The door clicked shut behind him.
He barely took two steps inside when a sudden flurry of motion crashed into him.
"Brother!"
Lyra's voice—raw and trembling—cut through the quiet like lightning. She had moved faster than her frail body should have allowed, stumbling from the next room, arms outstretched. Her eyes, wide with worry, brimmed with unspoken prayers, all answered in a single heartbeat the moment she saw him.
She threw herself into his chest.
The breath knocked from him, but he didn't resist. He let her hold him—tight, desperate, trembling. As if afraid he might vanish if she let go.
"I thought… I thought you—" she whispered, voice cracking.
She didn't finish. She didn't need to.
The shattered frame before. The broken photograph of the two of them. A bad omen that had haunted her since then. It had eaten away at her all day, sinking her into a spiral of dread.
And now here he was.
Alive.
Bloodstained, exhausted, but alive.
For a moment, that was enough.
Until her fingers, in their embrace, drifted along his side.
Then his shoulder.
Then lower—expecting to feel the curve of his other arm.
But felt nothing.
Lyra froze.
Her breath hitched.
She pulled away slightly, eyes wide, and her hands moved quickly, frantically, searching again as if hoping she was wrong.
She wasn't.
"...Brother?"
Her voice was no longer soft. It was cracking at the edges.
She stepped back—enough to see clearly now in the light. Her gaze fell on the space beside his left shoulder. Where his arm should have been. Where his coat hung empty.
Her heart sank.
"No," she whispered.
Her knees almost buckled.
"B-Brother… your arm…" she stammered, her voice rising in pitch, raw with disbelief and horror. "What happened?! Who did this to you?!"
"Lyra," Soren said gently.
He raised his right hand—his only hand—and wrapped it around her again, steadying her as her legs began to tremble.
"Lyra. It's alright."
She couldn't breathe.
"No it's not!" she cried, her voice breaking. "It's not! Don't say that! Don't act like this is nothing! What—what did they do to you? Who did this?!"
"Lyra…"
His voice was quiet now, lower than a whisper, more breath than sound.
"I'm still here. That's what matters."
She clung to him again, her fists pressed into his chest. Her body shook with sobs.
Soren held her close, letting her cry. His hand cradled the back of her head, fingers weaving gently into her hair.
"I didn't want to leave you," he murmured. "I couldn't. So I came back. That's why this—this is still better than never came back."
His words were meant to soothe. To comfort.
But to Lyra, they only deepened the ache.
She cried harder.
To her, her brother was everything. Kind, wise, patient—her protector, her light. And now that light had come home… dimmed. Burned. Maimed. For what?
If there were gods, why didn't they protect people like him?
If there was justice in the world, why did monsters prevail while he bled?
Why?
She pressed her face into his chest, her tears soaking into the fabric.
"It's not fair," she sobbed. "You didn't deserve this…"
Soren said nothing to that.
Because deep down, he agreed.
But fairness had never been part of the equation.
He closed his eyes and held her tighter.
The fire crackled in the hearth.
And in the small house at the forest's edge, two souls sat quietly in each other's arms—grieving, breathing, surviving.
For now, that was enough.
Someone stepped out from behind the hallway.
She had been listening the whole time.Elara Kinsley.
Soren, still holding his sister in his arms, sensed her presence immediately. Even with both eyes shut, his head tilted subtly—facing her as if he could see her through the darkness behind his lids.
---
Soren gently tucked his sister into bed.
Lyra's body was as fragile as always—just the emotional strain of crying had left her weak and drowsy. She had fallen asleep with her brows still furrowed, tears dried on her cheeks.
But Soren knew.His little sister was not weak.Not truly.She was strong—in her will, her heart, her mind.
He closed the door slowly behind him, careful not to make a sound.Outside the room, Elara stood waiting, leaning quietly against the wall.
She was now dressed in soft sleepwear, a pale-toned pajama set that matched the gentle light of the house.Soren, of course, wouldn't have noticed the detail—unless he opened his left eye.
"Welcome home," Elara said.
They faced each other, wordless for a second—though his eyes remained closed, it still felt like they met.
The scene shifted — now both of them sat on the sofa in the quiet living room, a pair of steaming teacups in their hands.
"Instructor Kinsley," Soren began, his voice calm, "thank you, truly… for honoring my request and watching over my sister while I was away."
Elara raised an eyebrow. "You're too stiff. Is that really how someone asks for a favor that personal? Calling me by my last name like a stranger? You're wounding my heart, Instructor Soren," she said, teasing.
Soren chuckled helplessly. "I apologize… Miss Elara."
She smiled—but her eyes shifted subtly to the empty sleeve of his left arm.
"So. Your left arm…"
"You must've heard by now—I completed my mission," Soren said plainly. "This arm… I traded it for the Crimson Apostle's life."
Elara stared at him for a long moment.
Despite everything—his blindness, his quiet demeanor, the burden he always seemed to carry—Soren had returned alive. And not just alive. He had made a choice. Faced a nightmare. Won.
She could finally start to see him for what he truly was:Not broken. But decisive. Brave. Unshakable.
"I won't say something useless like 'I'm sorry for your loss,'" Elara said softly. "But I will say this: You're awesome, Soren Noctis."
Soren smiled.Praise, no matter how light, warmed the cold edges of his fatigue—just a little.
"Thank you," he said.
Then, after sipping from their cups in silence, he stood with a stretch.
"Well then… let's get some rest. I especially need it."
He glanced to her. "By the way, where are you sleeping, Miss Elara?"
"Your bed," she replied bluntly.
"…What?"
"Yours. Lyra said I could use your room."
"B-but… are you really okay with sleeping in another man's bed like that?" Soren asked, flustered.
Elara looked at him, then gave the faintest smirk.
"Hm… I like your scene on the bedspread."
"…What?" Soren blinked, visibly caught off guard.
Elara chuckled quietly to herself. She liked this—this unfamiliar expression on his face.It was a rare thing. A flicker of life outside the usual solemn, unreadable Soren she knew.
"U-uhh… Then feel free to keep using my room," Soren said quickly, averting his head. "I'll rest out here on the couch."
"Is that really alright? You're still covered in bandages," Elara said, concerned.
"These wounds have already dried. I'll be fine," he replied.
"Then… I'll 'go to your bed. Again.'" Elara gave him a small wave and walked away.
"Goodnight, Soren."
"…Goodnight."
He waited until her footsteps faded. Then, carefully, he settled down on the couch, adjusting a pillow behind his head. The fire still crackled dimly in the hearth. Outside, the forest whispered in its sleep.
His body ached. His mind drifted. But in this house, with Lyra safe and Elara nearby, there was finally… quiet.
Finally, peace.
His thoughts slowed. His breath deepened.
Sleep reached for him.
But just as his mind began to slip—
A voice.
Low. Distant. Velvet-smooth.
Yes… just rest like that. Why bother with the rest of the world? Living… is nuisance.
Soren's brows furrowed faintly in his half-sleep.
A chill crept in from somewhere unseen.
"…Is that you… Sloth?" he murmured.
The fire hissed softly.
And no answer came.