The first day passed slowly.

  I kept myself busy. Practiced a little. Sat with the maid. Listened to the birds. Everything felt quieter—like the house itself was holding its breath.

  By evening, I felt the first nudge of unease.

  They said two or three days. I told myself not to worry. But still… something in my chest refused to settle.

  The second day crawled by.

  I trained harder than usual, wore myself out early just to sleep more easily. But sleep didn’t bring peace. I tossed. Turned. Woke up several times and stared at the ceiling in the dark.

  By the third morning, my stomach fluttered with nervous energy. I sat at the window longer than usual, watching the road. Listening.

  Nothing.

  I tried to eat. Tried to py. But the silence was louder than ever.

  A part of me, deep down, knew they’d come back. My parents were strong. Smart. Together.

  But knowing didn’t make the waiting easier.

  And when the sun dipped below the hills that evening and still no sign of them appeared on the road, my heart began to ache with a quiet kind of fear.

  They’ll be back tomorrow, I told myself.

  I had to believe that.

  So, I waited. Still and silent. Just a boy watching the road, wishing to see his heroes come home.

  I sat at the window, my small hand pressed against the cold gss as the final rays of sunlight disappeared. I waited. Eyes wide. Unblinking.

  But no one came.

  The road stayed still. The sky faded to deep blue. Stars blinked to life, but they offered no comfort.

  My legs curled beneath me as I rested my chin on the windowsill. The world outside felt impossibly big. And I felt impossibly small.

  That’s when the thoughts crept in.

  I know nothing of this world, I thought.

  I had always known that. Even with memories of another life, I didn’t understand this pce—not really. Not what y beyond those hills.

  This world had monsters.

  I’d heard stories. Creatures with teeth like daggers. Magic that twisted forests into nightmares. Things that could shatter even the strongest.

  Were they fighting? Running? Hurt?

  What if something went wrong?

  I shook my head. Stop it.

  But the what-ifs kept stacking, heavy and relentless.

  What if they don’t come back?

  My throat tightened.

  I believed in them. I did. But belief didn’t erase fear. It only softened it.

  And tonight, that fear was too loud to ignore.

  I stayed at the window until the stars blurred behind tears I refused to let fall.

  Eventually, the maid came. She scooped me up, said nothing, and held me close. She hummed a soft tune as she carried me to bed.

  But even under the covers, I couldn’t sleep. I stared at the ceiling. Waiting. Hoping.

  Wishing.

  That they’d come home tomorrow.

  Then—

  A creak.

  My breath caught. I sat up, heart racing. Was it a dream?

  Another creak. The gate.

  I bolted to the window.

  A flicker of movement in the dark. A figure. Limping. Supported by another.

  My heart squeezed.

  I ran to the door—but stopped just short. I crouched beside the corner of the hallway, peering toward the entrance.

  The door opened slowly. Boots stepped inside, quiet against the floorboards.

  "Careful," my father whispered. "We don’t want to wake him."

  "Let him rest," my mother added. Her voice was tired, but full of warmth. "He’s probably been waiting at the window all day."

  They moved softly. Set their gear down with care. The way they spoke—the thoughtfulness, the gentleness—it hit me in a way I didn’t expect. They weren’t just warriors. They were my parents. They had come home thinking of me first.

  My eyes stung.

  I stepped out of the shadows.

  Mom turned, her tired expression softening into surprise. "Kenji?"

  Dad looked up. "Hey, buddy."

  I ran.

  Mom knelt, and I crashed into her arms. I clung to her like she might vanish if I let go.

  “I missed you,” I whispered.

  Dad wrapped us both in his arms. “We missed you more.”

  We stayed like that, huddled in the hall. The maid stepped away quietly.

  Mom stroked my hair. “You’ve grown, even in just a few days.”

  “I watched the road,” I said. “I waited.”

  She held me tighter.

  Dad chuckled, eyes bright. “We knew you would.”

  That night, the house was still. But not with fear. With peace.

  We sat by the fire, the three of us wrapped in a thick bnket. Mom’s hand in my hair. Dad’s arm around us.

  The fire crackled. Shadows danced on the walls.

  Three years.

  At first, I feared forgetting my old life. I clung to it like a lifeline.

  But now…

  Now this felt real.

  This was home.

  I smiled, watching the fmes.

  And for the first time… I wasn’t afraid of that.

  —End of the first chapter of my new life—