Kael nodded earnestly. "Yes, Mother. I swear."
She looked closely at Kael's face. His eyes really held no trace of mischief, only sincere regret and eagerness to learn.
The guilt that had burned in her chest moments ago began to shift into something else—embarrassment. A warm flush spread across her cheeks as the realization struck her harder than expected.
Of course, she thought, Kael didn't take it…Her heart sank a little. I nearly accused my own son… of stealing my gown.
Her shoulders sagged slightly as she cursed herself. What kind of mother thinks that?
She forced a smile and gave a small nod, pretending she hadn't been seconds from confronting him over lingerie.
"Alright," she said softly. "I'm glad you're interested in learning, Kael. But next time, just ask me. Don't sneak around like that, okay?"
Kael nodded obediently, and his eyes—the one she couldn't bring herself to meet, glinted slyly.
"But mother, are you okay? It seems like something is weighing on your mind," Kael asked gently, his eyes fixed on Lyra with deep sincerity that caught her off guard.
Lyra's heart trembled. She tried to hold her smile steady, but it faltered for a moment before returning.
"No, dear… I'm fine. Thank you for asking," she said, almost in a whisper.
She looked at his innocent face—the same face she had held when he was a baby, the same one that smiled at her every morning. Yet the moment something felt off, the first person she doubted was him. Her own son.
Have I lost my mind? she thought bitterly. The first person I came to blame was Kael. My own flesh and blood. And over what? A nightgown?
Her mind spiraled deeper as she stood there.
It was just a dress… so what if he had taken it? Would that have made him a criminal? Would I truly have punished him over something so meaningless?
"Okay, Kael," she said finally, her tone much gentler now. "Sleep. I'll wake you up when the food is ready." She turned and slowly walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Kael waited until her footsteps faded down the hallway. Then, with a long exhale, he felt the weight fade off his shoulders. He quickly locked the door, returned to his bed, and collapsed onto it.
"Damn," he whispered to himself, staring at the ceiling. "That was close."
He quickly fell asleep and woke up again to the sound of Lyra's gentle knock. After freshening up, he made his way to the kitchen where a warm breakfast awaited him.
Lyra had already stepped out, leaving a small note that simply read: Eat well, Kael.
He smiled faintly at the neat handwriting, ate in silence, then leaned back in his chair, realizing he had nothing important to do.
Outside, Alaric's grunts echoed faintly.
Curious, Kael walked out of the house and spotted his father in the field, chopping wood. But unlike on Earth where brute strength was used, Alaric was doing something different.
He had an axe in hand, but Kael quickly noticed the glow—mana was flowing directly from Alaric's hands into the axe itself. The weapon shimmered faintly, as if infused with invisible power.
Each time Alaric swung it down, the blade cut through thick logs effortlessly, splitting them clean in a single swing. There was no strain on his body, no sweat, just smooth, controlled precision.
"That's so cool, Father," Kael said, beaming at the scene.
Alaric paused and turned with a grin, resting the axe on his shoulder. "Oh, Kael. Are you here to cheer on your old man?"
Kael smiled softly, his admiration genuine. "Yes, Father."
Alaric chuckled and raised an eyebrow. "Good, good. At least someone appreciates the old man's skill."
Kael laughed, but then a question flashed in his mind suddenly.
"Father," he said. "Can I ask you something?"
Alaric turned, wiping dust from his hands. "Of course," he said with a smug grin, puffing his chest a little. "Your old man knows everything, you know."
Kael hesitated for a breath, then asked, "You're a magic swordsman, right? And not just any swordsman—you're strong, really strong. The way you move, the way mana flows into your weapon—it's not something commoners can do. So… why are we here? Out on the edge of some quiet village. Shouldn't someone like you be—"
he paused, searching for the right words, "—valued by the kingdom?"
The question landed like a stone. Alaric's smile faded. His shoulders tensed ever so slightly, and his hand gripped the axe a little tighter.
His eyes dropped to the ground, and the silence between them stretched long.
Kael watched him carefully. He's hiding something.
Alaric cleared his throat and forced a chuckle. "You've been reading too many stories, Kael. Life isn't always about glory and titles. Sometimes a man just wants peace."
But Kael didn't buy it. Not entirely.
Alaric quickly clapped his hands and grinned. "Come help your old man then," he said, changing the subject.