The silence that followed the final strike felt heavier than the battle itself. Smoke still hung in the air, and the metallic scent of blood mingled with that of condensed mana. The beast's body lay motionless on the ground, its once blazing eyes now extinguished like dying embers.
Yan could hardly believe it. His arms still trembled—not from exhaustion, though that was there too—but from what he had just done.
He had killed.
For the first time, for real.
Not in simulations. Not in training drills. That creature had fought for its life. And he… had done the same.
A deep voice pulled him back to reality. Metek, the towering instructor with dark skin and a stern gaze, approached with heavy, echoing steps across the field.
"You went beyond expectations, kid," he said, arms crossed. "Most recruits freeze after their first kill. But you moved. Reacted. Survived."
Yan stared at him, unsure how to respond. Metek saw the conflict in his eyes and nodded, as if he'd witnessed this scene countless times.
"True battle is never just physical, Yan. Your first real victory is also your first scar. It won't show on your body, but you'll feel it for a long time. Learn from it."
He didn't wait for an answer. He simply turned and walked back toward the observation stands, where the other instructors whispered among themselves. Yan stayed there a moment longer, until he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.
It was Aurora. Silent, yet present.
"Let's go home," she said.
---
The walk back to the residential sector was quiet. Aurora walked beside him, but respected the silence of someone sinking into their own thoughts. The city around them was still alive, people coming and going, shops open, security drones gliding overhead… But to Yan, it all felt muffled, distant, as if he were encased in a bubble of glass.
The images returned in flashes. The beast's eyes. The moment he knew there was no escape. The final blow. The exact second when life left the creature's body.
He swallowed hard.
He had won. But why didn't he feel victorious?
When they reached the front of the house, the door opened before they could even ring the bell.
Helena was there.
And the hug came before the words.
She wrapped her arms around him tightly, holding his shoulders with a mix of relief and urgency. Her scent was familiar and comforting—lavender and the warmth of home.
"Thank the heavens…" she murmured. "You're safe."
Yan closed his eyes and let himself stay there for a few seconds. Just to feel. Just to exist.
"It was hard," he finally said.
"I know," she replied, pulling back to study his face. "But you made it."
---
Inside the house, everything felt calmer. A soft melody played in the background, and the smell of warm food drifted from the kitchen. The atmosphere was soothing, almost numbing.
Helena had him sit in the living room and brought out a small kit with ointments and bandages. As she tended to the minor cuts on his arms and shoulder, her movements were steady and careful, as if each touch was meant to soothe more than just his body.
"Don't worry," she said. "None of these will leave scars. Not on the outside, at least."
Yan smiled faintly, watching her hands at work. "Where are Alice and Diana?"
"Alice took Diana to the lower city to get a few ingredients. She wanted to make her favorite dish… and yours too." Helena looked at him with affection. "She said you'd need comfort today."
Yan sighed and leaned back on the couch, allowing himself to relax. "I didn't expect to feel so much."
"Because killing is never natural, my son," Helena answered, finishing the last of his wounds. "Even when it's necessary. Even when it's justified. The first death always casts a shadow. But what matters is what you do with that shadow."
Aurora, who had been silently watching, sat in the armchair across from him. "You were amazing, Yan. I saw how you fought. But physical strength alone is never enough. If you want to keep protecting what you love, you'll need more than magic or a sword."
"More?" he repeated.
"Yes. Intelligence. Spirit. A clear purpose." Helena sat beside him now. "Those who rely only on brute force will eventually meet someone stronger. But those who fight for something true… they're hard to bring down."
Yan lowered his gaze, absorbing every word.
"I was scared," he confessed. "In there… I thought I was going to die."
"Feeling fear doesn't make you weak, Yan," Helena said, taking his hand. "It makes you human. Fear exists to remind you how precious life is. What matters is what you do in spite of it."
"I fought… for me. For you. For our home."
"Then you're already on the right path," Aurora added, with a soft smile. "But that was only the first gate. Many more will come. Crueler enemies. Bigger challenges. Maybe even betrayal."
Yan clenched his fists. His eyes, once uncertain, were now starting to burn with renewed conviction.
"I want to become stronger. Not just with magic or swordplay… but with my mind, my heart. I don't want to lose myself on the path. I want to protect you. I want to protect myself."
Helena hugged him again, this time more gently. As if her warmth alone was a seal of approval.
"Then walk forward, my son. One step at a time. And when you feel tired, look back. Your family will always be there."
Aurora added, teasing, "And if you ever lose your way, well… I'll be there to slap you back into place and remind you who you are."
Yan laughed for the first time that day.
Not out of relief—but redemption.
In that simple home, between advice and freshly tended wounds, he found what truly mattered. And even if the road ahead remained uncertain, he knew one thing for sure:
He was no longer alone.