Bitter Homecoming

"Clara, why did you come out here? I told you to stay inside!" Edgar rushed up the broken porch steps, desperate to support his pregnant wife.

Kaelen stood amidst the wreckage of the front yard. He looked at his aging father and his stepmother. A dull gleam flashed across his dark eyes, masking a sudden tide of old memories. His biological mother had passed away twelve years ago. Barely six months after her funeral, Edgar had married Clara Mercer. A younger, reckless Kaelen had been furious. He had hated his father for moving on so fast. He had walked away, refusing to speak to his family for a long time.

Then, he had entered university and met Lyra. Her gentle spirit and unwavering encouragement had saved him, prompting him to slowly reconcile with his estranged family. Clara, in turn, had proven her devotion. She had delayed having her own child for years just to care for Kaelen’s younger sister, Sienna. Time heals many wounds. Over the years, Kaelen's anger towards Clara had faded into dust.

Furthermore, he had witnessed oceans of bloodshed on the frontlines. He had survived endless strife and tasted the bitter reality of war. Now, all he wanted was for his family to be safe. Nothing else mattered more than that.

He sighed and took a step toward the house.

Clara pursed her lips and pointed a shaking finger at him. "You stand right there! Our family finally managed to regain some semblance of normality. How dare you return now?"

Her beautiful face turned cold as she shifted her finger toward the heavy yellow excavator parked in the rubble.

"When you ran away, you destroyed your father's business and caused him to lose the company! Now, you return and instantly offend the local thug. Do you think we have not suffered enough?" Clara shouted.

Edgar supported his wife carefully by her shoulders. "Clara, our son has been away for many years and finally manages to come home. Please do not be angry. Think of the baby."

Meanwhile, Gideon stood twenty steps away near the edge of the street. His gaze turned murderous. Kaelen was the Crimson Dragons' Deity of War. He had conquered regions and broken armies. No mortal dared to scold him this way.

Kaelen felt the sudden wave of killing intent. He glanced sharply over his shoulder.

Catching his commander's eye, Gideon immediately bowed and took a step back, forcing his suffocating aura down.

Clara slapped Edgar's hand away and glared at him with her almond-shaped eyes. "He is your son, not mine! I stand firm with my words. If you dare to bring him home, we shall divorce!"

Edgar looked at his wife retreating into the house and stomped his foot on the wooden porch. "There is no need to resort to that!"

Silence hung in the cold air for a moment.

Edgar turned back to his son. "Kaelen, Clara is having her first pregnancy. The doctor said she has a prenatal health condition, so she is more bad-tempered than before."

Kaelen held up a hand. "Dad, don't worry. You don't have to explain. As long as you are healthy and well, nothing else matters."

He paused, scanning the quiet property before speaking again. "Is Sienna home?"

Edgar let out a long, heavy sigh and shook his head. "I sent your sister to your aunt's house and will bring her back in a few days."

Kaelen frowned, his gaze turning stern. "Dad, since I am back, you don't have to worry about anything. I will take care of everything."

Kaelen turned around and walked away, choosing the mature path to protect his father's fragile domestic peace.

The ruined yard faded behind him as he marched down Oak Lane Alley. The gentle, understanding son vanished with every step he took. The air around him dropped in temperature, morphing him back into a ruthless warlord who commanded armies.

A cruel gleam flashed across his narrowed eyes. "Inform the Phantom Squad to find me the name of the boss of those thugs before nightfall."

Gideon followed a few paces behind, bowing his head respectfully. "Yes, sir."

Meanwhile, the smell of cheap sweat and iron coated the air inside the Iron Boxing Gym, located deep within the Lower Precinct's Sapphire Tower. Numerous burly men crowded the floor, practicing their strikes on worn-out equipment.

*Bam! Bam! Bam!*

Heavy punches echoed through the facility, followed by an unusually loud, dull crash.

Rocco Sykes stood near the fighting ring, shaking like a leaf in the wind. He watched a massive heavy sandbag swing dangerously high on its thick steel chains.

"Victor, why would I dare to lie to you? That was exactly what he said!" Rocco cried out.

*Boom!*

Victor Carmine unleashed another devastating strike. His thick muscles bulged with terrifying brute strength as he punished the sandbag repeatedly. Hot vapor rose from his smooth, bald head into the cool gym air.

He shot a lethal glare at Rocco. "Have you found out anything about that brat?"

A tall, bespectacled young man stepped out from the shadows near the office door. "Mr. Carmine, we cannot find much in such a short time frame. All we know is he is Edgar Vance's son. He got into trouble and escaped to the wasteland a few years ago before returning today."

Victor reached out with a scarred hand to still the swinging sandbag. "The wasteland?"

Suddenly, a thick muscle twitched across his broad back. He threw a monstrous punch into the leather bag, sending it flying high into the air.

"I do not care who he is! Anyone who dares to cause trouble in my territory shall die!" Victor roared.

The bespectacled man nodded, adjusting his glasses. "Mr. Carmine, I know what to do now."

He raised a hand, gesturing sharply with one finger.

A hardened fighter stepped away from the weight racks. Rocco stroked his messy, dirt-caked long hair and limped over to join them in a dark corner of the gym.

A threatening gleam flashed in the bespectacled man's eyes. "I will let Zane Vang and the others go to Oak Lane with you. Does he fight very well? Bring a gun with you too."

"Yes, sir," Rocco mumbled.

Before anyone could take another step, Rocco's eyes rolled back into his skull. He collapsed onto the rubber mat, his limbs thrashing and twitching in a sudden, brutal seizure.

The bespectacled man jumped back in shock. "What is wrong with you?"

Victor paused his training, glaring down from the center of the gym. "What is wrong?"

The bespectacled man hurried to explain. "It is nothing, Mr. Carmine. He has a withdrawal symptom."

Victor scowled, pointing a thick finger at the thrashing thug. "Throw him out! Do not let him dirty the floor!"

The bespectacled man grumbled under his breath. "Damn it. Of all the time his condition could recur, he just has to act out when ordered to do something."

He waved over two massive enforcers, who grabbed Rocco by the ankles and dragged his unconscious body out the back door.

The afternoon wore on, and the dark sky finally broke into a steady drizzle.

Dozens of cars jammed the street outside Tiny Scholars Kindergarten. The final school bell had rung, and parents huddled under brightly colored umbrellas near the main gate.

Kaelen leaned against a massive tree across the street, letting the light rain hit his jacket. He watched the entrance with unwavering focus.

His eyes brightened with undeniable anticipation.

Soon, the heavy wooden doors swung open. Children walked out in neat lines, following the lead of their tired teachers.

Kaelen spotted her instantly among the dozens of restless students.

His breath hitched in his chest. She looked exactly like the old photograph of Lyra when she was a little girl. Looking at her brought an ache to his heart. He remembered Lyra's radiant smiles, her musical laughter, and the deep romance they had shared before tragedy tore them apart. This beautiful little girl was the very last piece of Lyra left in the world.

She walked out carrying a small, colorful school bag. She stood on her tiptoes amidst the chaotic sea of adults, her twin braids bouncing with every movement. Her dark eyes searched the crowd.

Suddenly, her face lit up with pure joy, and she broke into a sprint.

"Grandma! Grandma! I found you!"

Kaelen smiled a genuine, tender smile as he listened to his daughter's sweet, childish voice.

He watched the little girl throw her arms around Lyra's mother, burying her face in the older woman's coat. A profound warmth flooded his chest, washing away the coldness of a hundred battlefields.

*Thud.*

Gideon stepped onto the wet grass behind the tree, bowing his head. "Sir, we have found the identity of the boss of the thugs."

Kaelen kept his eyes on his daughter hugging her grandparents. "Sure."

Then, he slowly turned his head.

The doting father vanished. A bone-chilling frost began to form on the wet grass beneath his boots. The warlord had returned to claim his due.

Even a slightly larger ant would dare to jump before a dragon.

Gideon continued his report. "Sir, we received news from the Phantom Squad."

Kaelen's eyes, which were just warm and gentle as he watched his daughter hugging her grandparents, instantly turned stern again. "What did they say?"