The streets were louder than I remembered. Merchants barked their prices, children laughed and ran between stalls, and the stink of fried fish mixed with dust in the air. Ordinary life.
I'd almost forgotten what that felt like.
Every step through the city was a reminder of how far I'd come. My coat drew stares, my sword drew whispers, and the faint sparks around my fingertips made people step aside without realizing why. But I didn't care about their gawking.
I only cared about one place. One door.
By the time I reached our house — a leaning shack at the edge of the district — my chest felt tighter than it had during the entire dungeon. The storm, the monsters, the boss… none of it scared me.
But this door did.
What if they thought I'd died? What if they'd given up? What if…
I pushed the thought away and raised my hand. For a moment, the knuckles trembled. Then I knocked.
The door flew open.
My little sister stood there, barefoot, her hair a tangled mess. Her eyes went wide. The bowl she was carrying hit the floor with a crash.
"…Brother?"
Her voice cracked like glass.
Before I could answer, she launched herself at me. Her arms wrapped around my waist, and she buried her face into my chest, sobbing so hard her whole body shook.
"I thought you were dead! I thought you'd never come back!"
The words stabbed sharper than any monster's claws. My hand rose awkwardly at first, then settled on her back, holding her close.
"I'm here," I said quietly. "I told you… I don't die that easy."
"Who is it?"
Her voice. My mother's.
She stepped into the doorway, older, tired, lines deepening on her face… but her eyes lit up the instant she saw me. She didn't speak. Didn't ask. She just pressed a hand to her mouth and staggered forward.
I caught her before she fell, and for the first time in years, I let myself lean into her touch.
"You came back…" she whispered, tears sliding down her cheeks.
"I told you I would," I said. My throat felt dry, tight. "Always."
Inside, the house hadn't changed. The same crooked table, the same patched curtains, the same smell of herbs my mother boiled to stretch every meal.
My sister refused to let go of me, clinging to my sleeve like she thought I'd vanish if she blinked. My mother kept looking at me, as if memorizing my face all over again.
For a while, I didn't speak. Didn't explain the storm, or the dungeon, or the system. None of it mattered here.
Here, I wasn't a survivor. I wasn't the undefined anomaly, the boy who defied a storm.
Here, I was just Ashura.
When my sister finally calmed down, she lifted her tear-streaked face.
"You're… different," she said softly. "Your eyes…"
I smirked faintly, brushing her hair back. "Yeah. Guess I grew up a little."
She frowned. "Don't leave like that again."
"…I'll try," I lied.
Because deep down, I knew this was only the beginning.
But tonight? Tonight I was home. And for the first time since the storm, I let myself breathe.