The days that followed felt almost ordinary.
The silence of the past was replaced by the rhythm of life.
Morning dew painted silver across the farmland. The sky yawned open in slow hues of lavender and pale gold. Birds returned to their songs. The soil warmed beneath their boots. Life, as it always did, moved forward.
Ranna stood at the edge of the forest most mornings, eyes scanning the treeline like she was waiting for something to step out. Sometimes it did. A creeping boar. A misdirected razorback. A stalker vine. And every time, she met it not with fear, but quiet, brutal precision. Sword in hand. Gaze like stone.
Meanwhile, Amanda, Leo, and Cris returned to the fields.
Plowing. Seeding. Watering.
Sweat, dirt, and tired shoulders.
But strangely, none of the farm workers asked.
No one pressed about where they had gone, what had happened, or why the air around them felt subtly changed. The silence was either out of respect or a shared unspoken rule: some things aren't meant to be known.
Three days passed.
Then, before dawn could fully break the chill of night, Amanda was already awake—hair tied tight, sleeves rolled, sweeping the wooden floor in practiced arcs. She paused occasionally to wipe down the small shelves, rearrange a few books, or fold spare clothes into her bag by the door.
Leo was by the corner, quietly stuffing items into a travel bag—potions, gloves, and some spare clothing. His brows were drawn, mouth slightly open like he was about to speak but hadn't decided how.
Finally, he did.
"You're really decided, huh?"
Amanda didn't answer right away.
She stopped beside the window, fingers ghosting over the wooden frame, eyes drifting across the mist-covered fields below. The crops glistened under the faint glow of a rising sun. Workers were still shadows in the fog.
"I made a promise," she said at last. Her voice was soft, pulled from somewhere deep.
Leo stayed quiet.
"Your parents... saved me from bandits when I had nothing," she continued. "No name worth remembering. No home. No place to go. But they brought me in. Trained me. Fought beside me. Treated me like family."
She exhaled, pressing a hand gently to her chest.
"I promised them I'd adventure with them for the rest of their lives. I owed them that." Her lips parted, and for a moment, she whispered something—too soft for Leo to hear. A prayer, or a goodbye. Only the wind caught the words.
She turned to face him again.
"And after they were gone, I swore I'd protect their son. That won't change."
Leo lowered his eyes, hands pausing mid-fold.
"But now," Amanda said, stepping closer, "you defeated that Dominion Lord. The same one that tore everything apart. I think… Sam, Claire, and even Neto would want us to start again. Continue what we left behind."
Leo cinched the last strap on his pack, then paused, glancing over at Amanda. He scratched the back of his head, a wry grin pulling at one corner of his mouth.
"You know," he said, "I think I'm more surprised that everyone somehow knew about my system."
Amanda looked up from where she was folding a travel cloak, her brow rising just a bit.
"I thought it was some rare system," he added.
She let out a quiet laugh, brushing her bangs aside with a flick. "VIP system, right? Subtle's not really in its vocabulary. Especially after the last idiot who had it."
Leo blinked. "Wait—there was someone before me?"
Amanda straightened, leaning against the doorframe with one hip cocked, arms folded beneath her chest. "Mm-hmm. Loud as a drunken dwarf during harvest festival. Couldn't stop showing off. Every time he unlocked something new, he had to shout it from the rooftops. He's the reason people know what that system is now."
Leo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Great. So I inherited a broken legacy."
Amanda shrugged with a sly smile. "Well, he did hit VIP Level… 3, I think? Then went bankrupt chasing more perks. Decided he was ready to solo the World Tower."
"Strolled in like a self-crowned king. Didn't even make it to the second floor."
He slumped onto the edge of the bed with a heavy exhale.
"Well, there goes my trump card," he muttered. "I've got a passive that hides my system from everyone, and now it's basically a decorative ability."
Leo turned back to his bag, tightening the leather straps. "Still can't believe Ranna gave us that much coin to get started in the capital."
He shook his head, half to himself. I'm definitely paying her back. Triple.
Amanda opened her mouth to reply—
Creak.
The door swung open.
Ranna stood framed by the morning light, the edge of her coat flaring in the breeze. A bit of dirt smudged her cheek. She didn't seem to care.
"The crops are loaded," she said flatly. "Merchants are waiting."
Amanda nodded once.
Leo slung the bag over his shoulder.
They didn't say anything more.
A new chapter was starting—quiet as the wind, certain as the sun rising over freshly tilled soil.
And this time, they wouldn't be running from the past.
They'd be walking straight through it.
The door creaked behind them as they stepped out into the golden hush of dawn.
And then—there they were.
All of them.
Lined up across the dirt path and along the fence. Farm workers with calloused hands and sun-scuffed faces. Children peeking between their parents' legs.
Leo blinked, mouth opening just slightly.
Markus stepped forward first, wiping his palms against his apron before offering a hand.
Leo took it without hesitation.
"Good luck with your endeavors," Markus said, voice low but firm. "And remember—this farm, the village… it'll always have room for you two. Anytime."
Leo nodded slowly, once. "Thanks," he murmured.
Then he looked out over the gathered faces.
So many of them. So familiar.
He found Joren, who once helped them rethread the irrigation lines after the flash flood. Maeli, the baker's daughter who snuck them sweet bread during mid-harvest. Even Old Grunter had his eyes glinting as if catching more than just morning light.
Leo straightened.
Then bowed, low and deliberate.
"Thank you," he said, voice loud enough to carry. "For the tools. The food. The late-night talks. The stories around the fire. And for letting us be a part of this place, even if it was just for a while."
He swallowed once, the lump forming without warning.
"I won't forget any of you."
A silence followed—brief, like the pause between thunder and lightning.
Then someone near the back shouted, "Didn't know Leo was such a crybaby!"
Leo flinched.
A few scattered chuckles cracked the air.
Then it broke into full laughter. Warm. Easy. The kind that tugged smiles from people without permission. Even Leo found himself grinning, wiping at the corner of his eye with the back of his wrist.
Markus squeezed his arm and gave a short nod, quiet and solid. "Go on. Don't keep the world waiting."
Just then, a pair of small feet pattered across the dust.
Little Mika darted out from the crowd, arms wrapped around a basket almost bigger than her head. It was brimming with fruit—apples, sun-pears, and many others.
Amanda crouched down, meeting her eye level.
"This is for you!" Mika beamed, holding it out with both hands.
Amanda smiled.
"Thank you," she said, tucking a loose strand of Mika's hair behind her ear. "I'll come visit again. And when I do, I want to see how beautiful you've become, alright?"
Mika nodded and turned so fast she nearly toppled over, and ran back toward her grandmother, waving so hard her tiny arm wobbled like a tree branch.
Leo had been watching.
Not in the way the farmhands did—sneaking glances when they thought she wasn't looking, eyes lingering too long on sweat-slick skin and swaying curves.
No.
Leo watched like someone trying to memorize the way birds migrate.
Amanda walked with that effortless, grounded confidence—hips rolling with every step, back straight, head high. Even in her patched, worn dress, there was nothing apologetic about her. She didn't try to be seen. But goddess, she was.
And that was the problem.
Her dress, already faded from too many washings, clung tighter than it used to—hugging her curves like it had learned the shape of her. When she worked, when she sweated, it was impossible not to notice how the fabric became a second skin. And she never seemed to care. No underlayers. No fuss. Just utility, movement, breath, and heat.
He always brought her a towel when the sun climbed too high—sometimes draped it over her shoulders before she could protest, sometimes just left it nearby.
But the other women?
They noticed her, too. In the wrong way.
They didn't speak it aloud, not where he could hear. But the looks were enough—tight-lipped, narrow-eyed glances that followed Amanda through the fields. Whispers that broke off when she passed. She wasn't like them. Too striking. Too quiet. Too much.
Leo felt it every time they returned to the farmhouse—the invisible wall Amanda never acknowledged. The way no one sat beside her unless they had to. The way she seemed used to it.
And now, watching her kneel to place the basket gently inside the merchant cart, her dress pulling taut across her back as she reached in—
Leo sighed quietly.
The capital was nothing like the farm.
He hadn't even been there yet, not truly. But he'd heard the stories—both from this world, and from the echoes of the world he came from before. Places like that didn't make space for women like that. They took. They judged. They whispered. And they never forgot a bare shoulder or clinging fabric.
She needed new clothes. Not just armor, not just travel leathers. Clothes that fit her right. Clothes that she chose, not because they were all she had, but because they were hers.
Leo shifted his weight, the strap of his bag tightening under his hand.
He'd make sure she had them. Whatever it costs. A cloak, a tunic, a proper set of layers.
Not because she needed to hide.
But because he wanted the world to see her on her terms.
Amanda straightened, catching his eyes on her.
"What?" she asked, one brow arching, amusement playing across her lips.
Leo blinked. Cleared his throat. "Nothing. Just thinking."
She narrowed her gaze a little. Read him, as always, like a book she'd read too many times to be surprised by.