"Thanks again, Fang." I lifted a hand in a small wave.
Fang's lips curled into a faint smile—soft, loyal, almost reassuring.
"I'll be taking my leave then," he murmured before slipping into my shadow, his form dissolving like ink in water.
And then it was just me.
I stood before the home where my entire childhood had lived and breathed. The wooden walls, weathered by time, felt heavier than stone as a wave of memories surged up and crashed into me.
Liora's warm laughter.
Renar's quiet guidance.
And Lexi… Lexi's patient hands hovered over mine as she taught me my first spells in the tiny garden behind the house, sunlight filtering through the leaves like blessings.
I remembered the forest just beyond the hill—the place where everything changed, where innocence gave way to blood and fear.
And Elara…
Little Elara, her small hand clasped in mine as we ran around the yard, giggling, barefoot, believing the world was kind.
All of it lived here.
All of it ached here.
The past didn't just return.
It wrapped around me, pulling tight, reminding me of everything I'd gained—
And everything I'd lost.
"Papa, what are you thinking about?" Stella stretched her body.
"I'm just thinking about how cute you are in your baby dragon form," I chuckled, rubbing her belly.
"Hehe," Stella giggled, nuzzling up against me.
"Ok, Stella, let's do this."
"Myu!" Stella responded, excitement bubbling up within her.
My heartbeat echoed louder than the quiet street around me.
I stood frozen at the edge of the doorstep, staring at the weathered door as if it were a wall between two worlds—the one I'd fought so hard to survive, and the one I'd left behind. My fingers trembled at my side, curling and uncurling, as if unsure whether they still remembered how to reach for something gentle.
I drew in a slow breath. The air still tasted like old memories—dust, pine, and the faint lingering scent of home.
You can do this, I told myself.
But even in my mind, my voice wavered.
For a moment, I simply closed my eyes. Let the nostalgia settle. Let the fear bleed away. Let the courage rise, shaky but present.
Then I lifted my hand.
It hovered inches from the doorbell—ridiculous how such a small button could feel heavier than a sword. My pulse pounded in my ears, each beat a reminder that this was real, that turning back would be easier…but unbearable.
I swallowed hard, steadied my breath, and finally, with a quiet resolve that felt like stepping off a ledge—
I pressed the doorbell.
Its soft chime echoed through the house—
a single note slicing through years of silence,
Beating like the heart of a chapter I wasn't sure I was ready to reopen.
For a moment, nothing.
Just my own breath, thin and unsteady.
Then—
"Coming~!"
A tiny, high-pitched voice—bright, innocent, impossibly young—rang out from inside, followed by the rapid pitter-patter of bare feet hitting wooden floors.
My blood ran cold.
That voice… that sound didn't belong to any memory I had.
It was new.
A piece of home I had never known.
The door creaked open.
Standing on a wobbling stool was a little girl—no more than three years old—struggling with the handle but determined, her small hands gripping it with all her strength. When the door finally swung wide, she blinked up at me with a face that struck me like a blow.
She looked… exactly like Mother.
The same soft auburn hair that framed her cheeks
the same gentle curl at the ends—
But her eyes.
They were impossibly brown.
My breath caught.
Her tiny lips parted. Her voice was barely above a whisper, uncertain but hopeful.
"Bwother…?"
Before I could respond, I heard an all too familiar voice from the background.
My mother entered the hallway, absentmindedly stirring a small bowl—something warm and fragrant meant for the little girl. She didn't notice me at first, humming softly, the way she used to when the house felt safe.
"Elena Hoshino! There you are! You've got to stop calling everyone you see at the door brother—"
Then she lifted her eyes.
For a heartbeat, the world stopped.
The spoon froze mid-air.
The bowl slipped in her grip.
Her breath hitched—sharp, fragile—as her gaze locked onto mine.
In that suspended moment, it felt as though time itself was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.
"Mother?" I whispered. The sound of her name felt foreign to my tongue. I cocked my head, my heart suddenly full, and a slow, profound smile bloomed on my face—the kind of smile that only seeing your family after years of separation can bring. It was the smile of finally being home.
"Kawa!!"
Her voice cracked—half sob, half disbelief—as the bowl slipped from her hands and shattered against the floor. She didn't even glance at the mess. In the next instant, she was already moving, almost flying over the spilt food, feet stumbling but never slowing.
And then she was in my arms.
She collided into me with a desperate, trembling force, wrapping me in a hug so warm, so familiar, that my knees nearly gave out. Her fingers clutched at my back as if afraid I might disappear the moment she let go. Her heartbeat pressed against my chest—racing, frantic, alive.
For the first time in years…
I felt like someone had found me.
"I can't believe it…" She whimpered. "We all thought you were…"
"..."
"We missed you so much!" My mother was now wailing like a baby.
"There, there, mother," I patted her head. "All that matters is I'm home in one piece."
"Bwother, come!" My little sister tugged at my hand, pulling me in.
"Alright," I heaved my mother's hand over my shoulder, dragging her overwhelmed body in.
~~~~~~~~~~
I could see that this house had changed a lot. For one, it no longer looked like a cult's weekend project. There was even a chandelier in the middle of our living room. Impressively expensive, but odd-looking. I could see my father had gone to great lengths just to heave back this oddball, judging from the cardboard crates outside.
When I first met my little sister, I believed that, just like me, she was a smart kid, having a wide vocabulary at the age of one. However, reality is cruel. Turns out, my genius sister only knew four words. Mama, Papa, Brother (from the stories my parents told her), and coming~ (because she loved to open doors). And here I thought we had great genes.
But one weird thing was that my sister's eyes were impossibly brown. Shouldn't her eyes be ice blue or violet like our parents?
"Kawa-kun, come have some sandwiches!" My mother beckoned from the kitchen.
"Coming!"
It's been so long since I last tasted my mother's sandwiches. I still remember munching on them with Yukihime. Ah, the good old days.
"Myu"
I peeked at my coat.
"Papa, me hungry," Stella whined.
"Oh? Who's that?" My mother asked.
"She's Stella," I lifted her out of my coat. "She's my familiar. I found her when I fell off the cliff." I lied.
I didn't know why, but my instincts told me not to say anything to them about Yukihime.
"Do you want to play with Stella?" I asked my little sister really gently.
She nodded.
"Come here," I gently placed Stella into her arms.
"Isn't she squishy?" I laughed.
"Squishy!" She exclaimed. I guess my little sister is great at mimicking others.
"She's adorable, right?" I said, my voice rich with amusement.
"Adorable!" She giggled.
"Papa, who she?"
"She's my sister, Stella."
"What's her name?"
"Uh…"
"Mother, what's her name?" I pointed to my little sister.
"Oh, right! Ella, this is your brother Hoshikawa. Hoshikawa, this is your little sister Ella."
"Ella?" I asked.
"Ella, short for Elena,"
"Ah…"
"Stella, her name's Ella,"
"Myu," She nodded.
BOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!!
The door blasted open so hard the walls shook, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Dust rained from the ceiling as a familiar silhouette filled the doorway—tall, broad, panting like he had sprinted through a warzone just to get here.
"I came…" he gasped, one hand braced against the doorframe. "I came as soon as I heard…"
His voice cracked, and for a second, he didn't move.
Then—slowly, hesitantly—he lifted his eyes.
And when his gaze locked onto mine, everything froze.
The fear.
The pain.
The years of distance that neither of us said out loud.
All of it shattered.
His lips trembled. "Kawa… my boy…"
Before I could say anything, he lunged forward and wrapped me in a crushing embrace. I felt his arms tremble around me, felt the way he clung like he was terrified I'd disappear if he blinked.
"I thought I lost you," he whispered into my shoulder, voice thick and shaking. "I thought I'd never see you again."
My throat tightened. I gripped his jacket, returning the hug just as fiercely.
"I'm here, Dad," I breathed. "I'm home."
And in that moment—held in his shaking arms—it finally felt like a piece of my world had fallen back into place.
My mother couldn't be left out. She sprinted over like a gazelle and joined the hug.
"We all thought…"
"I'm home…I'm home…" I spurted out half-gurgled sentences.
I couldn't even spew out a complete sentence before shutting them again to hold back my sobs.
You could be the most powerful immortal, you could have the whole world in your arms, you could be completely emotionless. But in the face of your loved ones, your emotions betray you, you are bare before them, you are who you truly are.
I couldn't imagine how much they must've felt losing me four years ago. I couldn't imagine the guilt they had. I couldn't imagine the immense amount of guilt Elara must have had. I want to see her, tell her, I'm home, I'm safe.
Ella padded toward us on her tiny feet and started patting Father's back like she was comforting a giant bear.
"There, there, Papa. Dun cry," she said in her squeaky little voice.
Father let out a broken laugh between his tears, but the sniffles didn't stop. Neither did Mother's.
After a few more failed attempts at soothing him—and maybe Mother—Ella suddenly gave up on both parents altogether and turned to her new favourite person.
Me.
She shoved herself into the middle of our hug, her small hands wrapping around my leg as she pressed her face against me.
"Bwo… bwuhhh… Bwother…!" she wailed, her words melting into a full-on sob.
I tried my best to keep it together, I really did.
I wiped her cheeks clumsily, my voice cracking.
"There, there, Ella… don't cry…"
But the moment the words left my mouth, I broke too—louder than before.
Father's shoulders shook.
Ella's wails got even higher.
Mother's clothes were drenched with my tears.
I was pretty sure we all looked like a tragic, dramatic mess, but in the best possible way.
Somehow, through tears and hiccups and hugs that kept getting tighter and tighter, the minutes slipped away unnoticed.
By the time we finally looked up again, the warm orange glow of late evening filled the room.
And even though all of us had red, puffy eyes, it was the most peaceful I had felt in years.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Warm steam billowed out the moment the bathroom door opened, drifting into the hallway like tiny clouds lazily escaping into the air.
"Ara~ ara~, Kawa-kun, you're out early," My mother smiled.
The familiar scent of my favourite stew wafted into my nose
"Orvax stew?"
"To celebrate your return," She grinned.
"Let me help," I pulled out my knife from my thigh holster.
"Whoa…" Ella stared up at my shiny knife with these huge beady eyes.
"Hoshikawa Hoshino! Put that knife away right now! Who knows how many innocent lives you've killed with that knife!!" My mother reprimanded.
"Hehe…" I chuckled sheepishly, knowing she wasn't wrong.
"Mother, you seem exhausted today. I'll cook the orvax stew,"
"You can cook?" She raised an eyebrow.
"Excuse me? Survival skills, Mother," I frowned.
"Ha ha! I was joking, dear," Mother teased.
"Bwother me want to help too!" Ella declared, plopping a chef's hat on her head that was clearly three sizes too big. She climbed onto a stool like a tiny, determined tornado ready to ruin—er, assist—everything.
"Sure, Ella!" I laughed.
It's time to make a homemade Baguette to go with the orvax stew.
"Ella, you pour flour into this big bowl, like so," I say, guiding her tiny hand so she can push some of the flour in. It makes a little poof of white dust, and she giggles. "Then the salt and yeast get a little mix in a separate bowl with the warm water. See how it gets foamy?" I hold the measuring cup up high so she can see the bubbles forming. "That's the magic starting."
I set the bowls down and scoop some of the shaggy dough onto the floured counter. "We stir this all together until there's no dry bit left, cover it up with a towel, and let the dough nap for an hour or so."
"Come Ella, while waiting we'll make the orvax stew," I held her tiny hand.
We both put on aprons and got to work.
"Ella, carrots!" I called
"Coming~"
Later, I turn out the risen dough onto the floured counter. "Okay, time for the workout," I joke. I pick Ella up and sit her on the counter next to the dough mountain. "It's your turn to help me knead the dough." I divide the dough into two halves.
I take a smaller piece of the dough and place it in front of her. While she watches, explain the process of pushing and folding the dough. Demonstrate the proper kneading motion, explaining each step.
"We tuck it tight, seal the seam with our palm, and roll gently until we have our baguette shape. Look at that—perfect."
After the second short rest, preheat the oven with a little magic and place the shaped baguettes on the pan. Carefully move any sharp objects away from her reach.
"Wow…" Ella looked at me, bewildered. Maybe Father hasn't been showing off his magic to her yet.
"My turn," I say. "Just a few quick, shallow slashes across the top." As I finish, I open the hot oven door. "Ready for the secret ingredient?"
I quickly toss a handful of ice cubes from my hand into the hot pan at the bottom of the oven and slide the baguettes in, shutting the door immediately to trap the steam.
"That's what makes the crust super crispy. Now we wait."
"Ella wanted to touch some …" Ella pouted, squishing poor Stella.
"「Ice Cube」" I chanted.
"Here touch some," I laughed at her bewildered gaze.
"It's cold!" Ella instinctively pulled her hand back from the freezing sensation.
"Of course it's cold!" I held my stomach, roaring with laughter.
"Hmph! Brother mean!" Ella puffed her cheeks and crossed her arms.
"You finally called me 'Brother' properly!" I gasped dramatically.
Ding!
"Looks like our baguette's ready!" I licked my lips.
"Ella take!" Ella leapt off her stool with her little mittens.
"Careful, Ella, it's hot!" I ran over to assist Ella.
At last, dinner was ready. The aroma of freshly cooked food filled the room, warm and comforting, wrapping around us like a gentle hug.
"Wow, what a feast," my mother genuinely gasped, her eyes widening as she took in the spread. The simple dishes somehow looked extraordinary tonight, each one seeming to carry the weight of our reunion.
My father smiled, a quiet pride in his eyes, and led us in a short but heartfelt prayer, thanking the gods for keeping our family safe and together. He then reminded us to visit the temple tomorrow to offer our gratitude properly—a ritual he held sacred.
As we began eating, the clinking of spoons and soft murmur of conversation filled the room. I couldn't help but share every detail of my journey, from the breathtaking sights to the strange, sometimes frightening encounters I had faced. My parents listened intently, leaning in closer with every word, occasionally asking questions or shaking their heads in disbelief. Their laughter and exclamations made the story come alive, and for the first time in a long while, the room felt completely, warmly alive.
"Is that where that ring came from?" My mother teased, pointing at the ring on my right ring finger.
"From Snow?" My playful father bantered.
"Yes…" I blushed.
"Bwother has a wife?" Ella looked at me innocently.
"God, no! I'd never marry that woman! You'd see, she's so petite, so cute, so shy. Like every other fox, she loves to drink green tea, so traditional. But the minute you provoke her, she becomes this horrifying woman with that ice whip I gave her!!" I devastatingly remarked.
"When she wants to battle, she jumps on me, early in the morning!" I painfully articulated.
Snow Yukihara's POV:
"Aaachooo!" I sneezed, shooting spaghetti bits across my plate.
"Is someone talking about me?" I asked, dramatically pointing to the empty chair as if it owed me an explanation.
"Definitely not us, dear," Granny sighed.
"It must be that goddamn Hoshikawa then!!" I clenched my fists.
"Or maybe he's just lovingly thinking about you," Granny grinned, picking at her carrots.
My face flushed, and I quietly sat back down.
"Is the food not good, ma'am?" A servant asked Granny.
"It's good," Granny complimented. "I just miss the old chef," She sighed.
"I think we all miss him," The most depressed person at the table, my father, said flatly. Ever since Hoshikawa left (only for twenty hours so far), my father has been pale, dull and depressed. We should probably create a statue of him for my father to stare at every day.
Hoshikawa Hoshino's POV:
"Sounds like love to me," my stupid mother teased, wiggling her eyebrows like some discount matchmaker.
"It's not, Mother! I swear, it's not!!" I protested, hands flailing with the desperation of a man trying to fight a hurricane armed with only a spoon. Deep down, I knew this was a pointless battle. My mother would always win—whether by charm, blackmail, emotional manipulation, or sheer parental authority. She had the final boss energy of someone who'd already read the script of my life.
Meanwhile, my father was already crouched beside Ella, solemnly explaining to a very confused toddler that she was going to be an aunt soon. An aunt. Ella nodded proudly, having absolutely no idea what that meant.
Chaos. Absolute chaos. This household shouldn't be called a family—it should be classified as a natural disaster zone.
For all their chaos, for all their ridiculous teasing, for all the ways they manage to turn my life into a circus without even trying… I still love them.
Maybe it's because beneath my mother's shameless matchmaking and dramatic eyebrow waggles, she's the one who stayed up every night worrying until I came home. The one whose laughter fills the house so completely that even embarrassment feels warm.
Maybe it's because my father—who casually announces to a toddler that she's becoming an aunt—is also the man who would walk through a storm just to make sure I wasn't walking through it alone. His jokes are terrible, his timing is worse, but his heart? Solid gold.
And Ella… well, she just exists. A tiny gremlin of pure innocence and chaos who makes everything feel lighter, like the world can't possibly be that bad if someone so small can smile so brightly.
I guess that's the thing about family. They annoy you, embarrass you, and mentally scar you in ways only loved ones can…
But they're also the ones who make you feel safe. Seen. Home.
And maybe that's why—despite everything, because of everything—I still love them.