The pounding on my door came like thunder, each strike followed by my father's furious voice. "Natsuki! Open this door right now!" His command carried the weight of authority sharpened by rage.
Still dressed in my party shirt and trousers, I rose reluctantly and opened the door. He loomed above me, his shadow stretching long across the floor, his eyes burning with fury. "Do you know the time?" he barked.
I glanced past him at the wall clock. Quarter past twelve. My surprise must have shown, because his voice cut deeper, dripping with contempt. "What's wrong? Failing to comprehend your uselessness?"
Something inside me snapped. I met his gaze, staring into the reflection of my own defiance. "I won't take your cruelty any longer," I said, my voice steady despite the storm inside. "Sixteen years I've endured you—without affection, without compassion, without care. Tell me, why do you hate me so much?"
For a moment, he faltered, as if my words had struck him harder than any blade. But the coldness returned swiftly. "Isn't it obvious? You have no essence of mantra. No core. No mana. No combat skill. You are a failure—a waste of our time."
His words cut deeper than steel. Yet I forced myself to stand tall. "At least I'll never see you again, Peron."
The use of his first name made him study me with a strange, unreadable expression. I turned away, shut the door, and began to pack.
My eyes fell on the family portrait I had kept since childhood—me at six, beside Aeola, while Mother cradled Luhan. Father's smile in that picture was the only one I had ever known. Now it mocked me, a ghost of a man who no longer existed. I turned away, grief tightening my chest, and left it behind.
Downstairs, Aeola waited, her eyes red but determined. Father stood rigid by the dining table, while Mother held out a bag. She pulled me into a trembling embrace, whispering, "Stay safe, my boy. I'm sorry for everything—for not protecting you."
Her words stirred an unfamiliar ache in me. When she let go, Father gestured coldly toward the door. Luhan, sobbing, rushed forward and clung to me. "You'll come visit me, right?"
I smiled through the pain, ruffled his hair, and nodded. He removed his earrings—black silver with gloomy purple gems etched in ancient markings—and pressed them into my hand. "At least you'll leave with some happy memories," he said softly.
Tears broke free. "Thank you," I whispered. "Don't worry—I'll come for you in three years, when you turn sixteen." "I'll be waiting," he replied.
But Father tore him from me, his grip cruel. "As of today, I no longer consider you my son. You will not touch my son again."
Anger flared within me, a wildfire threatening to consume everything. Aeola's hand on mine steadied me. "Relax. It's not worth it," she whispered.
I exhaled slowly, glaring daggers at the man who had cast me aside. "Let's go," I told Aeola.
We stepped outside. The sun shone bright, the sky stretched clear and endless, and birds sang as though mocking the storm I carried within. Freedom tasted unreal, almost dreamlike.
"So… where to now?" Aeola asked, her voice trembling with both fear and excitement.
I looked down the road leading through the Earad Plain, toward Siri in the Frost Kingdom—the town where we could finally register as guild members and chase the dreams we had nurtured since childhood.
"You know where," I said.
Her smile was answer enough. She clasped my hand and pulled me forward, laughter in her voice. And for the first time in years, a smile crept across my face.