The golden rays of dawn bathed the Zhao Clan's courtyard in a soft glow. Birds chirped lazily, the morning breeze carrying the scent of fresh dew. For the first time in years, he wasn't training or fighting—he was simply home.
His mother, Zhao Lian, stood in the garden, tending to a cluster of blooming spirit lilies. He watched her from a distance, a warm smile creeping onto his face. She had always been the only constant in his life, his only true family.
He took a deep breath and approached. "Mother," he called gently.
She turned, and her eyes widened. "You're awake early," she said with surprise. "I thought you would spend the whole morning meditating again."
"I had enough meditation," he chuckled. "I wanted to spend some time with you."
Her expression softened, and she set down her watering can. "You've changed," she said, stepping closer. "Not just in strength. There's something different about you."
He scratched the back of his head, a bit embarrassed. "Maybe I just realized what's important."
Her gaze lingered on him for a moment before she sighed. "Come, let's go inside. I made your favorite dishes."
The following days were filled with peace, something he hadn't experienced in years. He spent his mornings helping his mother with her daily tasks—something he never thought he would enjoy. They cooked together, laughed over small things, and even went on small walks around the Zhao Clan's private forest.
One afternoon, while lying under a tree, he turned to her. "Mother, do you ever regret staying in the Zhao Clan?"
She paused, looking up at the sky. "I don't regret it because it gave me you."
His chest tightened at her words. He had always blamed himself for her suffering. She had endured so much because of her connection to him, yet she never once showed resentment.
"That's why," he said firmly, "I will become even stronger. I will make sure you never have to suffer again."
She chuckled, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. "You already make me proud, my son."
The final night of their time together, they sat by a small bonfire in the courtyard. The flames flickered, casting warm shadows across their faces.
"Mother," he finally said, his voice filled with determination, "after this week, I'll be leaving again."
She sighed but nodded knowingly. "I expected as much."
"There's still much I need to learn. But this time, I'm not just training to become stronger—I'm training to protect what I love."
She reached out and took his hand. "Then go, my son. Chase your destiny. But promise me—" she looked into his eyes, her gaze filled with both love and sorrow, "—no matter how strong you become, don't lose yourself."
He squeezed her hand gently. "I promise."
As the fire crackled between them, the stars above shined brightly, as if witnessing the quiet resolve of a warrior preparing for his next journey.