As the sun set, the carriage carrying Kaizlan reached the outskirts of his hometown.
He paused, taking in the sight of the sprawling fields and the humble houses that had changed little over the years.
He drew in a deep breath, as though the air here was purer than any he had tasted in the capital.
When he entered the house, his mother rushed to him first, embracing him as if he were still a child.
His younger sister stood behind her, staring wide-eyed in astonishment; he had returned taller, sturdier, more grown than she remembered.
As for his father, he remained at the doorway, watching silently before placing a hand on Kaizlan's shoulder and saying:
"Welcome home… my son."
The words did not last long, for they were soon choked by emotion.
Then Deril appeared—he, too, had grown older. They exchanged a long look, one that required no words. Deril finally smiled and said:
"At last, you're back. It just wasn't the same without you."
That night they sat together, conversations weaving between laughter and memories, as if time had never separated them.
⸻
The years slipped by like flowing water. By the time Kaizlan had reached his nineteenth year, his body had grown stronger, his features sharpened with resolve.
He had learned much in the capital, endured much in his hometown, and the boy who once dreamed wide-eyed was gone—replaced by a young man who understood that the world lay far beyond childhood illusions.
Here, his true journey began—not merely as the son of a modest household, but as one standing at the threshold of struggles greater than his strength… at least for now.