Chapter 189: Returning

  The sky stretched endlessly in all directions, an ocean of soft blues and wisps of white clouds.

  Abel and Stone had been traveling for what felt like days, though Abel could hardly keep track of time.

  Their journey through the skies was surreal—Stone flew as if in no rush, drifting gracefully through the clouds, occasionally pointing out the serene beauty of the world below: rolling green hills, crystalline rivers, and forests that shimmered with hidden life.

  At one point, they descended toward a colossal, ancient tree crowned with glowing blue fruits that pulsed gently like stars in the twilight.

  Stone explained it was a rare magical tree—a delicacy in taste but also a formidable creature.

  “It’s a monster,” he said casually, “but it doesn’t bother Magians.” Abel watched in awe as they sat beneath its towering canopy and ate the fruit in peace. The taste was both sweet and indescribably pleasant, making all the hairs on Abel’s body rise and fall with each bite.

  Once finished, they rose back into the clouds, continuing their silent journey, the sky stretching endlessly before them.

  Above the clouds, he and Master Stone flew side by side, their forms cutting through the open sky with ease.

  The sun hung high, casting a golden glow over the world below, yet Abel hardly noticed. His mind was elsewhere, tangled in the depths of uncertainty, memories, and quiet fear.

  Abel's cloak flapped violently in the wind, but he barely felt the chill. His thoughts swirled like the currents of air around him, heavy with emotion.

  Master Stone’s voice, deep and steady, broke the silence.

  “You think the prejudice against the non-gifted is overblown?”

  Abel blinked, pulled from his thoughts. He had almost forgotten the conversation they had been having.

  He turned his gaze toward the older man, who flew with an effortless grace, his posture relaxed but his expression unreadable.

  “I don’t mean to dismiss it,” Abel admitted. “I know there are people who look down on me… but it’s never been unbearable. My time in the Tower wasn’t the worst.”

  Master Stone let out a dry, knowing laugh.

  “That’s because the road was paved for you.”

  Abel frowned slightly.

  Stone continued, his tone firm yet carrying an almost melancholic weight.

  “You weren’t there in the early days, when the Tower’s gates first opened. The Central Region was overbearing. Non-gifted weren’t just looked down upon—they were executed on sight. It was law. No exceptions. If you lacked magic, you lacked value. It took time, blood, and relentless struggle to change that. And even now, the scars of that era still linger.”

  Abel felt his chest tighten. He had known there was discrimination, but to this extent? His experiences, as difficult as they had been, paled in comparison to the suffering of those who came before him.

  He was silent for a long moment, the weight of Stone’s words pressing down on him like an invisible force.

  “...I didn’t know,” Abel finally said, his voice quieter than before.

  Master Stone glanced at him, the edges of his expression softening just slightly.

  “You weren’t meant to know,” he said simply. “That’s the point of progress. Those who fought for change did so so that you wouldn’t have to endure what they did. But that doesn’t mean the prejudice is gone. There will always be those who see you as lesser.”

  Stone turned his gaze forward again.

  “Never let them break you. Never let them change you. Strive to be different. Strive to be better.”

  Abel let those words settle in his mind, rolling them over like the slow turn of a tide. He had never considered just how much had to be sacrificed for him to even stand where he was today.

  He thought back to Fiendfinger.

  To the rage in his eyes. To the bitterness that had twisted him into something unrecognizable.

  How much had he suffered? How much of his resentment was built from the wounds of the past—wounds that Abel had only now begun to understand?

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  A part of him ached at the thought.

  But there was no time to dwell.

  “We’re approaching.”

  Master Stone’s voice pulled him back into the present, and suddenly, Abel became painfully aware of his own body.

  His heart pounded violently in his chest, like a drum warning of an oncoming battle. Sweat formed along his back, despite the cold air at this altitude. His fingers curled tightly, a dull tingling spreading through them.

  He knew this feeling.

  Anxiety.

  This was it. He was finally returning.

  For better or for worse, the past two months of flight, which flew by in the blink of an eye, had led to this moment.

  And whatever lay ahead… he had no choice but to face it.

  The village came into view—a broken, forgotten place, swallowed by time and nature.

  From above, Abel could already see it, and his heart began to sink, plummeting like a stone into a dark abyss.

  His breath caught in his throat.

  His hands trembled.

  His mind raced, a storm of thoughts crashing into one another.

  Then, as they descended, reality struck him hard.

  He jumped off the carpet before it fully touched the ground, his legs almost buckling beneath him as he landed.

  His feet met the overgrown dirt roads of the village, once lively, now lifeless.

  Weeds and vines choked the abandoned homes, creeping over rooftops and curling around doorframes like nature itself had reclaimed what was left behind.

  But that wasn’t the worst of it.

  Abel’s chest tightened. His vision blurred—not from the wind, not from the dust—but from the tears already welling in his eyes.

  He took a shaky step forward. Then another.

  Then, he saw it.

  A body.

  Or what was left of one.

  A carcass, overrun by nature, eroded by time and weather. The flesh was mostly gone, stripped away by the elements, leaving pale, exposed bones peeking through the dirt and moss.

  His breath hitched.

  Then he saw another.

  And another.

  Men. Women. Children.

  Even pets, their remains scattered among the ruins, their stories silenced in a single night of blood and terror.

  Abel’s knees nearly gave out. His lungs burned, as if he had forgotten how to breathe.

  The weight in his chest was suffocating—a pain so deep, so raw, that his body reacted before his mind could catch up.

  A sound left his lips—a broken, choked-out noise, somewhere between a gasp and a sob.

  His hands clenched into shaking fists, his nails biting into his palms.

  Why?

  Why had it come to this?

  He had seen death before. Fought battles. Watched people fall. But this wasn’t a battlefield.

  This was home.

  And now, there was nothing left.

  Tears streamed down his face as his legs suddenly carried him forward—running, running, running—until he reached the village center.

  Until he saw it.

  The mayor’s home—his home—was gone.

  In its place, a massive boulder sat in the center of a crater, like a cruel, uncaring tombstone. The house—the people inside—had been crushed beneath it.

  Abel’s breathing grew ragged, his shoulders shaking violently as he stood before the silent grave of his family.

  His parents…

  They were under there.

  Gone. Forever.

  His legs finally gave out.

  He collapsed to his knees, his head falling forward as his body shook with silent, uncontrollable sobs. His mind screamed, but no words came out.

  This was it.

  This was the end of everything he had once known.

  Some distance away, Master Stone remained still on his carpet, watching, but saying nothing.

  There was nothing to say.

  This was Abel’s grief to bear.

  Minutes passed. Maybe hours. Abel didn’t know. Time had lost all meaning.

  When he finally—slowly—lifted his head, his tear-streaked eyes locked onto the boulder.

  And then, he saw it.

  A carving.

  A fist within a triangle.

  A symbol he had heard of before.

  His breath caught as his mind reeled, piecing together the fragments of memory, Stone’s words, the lessons, the history—

  The Noria family.

  This was their insignia.

  They had done this.

  A new wave of rage crashed into him, white-hot and suffocating.

  His fingers dug into the dirt, his entire body tensed as a storm of emotions threatened to tear him apart.

  Anger.

  Hate.

  Fury.

  But most of all—helplessness.

  He wasn’t strong enough. Not yet.

  His entire body trembled as he forced himself to his feet.

  He turned away.

  Walked back toward the carpet in complete silence, his movements slow, heavy, like the weight of this place had seeped into his very bones.

  As he reached the carpet, he barely noticed the tears still streaming down his face.

  His lips parted, and he murmured, more to himself than anyone else—

  “I just need to get stronger.”

  Master Stone didn’t speak.

  He understood.

  Abel simply sat there, his gaze fixed on nothing, his mind lost in the depths of his pain.

  And as the carpet slowly lifted into the sky, Abel didn’t look back.

  There was nothing left to see.