A week passed quietly after the night Ron was rescued from the burning ruins. His injuries, though treated, were far from healed. Bandages wrapped nearly every part of his frail body, and every small movement sent a sting through his skin. But compared to the fire he crawled through, this pain felt… softer. Survivable. Because now, when he opened his eyes, he wasn't alone.
Today was the day he was finally discharged.The village doctor tightened the last bandage around Ron's arm and gently patted his shoulder."You're recovering well, boy. But listen carefully: one full week of complete bed rest. No running, no training, no heavy food. Especially no oily meals, understood?"Ron nodded eagerly. "Yes, sir."Maria, standing beside the bed, let out a relieved sigh. "Thank goodness… I can finally bring him home properly."Fark, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, smiled proudly. "He'll be safe with us."Ron looked at the couple—Maria's gentle warmth and Fark's strong, reliable presence—and for the first time since the fire, the tightness in his chest eased a little. He whispered, "Thank you… Mama. Papa."Both froze—then softened, smiling as if the words were gifts.
---Arriving Home ,Fark carried Ron on his back while Maria walked beside them, making sure he didn't jostle too much. Their small wooden house sat near the forest edge, surrounded by tall trees and the sound of wind brushing through leaves. It was nothing fancy, but it felt warmer than any palace or mansion Ron had imagined.Maria helped Ron lie on a bed layered with soft furs. "One week, okay? Bed rest. No sneaking out."Ron nodded, but his eyes wandered through the window where he could see Fark stepping into the yard with a long spear.He shifted slightly."Mom… what is Dad doing?"Maria peeked outside and smiled. "Your father is practicing with his spear. There's an upcoming hunt. He wants to be prepared."Ron watched through the window, curious. Fark's movements were sharp yet smooth—each step carried purpose, each swing of the spear cut the air cleanly.Then—WHOOM!
A faint shimmer spread through Fark's weapon. He had activated his First Beginning.Ron's eyes widened in awe, glowing with childlike fascination. The spear sliced forward, leaving a trail of air pressure that shook nearby leaves.Maria immediately burst out the door."FARK! What did I tell you?! Don't use any Beginning techniques near the house! Ron is recovering!"Fark froze mid-swing. "…Oh."He scratched his head sheepishly. "Sorry, dear. Sorry, Ron. I got excited."Maria crossed her arms. "Idiot. What if the pressure wave hit him?"But as she turned, she caught Ron's eyes—sparkling brightly, fixed on Fark."Oh?" She blinked.
"You're interested in his spear play?"Ron nodded shyly.Fark's face lit up. He knelt beside Ron. "Want to watch properly later? After lunch, your mother and I were planning to spar. You can join us. Only watching, though!"Ron's smile spread slowly, softly. "I'd like that."
---The Afternoon Sparring After lunch—soft porridge for Ron, of course—Maria and Fark walked into the yard with their weapons. Ron sat on a chair Maria brought out, wrapped in a blanket despite the warm sun.Maria stepped forward first, pulling out her sword.Her movements were elegant, sharp, and precise. Every step, every swing, every parry flowed like a dance—the sword becoming an extension of her arm.Fark followed with his spear—wide sweeping cuts, long thrusts, footwork that crushed leaves beneath heavy steps. His strength shook the air, while Maria's precision sliced it cleanly.Ron stared, mesmerized.They weren't just fighting.They were expressing themselves.Maria's grace.Fark's power.Together, they were beautiful.The clash of spear and sword echoed through the yard. Sparks jumped from the blades. Ron leaned forward every time, forgetting his pain completely.After a final clash, both stepped back, panting lightly.Maria wiped her sweat.
"Whew… not bad, Fark.""Ha! I still held back. Otherwise you'd lose again."Maria flicked him on the forehead. "You wish."Ron clapped weakly, smiling so brightly that both adults' hearts softened.
Then he stood, wobbling slightly, and asked:"Mom… Dad… can I do that too?"Maria gently placed her hand on his shoulder. "You will. But not now. First, you must recover."Fark nodded. "When your body heals, we'll teach you properly. Techniques, stances, everything."Ron's eyes glowed with determination. "Then I have to get well fast. Right, Mom?"Maria chuckled warmly. "Yes. Exactly."
---A Warm Night later that evening, after a simple dinner, Maria tucked Ron into bed. A small electric lamp glowed beside him, filling the room with a soft yellow light—steady and warm, unlike a candle's flicker.Ron hesitated."Mom… will I really be able to learn techniques one day?"Maria sat beside him and stroked his hair gently. "You will. You have a strong will. That matters more than talent."Outside, Fark sharpened his spear, humming while keeping guard.Ron looked between them, then whispered timidly:"Are you… really okay with me staying here?"Maria's expression softened.
She leaned down and hugged him tightly."You are our child now, Ron. Whether it's a day, a month, or years—until fate tells us otherwise, you belong with us."Fark walked in, overhearing the last part. He placed his large hand on Ron's head."And even if fate does tell us otherwise… we might still argue with fate."Ron's throat tightened. His vision blurred as tears welled up.For the first time since the fire, someone held him. For the first time since he cried in the ruins, someone stayed.
Someone listened. Someone protected."…Mama… Papa…"Maria wiped his tears and kissed his forehead. "Rest now. You're safe."Ron nodded slowly, sinking into the warm blankets, his breathing calming. The weight of fear lifted, replaced by something new—something gentle.A love that felt like parents.And as he drifted to sleep.