Adrian stepped lightly down the stairs, his hand brushing the polished rail with unconscious familiarity. The smell of food reached him first — savory, slightly spiced, the kind of scent that warmed the chest. Korean food, or what this world called
"Eastern dinner." Braised short ribs, steamed rice, and a side of fermented vegetables.
A meal built from care.
This was the capital of the Eastern Region — one of the five major divisions under Eltherion's single global government. A city of structured calm and regulated light, where Realizers and civilians shared the same streets but rarely the same lives.
He would need to remember that. He was no longer wandering a ruined underworld. Now, every step was a performance under policy, surveillance, and family eyes.
He turned the corner into the dining room just as his mother looked up.
"Finally," she said, her voice rich with gentle exasperation. "I was about to send your father up to drag you down."
Mira Vale was in her forties, though the glow in her eyes defied the number.
Her dark hair was pulled back in a clean twist, and she wore a soft beige sweater dusted with flour near the sleeves. The kind of person who remembered your favorite dish before you remembered it yourself.
"I was just washing up," Adrian said smoothly, his tone matching the faint nervous warmth the original might've carried. "Didn't want to come down looking like a ghost."
His mother smiled. "You still look a bit pale. But better. A lot better."
He gave a light chuckle and slipped into the chair on the left — the one that had always been his. Mira placed a spoon in his hand without asking.
Across the table, Harold Vale lowered his newspaper. Square shoulders, strong jaw, a few streaks of gray just starting to break through his hairline.
His expression was unreadable, but there was no tension in it — just quiet calculation. The kind of man who didn't speak until necessary, but when he did, everyone listened.
"Good to see you up," Harold said. His tone was low but carried weight.
"You gave your mother a scare."
Adrian gave a practiced, sheepish nod. "I didn't mean to. I think… I just needed time."
His father met his eyes. A second passed. Then he gave a faint nod in return.
Lira came in last, sliding into her seat with the fluid grace of someone who hadn't missed a meal in years. University student — business analytics major.
She wore a hoodie over a tank top and had earbuds tangled in one hand. Her hair was still a little damp from a shower.
"You know you could've just texted," she said, raising an eyebrow at him. "Instead of going full radio silence for a day and a half."
"I didn't mean to worry you," Adrian said quietly.
"You didn't. I just thought you were being dramatic," she replied with a shrug. Then she glanced at him again — longer this time. "But you do seem different. Like... clearer?"
Adrian blinked once, letting the moment pass without resistance. "Maybe the sleep helped."
"Yeah, maybe."
They began eating.
It was a quiet meal, but not in a cold way. The kind of quiet that came from familiarity. The scrape of metal against ceramic. Mira occasionally refilling side dishes without being asked. Harold sipping warm barley tea. Lira eating fast, but not sloppily, like someone used to rushing between deadlines.
Adrian copied each small rhythm. The way the spoon was held. The angle of the chopsticks. The pauses between bites that matched unspoken family tempo.
It all flowed into place like a well-worn performance — and no one noticed the act behind the mask.
At one point, Mira placed a small plate of pickled radish next to him.
"You always used to eat these when you were nervous before a presentation," she said softly. "Thought it might help."
Adrian looked at the dish. His chest tightened, just a little. He lifted the piece and ate it without hesitation.
"Thanks, Mom."
She smiled again. Her eyes lingered on his face. "I'm just glad you're still here."
Harold nodded in quiet agreement.
The scent of seasoned broth and sweetened soy lingered in the air, mingling with quiet tension. Dinner plates were half-empty now, conversation thinning.
Lira set her spoon down with deliberate calm.
"So," she said, "you going to explain the vanishing act?"
Adrian looked up. "I didn't leave the house."
Her brows rose slightly. "You were in your room for a day and a half. No meals. No sounds. Door locked."
"I know," he said evenly.
"I wasn't in a good state. I didn't want to worry anyone. I just… needed silence."
Mira, seated at the far end, softened.
"You didn't even take your phone. We weren't sure if we should knock or give you space."
"I'm sorry," Adrian said. "That wasn't fair to you."
Harold spoke up next, his voice quiet but firm.
"We respected your privacy. But you have to understand, we were concerned. That kind of silence isn't normal."
Lira's tone sharpened. "You don't just disappear in your own room like that. You scared Mom."
Adrian paused, then nodded. "You're right."
No resistance. No excuses.
Mira's hand moved instinctively across the table, resting near his.
"We're just glad you came out."
"I needed the time," he said, voice low. "And I didn't handle it well."
For a moment, nothing else was said. The family sat with their own thoughts — plates quietly lifted, broth slowly stirred.
Lira was the first to ease back. She reached for her drink.
"Next time you need time, just… text. Even one word."
"Understood."
She gave him a long, assessing look. "You seem different."
Adrian held her gaze. "Maybe I am."
A silence passed between them — not hostile, but cautious. Lira gave a small nod and looked away.
Mira, sensing the shift, smiled gently. "Eat up while it's warm."
He did.
The food — Eastern-style beef stew with pickled vegetables and soft rice — was warm, rich, comforting. Familiar. Not to him, but to the body.
The texture, the spice, the sequence of bites — all followed the muscle memory that wasn't his, but now belonged to him.
He watched the way Mira laughed when Harold dropped a spoon. The way Lira adjusted her sleeves every time she started talking. The way his chair had a slight left tilt, and no one had ever fixed it.
These things mattered.
They were small, forgettable pieces of a life that had once belonged to someone else.
And now belonged to him.
The sound of the front door unlocking cut through the gentle rhythm of dinner.
Mira looked up, mid-sentence. "That'll be your sister."
The door opened with a light creak.
A woman stepped in, blazer draped over one arm, phone still in hand. She tapped something quickly on the screen before sighing and kicking her shoes off at the entrance.
"Apologies," she called, voice smooth and practiced.
"Client meltdown. I had to walk them off a legal cliff."
Mira stood to greet her. "Tessa, you should eat first before diving into another case."
"I plan to." Tessa Vale — the eldest — gave their mother a quick kiss and loosened her collar. "Smells good in here."
She stepped into the dining room and stopped for just a breath when her eyes landed on Adrian.
A flicker of surprise passed through her, quick and professional.
"Well," she said, tone arch.
"The prodigal brother returns."
Adrian didn't flinch. "Evening, Tessa."
"You missed a day and a half. Not exactly subtle."
"I wasn't aiming for subtle."
Tessa gave a quiet laugh and took the seat opposite him.
Mira placed a warm plate in front of her.
"Eat first. Interrogate later."
"Can't promise that," Tessa replied, but picked up her chopsticks.
Across the table, Lira glanced at Adrian.
She hadn't teased him much tonight.
Instead, she gave a small, honest nod — one she might've given a respected peer.
"I covered for you," she said, voice even.
"Told Mom you needed time."
Adrian turned to her, meeting her eyes.
"Thanks."
Lira looked away a little too quickly.
"Don't mention it."
Tessa, already chewing, raised a brow.
"Look at you, being decent."
"I can be mature," Lira replied with a flick of her chopsticks.
"Sometimes."
Tessa smiled.
"Don't let it get to your head."
The rhythm of the room shifted — relaxed. Familiar.
They ate together in the glow of soft kitchen lights, the scent of grilled meat and broth warming the air.
Tessa leaned forward.
"So. What really happened?"
Adrian wiped his mouth calmly.
"Nothing dramatic. Just... time to think."
Tessa studied him for a beat longer than necessary.
Then shrugged.
"Well. You missed the fun. Lira accidentally insulted her professor."
Lira huffed. "It was phrased diplomatically."
"Mom almost adopted a stray cat."
Mira held up a hand.
"He was lonely."
"And Dad's smart light project took down half the house."
Harold raised his eyebrows from across the table.
"Still not admitting fault."
Adrian let the noise wash over him.
It didn't feel foreign anymore.
He glanced at each of them — Tessa with her fire, Lira with her quiet shift, Mira's calm warmth, and Harold's solid presence.
Not his family.
But maybe they didn't have to know that.