Chapter 70: The Simple Days of Before.

The sun was still just a sigh on the horizon, caressing the valley with its crimson glow. Two bodies surged in the middle of the natural arena, between scorching rocks and acrid mist.

— Again, Salomé, grunted Sakolomé, sliding a step to dodge a flurry of flaming fists.

His little sister leapt with remarkable fervor, her right arm wreathed in flames in an upward hook aimed at the chin. Sakolomé bent, pivoted on his hip, and disarmed the attack with a simple sweep, executed sharply.

Salomé rolled on the ground, eyes narrowed with determination.

— You open your guard too much when you mobilize your magic, he said calmly, extending his hand to help her up. You bet everything on power. It makes you predictable.

— I almost got you! she protested, hair tousled, a spark of fire in her pupils.

— "Almost" means nothing in a real fight.

She clenched her fists, then propelled herself again. This time, she feigned a frontal attack but unleashed a fiery circle beneath her feet and spun in the air for a flaming kick.

Fwoom!

The fire swirled like a comet. Sakolomé raised his forearm, took the hit, stepped back — surprised.

— Hmpf… You control your magical impulse better. How long have you been working on that?

— Every day. When you sleep. When you eat. Even when you grumble like an old grouch, she replied with a mocking smile.

He smiled despite himself, then charged. His movement was fluid, fast, almost invisible.

A sharp elbow to the stomach. A backward sweep. A shoulder lock.

Salomé found herself flat on her back, breathing ragged.

— Your fire is strong. But if you forget your center of gravity, you lose the fight at the impact.

She gritted her teeth, then instinctively projected a wave of heat. The ground cracked between them.

She rolled to the side, then summoned a swirling blaze around her legs.

— Minor Phoenix Dance! she shouted.

Her body wrapped in a cloak of flames, her fists and feet becoming true incandescent weapons. She launched a quick combo: fiery uppercut, burning knee strike, spinning kick.

Sakolomé was slightly pushed back. A wisp of smoke rose from his shirt.

— Not bad, he admitted. Your fire-body coordination is improving. But…

He leapt.

Three steps. A pivot. A feint to the liver. Salomé tried to counter — too late.

He appeared behind her and placed his palm against her nape.

— …you still don't feel the opponent's movements. You watch my arms, my legs… but not my center.

She gasped, frozen.

— You got me…

He stepped back and helped her stand.

— You're progressing. Really. Soon, your magic will compensate for my physical advantages. But don't forget: magic is a tool. The body is the weapon.

Salomé nodded, eyes shining with sweat… and admiration.

— One day, I'll beat you, big brother.

— I hope so, replied Sakolomé, his gaze dark. Because we'll need all your strength… when they come back.

In the Burning Grass, a Little Further Down the Valley

The wind blew softly over the tall dry grass, caressing the stretched-out silhouettes of two young men.

Bakuzan sat cross-legged, a long stem between his lips, looking nonchalant, eyes half-closed, watching Sakolomé and Salomé in the distance. Next to him, Bakuran lay on his back, a wet towel on his forehead. He was sweating heavily, breathing short.

— Is it good… are we done for today? murmured Bakuran, exhausted.

— If you want, yeah… replied Bakuzan without moving, a thin smile at the corner of his lips. I'm particularly proud of your progress, all of you. Even if… it's not quite there yet.

Bakuran suddenly sat up, still panting, his face strained.

— Yeah… act all smart. It's easy to be proud when you've always been backed by father, huh?

A silence fell. Bakuzan slowly turned his head toward him, calm expression but harder eye. He removed the stem from his mouth.

— Believe me, he said with a smirk. You wouldn't have survived a single training session with father. It wasn't a game there.

— What? replied Bakuran, frowning. You mean we're weak, is that it?

Bakuzan burst out laughing, breaking the tension. At the same moment, Sakolomé and Salomé joined them, visibly tired but in good spirits.

— I guess we're going home, said Sakolomé, wiping his neck with the back of his arm.

Salomé approached Bakuran, panting.

— Please, can I have a drink?

Bakuran, without moving, reached for his water bottle lying in the grass and lazily tossed it. Salomé caught it mid-air with agility, took a few sips… then sighed with a fierce smile.

— One day, I'll beat you all!

Bakuran laughed out loud.

— You've still got a way to go! Sakolomé still wiped the floor with you!

Salomé's face turned red.

— Pfff! Don't get cocky! Even you can't beat him!

— What?! What did you just say?! he snapped, jumping up.

A quarrel broke out immediately, half-laughing, half-serious. Salomé and Bakuran exchanged jabs and mockery, miming exaggerated karate moves, stumbling in the tall grass. Their voices mingled in joyful tumult.

Sakolomé, arms crossed, watched the scene with an amused smile. Beside him, Bakuzan also smiled, his gaze calmer, more distant.

— It's already 5 p.m., declared Bakuzan, gently breaking the quarrel. We trained all day. Mother must be waiting for us.

— Saying "we trained" is bold, big brother… Salomé said, throwing a mocking glance at Bakuzan. You barely did anything!

Bakuzan stood up, dusting off his pants.

— Meh. If I can still supervise you without you losing me, it means I haven't lost it. Come on, let's go home.

And they all took the path back, the last rays of light reflecting in their laughter that echoed softly through the valley.

The four young people returned in single file, dusty, exhausted, but with the carefreeness of those who had spent a good day. They passed the small wooden garden gate and climbed the porch steps with the sound of boots.

No sooner had they opened the door than their mother's voice shot like a flaming arrow:

— Past five o'clock! she roared from the kitchen. Do you think the sun is your watch?! Or did you swallow it during training, is that it?!

They all entered the living room, lowering their heads slightly, smiles on their lips. Amu, a woman with her hair tied in a tight bun and an apron full of flour, greeted them with crossed arms, a wooden spoon threatening in her hand.

— And look at this state! You look like a bunch of boars fresh from a mud carnival!

— It's true we lingered a bit… murmured Salomé, scratching the back of her head, embarrassed.

— A bit?! the mother replied, raising the spoon. Do you want me to show you what "a bit" means in my hand?!

Sakolomé burst out laughing and Bakuran quickly slipped behind him like a human shield.

— Well, the meal is ready, but don't even think you're going to touch a single crumb IN THAT STATE!

She pointed at them one by one, like criminals caught red-handed.

— Bathroom. Everyone. Immediately. I want to see this mud disappear like your good resolutions!

— But we're hungry… Bakuran whimpered.

— You'll eat when you smell less like grilled socks! their mother roared.

— … That's a very precise insult, murmured Salomé as she trotted toward the bathroom.

A good half hour later, showers taken, clean clothes, hair still a bit damp, the four returned to the table in a much more presentable state.

— There, now you look like my children, not a bunch of trolls escaped from a chasm, their mother muttered as she served the soup.

The large wooden table, simple but warm, quickly filled with steaming dishes. Once everyone was seated, the atmosphere calmed. Laughter softened, fatigue weighed, and the sound of cutlery replaced the bickering.

After a few bites, their mother spoke again, her gaze a little more serious.

— Listen… I have something to tell you. Since your father's death, things have become complicated at the workshop. He often went to the other world to fetch rare ingredients, and it was largely thanks to that that we kept up the pace. But… without him, it's become much harder. Too hard, even.

Silence settled around the table. Salomé stopped chewing. Sakolomé lowered his eyes. Bakuran frowned.

— You mean… your work is in danger? asked Bakuzan softly.

— Not yet. But it won't hold long if I don't find a solution. Orders are piling up, customers are impatient, and other suppliers don't have what your father brought back. He knew the passages, the codes, the dangers…

She sighed and took some more soup.

— He had a strength, an… instinctive intelligence to get by in that world. I don't have that.

Bakuzan put down his spoon, looking determined.

— Then I will do it.

— What?! the mother choked.

— I can go in his place. I know it's dangerous. But if I stay here watching your work collapse without doing anything, I'll never forgive myself. Father didn't hesitate to take risks for us… I may not be him, but I can try.

The words floated in the room. The silence that followed was no longer awkward but charged with emotion. Salomé looked at her big brother, mouth open. Sakolomé clenched his fists under the table. Bakuran nodded slowly.

The mother stared at him, eyes shining. Then she sighed deeply… and smiled.

— You definitely inherited his stubbornness, that's for sure… she said softly. But also his strength of heart. Thank you, Bakuzan.

She stood to briefly hug him. Salomé discreetly wiped her eyes, while Bakuran said:

— Hey, wait, if Bakuzan goes… can I come too, right?

— You, you're going to learn to survive a day of training without fainting first, replied Salomé, deadpan.

— Tssshhh… growled Bakuran, taking up his spoon again.

But despite the jabs and teasing, a shared feeling passed through each of them: the desire to continue what their father had started.