other through fountains, watching an old woman scold her companion bot for dropping a grocery bag. He had been trained to fight for humanity, but this was the first time he truly saw what that meant.
"Does it feel strange?" his mother asked, falling into step beside him.
Zander hesitated, searching for words. "It feels… heavy. Like I've been learning the shape of the world through glass, and now I can finally touch it. It's louder. Brighter. Real."
Her hand brushed his arm gently. "You've carried so much on your shoulders. I can see it in your eyes. But I need to know—are you truly all right?"
The question pierced deeper than he expected. He thought of the endless drills, the bruises, the nights he'd lain awake listening to Axiom's hum in the academy walls. He thought of victories that had felt hollow, of classmates lost to accidents, of the pressure to be more than human because he was more than human.
"I'm… stronger," he said at last. "And I'll keep getting stronger. That's what matters."
She studied him, her brow furrowing as though she saw every unsaid truth. But she only squeezed his arm and whispered, "We missed you so much."
His throat tightened. He wanted to say a hundred things, but all that came out was, "I missed you too."
Elara skipped ahead to point out a new bio-dome that had risen on the edge of the city—a sprawling structure where experimental ecosystems thrived under glass. "They let students visit," she said proudly. "I've already been twice. I want to work there someday. Biology is… it's like unlocking secrets no one else sees."
Zander smiled at her enthusiasm, though he couldn't ignore the pang in his chest. She was barely older than he'd been when the academy had taken him.
Leo walked closer, his tone more serious. "I want to go into Energetics Engineering. Not just machines, but systems that feed power into weapons. Plasma rifles, shield cores… things that can change a battle." His eyes shone with admiration. "Like what you use, Zan."
The pride in his voice was undeniable, but so was the undercurrent of danger. Zander ruffled his brother's hair, masking his unease. "That's no small dream, Leo. Just promise me you'll build something that keeps people safe."
"I will," Leo said fiercely.
Their mother glanced back at them, her face shadowed with worry. Even their brilliance was tied to the war. Even their futures leaned toward battle.
As they moved through a quieter street lined with old shops, Zander's father slowed his pace until they were walking together, slightly apart from the others.
"You've grown," his father said simply.
Zander gave a small, awkward laugh. "That's what happens when you disappear for years."
His father didn't smile. His gaze was steady, heavy with meaning. "Growth isn't just height and muscle. I see it in how you walk, how you hold yourself. But I wonder—do you still remember what it means to mend, not just to fight?"
Zander frowned. "Mend?"
His father's calloused hands flexed at his sides. "Machines break every day. Not with glory, not in battles. Just wear and time. Someone has to keep them running, or whole families lose light, food, safety. My work isn't heroic. But it keeps this city alive." He paused, his voice low. "Don't forget—strength is more than what you destroy. It's what you preserve."
Zander's throat constricted. "I won't forget," he promised, and realized how deeply he meant it.
For the first time, his father's stern face softened, just a fraction. His hand landed on Zander's shoulder—a grounding, heavy touch. No more words were needed.
They ended their outing at a park where flowering trees stretched their branches over winding paths. Children shrieked with laughter as they played tag across the grass.
Zander stopped, staring. He remembered playing here. He remembered falling, skinning his knees, crying until his mother scooped him up and brushed dirt from his wounds. The memory struck so vividly that his chest ached.
His mother's voice pulled him back. "We missed you more than you know."
He swallowed hard, blinking fast. "No matter what happens… I'll protect you. All of you."
Her eyes glistened. "You already have, Zan. Just by coming home."
He hugged her fiercely, wishing he could freeze time.
By the time they returned, the city lights glittered like constellations. At home, the smell of cooking filled the air again—spices and sizzling oil. His mother and Elara busied themselves in the kitchen while Leo set the table with exaggerated importance. His father tinkered with a small broken fan, tools spread across the counter.
Zander found himself laughing, truly laughing, as he helped carry dishes to the table. For the first time in years, he wasn't a trainee or a warrior. He was a son.
Dinner was noisy and alive. Elara teased him relentlessly about academy life—"Do they make you shine your boots with toothbrushes? Do they punish you if you blink too slow?"—while Leo demanded stories about duels and training halls. Zander shared a few, carefully chosen to hide the worst of it, and his siblings hung on every word.
His father interrupted once, with a rare smile tugging at his lips. "Do you remember," he said, "when you tried to repair the neighbor's old hover-bike? You had no idea what you were doing. Wires everywhere, sparks flying. By the time I got there, you'd fused the battery to the chassis."
The whole table burst into laughter, Zander included, his cheeks burning. But the memory warmed him. Even then, he had wanted to fix things, to prove himself.
The meal stretched on, full of stories, jokes, and moments that felt too precious to end.
But end it did. As the plates emptied and the laughter softened, Sensei set down his cup. His gaze swept across the table, lingering on each face in turn.
"I must thank you," he said quietly, "for welcoming us into your home."
Zander's mother inclined her head, smiling faintly. "He's our son. And you've kept him safe."
Sensei's expression grew grave. "And now, I must ask you to help me keep him safe a while longer. The reason for our journey is because Zander carries two Aetherium ores."
Zander's father stiffened, his engineering mind grasping the immense value and danger.
"These ores are the key to forging weapons that can change the balance of power," Sensei continued, his voice low and serious. "There are those who would tear this city apart, brick by brick, to find them. To find him."
He looked at Zander's parents, his eyes filled with a heavy, shared burden. "By coming home, he has painted a target on this house. Our scent is in the air now. Forgive me, but for your own safety, you must prepare. The peril has followed him to your doorstep."