"Leo! We're ready!" Matthew's voice rang through the trees, urgent but tinged with excitement. The call echoed just outside the wooden cottage nestled quietly within the edge of Jurra Forest.
Inside, Leo tied the laces of his black boots in haste, fingers trembling slightly. He wasn't nervous about the journey — not exactly. It was the goodbye he wasn't ready for. With a final tug, he secured the second boot, grabbed the book from the wooden table and slung his sword over his back.
Outside, the sky was painted in hues of pale orange and gold. The morning fog was just beginning to lift, swirling like spirits bidding them farewell. El and Matthew stood at the foot of the porch steps, already dressed for the path ahead. Their gear — worn leather reinforced with metal plates — told of the journey's seriousness. Their swords gleamed faintly under the morning light, strapped firmly at their sides. Light packs rested on their backs, containing dried rations, waterskins, herbs, and bandages — enough to survive, but light enough to run.
Leo jogged out the door and met them.
"What took you so long?" Matthew asked, flashing a crooked grin.
Leo tucked the book into his satchel and smiled. "Just had to… make sure I didn't forget anything important."
Behind them, the creaking of wood announced Old Man Tavon's arrival on the porch. He walked slowly, a cane in one hand though he rarely used it, his other hand folded neatly behind his back. The years weighed on his frame, but his eyes — those sharp, silver-blue eyes — held the fire of his youth still burning.
"So," Tavon said softly, his voice like worn parchment. "You're ready now?"
The three exchanged glances. El gave a nod, Matthew smirked, and Leo exhaled slowly.
"Yes," Matthew said. "We're ready. I can almost smell the danger and adventure." He puffed his chest out, trying to lighten the mood.
The old man chuckled — a deep, gravelly sound that carried more affection than mockery. He stepped toward Matthew and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Remember, lad. It's all right to be afraid. It's all right to feel small in a big world. What matters is what you do despite it. Be strong. Be kind. And above all — remember what I taught you. Every stance, every spell, every sword swing — not for glory, but to protect."
Matthew's grin softened, replaced by something deeper. He nodded. "I will, Master. I promise."
Then Tavon turned to El. "Guide them well, El. You've walked paths darker than they know. I may not have taught you much — you were already sharp when you arrived — but even the strongest blade needs honing. Keep growing. Even when the world pushes you to your knees… stand."
El's eyes, usually distant and cold, shimmered with warmth. "I will, old man," she said softly.
Tavon smirked and added, "And try not to kill these two."
El chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck. "I'll try my best."
Finally, Tavon stepped toward Leo. There was a brief silence — a stillness, like the world itself was holding its breath.
"Thank you," the old man said, holding Leo's gaze. "For the gift."
He meant the recipes. A simple scroll of meals Leo had written — memories of home in the form of food. Dishes like adobo, sinigang, and sweet banana cue. Not spells. Not tactics. Just comfort.
"It's not much," Leo said, eyes lowering. "But… it's a piece of where we came from. I thought maybe—"
"It means more than you know," Tavon cut in. "I'd long forgotten what warmth tasted like. You reminded me."
Leo swallowed the lump in his throat. "You've done so much for us. We're the ones who owe you."
But Tavon only smiled, his hands resting gently on Leo's shoulders. "No. I owe you. All of you. For years, I lived in silence — in memories that hurt more than healed. I watched the seasons change from this porch, waiting for something… or someone... to wake me. When the three of you arrived, my world shifted."
His voice wavered, just slightly.
"You gave an old man purpose again. You gave me something to look forward to. Even if just for a little while."
A silence fell, heavy and full of shared memories. They saw it again — those quiet nights in the forest with bowls of stew, the way the fire crackled while Tavon told stories of his youth. They remembered the first time he demonstrated magic, sending sparks dancing through the air like fireflies. The bruises from sparring matches. The lectures. The laughter. The scoldings. The calm.
Even the mundane moments: El fetching water with Tavon, Matthew helping chop wood, Leo scribbling in his book beside the fireplace while Tavon smoked his pipe.
Somehow, in that forgotten corner of the world, they had found a home.
"You reminded me how to laugh," Tavon said. "How to live. My wife… my son… I never got to say goodbye to them. But you three — you gave me peace. You gave me the strength to move on."
None of them could speak. Their voices were trapped in their throats.
So instead, they hugged him.
It wasn't hurried. It wasn't brief. It was the kind of hug that came only once in a lifetime — filled with everything they couldn't say. Thank you. I love you. Goodbye.
When they finally broke away, their steps felt heavier.
They turned, walking toward their new beginning. But when they reached the rise overlooking the cottage, they looked back.
Tavon was still there, standing tall, waving at them. The morning light behind him made him seem almost ageless — a guardian of their past.
Without a word, the three of them bowed.
Low. Deep. Their heads dropped in unison, arms at their sides. A silent gesture of the deepest gratitude.
Matthew broke first. His shoulders trembled, sobs wracking through his chest. His tears fell freely, and he didn't bother to hide them.
El stood stiff as a statue, her jaw tight — but her tears betrayed her, streaming silently as she bit her lip to keep from crumbling.
And Leo… he was silent, unmoving. But tears trickled down his cheeks, catching on his chin, falling to the dirt without a sound.
From the porch, Tavon kept waving, smiling through his tears — not tears of sadness, but of something deeper. Joy. Healing. Closure.
In that moment, he imagined his son. A boy who never got to grow up. A son he never got to send off on a grand adventure. But watching the three of them leave… it was enough.
"Be safe," he whispered into the wind. "Live. That's all I ask."
As the trio vanished beyond the treeline, Tavon stood for a while longer, his hand slowly falling to his side.
He was alone again.
But this time… he didn't feel lonely.