Journey to Become the Zenith-Chapter 44: The Light She Protects

The Light She Protects

As Clara opened the door to her house, warmth spilled out to greet her before the words did.

Then the words came.

Two young girls rushed toward her, skirts swaying, hair catching the lamplight.

"Welcome home, Big Sis!"

The voices overlapped, bright and alive.

The older of the two, sixteen-year-old Kary, had long blonde hair that mirrored Clara’s, though hers was softer, less disciplined, falling in loose waves over her shoulders. Her green eyes sparkled with intelligence and quiet maturity far beyond her years.

Beside her stood fourteen-year-old Nira, her long black hair sleek and straight, framing a delicate face. Her purple eyes—so much like their mother’s—were large and observant, always watching, always thinking.

Her serious look, usually seen at meetings or fights, simply faded away.

Back again, she slipped through the doorway, soft words trailing after her. Door clicked shut at her heels. A pause. Then, were you both behaving while I was gone? That quiet look on her face

Now her voice carried a softer touch. It held more warmth than before.

Kary spoke up first, though Nira nodded fast - both answered together with smiles wide.

A flicker of amusement lifted one eyebrow. She wasn’t fooled.

"Really?"

"Yes."

Both heads dipped at once, matching without effort.

Home smelled like rosemary and sawdust under her fingers. She stepped inside, peeling off the gloves slowly. A quiet place, far from clashing steel. Nothing here echoed with orders or chants. Just warmth. Just walls that remembered her.

"Then I guess I should reward such good girls," she said over her shoulder. "Look here, I got your favorite. I’m going to cook you two a feast."

A sudden rustle came from the basket she opened. Inside lay storm elk meat, caught mid-downpour. River trout glistened beside it, just pulled from swirling currents. Vegetables rested close by, still dusted with soil. Herbs filled the air, sharp and green when crushed between fingers.

Her breath caught. "Storm elk?!"

Kary clasped her hands. "You didn’t have to spend so much."

Her lips barely lifted. "That was my wish," she said

A sudden cheer from the girls rang out, bright and light. The sound spilled across the space, lifting everything it touched.

"How about you two set the table while I cook."

Heads dipped in quick agreement before they rushed away, jostling each other with every eager step.

-

With a slow pull at her cuffs, Clara got ready. Her hands emerged, prepared for what came next.

Out came the knife, steady through her fingers. Slices dropped one by one - clean, uniform. Into the sizzling pan went the meat, edges browning fast. Broth poured in, then herbs, steam curling upward like whispers. Aroma filled the air - deep, warm, familiar.

Cooking was different from fighting.

There was no killing intent here.

Only care.

She stirred the pot slowly, tasting, adjusting.

I can’t protect them forever, she thought quietly.

Kary was growing into a young woman. Nira, too. They would face the world soon enough.

Clara plated the food carefully. Portions even. Vegetables arranged neatly. Elk sliced cleanly.

They sat together at the wooden table.

Kary took a bite first. Her eyes lit up.

"It’s amazing, Big Sis."

Nira nodded enthusiastically, cheeks already full. "You cook better than the eastern district chefs."

Clara laughed softly. "That’s impossible."

"No, it’s true," Nira insisted.

They ate slowly, savoring each bite. Clara watched them more than she ate.

Their laughter.

Their safety.

This was why she endured everything.

—

After the meal, Clara cleaned up while the girls washed dishes beside her. The quiet domestic rhythm felt almost sacred.

Later, Clara filled a small bowl with warm soup.

"I’ll bring this upstairs."

Kary’s smile faded slightly.

"...How is she today?"

"The same," Clara answered gently.

Nira lowered her gaze but nodded.

Clara carried the bowl upstairs.

The hallway was quiet. Moonlight filtered through a window at the end.

She stopped before the final door.

Then entered.

—

Inside sat Gianna.

Long black hair flowed down her back, untouched by styling. Her once vibrant purple eyes stared blankly at the moon outside the window.

Even in stillness, she was beautiful. Graceful features. High cheekbones. Pale skin that caught the silver light.

But her eyes...

They were empty.

Clara felt the familiar ache in her chest.

"Hi, Mom," she said softly, placing the bowl down. "I brought you some soup."

She knelt beside her.

Feeding her mother required patience. Gianna could not lift her hands. Could barely move her mouth.

Clara supported her gently, coaxing her to swallow each spoonful.

"It’s storm elk tonight," Clara murmured. "Kary and Nira were very happy."

No response.

Only the quiet of breathing.

Once finished, Clara wiped her mother’s lips carefully and set the bowl aside.

Then she pulled a chair close and sat.

Silence lingered.

"Mom," she began softly, "today I met the most arrogant guy."

Her lips curved faintly despite herself.

"He’s overconfident, selfish, and does whatever the hell he wants without caring what others think."

Her violet eyes lowered.

"Though... to be fair... he is powerful enough to warrant that arrogance."

She leaned back slightly.

"When he faces a monster, you start to question yourself... who between them was truly the monster."

Clara exhaled.

"But for some reason... I could sense a kindness in him."

She studied her mother’s unmoving face.

"His eyes... when he looked at me... there was no lust. No calculation. Just curiosity."

Her voice softened.

"He seemed more pure than most people I’ve met."

Clara’s fingers tightened on her skirt.

"He follows what he believes in. Without caring if he’s right or wrong."

She smiled faintly.

"He reminded me of Dad."

The memory struck her harder than expected.

"That irritating overconfidence. And the skill to back it up."

Her throat tightened.

"Maybe that’s why I was so against him."

Her composure cracked.

"Not only did he make my job harder... he reminded me of that fool of a father."

Tears welled up.

"He really was a fool."

Her shoulders trembled.

"Not only did he leave his wife and kids... he left them drowning in debt."

Her voice broke.

"I should hate him."

Her tears fell freely now.

"But I can’t."

She covered her face briefly.

"Like you, Mom... I still miss him."

The room felt smaller.

Heavy.

After a moment, Clara wiped her tears firmly.

"Heh... we got off topic."

She forced a steady breath.

"I just wanted to tell you, Mom... I’m going back to being an adventurer."

Her violet eyes flickered with uncertainty.

"Seeing Victor... being reminded of Dad... it made me wonder if this life is enough."

She stared at her hands.

"I did everything for this family."

She looked up at her mother again.

"But maybe... I want more."

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"I don’t know if I’m satisfied."

She laughed quietly, self-aware.

"Maybe I’m complaining. But can you blame me?"

A long pause.

"I just wanted to see if he has answers."

Gianna did not respond.

She never did.

Clara stood slowly.

"Well, Mom... that’s all I wanted to report."

She walked to the door.

"I hope you sleep well."

She closed the door softly behind her.

The hallway swallowed her footsteps.

Inside the room, moonlight bathed Gianna’s face.

Her lips trembled faintly.

A sound, fragile and broken, escaped into the empty room.

"Sorry."