The streets of Eredale were hushed when Ash returned. The air still carried the chill of midnight, yet after days of darkness underground, even the cold felt alive. Each step echoed on cobblestone, soft and deliberate, as if the city itself might wake if he made too much noise.
He could have gone to the Academy dorms. Varyn had offered him a rest wing and healers. But when Ash looked at the moon, he realized he didn't want quiet walls or watchful eyes—he wanted warmth. So he turned toward the one place where light still waited for him.
His aunt's house sat at the edge of the old district, small but stubbornly bright. A single lamp burned behind its window, flickering gold against the glass. The sight made his chest tighten. Aunt Marian had always left one lamp burning when anyone was away. Even now, she kept the habit.
Ash paused at the gate, unsure if he should knock. Before he could decide, the door flew open.
"Ash?" Her voice trembled between disbelief and relief. She was still in her robe, hair braided loose, eyes red from sleepless nights.
He managed a hoarse smile. "I'm home."
Then she was hugging him. The impact nearly drove the air from his lungs. For a heartbeat, his instinct screamed to brace, to defend. Then his mind caught up—this was no threat. Her warmth pressed through the cold plates of his armor. Slowly, uncertainly, he returned the embrace.
"We thought—" Her breath caught. "They said you were missing. The Headmaster sent word, but no one knew what that meant. I thought I'd lost you."
Ash swallowed hard. "I made it out. Just… took a while."
Another pair of footsteps thundered down the hall. "Ash!" Mira, her youngest niece, collided with him like a projectile, arms locking around his waist. Her nightdress fluttered, hair a wild halo of brown curls. Behind her came Ellyn with a lamp, older, composed—until her face broke into a smile that trembled.
"You're really back," Ellyn whispered.
Ash nodded. Words seemed too fragile to hold the moment. The three of them pressed close, a tangle of arms and tears. The scent of lavender and smoke filled his nose, achingly ordinary. The world narrowed to their warmth.
He had survived monsters that bent the laws of reality. Yet this—this simple human touch—was what finally undid him.
---
They pulled him inside. The door shut softly against the night. The front room was small, the same worn furniture and crooked shelves he remembered. A pot of soup simmered somewhere, its scent rich and faintly sweet.
"Sit," Aunt Marian ordered, steering him to the sofa. "Ellyn, heat that stew again. Mira, fetch a cloth."
Ash tried to protest, but his aunt silenced him with a look honed over years of raising stubborn children. He sank into the couch. His legs trembled from exhaustion; even the soft cushion felt undeserved.
Mira returned first with a basin and began scrubbing the dried blood off his gauntlets. She wrinkled her nose. "You smell like burnt metal."
Ash managed a weak laugh. "That's new armor scent."
She gave him a look that said she wasn't fooled. Aunt Marian arrived with warm water and gently began cleaning the cuts on his face. Each stroke of the cloth was cautious, reverent, as if she feared he might vanish again. Ash endured it in silence, trying not to flinch under her care.
Ellyn returned with a bowl and a slice of bread. She knelt to hand it to him. "Eat."
He lifted the spoon. The first sip of hot broth almost broke him. It was just vegetable soup—barley, carrot, onion—but after three days of ration bars and ash, it tasted divine. He realized he hadn't eaten real food since before the descent.
A faint chime sounded at the edge of his vision.
[Vital signs stabilizing...]
He ignored it. For once, the System could stay silent.
Mira watched him with sleepy satisfaction. "Told Ellyn you'd come back. I said you're too stubborn to die."
Ellyn rolled her eyes but smiled. "She didn't stop saying it for three days straight."
Ash swallowed the last of the soup. The warmth spread through his chest, chasing away the echo of dungeon chill. He leaned back, staring at the ceiling beams that had watched him grow up. His voice was quiet. "I'm sorry I worried you."
Aunt Marian's expression softened. "You're here now. That's all that matters."
He almost believed her.
---
When Mira began to doze against his arm, Aunt Marian rose. "Come, let's get her to bed."
Ash scooped the girl up effortlessly. She mumbled something about him smelling weird again, then fell asleep on his shoulder. The house creaked beneath their quiet steps. Familiar sounds. Safe sounds.
He laid Mira in her narrow bed, tucking the blanket under her chin. She didn't stir. Watching her breathe, steady and small, felt more sacred than any temple prayer.
Ellyn lingered in the doorway, lamp casting soft gold across the room. "She barely slept while you were gone. None of us did." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Don't ever scare us like that again, alright?"
Ash gave a small nod. "I'll try."
Her lips curved in a tired smile. "Goodnight, brother."
The word still startled him. He wasn't used to belonging to anyone.
---
His own room waited at the end of the hall. The door creaked open on a world frozen in time—the same oak bed, the same uneven desk stacked with old quills. Dust lay on everything like a soft confession. A folded blanket and pillow sat neatly on the mattress. She had prepared it for him. She never stopped believing he'd come home.
He stood there a moment, unable to step inside.
"It's still yours," Aunt Marian said quietly behind him.
Ash turned. Her expression was weary but relieved, and something else—the steel of someone ready to demand the truth. "That armor, that sword—you didn't have them before. What happened, Ash?"
He hesitated. He couldn't tell her about the King who had tried to rewrite reality, or the power now pulsing like a second heart under his ribs. So he offered a gentler truth. "A dungeon. I fell in by accident. I fought. I survived."
Her breath hitched. "Saints above." Her hands trembled before she forced them still. "I should never have let you stay at that school. The way they treated you—those awful rankings—I should have brought you home."
Ash shook his head. "If you had, I wouldn't have found what I needed to."
"And what was that?"
He thought of the abyss, of its cold logic and endless hunger. Of the voice that had asked if he still wished to live. "A reason to keep climbing."
Aunt Marian studied him for a long time, then simply nodded. "Alright. I won't pry tonight." Her gaze softened. "Just promise me you'll rest."
"I will."
She smiled faintly. "Good. And take off that armor before the bed collapses."
He managed a laugh. The sound startled even him—it had been days since he'd heard it.
Piece by piece, he shed the Abyssal Set. The black plates whispered as they separated, faintly alive with stored mana. When he set the greatsword aside, the floorboards groaned under its weight. Aunt Marian eyed it warily but said nothing. She helped fold the undershirt he had torn halfway to shreds and set it on the chair.
"It's heavier than it looks," she murmured, lifting one gauntlet.
"Yeah," he said softly. "It remembers things."
She gave him a puzzled glance but let it go. "Sleep well, love."
Ash sat on the edge of the bed, fatigue finally catching up to him. His body ached in ways the System couldn't quantify. He pulled the blanket over himself. It smelled faintly of sunlight and soap—so ordinary it almost hurt.
Aunt Marian brushed his hair from his forehead like she had when he was small. "You're safe now. Rest."
He caught her hand before she could leave. The words left him before he could stop them. "I love you, Auntie."
Her eyes shimmered. "And I love you, my dear." She kissed his brow and slipped out, leaving the door ajar and a candle burning low.
---
For a long time, Ash lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Every creak of the house tugged him between comfort and unease. After so long on alert, true safety felt foreign. The quiet pressed against him like a question.
His thoughts drifted to the dungeon—to the blue fire in the Abyssal King's eyes, the words it left him with: You will beg too. Maybe the King hadn't meant defeat. Maybe it meant love—the helplessness of having something precious to lose.
He rolled onto his side, listening. Through the thin walls came Mira's soft snores, Ellyn's whisper, Aunt Marian's steady tread. Each sound anchored him a little more to the present.
He had power now, enough to terrify nations if he wished. Yet here, in this small house, none of that mattered. They loved him with or without strength. The thought was terrifying. Love was a vulnerability no armor could defend.
How do I hold this without breaking it? he wondered.
He didn't know. But for the first time, he wanted to learn.
Ash exhaled, letting the tension drain from his body. The shadows on the walls shifted with the candlelight, gentle and alive. Somewhere beyond the window, dawn was still hours away. For once, he didn't dread its coming.
When sleep finally claimed him, it was deep and dreamless. No whispers, no System alerts, no abyss. Only the warmth of home, and the steady truth he had almost forgotten—that peace, however fleeting, could be real.
The quiet didn't hurt anymore.
It healed.