He pulled Lencar into a bone-crushing hug.
Beneath his tunic, Lencar's Adaptive Skin flared instinctively. The magic recognized the massive physical pressure of Rion's embrace and prepared to harden into a crystalline defense.
Lencar manually forced the magic to shut down. He didn't want to be a fortress right now. He just wanted to be a son. He let the pressure of his father's hug sink in, feeling the scratchy wool of Rion's tunic and the smell of woodsmoke.
Rion pulled back, studying him for a moment with a critical eye.
"…Good. You look strong. Harder. Whatever you were doing out there, it didn't break you."
"…No. It didn't."
"Good! No more questions then. If a man wants to keep his secrets, he keeps them. But you're going to help me with the north fence tomorrow, secrets or not!"
"I figured there was a catch," Lencar joked.
Marta was already moving, her earlier panic replaced by a focused, domestic energy. She was pulling bowls out, clattering pots, and stirring a heavy cauldron hanging over the fire.
"You're eating first. No arguments. Sit down at the table. Rion, move your boots, you're in the way!"
"I wasn't arguing, Mom."
"Good. Then sit."
Lencar did.
The wooden table was the same. Slightly uneven. One leg was still shorter than the others, propped up by a folded piece of leather. The edges were worn smooth by decades of meals and conversations.
He sat quietly, watching his parents move. In the Void Vault, he was the architect. He was the one in control. But here? He was just a passenger in their world.
Marta placed a steaming bowl in front of him. The aroma was thick and savory.
"…Potato soup?" Lencar asked, a faint smile on his lips.
"Of course. It's Sosei. What else would I make? Lobster?" Marta huffed, though there was a twinkle in her eye. "Eat it while it's hot. And there's fresh bread. I stayed up half the night baking because I had a feeling someone was coming home."
Lencar picked up the spoon. He paused for a second, looking at the simple, humble meal. After eating the mana-saturated delicacies of the badlands, this was practically water.
He took a bite.
Warm.
Simple.
Unbelievably familiar.
"…It's good," Lencar said, his voice a bit softer than before.
Marta huffed again, though she looked immensely pleased. "It's always good. You just don't come home enough to eat it. You're too busy being a 'big city mage' now, I suppose."
"I'm not that big of a mage, Mom. I still can't figure out how to keep my socks dry in the rain."
Rion chuckled quietly from across the table, tearing into a piece of bread.
They talked as Lencar ate.
They didn't talk about anything important. They didn't talk about the Diamond Kingdom or the Eye of the Midnight Sun.
They talked about the crops. The late frost that had threatened the turnips.
The weather. The neighbor's cow that had given birth to twins.
The gossip about the girl from the next village who had run off with a traveling merchant.
Marta complained about the roof needing repairs, pointing to a small damp spot in the corner. Rion mentioned a broken fence near the lower fields that was letting the wild boars in.
Lencar listened to every word. He processed the information not as data variables, but as the small, precious details of a life he had almost forgotten.
"…I can fix the roof after this," Lencar said between spoonfuls of soup.
Marta looked at him, her expression softening. "You just got back, Lencar. You've traveled all this way. You don't have to start working the moment you finish your soup."
"I don't mind. It's easier than what I've been doing."
Rion gave a small, proud smile. "That hasn't changed. Still the boy who'd rather fix a leak than talk about his feelings."
"…No. That probably won't change," Lencar agreed with a dry smirk.
Time passed slowly. It was a luxury Lencar rarely allowed himself.
After the meal, he didn't head to bed. He went outside.
The moon was high now, casting a silver glow over the hills of Sosei. Lencar climbed onto the thatched roof of the farmhouse, carrying a bundle of reeds and some fresh timber.
He worked with a rhythm that was almost meditative. He reinforced the weak wood. He re-aligned the structure. He patched the holes where the rain had been seeping through.
He was careful not to use too much magic. No glowing arrays. No spatial rifts.
Just a tiny, microscopic hint of Earth magic to bond the wood, and a flicker of Wind magic to keep the dust out of his eyes.
He didn't want to stand out. He didn't want to be "The Heretic" tonight.
He was just a son fixing his father's house.
As the hours passed, a few villagers who were coming home late from the tavern noticed the figure on the roof.
"Lencar! Is that you on the thatch? You're back again!"
"Thought you ran off for good this time, lad! Don't let your dad work you too hard!"
"You still fixing things for free, Lencar? I've got a barn door that's seen better days!"
Lencar looked down from the roof and gave a lazy wave.
"…Only the ones that need it, Miller!" he called back. "Your barn door is just lazy!"
The villagers laughed, their voices carrying through the crisp night air.
It felt normal.
Simple.
Life in Sosei was a series of small things. A fixed roof. A shared drink. A laugh in the dark.
Hours passed like that. Lencar finished the roof, then moved to the lower field to reinforce the fence. He enjoyed the physical labor. It grounded him. It reminded him why he was fighting to "flip the board" in the first place. He wasn't doing it for power; he was doing it so that places like this wouldn't be trampled by the games of kings.
A day passed just like that.
As the sun began to peek over the horizon the next morning, painting the sky in shades of orange fading into a soft grey—
Lencar stood near the edge of the field, looking out toward the distant silhouette of the Hage Grimoire Tower.
"…You're leaving again, aren't you?"
Marta's voice came from behind him. She was standing in the doorway, wrapped in a heavy shawl.
Lencar didn't turn around immediately. He watched a hawk circle in the distance.
"…Yeah. I have to," he said quietly.
A long pause followed.
She didn't stop him. She didn't ask him to stay and marry a local girl and become a farmer. She knew her son. She knew the restless, searching light in his eyes.
"…Just don't disappear for so long next time, Lencar," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "And try to wear something that isn't black. It's depressing."
Lencar turned and gave her a small, lopsided smile.
"…I'll try, Mom. Maybe I'll find a nice grey."
Rion stepped beside her, his large hand resting on her shoulder. He looked at Lencar with a steady, knowing gaze.
"…Take care of yourself out there, lad. Whatever it is you're doing… whatever weight you're carrying… don't push yourself too far. Even a mountain can crack if the pressure's too high."
Lencar looked at them. For a moment—longer than usual—he let the analytical barriers in his mind drop completely. He didn't see them as "Stage 9 Non-Combatants." He saw them as the only two people in the world who didn't want anything from him other than his safety.
"…I won't," Lencar promised.
It wasn't entirely true. He knew the path he was on was one of extreme pressure.
But it wasn't a lie either. He would survive. He had to.
He stepped back, his hand instinctively reaching for the silver ring on his finger.
Space began to distort around him, a low hum of mana beginning to ripple the air.
Marta frowned, her eyes widening. "…You're leaving like that? Into the air?"
"…It's faster than walking," Lencar said with a sheepish grin.
"…It's strange. Very strange," Marta muttered, shaking her head. "My son is a very strange boy."
"…I know," Lencar agreed.
A faint pause.
"…I'll be back soon. And I'll bring some better tea next time."
Then—
The spatial fold snapped shut. He disappeared in a ripple of emerald light.
The field returned to its morning silence. The only trace he had been there was a perfectly repaired fence and a roof that would never leak again.