We stepped into the house—familiar, warm, filled with the well-known scents of wood, herbs, and old blankets.

  But the moment we crossed the threshold, Mom immediately started spinning around us like a storm.

  — Oh, my children, my children… you must be hungry… you must be exhausted… that’s it, take this off, sit down! — she fussed so quickly it felt like she was using speed magic.

  — Mom, Mom… — Mira laughed. — Calm down. We’re only here for a couple of days. Or maybe longer… who knows.

  — What do you mean “who knows”?! — Mom threw her hands up. — I haven’t seen you for a year! A YEAR! I’m allowed everything!

  We exchanged glances and smiled.

  Mom placed bowls of hot soup in front of us. The smell almost made me cry—for the first time in a long while, the food wasn’t battlefield rations, not soldiers’ fare, not dry and tasteless. It was homemade. Real.

  We started eating, and at that moment the door flew open.

  Father walked in.

  Covered in sweat, wearing a work shirt, a basket of roots over his shoulder. He froze when he saw us.

  — …CHILDREN?!

  — DAD! — we shouted at the same time.

  We rushed to him. He dropped the basket and hugged us so tightly, as if afraid we might vanish.

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  — You… you’re home… you’re alive… — his voice trembled. — How worried we were… how grown you’ve become… how strong…

  Mom came over too and wrapped her arms around all three of us.

  Her shoulders were shaking.

  — Mom, Dad… that’s enough… — I said, trying to smile.

  — No, — Dad wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. — These are tears of joy. Let us rejoice in our children.

  We sat down at the table.

  The soup had gone cold, but no one paid any attention.

  And we began to talk.

  About the Academy.

  About the first battle.

  About the elves.

  About the northern forest.

  About Dorwood.

  About the war.

  About power.

  We talked for a long time—probably until night fell.

  Our parents listened, barely interrupting, sometimes exchanging glances filled with worry or pride.

  By the end of the story, Mom placed her hand on my head.

  — You’ve been through so much. I… I don’t know how you endured it.

  Father only sighed deeply.

  — But you made it.

  I looked at both of them—and for the first time felt that all the horror, all the darkness, all the madness… was at least partly justified by this moment.

  Warmth.

  Home.

  Love.

  When the conversation finally died down, I asked:

  — Mom, Dad… and how are you? How’s the village?.. How… the elves?

  Our parents immediately perked up.

  Dad nodded.

  — We owe our lives to the elves, son. If not for them, a demon squad would have wiped us all out. They hid our village so well that demons walked straight past it… not a single one noticed us.

  — They helped everyone, — Mom added. — With healing, with food, with repairs… with everything they could.

  — Tomorrow you must go see them. Thank them. They deserve it.

  — Yes, — Father said. — Go to them in the morning. The whole village will be happy to see you. All of you.

  Mom suddenly smiled the way she used to—warm, familiar.

  — And now… sleep. You’re so tired. I can see it in your eyes.

  Mira yawned.

  — Yeah, just one more spoon…

  — You already ate everything, — I said.

  — Then I’m going to bed.

  She stretched like a cat and headed for our old room.

  I remained standing by the doorway, looking around the house.

  It hadn’t changed.

  Only I had.

  A lot.