After five days of steady travel, the convoy was halfway home. The road curved through rolling hills and stretches of wild grass that glimmered under the afternoon sun. Wagons creaked, horses snorted, and the rhythmic sound of marching boots had almost become background noise.

When evening came, they stopped by a shallow stream to set up camp. The veterans knew the drill,  unpack, eat, rest, while Ludger worked ahead of them, shaping the earth into sturdy shelters with practiced efficiency. Walls rose, smooth and level; a ceiling folded into place; and in minutes, the first hut was standing.

The moment he dusted off his hands, the chorus began.

“Nice work, Lulu!”

“Good job, Lulu!”

“Thanks for the hut, Lulu!”

He froze mid-motion, jaw tightening. His head turned slowly toward the offenders, practically everyone. Even Arslan, who was pretending not to grin while adjusting his cloak near the fire.

Ludger’s eye twitched. “…You all done?”

Harold smirked from where he was setting up the next campfire. “Not our fault the name suits you.”

Elaine, sitting with the twins nearby, sighed and gave everyone the kind of look that could silence an army. “Alright, that’s enough.”

She turned to Ludger, her tone softening. “You don’t have to glare holes through them, dear.”

He crossed his arms, muttering, “Didn’t even do anything… yet.”

But the truth was, he knew exactly why this was happening. The twins were the culprits.

Elle was sitting in Elaine’s lap, giggling as she clapped her tiny hands. Arash sat beside her, chewing on the end of a wooden spoon like it was a priceless artifact. A few days ago, they’d started saying their first words,  “mama” and “papa” came easily enough.

Then Elaine had tried teaching them his name.

“Lu-dger,” she had said carefully.

“Lu-lu,” the twins had repeated in perfect unison.

And now, thanks to that little linguistic tragedy, his family, and half the guild, had found their newest running joke.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhaling through his teeth. “You raised them too well, Mom.”

Elaine chuckled softly. “Oh, I don’t think they needed much training. They already knew who makes their toys and shelters.”

That earned another round of “Good work, Lulu” from someone near the fire, followed by laughter. Ludger glared, but it only made them laugh harder.

He muttered under his breath, “Next time, I’m building everyone’s huts without doors.”

Arslan’s laugh boomed across the camp. “That’s the spirit, Lulu! I mean, Luds!”

Ludger didn’t even dignify it with an answer. He just turned away, threw another log into the fire, and decided that ignoring them was probably healthier for his sanity,  though his expression said barely.

At least the twins looked proud of themselves… somehow.

Dinner ended as the fire burned low and the night wind began to roll across the plains. The camp settled into that comfortable lull that came after a long day, with the faint crackle of laughter between tents.

At least until Viola and Freyra decided it was the perfect time for “light exercise.”

They stood opposite each other in the open stretch near the camp’s edge, the firelight throwing long shadows over their faces. Both were grinning,  that dangerous kind of grin that usually came before something loud, broken, or on fire.

Freyra rolled her shoulders, her twin axes gleaming faintly with frost. “You still sure about this, southerner?”

Viola smirked, drawing her blade and planting her heel in the dirt. “If you need me to go easy, say it now.”

“Ha! You wish.”

And just like that, they clashed.

The first impact split the quiet like thunder. Viola’s sword met Freyra’s axes with a ringing crack that sent sparks scattering across the ground. Dust shot up in a small shockwave, the earth trembling under the mana pulsing through both of them.

Freyra moved first, two swift, heavy swings that came in from opposite angles. Viola caught both, stepping back half a pace as the air around her shimmered with earth-attuned mana. The soil hardened beneath her feet, anchoring her stance.

“Not bad!” Freyra barked, twisting and slamming her left axe down. Viola pivoted, parried, then countered with an upward slash that grazed the Northerner’s shoulder plate, leaving a shallow groove.

Cheers erupted around them.

“Ten gold says Freyra gets the next hit!”

“You’re insane, Viola’s too fast!”

“Fast? Did you see that swing? She’s trying to cave the ground in!”

The two women didn’t even notice the crowd forming. Freyra roared and surged forward, activating her Rage Flow, the frost mist around her weapons exploding into steam. She brought both axes down, shaking the dirt apart. Viola blocked the first, ducked under the second, and swept her leg across Freyra’s knee.

Freyra stumbled ,  just slightly, but enough. Viola’s blade flashed and rested against her neck for half a second.

Then Freyra twisted, deflecting the flat of the sword with her gauntlet and shoving her shoulder into Viola’s chest. The two broke apart, both panting, both smiling like lunatics.

“Call that a win?” Viola taunted.

“Almost.” Freyra’s grin widened. “But not yet.”

They charged again. This time, Viola channeled Overdrive, her blade glowing faintly orange as stone fragments floated in her wake. Freyra answered with her frost aura bursting to life, ice crackling up her arms.

Steel met steel, and the next impact sent a wave of dirt outward, extinguishing half the nearest campfire. The spectators stumbled back, covering their faces from the dust, shouting half in awe and half in panic.

By the time the smoke cleared, both girls stood with weapons crossed at the neck, Viola’s sword grazing Freyra’s skin, Freyra’s axe angled just beneath Viola’s ribs.

A perfect draw. For a heartbeat, neither moved. Then both lowered their weapons, laughing and breathing hard.

“Not bad,” Viola said, brushing dust from her tunic. “You’re learning.”

Freyra smirked, flipping one axe over her shoulder. “Same to you.”

Applause and groans followed as coins changed hands among the onlookers. Arslan was chuckling by the fire, shaking his head. Meanwhile, in the tent nearby, the twins slept soundly, blissfully unaware of the chaos outside.

Ludger had made sure of that earlier, reinforcing their small room with a soundproof reinforcement shell that still let in air. He sat near the edge of camp, watching the “sparring” match wind down, arms crossed.

He muttered under his breath, “One day they’ll spar without trying to level the ground.”

No one heard him over the next cheer as Viola and Freyra shook hands, already promising a rematch tomorrow.

Five days later, the group finally reached Lionfang.

The sight of the rebuilt walls and familiar banners rising over the horizon drew a collective sigh from the caravan,  half relief, half exhaustion. The journey had been long, the bridge project longer still, and now the simple idea of sleeping in a proper bed again was enough to make hardened soldiers smile like children.

Even Viola, who usually acted like she lived for chaos, looked content as she stretched her arms and took in the view. She’d decided to stay with them for a while instead of heading straight to the Torvares estate a few kilometers south. “Might as well make sure you don’t burn the town down before I leave,” she’d said,  though everyone knew she just didn’t want to go yet.

The Lionsguard banners fluttered as they crossed the main gate. The guards on duty straightened, grinning when they saw who was returning.

“Welcome back, Guildmaster!”

“You’re alive, Vice Master!”

Arslan laughed, waving a hand as they rode through the main street. “No souvenirs! Just work for everyone, as usual!”

The crowd chuckled. Some of the kids followed alongside the wagons, shouting about the “bridge to the southern sea” that they’d heard rumors about. Others just waved, faces bright with admiration, to them, the Lionsguard were heroes. Rumors reached far, apparently. Certainly rumors that the old man Torvares was controlling behind the scenes.

Ludger, though, didn’t share his father’s easy cheer. He slouched slightly on the front of one of the carts, eyes half-lidded from fatigue. The familiar smells of iron, earth, and cooked bread from the marketplace hit him, pulling an involuntary sigh out of him.

Home. For the first time in months, it actually felt like the word meant something.

Still, even that calm brought thoughts he couldn’t shake. As the guild’s main hall came into view, banners clean, walls solid, people shouting orders in the courtyard,  his mind wandered.

“I wonder if Aronia’s still working here,” he muttered.

Elaine glanced over from the wagon seat beside him. “Why wouldn’t she be?”

Ludger gave a faint, crooked smile. “Knowing her temper? She’s probably thought about quitting a dozen times since we left. Maybe two dozen if Yvar was around her too much.”

That earned a soft laugh from his mother. “You underestimate her patience.”

“Do I?” he said, smirking. “She likes her isolation. Patience isn’t the same as tolerance.”

Ahead, the guild gates opened fully, revealing familiar faces rushing out to meet them. the recruits, some northerners. The courtyard filled with greetings, noise, and the thud of boots as their people welcomed them back.

For the first time in weeks, Ludger let his shoulders relax. The bridge was done. The sea was quiet. And for now, Lionfang, his home, his guild, his little corner of sanity, was exactly where it needed to be.

When Ludger stepped through the front doors of the Lionsguard Guildhall, the smell of parchment, steel, and ink hit him all at once, the scent of routine, of home. Papers shuffled in nearby offices, someone argued over supply counts, and the faint hum of magical wards in the walls gave the place its usual quiet pulse.

Then a familiar voice called from across the main hall.

“Vice Guildmaster Ludger! Back from your southern vacation, I see.”

Yvar strolled over, quill tucked behind one ear, a ledger under his arm, looking far too calm for someone who’d been left managing Lionfang for months. His relaxed grin only made Ludger narrow his eyes.

“You look suspiciously at ease,” Ludger said flatly.

Yvar spread his hands innocently. “What can I say? The town didn’t burn down, trade routes stayed open, and nobody died. I’d call that an absolute win!”

“Really?” Ludger asked, raising a brow. “No problems at all?”

Yvar hesitated, tapping his chin. “Ah—well. There were a few complaints.”

“From who?”

“Aronia.”

A soft, measured sigh came from behind him.

Aronia, the half-dryad healer, stepped out from the corridor with her usual composed expression, though the faint narrowing of her eyes suggested she’d been waiting for this moment. Her green hair shimmered faintly under the mana lamps, and her sharp gaze swept over the returning group.

“You all got tanned,” she said dryly, crossing her arms. “Quite a bit, actually.”

Ludger tilted his head. “Jealous?”

Her lips twitched, somewhere between amusement and exasperation. “I hate sea breeze. It dries my skin and irritates my hair. It’s a dryad thing.”

“Then you’ll be happy to know you don’t have to deal with it,” Ludger said. “We’re back for good,  and I brought some good news.”

Aronia raised an eyebrow. “You? Bringing good news? That’s new.”

Ludger ignored the jab and continued, “Mom’s finally learned Healing Touch.”

That stopped her cold.

For a full second, Aronia just stared at him, the calm, professional look on her face slipping. “…You’re serious?”

He nodded once. “Yeah. I wrote down the book before we left, broke it into a training process she could follow safely. She got the knack of it while we were at the southern camp.”

Yvar blinked, impressed. “Elaine? As in, the Elaine who nearly broke your ribs often with her hugs? She has the power to heal?”

“The same one,” Ludger said, smirking.

Aronia was still staring at him, the faintest trace of disbelief creeping into her tone. “That’s a dryad spell, Ludger. A living spell. I’ve seen mages study for years before managing a stable use of it.”

Ludger shrugged. “Guess not everything is impossible.”

Aronia pinched the bridge of her nose. “Of course.”

Ludger just smirked. “You’ll survive. Besides, she’s been wanting to help out more directly. You’ll have another healer to argue with now, or to share work.”

Aronia sighed again but there was a faint hint of a smile hiding under her irritation. “You really don’t know how to return home quietly, do you?”

Ludger glanced around the hall, at Yvar’s paperwork, the steady hum of the guild, and his family waiting by the stairs — and exhaled through his nose.

“Quiet’s overrated,” he said.

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