"Are you hurt?" Katharth asked, pulling away from the hug. His hands moved over Garth, inspecting him like an officer searching a thief rather than a doctor examining a patient.

  "I'm fine, Father. And look..." Garth raised a small pouch, shaking it lightly so the coins inside jingled. "I made twenty Shakles."

  His father’s eyes lit up with a mixture of relief and excitement. "That's great, Garth!" A wide smile broke across his face. At this rate, if they could clear their debts, they would actually be able to keep whatever money Garth earned.

  "Father, I promise—by the end of the week, our lives will change. For the better."

  Katharth studied him, perplexed, but chose not to question his son's words. Instead, he nodded, deciding to hope—no, to believe—that what Garth said was true.

  "The meal is ready, Mister Katharth," Rachael called from the backyard, not bothering to turn around. She moved inside, grabbing a plate before ladling a portion of food onto it.

  She placed the meal on a worn-down table they had somehow acquired recently.

  "Join me, Garth," Katharth said, his gaze drifting between his son and the meal in front of him.

  "I'm not hungry yet, Father. I'll eat later," Garth replied.

  His father sighed, staring at him for a moment, as if wishing he would make more effort to gain weight. But he didn’t press the issue. "Alright, son."

  As Katharth turned his attention back to his food, Garth made his way toward the backyard, where Rachael was cleaning up beside the Star Stone-powered cooker.

  Katharth closed the door behind him, ensuring they had privacy.

  "Rachael?" Garth called out softly.

  She continued wiping down the table, pretending not to hear him.

  "Rachael?"

  "I heard you the first time," she snapped, still not turning to face him.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Why do you ask?" Her voice was sharp.

  "Because you're acting strange." Garth took a step closer.

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  "I don't understand." She picked up onion peels and walked over to the trash bin, putting more distance between them.

  "Did I worry you that much?"

  "Honestly, Garth, you always worry everyone," she muttered. "But, also honestly, that's really none of my business."

  She turned, only to bump into him. He was standing directly behind her.

  Attempting to step away, she found herself stopped by his firm grip.

  "I'm sorry," he said, lowering his head, unable to meet her gaze. In that moment, a memory resurfaced—one that burned in his mind like an unhealed wound.

  A Zealot with a burn scar across her face. A merciless execution. Rachael’s lifeless body collapsing in front of him.

  And he had been powerless to stop it.

  Tears stung the corners of his eyes.

  "Why do you always have to leave?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Garth’s throat tightened. He tried to speak, but no words came.

  "I—"

  "Don't answer that." She cut him off, her voice strained. A sniffle followed.

  She turned away.

  "I have to go now."

  Garth wanted to stop her, to say something—anything—but he couldn't bring himself to.

  "There should be enough food for Lionort when he returns from Suzy's house," she continued, her voice steadier now. "Be sure to call me if Mister Katharth needs anything... that is, if you don’t disappear again."

  She hesitated for a moment, then finally pulled open the door to the parlor.

  Pausing briefly, she gave a quiet farewell to Katharth before leaving.

  Garth clenched his fists. Everything will be better this time.

  It has to be.

  ---

  He spent the rest of the day training—pushing his body to its limits, determined to ensure that his strength would keep pace with his rapidly growing power.

  Nonstop, he exercised until late afternoon when his younger brother returned home from school.

  "Big brother?" Lionort’s voice was filled with astonishment as he spotted Garth drenched in sweat in the backyard.

  "Welcome home, Lionort," Garth greeted, straightening from the ground.

  Ignoring the sweat-soaked state of his brother, Lionort rushed toward him like lightning drawn to an iron rod, throwing his arms around him in a tight embrace.

  "I was so worried about you! Thank Calista you're alright! Sister Rachael was right all along!"

  "Rachael?" Garth’s expression darkened.

  "Yes, she said you’d be back today. I never should've doubted her."

  Garth sighed. "I see... I'm sorry for worrying you, Lionort. I should have left a note. I promise I won’t make that mistake again."

  "It's alright, big brother," Lionort beamed. "I believe now that you’ll always be okay, no matter what."

  Garth smiled, feeling an unfamiliar warmth at his brother’s faith in him. "Thank you, Lionort." He hugged him back.

  His brother grinned. "What do we have to eat? I'm starving!" He dashed toward the pot in the corner of the parlor.

  "Hold up there." Garth caught him by the collar. "You should take a bath first. You smell like a dead ox."

  "Aww, come on! I don't wanna take a shower now! And dead ox? Speak for yourself, Sweatzilla!" Lionort shot back.

  "What!?" Garth raised a brow.

  Laughing, Lionort slipped out of his outer clothes and bolted away in nothing but his undergarments.

  "Ha! Later, big brother!"

  But Garth was faster. Grabbing Lionort by the leg, he hoisted him upside down.

  "You really think you can get away that easily?"

  "Aww, come on! Let go!"

  "Let's see if you still smell this bad after a proper soaking."

  Horrified realization dawned on Lionort. "Huh? No—nooooo!"

  Laughing, Garth dunked his squirming brother straight into a water drum.

  "Awww, big brother!" Lionort whined.

  Garth only laughed harder. Once he'd had his fun, he pulled Lionort out of the drum and grabbed some soap, scrubbing him down despite his half-hearted protests.

  The rest of the evening passed in peaceful company.

  Over dinner, Garth told his father and brother about his upcoming plans for the next few days. He kept the details vague—just enough to reassure them, without revealing too much.

  When the meal was over, Garth made a decision.

  He needed to talk to Rachael.

  ***

  At her home, he found her just outside, heading toward her door with a bag of groceries in hand.

  "Rachael!"

  She flinched, startled.

  "Garth?" Her voice was guarded. "What are you doing here?"

  "Ouch." He placed a hand over his chest in mock pain. "Glad to see you’re so eager to talk to me."

  She barely reacted. Instead, she glanced toward her house—her movements tense, almost frantic—before taking a deep breath.

  Then, setting her groceries down, she walked over to him.

  "Sorry. Just surprised, is all," she said with a crooked smile. "What brings you here at this hour? Nothing naughty, I hope."

  Normally, Garth would have laughed.

  But this time, he didn’t.

  The smile on Rachael’s face faltered.

  "What's wrong, Rachael?" he asked, his expression shifting into a concerned frown.