Luke stood in the kitchen beside Clara, helping her prepare lunch. Morning light filtered through the window, washing over the metal utensils and giving the room a warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time. As he sliced carrots and other vegetables on the cutting board, his movements were precise, fluid, almost automatic. Clara watched each motion with a spark of surprise in her eyes; it wasn’t every day she saw someone handle a knife like it was an extension of their hand.

  She hadn’t asked anything about the “tutorial” yet, but Luke could feel the questions building in the way she kept stealing discreet glances at him. They would surface eventually. He just didn’t know when.

  Franky, meanwhile, lurked in one corner of the kitchen. The small wyvern peered at Luke and Clara as if assessing whether he needed to flee. His wings stayed tight to his body, every muscle rigid. Anytime Clara tried to speak to him or even drift too close, Franky retreated, wedging himself behind whatever he could find, a chair, a stool, even the leg of the table.

  There was no hiding him anymore. Lillian had already seen the wyvern, so Luke had been forced to explain… or at least offer something that sounded like an explanation. He claimed he’d earned Franky as a reward in the tutorial after defeating a monster. It was the only part he dared reveal. Franky caught on quickly to the need for the lie and kept silent about everything else.

  Even so, Luke tried to soften the truth whenever he could. The few things he’d shared with Clara were the lightest parts of the whole ordeal.

  Clara stirred a pot on the stove while they talked.

  “I’m glad you didn’t go through the tutorial alone,” she said, her smile faint but sincere. “I really want to meet your friends someday. Especially this Allison Rhiannon who helped you, and the healer, Jack. I looked it up, Luke… online they say healers are essential and incredibly valuable in teams.”

  Angie’s voice brushed against his mind. 'Later, my lord, if possible, let me use a computer for a few moments so I can get all the knowledge I'm missing from the internet.'

  Luke had already learned how to share his senses with Angie. Charlie, on the other hand, slept somewhere deep within his soul. If she were awake, the Vampire Hunger would start clawing its way out, and he wasn’t interested in dealing with that right now.

  Reveal the two of them? It wasn’t the moment. And not even his idea. Angie and Charlie had asked to stay hidden, at least until he fully settled back with his family.

  “Allison is with her family… on the New Continent,” Luke said, choosing each word carefully. “They’re a noble house over there. The others are probably back in their home states, but we’ll arrange a reunion here in Maine.”

  “I really want to meet the people who helped you,” Clara murmured. She stirred the pot a little too forcefully now. “D-did you all… do anything dangerous in there?”

  She froze.

  The scent of simmering vegetables filled the room, but the silence between them thickened, heavy and uncomfortable.

  “You don’t have to tell me, Luke. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  Before he could answer, she left the kitchen, almost fleeing from the weight of her own imagination.

  Franky was curled awkwardly behind a small stool beside the table, his latest attempt at hiding. It didn’t work well; his short tail stuck out in clear view, twitching with nervous energy. The wyvern watched Luke intently, as if looking to him for some kind of reassurance.

  “Did turning into a wyvern make you scared of everything?” Luke asked, raising an eyebrow, letting a hint of teasing slip into his voice.

  “I-I-I’m not scared!” Franky blurted, edging just his head out from behind his makeshift shelter.

  “Then why are you hiding there?” Luke asked.

  “I am not hiding!” Franky snapped. His wings twitched open a fraction before he folded in on himself again. The irritation was real, but the fear beneath it was louder.

  Footsteps approached, light, quick. Clara returned from wherever she’d gone, her expression caught between hesitation and an attempt to act natural before stepping back into the kitchen.

  “And your little friend, Luke, what does he eat?” she asked, looking directly at Franky.

  The reaction was immediate. The hatchling bolted under the table and vanished between the chairs.

  “W-we’re not friends!” he protested, voice muffled by wood and fabric, absolutely in panic mode.

  Clara crouched down to peek under the table, tilting her head gently, trying her best not to look threatening. Even so, the simple movement made Franky curl himself even smaller.

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  “He seems scared of me,” she said, straightening slowly.

  “I-I’m not scared of anyone!” Franky shouted again, though the weak quiver in his voice betrayed him. It sounded more like an attempt to rescue his pride than a genuine roar.

  “He’s still getting used to people,” Luke said, improvising on instinct. But he knew the truth. This fear wasn’t about Clara at all. It was about the snake mother. Franky carried that trauma deep, no matter how loudly he denied it.

  Clara returned to the stove, still thoughtful. “I don’t know if the market even sells food for this kind of animal… Can he eat regular food? Or meat?”

  “Probably meat,” Luke answered while he went back to slicing carrots. The crisp sound, the clean rhythm of each cut pulled him for a moment into another routine, the tutorial. Faces flashed in his mind: Allison, Eleanor, Jack, the others. He’d need to check his email soon. They were probably trying to reach him.

  “Mom, do you know where my phone is?” he asked.

  “Your phone? I think… Noah has it,” she said, not looking away from the pot as she tossed in a handful of vegetables. Steam hissed upward in a soft cloud.

  That was when Luke heard it. The metallic click of the doorknob. The quiet shift of hinges. His sharpened senses, gifts of a Rank E body, picked out everything: footsteps crunching on gravel outside, the subtle change in airflow, the weight of the door swinging open.

  “Someone’s here,” he murmured.

  “It’s them,” his mother answered, glancing through the window. A car had just pulled up in front of the house.

  The door opened with a loud smack against the wall. Clara dropped the ladle and hurried out of the kitchen.

  “Martin!” her voice echoed down the hall.

  “Cl-Clara! Where is he?” came the reply, a voice Luke knew by heart. A voice that had guided him through childhood, challenged him to chess to sharpen his mind, scolded him for grades but always tried to be his friend. His adoptive father, Martin.

  Luke tried to step forward, but the emotional storm that had lived under his skin all day surged back, fierce and overwhelming. He steadied himself against the counter, breathed deeply, and when he finally lifted his head…

  Someone stood in the kitchen doorway.

  Noah.

  His older brother. Young face. Their father’s eyes. Clara’s features. Short black hair. Someone who had carried the weight of Luke’s absence for an entire year.

  Right behind him, Martin stepped in, practically shoving Noah aside the moment he spotted Luke. He pushed forward and closed the distance in a few hurried strides, placing both trembling hands on Luke’s shoulders. One moved to his hair, the other to his back, pulling him into a tight embrace.

  “M-my boy…” Martin’s voice broke as the words slipped out. “You really came back to us… you’re really alive.”

  “I’m back, Martin,” Luke answered, then corrected himself as the weight of the moment settled in. “I’m back… Dad.”

  Martin froze, stunned for a heartbeat, before a smile cracked through—half joy, half tears.

  “I… can I call you Dad?” Luke whispered.

  “Of course you can,” Martin replied, dragging him into another fierce hug. “You always could. You’re my son.”

  Emotion thickened every word. Clara appeared beside them and wrapped her arms around both, pulling them into a warm, tangled family hold.

  A deliberate cough cut through the moment. “Okay, people… I’d also like my moment with him,” Noah announced, trying for a serious tone but failing to hide how choked up he was.

  Clara and Martin let out soft laughs. “You’re right. Sorry,” Martin said.

  They stepped aside, giving space.

  Noah lingered in the doorway for a second, as if making sure Luke wasn’t some hallucination that would vanish if he blinked. Then he closed the gap in two quick steps and scooped Luke into a hug so tight it nearly lifted him off the floor.

  “You’re alive!” Noah’s voice cracked. “My brother is alive!”

  Luke hugged him back, feeling the raw honesty in every part of the embrace.

  Noah pulled away just enough to look at him, studying him the way someone studies a ghost returned to flesh.

  “You look different. Taller. You’re pale as hell… and kind of jacked.”

  “He really is pale. I was about to say the same,” Martin chimed in.

  “I told him that earlier,” Clara added. “He needs sunlight.”

  “Did you even eat wherever you were?” Noah asked, instantly shifting into protective mode. “Are you hungry? We should feed you. Do you need medicine? Maybe vitamins. No, forget that. We need to get you to a hospital, make sure nothing’s wrong.”

  “Calm down,” Luke said, trying to keep up with the barrage of panic.

  “No, seriously, let’s go see a doctor. I know a couple great ones,” Noah insisted. “Wait… no. Food first. We should definitely feed him first.”

  “I already fed him, Noah, don’t worry,” Clara added with a frown.

  “I’m fine,” Luke said, resting a hand on Noah’s shoulder to steady him. “I’m really healthy now. Thanks to the system.”

  “Right…” Noah murmured, as if only now remembering the new world they lived in. Then he pulled Luke into another crushing hug, all the pent-up relief finally spilling free.

  “You scared the hell out of me, man,” Noah said. “This year was rough for me… for everyone. But I felt guilty the whole time. I didn’t know you were feeling that way when you wrote the letter.”

  “I’m back now,” Luke answered, steady, wanting to lift the weight off his brother’s shoulders.

  “But I still failed. As your brother, I should’ve noticed something. I should’ve stopped you, protected you,” Noah continued, the guilt thick in his voice.

  Clara slipped between them and touched their shoulders gently. “That’s all in the past now. The family is together again. Let’s all eat.”

  Light footsteps rushed down the hallway—Lillian.

  “Daddy! Daddy! My brother came back!”

  Martin scooped her into his arms with practiced ease. “I know, sweetheart.”

  “He also brought a friend home,” she added, pointing toward the kitchen.

  “Friend?” Noah repeated, confused.

  “We-we’re not friends!” came Franky’s high, indignant voice.

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