Aren’s routine at the castle settled into a comfortable rhythm. Mornings and evenings were dedicated to training, the hours in between stretching into a welcome expanse of free time. Leo had mentioned a month until the tournament, a generous timeframe that felt more than sufficient given their rapid progress.

  Their exchange of skills was proving remarkably effective, particularly for Leo. The young Stormborn possessed the raw talent of a born warrior – big, brave, and undeniably gifted – but lacked the refined technique that Aren was now diligently imparting.

  Isla, bless her determined heart, lagged behind in all aspects of combat. Her obsession with training was bordering on reckless, and both Aren and Valerian kept a watchful eye, intervening whenever her gentle frame threatened to push past its limits.

  Kira, ever the observer of a different kind of kingdom, remained engrossed in the castle gardens, her fascination with birds and animals unwavering.

  Aren himself focused on the burgeoning connection to his Ether and rigorous physical exercise. His youthful body adapted with surprising speed, yet the memory of his fractured fingers after a single Ether use against those thugs remained a stark reminder of his fragility against a stronger opponent.

  It was clear, even without Jaxx’im’s peculiar devices, that while Ether offered destructive potential, it provided no inherent defense, at least in Aren's case.

  Two things still gnawed at him: the impending arrival of his parents, initially expected in two days, and the looming deadline to locate the Black Market.

  The promised two days stretched into three; the parents finally arriving on the third morning. As Aren entered the breakfast hall, he recognized them instantly. His mother’s eyes were an unforgettable shade of yellow, a most obvious resemblance.

  Their clothes were simple, clearly their finest attire, yet falling short of the castle’s opulent standards. Both were thin and short, appearing to be in their forties. They sprang to their feet as they saw him, their smiles wide and, to Aren’s experienced eye, a touch too bright.

  “Aren, our boy! I could hardly believe the rumors! You were always so… delicate, and now look at you, a hero!” His mother embraced him, her grip surprisingly weak.

  “I always knew my son had it in him!” His father stood close, a hand clapping him awkwardly on the shoulder. “Your brothers and sister said it must be a jest, but I told them, our Aren has hidden depths!”

  Okay, what the bloody hell was that? Delicate? Hidden depths? This has the distinct aroma of backhanded compliments. A prickle of unease ran down Aren’s spine.

  “Umm, yes. Duke Darius has been most generous in allowing me to reside here,” Aren replied, keeping his tone neutral.

  His mother and father immediately turned their attention to the Duke, showering him with effusive bows and thanks, their expressions of gratitude bordering on fawning. Aren couldn't shake the feeling that they were directing more genuine warmth towards the Duke than they had towards their own son.

  As everyone settled at the table, Darius recounted the events leading to Aren’s current residence, praising his bravery and subtly emphasizing his positive influence on Leo and Isla. Throughout the Duke’s narration, Aren’s parents’ gazes remained fixed on their host, their smiles unwavering.

  Aren simply sat and observed, a knot of confusion tightening in his stomach. The internal debate raged: tell them the truth, reveal their son was dead, or continue this elaborate lie? He knew the pain of losing a child, and the thought of inflicting that on them warred with his own discomfort at the deception. Was a lie that offered comfort truly wrong?

  With a clink of his metal mug, Darius announced the grand feast planned for that evening in Stillbrook’s name. Following the meal, the Stormborn family, with polite murmurs about allowing a family reunion, tactfully withdrew, leaving Aren alone with his parents.

  The moment the heavy oak doors closed behind them, a visible wave of relief washed over Aren’s parents. Their bright smiles vanished, replaced by something sharper, more calculating.

  “The Duke certainly has a powerful presence,” his father began, his tone shifting. “Now, Aren, tell us honestly. How did you manage to defeat those mercenaries? You were always a useless coward, so easily frightened. This sudden heroism… I confess, I don’t understand it.”

  Aren felt a jolt of shock. The casual cruelty in his father’s voice was unexpected. Before he could formulate a response, his mother interjected, her tone gentle.

  “Oh, Eric, don’t be like that. Aren did well. Before you arrived, the Duke mentioned he’s considering gifting us a small mansion and a plot of land within the Stormborn Dominion. All thanks to our brave Aren.”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “Yes, finally you’ve done something… useful,” his father grunted, crossing his arms, his brows furrowed in what looked suspiciously like resentment.

  Right, so it’s all about the handouts. They don’t even like their own son.

  “After the incident,” Aren said, his gaze fixed on them, a pinch of anger in his voice “I lost my memory. Perhaps you could remind me why I was in that library, so far from home?”

  His parents’ eyes widened, a flicker of something akin to panic crossing their faces. They exchanged a swift, uneasy glance.

  “What’s with that tone, boy?” his father snapped, his face reddening. “That’s no way to speak to your parents! You were sent there because you were a hindrance to our family. You couldn’t work the fields for long, always had your nose stuck in those ridiculous books. Sickly every other month. It was the best arrangement we could make.”

  “Calm down, Eric,” his mother said quickly, her voice tight. “It’s not his fault he was… less robust. He was born that way. Look, in the end, it all worked out, didn’t it?”

  Less robust? A hindrance? What kind of parents speak about their child like that? Aren’s anger simmered beneath the surface, fueled not just by their callous words but by a deep-seated empathy for the boy whose life he now inhabited.

  “Aren, don’t you remember us at all?” his mother finally asked, her yellow eyes fixed on his.

  This is it. Lie or tell them their son is dead. Would they even care? The father seems more annoyed than anything, and the mother is practically giddy about the Duke's potential gifts. Fuck them, they don’t deserve the truth.

  “No,” Aren replied, his voice low and steady. “I don’t remember you.”

  “Oh, I simply can’t believe it!” Claudia exclaimed, the dramatic flair in her voice ringing utterly false. She dabbed at her dry eyes with a corner of her worn shawl. “Our own son… to forget his mother’s face! After all this time, you’d think something would remain.”

  “It’s a shock, to be sure,” his father, Eric, said, shaking his head with exaggerated sorrow. “Tell us, son,” he turned to Aren, his gaze sharp, “anything at all? A familiar place? A friend?”

  Aren frowned, a genuine irritation creeping into his voice. “You know, you are my parents whom I haven't seen for who knows how long, and after all this time, I must admit I expected a warmer welcome. All this talk of what I used to be… shouldn’t you be more focused on the fact that I’m here now?”

  Claudia’s smile tightened slightly. “Of course, dear. We are overjoyed. It’s just… difficult to reconcile the boy we remember with the… hero we hear about.”

  Eric nodded, his gaze still assessing. “Yes, a remarkable change. You were never one for… well, anything requiring much strength or courage.”

  Aren’s jaw clenched subtly. “Perhaps people change.”

  Before the underlying tension could escalate further, the doors to the drawing-room opened, and Valerian entered, followed by two neatly dressed servants.

  “Lord Darius sends his apologies for not being able to attend you personally at this moment,” Valerian said, his tone polite and formal as he addressed Claudia and Eric. “He is currently overseeing matters of state. However, he has instructed these servants to show you to your guest chambers, where you may rest and prepare for this evening’s feast in Stillbrook's honor.”

  Claudia’s and Eric’s expressions shifted instantly, their mild annoyance replaced by a veneer of polite enthusiasm. “Oh, that’s perfectly alright,” Claudia said, her voice regaining its saccharine sweetness. “We understand the Duke is a busy man.”

  “Indeed, we wouldn’t want to intrude,” Eric added, nodding eagerly at the servants. “Lead the way, then.”

  As his parents followed the servants out of the dining hall, Aren let out a quiet sigh of frustration. He caught Valerian’s eye, and the older warrior offered a subtle nod, a hint of understanding in his usually stoic expression.

  “Quite the reunion,” Valerian commented quietly, a corner of his mouth twitching slightly. “The Duke is eager to honor you this evening. I trust you have a busy day planned before the festivities?”

  Aren nodded, the relief at their departure palpable. “Indeed. I was just about to head to the training grounds. Thank you, Valerian.”

  Aren spent the whole day at the training field, making all sorts of excuses not to see his parents again. That worried Leo and Isla; however, they didn't press him.

  As the day drew toward evening, the castle buzzed with preparations for the feast. Servants hurried through the corridors, carrying trays laden with food and drink. Duke Darius, ever the gracious host, sought out Aren and his parents before the gathering.

  “Aren,” he said, his voice booming with good cheer, “in honor of your bravery and your family’s arrival, I have a special announcement for this evening’s feast. I wish to bestow upon your family a small mansion and a generous plot of land within the Stormborn Dominion. It is a small token of my gratitude for your heroic actions and a way to ensure their comfort and well-being.”

  Aren watched as his parents’ faces lit up with an almost blinding joy. His mother gasped, clutching her chest dramatically, while his father’s jaw dropped in undisguised delight.

  “Your Grace, we… we are overwhelmed!” his mother stammered, tears welling in her yellow eyes, this time seemingly genuine. “We could never have imagined such generosity!”

  “Duke Darius, words cannot express our gratitude,” his father added, bowing deeply. Throughout the feast that followed, he indulged freely in the Duke’s fine wine, his earlier resentment seemingly drowned in alcohol as he became increasingly loud and boisterous, much to his wife’s thinly veiled embarrassment.

  Aren mostly observed from the periphery, watching his parents navigate the unfamiliar world of noble society with a mixture of awkwardness and avarice. They basked in the Duke’s attention and eagerly engaged with the other guests, their earlier passive-aggression towards him completely forgotten in their newfound social elevation. They didn’t notice his quiet contemplation nor a change in his character.

  Later, as the feast concluded and his parents were escorted to their temporary chambers within the castle, Aren felt a lightness he hadn't experienced since waking in this young body. Their presence, he realized, had been a heavy weight, a constant reminder of the lie and the life he had inadvertently stumbled into.

  Now, with their future seemingly secured, they were no longer his direct responsibility. He could finally focus on his own goals: understanding the Ether, mastering this unfamiliar body, facing the challenges this world has to offer. The Black Market still loomed, a shadowy promise of a worthy adventure.