A choked sob tore from Mertha’s throat. She threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around the massive, spectral form of her husband.

Though his body was made of soul-stuff and cold blue flames, Theumir held her tightly, burying his heavy, bearded face into her shoulder. Mertha wept openly, her cries echoing into the quiet street.

After a long moment, Theumir pulled back just enough to look at her, his spectral eyes shimmering. "The children, Mertha... where are they?"

Mertha wiped her face frantically, turning back toward the interior of the cottage. "Lyra! Dared! Come here, quickly!"

Theumir’s eyes widened, a look of profound shock and joy washing over his ghostly features. "Dared? Our son... you gave him the name I wanted?"

Footsteps hurried across the floorboards. Dared appeared first, freezing in his tracks when he saw the Percival standing on their porch.

"Percival?" he asked, surprised. "You’re back!"

Then, Lyra stepped out from the kitchen. "Already?" she said.

When she realized someone else was there, her eyes swept past Percival and locked onto the glowing man standing on their threshold.

She stared at him, her breath catching as a deep, inexplicable connection hummed in her blood. She didn’t remember his face clearly from when she was a little girl, but there was some unexplainable feeling she was experiencing.

Like her soul recognized him.

"Lyra," Theumir whispered.

"Mum..." Lyra mumbled, staring at the tearful. "Is that...?"

Mertha nodded, unable to speak through her crying.

"Father?" Lyra choked out. She rushed forward, throwing her arms around Theumir’s torso. The Artificer squeezed his daughter, tears of blue fire streaming down his rough cheeks.

Theumir then looked over Lyra’s head, his gaze settling on the fourteen-year-old boy standing frozen in the hallway. "My son," Theumir breathed, his voice vibrating with pride. "My great son."

Dared, thoroughly confused but overwhelmed by the sheer, crashing emotion in the room, walked forward. "Father?" he asked hesitantly, before Theumir reached out and pulled the boy into the embrace.

Mertha turned to Percival. Without a word of warning, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a tight, desperate hug.

"How did you do it?" she wept against his chest. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Percival stiffened, entirely unused to the display of physical affection, but he gently patted her shoulder. "I’ll wait outside," he murmured.

...

For hours, Percival leaned against the wooden siding of the cottage, staring out into the dark, muddy streets of Crimson City.

Listening to the muffled sound of laughter, tears, and stories bleeding through the thin walls, he found his thoughts drifting inward.

He thought about himself. About how he had no family. He realized how frequently he was thinking about it these days.

In his last life, before the regression, he had never really had to think about it too much. He had the Hero’s Party; a group of friends who made life easier.

Now, without them, he realized just how profoundly lonely he truly was.

Eventually, the door creaked open. Theumir stepped out, the azure flames around his form fully stabilized.

The sorrow that had anchored his soul to the physical world was gone. Now, he was ready to serve.

"Thank you, Master," Theumir said, dropping to one knee in the dirt.

The Artificer bowed his head, and when he spoke again, his voice was clear with what Percival wanted from him. The binding oath that he would do whatever he ordered.

"My bloodline is safe," Theumir began. "My heart is finally at peace. For this and for your kind heart and sovereign rule over my soul, I shall forever be the hammer that strikes upon your anvil. I am the forge that arms your legion. I willingly bind my soul to yours, King of the Dead, until the end of all things."

A system prompt flared in Percival’s vision.

⸢Do you accept Theumir Steelcane as your Soul Soldier?⸥

Percival mentally selected Yes.

⸢Soul Soldier Acquired: Theumir Steelcane [Lvl 142 Artificer]⸥

⸢Cost: 4 Summon Space⸥

Percival noted that his Summon Space was filling up rapidly, but a Level 142 Artificer was an invaluable asset.

After Theumir dissolved into blue smoke and entered the Summon Space, Mertha stepped out onto the porch.

When Percival saw her, he raised his hand over his shoulder to withdraw the Nameless. He displayed it in front of her.

"Do you recognize it?" he asked.

She looked at Percival, then at the matte-grey sword.

"The Void-Ender," she said softly. "I took it with me when we fled Deathlehem. It was all I had to sell when we reached the city. But... because it didn’t look impressive—it didn’t glow or radiate an aura like other high-grade weapons—the merchants assumed it was a dud."

"It didn’t sell for nearly what an S-Grade should have. But it gave us enough coin to survive our first few months."

Percival understood now how the weapon had ended up in that Equipment Store.

He reached into his pouch, withdrawing a heavy sack of gold coins. Percival offered it to her. "Here. For the sword."

Mertha’s eyes widened. "Ah? Please keep it. It’s yours. You must have bought it, yes?" 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

"I paid quite a lot for it when I found it," Percival said, still holding the coin out to her. "But it’s a family heirloom, and it’s worth far more than what you got for it. It’s only fair that you get a proper settlement from its sale."

Mertha gently pushed his hand away, shaking her head. "You have a kind heart, Percival. But you’ve already done so much... so, so much for our family. You gave my son a future, and you gave me back my husband’s goodbye. I want you to keep the sword, and your money. It is the absolute least I can do."

Before Percival could argue, Lyra and Dared burst onto the porch. Lyra threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly, while Dared hugged him around the waist.

Percival completely froze, his arms hovering awkwardly in the air. He tried his best to maintain his stoic, imposing demeanor, but he could feel his cheeks her pinker and heat creep up his neck.

"I wish you all the best," Percival managed to say, gently extricating himself from the siblings. "Keep the egg warm, kid."

"I will!" Dared promised.

"Goodbye, Percival," Lyra smiled softly, waving as he turned to leave.

When the doors closed, Percival paused in his steps. He returned the blade to his Swordcase, then looked up into the heavens.

Percival sighed.

He felt good. Conflicted, yes, but undeniably good.

Doing that for them—fixing a broken family, returning a father to his children—made him feel like he was actually helping the world instead of just preparing to burn it down.

In the end, it seemed Percival Nightstar still had a piece of that Hero left in him.

After that, he lowered his head, finding the mental strength to continue his journey toward the busy, illuminated streets of Crimson City proper.

"Percival Nightstar! The Outworlder of Evernia!"

The voice struck through everything around Percival, silencing the crowd and freezing him at the spot.

Percival felt his perception scream, louder than usual, which meant the threat was huge. He looked over his shoulder.

In the midst of the thoroughfare behind him was a massive, terrifying griffin beast, with the strangest eyes Percival had ever encountered.

But more troubling was who mounted the beast. An Elven woman, her vibrant red hair whipping wildly in the wind, and her face distorted into fury, contempt and rage.

Surrounding her was an entire army of Elven Awakeners clad in some of the finest highest grade armor one could find in the Elf Kingdom.

The citizens of Crimson City shrieked, scattering and diving out of the way as the heavily armed battalion locked down the street.

The woman glared down at him, and when she yelled, the wind followed her, making her words echo.

"For your crimes against the Windwhispers by murdering my daughter, Liraeth Windwhisper!" She pointed a gleaming blade directly at his heart. "I, and the Wind Guard, have come to deliver the judgment of death!"

Percival’s eyes widened.