The sun blazed hotter than usual, baking the cracked earth underfoot as Jhon approached the familiar wooden door. He raised a calloused fist and knocked.
For a moment, there was only silence. Then, the door creaked open, and Zafir and Safiya stood there—two elder farmers, their weathered faces lined with worry.
Jhon barely had time to react before Safiya gasped, covering her mouth, her dark eyes brimming with relief. Zafir furrowed his brows, gripping his cane tightly, his voice thick with both anger and concern.
"Where in the gods' name have you been, boy?"
"Do you have any idea—" Safiya began, but her voice caught. She pressed a trembling hand to his arm, as if to make sure he was real. "Months, Jhon. You vanished for months."
Jhon didn't answer. He just exhaled, heavy and tired, then stepped forward and placed a massive fish—easily the size of a young lamb—on the wooden table beside the door.
"I missed your magic hands in the kitchen, Safiya," he said simply, forcing a small smile.
For a moment, they just stared at him, as if unsure whether to embrace him or scold him. Then, Safiya shook her head, wiping her eyes before lightly smacking his arm.
"Idiot boy," she muttered, voice thick with emotion. "Come inside."
Jhon stepped inside, the scent of dried herbs and aged wood wrapping around him like an old memory. The house hadn't changed—stone walls reinforced with thick beams, shelves stacked with clay jars of spices, bundles of dried onions and garlic hanging from the ceiling. The fireplace, though unlit in the summer heat, still bore the blackened marks of countless meals cooked over it.
Zafir lowered himself into his usual chair, across from Jhon, his old bones creaking as much as the wooden seat beneath him. His sharp, weary eyes studied the younger man, scrutinizing every scar, every crease of exhaustion on his face.
Safiya had already moved to the hearth, setting a pot over the fire, expertly cleaning and slicing the fish with the ease of decades spent cooking for a household. The rhythmic scrape of her knife against the wooden cutting board was the only sound for a moment.
Then Jhon spoke.
He started from the beginning—his departure, his encounter with the Iron Foot mercenaries, the brutal warriors clad in steel-plated boots, their reputation as sell-swords unrivaled. He told Zafir of their siege against the orc warbands, how their formation held even against the relentless fury of the beastfolk.
Then, came the Silver Axes. Jhon's tone darkened as he spoke of their bloody path through goblin-infested ruins, their axes gleaming under the moonlight as they carved through the horde. He told Zafir of the deep tunnels where goblins bred in the dark like vermin, of the shamans that painted their faces with cursed blood magic, and of the cave beasts that lurked beneath their warren.
Zafir listened, silent as stone, his fingers idly tracing the grooves of his cane. His expression remained unreadable, but Jhon knew him well enough—he was absorbing every word, weighing every truth behind them.
Then Jhon spoke of The Fallen.
Zafir's grip on his cane tightened. Even Safiya, who had been focused on cooking, stilled for a fraction of a second before resuming.
Jhon's voice lowered, his gaze fixed on the flickering firelight.
"The sky blackened before we even saw them," he said. "Not from clouds, not from smoke—but from their wings. Hundreds. Thousands. They came like a storm, and wherever they landed, nothing was left standing."
Zafir let out a long breath, his eyes darkening.
"So that's why…" he murmured.
Jhon met his gaze. "You saw it too, didn't you?"
The old man nodded. "A few weeks past, the sun dimmed at midday. Birds fled the trees. The rivers turned silent. Even the beasts in the wild stopped howling. That kind of stillness... only happens before something terrible."
Jhon exhaled, rubbing his hands together, as if trying to shake off the lingering chill of those memories.
"They're moving, Zafir," he said grimly. "The Fallen aren't just remnants of some old war. They're preparing for something. And if we don't stop them—"
"They'll blacken the skies for good," Zafir finished, his voice heavy.
A silence settled between them, thick and unspoken.
Then, from the hearth, the scent of freshly grilled fish and saffron-spiced broth filled the air. Safiya placed a steaming bowl in front of Jhon, her expression softer now, but still clouded with worry.
"You've seen too much," she murmured, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Eat first. Worry later."
The warm glow of the hearth flickered across the stone walls as Jhon sat beside Zafir and Safiya, the scent of freshly cooked fish and saffron rice filling the small home. The steam curled upwards, carrying the comforting aroma of home-cooked meals, a scent Jhon hadn't realized he had missed so much.
They ate in a comfortable silence, the soft clinking of spoons against clay bowls blending with the faint crackling of the fire. Safiya, ever the motherly figure, kept a watchful eye on Jhon, as if studying every movement, every pause between bites. Her concern was unspoken, yet palpable in the way she filled his bowl before her own, in how she subtly pushed the softest part of the fish toward him, ensuring he ate well.
Zafir, quiet as always, ate at his own pace. He was listening—not to words, but to the weight in Jhon's silence.
Finally, Safiya sighed, setting down her spoon. "You'll be leaving again soon, won't you?"
Jhon paused, the warmth of the food settling in his stomach, but not in his chest. He set his bowl down and met her gaze.
"Warm Oasis isn't a big place," he admitted, his voice quieter than before. "It's just like a bubble in a vast ocean. A speck of life in an endless desert."
He ran a hand through his unkempt hair, his fingers tracing the scars along his forearm—reminders of the world beyond these walls.
"I've seen the whole of Sol-Mayora," he continued. "And all I've known out there is infinite sands and dunes. No matter where I go, the desert stretches on, swallowing everything. No roots, no shelter—just the wind, the sun, and the endless horizon."
Safiya watched him, her eyes softer now, but still filled with that deep, motherly concern.
Jhon looked around the room—the shelves lined with Safiya's herbs, the worn-out wooden chairs that Zafir had probably repaired a dozen times, the clay cups that had been used for years, yet still felt new in his hands.
"But here..." he exhaled, his lips curving into a faint, tired smile. "This small place, with its kindhearted townfolk, feels like home."
Safiya let out a shaky breath, pressing a hand against her chest. She didn't speak, but Jhon could see the emotion in her eyes, in the way she gripped the edges of her shawl, as if holding onto the moment.
Zafir, who had been listening all the while, finally set down his spoon. He reached for his old pipe, lighting it with a practiced ease, then took a slow draw before speaking.
"This world doesn't give us homes," the old man murmured, staring at the smoke curling from his lips. "We build them."
Jhon straightened his back, setting his bowl down with a determined look. "When I went to Sol-Minora, I learned how to control Mana. And now... I will use it to protect Warm Oasis!"
Zafir, who had just taken a sip of his tea, nearly choked. He burst into raucous laughter, slapping his knee as if Jhon had just told the best joke in the world. "Protect?! From what, boy?!"
Jhon, now slightly panicked, scrambled for an answer. "Uh—uh... wolves!"
Zafir raised an eyebrow. "Wolves? When was the last time you saw a wolf in the desert?"
Jhon blinked. "Uh... okay, then—scorpions!"
Zafir leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "You're gonna use all that fancy Mana training just to fight scorpions? What are you gonna do, challenge them to a magic duel?"
Jhon, now sweating, stammered, "Snakes! I'll protect us from snakes!"
Zafir laughed even harder, nearly tipping his chair back. "Oh no, everyone, watch out! Jhon the Great Mana Warrior is going to battle a snake!"
Even Safiya had to cover her mouth to hide her chuckles.
Jhon groaned, running a hand down his face. "Okay, okay, I get it."
Zafir wiped a tear from his eye. "Son, if you wanted to use your big, powerful magic, at least say something scary! I was expecting you to say bandits or sand wraiths—not a damn snake!"
Jhon crossed his arms, grumbling under his breath, "Well, excuse me for wanting to keep everyone safe from desert creatures."
Zafir patted him on the shoulder, still chuckling. "You do that, son. And when you finally defeat the evil scorpion king, I'll make sure they write songs about you."
Jhon groaned louder, while Safiya just smiled, shaking her head. "Men," she muttered, going back to washing the dishes.
As Safiya scrubbed a plate, she casually asked, "So, what exactly can you do now with all that Mana training?"
Jhon leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms. "Not much… just strengthening my body and, uh… using Blasted Fist."
Zafir, who was mid-sip of his tea, nearly spat it out. He erupted into laughter again, clutching his stomach. "Blasted Fist?! Oh no, the wolves are trembling already!"
Jhon rolled his eyes. "Laugh all you want, old man, but it's powerful."
Zafir wiped a tear from his eye. "Let me guess—" he smirked. "You punch the ground, it makes a little boom, and the wolves run away, tails between their legs?"
Jhon crossed his arms. "More like I punch a rock and it explodes."
Safiya, still washing dishes, glanced over. "Exploding rocks? That sounds like more trouble than protection."
Zafir grinned. "Yeah, Jhon, what's the plan? Are you gonna line the whole oasis with boulders just to show off your 'blasted fists'?"
Jhon grumbled. "You guys have no vision."
Zafir laughed even harder. "No, no, I see it clearly. One day, a tiny snake slithers into town, and suddenly—BOOM!—half of Warm Oasis is gone because our dear Jhon had to 'protect' us."
Jhon groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I hate both of you."
Safiya just smiled, drying her hands. "Good, that means we're doing our job."
Jhon rose from his seat, stretching his arms, he turned toward the door.
Zafir raised an eyebrow. "And where do you think you're going?"
Jhon smirked over his shoulder. "Hunting."
Zafir scoffed. "Hunting what, exactly?"
Jhon grinned. "A hippo."
The room fell silent. Safiya stopped mid-motion, holding a dishcloth. Zafir blinked twice before bursting into laughter again. "A HIPPO?! You're serious?!"
Jhon crossed his arms. "Dead serious. I need to prove I'm stronger. And as a bonus, tonight we'll have tons of meat."
Zafir wiped his eyes. "Jhon, my boy, do you even know what a hippo is? That thing's not a deer. You can't just sneak up on it and stab it. A hippo will stomp you into the next life!"
Jhon cracked his knuckles. "Not if I hit it first."
Zafir shook his head, still chuckling. "You're not gonna punch a hippo to death, Jhon. That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."
Safiya sighed, crossing her arms. "At least take a spear, you fool. Or better yet, don't go at all."
Jhon waved them off, heading for the door. "Just wait. Tonight, we feast."
Zafir called after him, "Or tonight, we mourn!"