When Ludger finally returned, the moon had climbed higher, its pale glow tracing the outline of the border town’s walls. The night guards straightened at the sound of his boots crunching through the area, but they relaxed once they recognized his silhouette.

Near the main gate, a lone figure leaned against the stone archway — broad shoulders, familiar posture, the glint of steel eyes that could only belong to one man.

Arslan.

He was waiting for him, arms crossed, that half-amused, half-knowing look on his face. “Took your time,” he said, voice low. “You done punching rocks yet?”

Ludger let out a short breath through his nose. “...Yeah. Think I’m done.”

Arslan’s gaze shifted downward, catching sight of his son’s right arm. Even through the sleeve, the swelling was obvious. “You should probably heal that before your mother sees it. Or smells the blood, for that matter.”

Ludger blinked, glancing at the faint red smear across his armguard. He sighed. “Right. Forgot about that part.”

He raised his left hand, a faint green light blooming around his palm as the familiar warmth of Healing Flow mended torn muscle and bruised bone. He did that enough times until the swelling decreased a lot.

Arslan watched quietly, nodding when the glow disappeared. “Better. At least now she won’t throw a frying pan at me for letting you break yourself again.”

Ludger chuckled under his breath. “Guess I still got that from you.”

His father smirked faintly. “Yeah, but I learned to aim for enemies, not defenseless boulders.”

That earned a soft laugh from Ludger. The kind of laugh that sounded more tired than amused.

“I get it,” Arslan continued, tone softer now. “You’re angry. I was too. When I heard about that letter, my blood nearly boiled. But…” He shook his head. “You can’t let them get in your head like that. That’s what they want — for you to react, to make the first mistake.”

Ludger stared at his now-healed arm, flexing his fingers once. “I know. I just… needed to let it out, at least once.”

Arslan’s expression eased, a faint hint of pride tugging at the edge of his mouth.

“I’ve fought plenty of battles,” Ludger went on, voice low, “but this one’s different. Having that kind of day — holding Elle, Arash, seeing Mom smile again — it felt… good. Too good. So when I remembered that someone out there might want to take that away…”

His eyes darkened slightly, that quiet steel returning. “I guess it lit a fire I didn’t even realize I was holding.”

Arslan nodded slowly, his tone firm but understanding. “Then remember that fire. But don’t let it burn blind. Control it, like you did tonight. You hit a rock, not a person. That’s already a step ahead of most men double your age.”

Ludger smirked faintly. “Can’t tell if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

“Both,” Arslan said simply.

The two of them stood there for a while under the cold northern sky — father and son, side by side, the silence between them comfortable.

Finally, Arslan pushed off the wall and gave Ludger a light pat on the shoulder. “Come on. Before your mother starts a search party. You know she doesn’t sleep when we are boht out late.”

Ludger exhaled through his nose, his voice softer now. “Yeah. Let’s go home.”

As they walked through the gate, the scarf around his neck fluttered in the wind. The anger still burned somewhere deep inside him, but it was quieter now — tempered by the warmth of the home he refused to lose.

As they approached home, Arslan glanced sideways at Ludger and frowned faintly.

“Hold still,” he said suddenly.

Ludger blinked. “What?”

Before he could react, Arslan reached out and tugged lightly at the ends of Ludger’s scarf, adjusting it with practiced precision. He flipped both ends back over his shoulders so they hung neatly behind him, the fabric flowing slightly in the night breeze. As if they were Ludger’s wings.

“There,” Arslan said, stepping back to admire his work. “Now you look cooler.”

Ludger stared at him. “...You fixed my scarf.”

“Of course I did,” Arslan said, completely serious. “A man’s style says a lot about him. You can’t walk around with it flapping all over like some lost mercenary.”

Ludger gave him a flat look, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “You know you sound ridiculous, right?”

Arslan ignored that, smirking with the easy confidence of someone who knew he was ridiculous and didn’t care. “Listen, Luds. You’ve got the talent, the brain, and the temper. But style—” he gestured at the scarf “—that’s where legends are made.”

Ludger let out a dry laugh. “Oh, so now it’s about fashion?”

“Always has been,” Arslan said without missing a beat. “And if you keep practicing those overconfident smirks of yours, maybe one day you’ll even look as cool as me.”

That earned him an eye roll. “Yeah, that’s the goal. Aim for Dad-tier coolness.”

“Damn right,” Arslan replied with a grin.

For a moment, the two just stood there in the moonlight — father and son, their shadows stretching long across the frost-tipped ground.

Ludger gave the scarf a light tug, testing how it fell behind him, and couldn’t help a faint smile. “...Guess it does look better this way.”

“Told you,” Arslan said, already turning toward the road. “Now come on. Let’s go home before your mother kills us both for loitering in the cold. Can’t have the family’s two coolest men catching a cold.”

Ludger snorted. “You’re something else.”

“And stylish,” Arslan corrected, grinning wide.

The two walked on beneath the pale moonlight, the scarf trailing behind Ludger like a quiet ember of warmth in the northern chill.

In the end, Ludger allowed himself something rare — a full week of rest.

No labyrinth runs. No political meetings. No mana experiments or training sessions that left his arms shaking. Just time at home.

His siblings, Elle and Arash, had been born four days before he arrived. He’d expected at least another month before that happened, but twins rarely followed plans — even before they could crawl.

The house was alive in a way that even the northern  border town couldn’t match. There was always the soft murmur of conversation, the crackle of the hearth, the scent of wood and warm milk in the air. And, of course, the occasional wailing cry that could probably wake the dead.

Ludger smirked more than once watching Arslan — the great warrior of the north — pacing the room like a nervous recruit, whispering nonsense lullabies under his breath. Elaine wasn’t much better, her calm voice turning sharp the moment one of the babies refused to quiet down. Raising Ludger who never cried didn’t give her much experience in that field.

But for some reason, whenever he took over, things went quiet almost instantly.

Elle would blink up at him, wide green eyes shining before she gave a small, content sigh. Arash usually just yawned once, grabbed his brother’s finger with a grip far too strong for a newborn, and promptly fell asleep.

The first few times, Arslan had glared at him like it was sorcery.

“What the hell are you doing that I’m not?”

Ludger shrugged. “Guess they just like me better.”

Elaine chuckled softly. “Maybe they can sense that you won’t take no for an answer.”

After that, Ludger found himself acting as the house’s unofficial “baby whisperer.” Whenever one of the twins started fussing, someone would shout his name, and moments later the crying would stop. It became such a pattern that Arash’s soft little hiccups started sounding like “Lu…” after a while.

He didn’t mind. Not one bit.

In between those small domestic battles, the days passed easily — filled with laughter, soft exhaustion, and a sense of peace he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. The Empire, the alliance, the labyrinth — all of it faded to the background.

For that week, he wasn’t the vice lider of the Lionsguard or the prodigy reshaping the border.

He was just Ludger — ten years old, big brother, and part of something worth protecting.

One morning, while Ludger was helping Elaine set out breakfast and half-listening to Arash’s attempts at crying himself awake, Arslan appeared at the doorway, tying his cloak. He looked well-rested for once—but his expression said this wasn’t just a casual chat.

“Got a minute, Luds?” he asked, his tone even but carrying that familiar weight of business.

Ludger handed the cup of tea he was holding to Aronia and followed his father outside. The early sunlight painted the grass gold, and the air still carried that northern chill that never truly went away.

Arslan crossed his arms. “The guild’s finally ready to start operating officially.”

Ludger blinked. “You mean the Lionsguard?”

“Yeah.” Arslan nodded. “We’ve got enough paperwork done with your Lord Torvares seal, the northern clans recognize our authority, and the Empire’s too busy to interfere right now. So we start small. Our first contracts will be moving froststeel shipments down south to Torvares territory.”

Ludger frowned slightly. “Transporting goods, huh? Not exactly glorious work.”

“Not supposed to be,” Arslan said. “It’s steady, it’s safe, and it’ll build trust. But we’ll need more hands soon. The guild’s still too small. We can’t rely on the same dozen people for everything.”

Ludger nodded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Makes sense. You’ll be managing it?”

Arslan chuckled dryly. “Officially, yeah. But let’s be honest—between your mother and the twins, my ‘management’ will mostly involve running home before they start screaming.”

Ludger smirked. “So, in short, Yvar’s going to handle everything.”

“Pretty much,” Arslan admitted with a shrug. “He’s good at it, though. Organized, methodical, doesn’t lose his temper when people start yelling about quotas. Perfect for the job.”

Ludger hummed in agreement. “Still, we’ll need more members soon. Reliable ones.”

He paused for a moment, an old thought surfacing. “What about Maurien? My magic teacher.”

Arslan’s face turned more serious. “No one’s seen him in a while. Word is he left the area after the war. Could be wandering again.”

Ludger let out a quiet sigh. “Figures. He always hated staying in one place.”

“Why? Planning to recruit him?”

“Maybe,” Ludger said, already thinking it through. “He’s sharp, and he knows magic better than most professors. If we could convince him to stay, he’d raise mages’ for us. And I could write to Gaius Stonefist too. While he was a guildmaster himself with a difficult past, he should have improved.”

Arslan gave a small nod. “You think they’d join?”

Ludger shrugged. “Not sure. Maurien hates politics, and Gaius loves drinking more than responsibility. But if I can get even one of them to show up, it’d be a solid start.”

Arslan chuckled. “Sounds like a plan. Worst case, they ignore you, and we go back to recruiting greenhorns from the frontier.”

Ludger smirked faintly. “Then I’ll write those letters tonight. If we’re going to build a guild that lasts, might as well start by gathering people who actually know what they’re doing.”

“Good,” Arslan said, clapping his son on the shoulder. “Just remember, we’re building something that’ll outlive both of us. Not just a guild—an alliance that keeps the Empire from ever pulling these people’s strings again.”

Ludger looked out toward the borderlands, where the snow and grass met in an uneasy line. “Then let’s make sure we find people worth fighting beside.”

“Spoken like a real leader,” Arslan said with a grin. “You’re getting the hang of this.”

Ludger snorted. “Or maybe I just inherited your ability to fake confidence.”

Arslan laughed. “Either way—it works.”

The two of them turned toward the northern wind, already planning the next steps in silence. The Lionsguard would start small, but Ludger could already see it: a force strong enough to guard the border, to unite the people here, and to face whatever the Empire threw their way.

The next morning started quiet — the kind of rare calm that came after a night of cold and soft wind. Ludger was still half-asleep, rubbing his eyes and debating whether to make coffee or go back to bed, when he heard a knock at the front door.

Then came a familiar voice, formal but edged with mild impatience. “Ludger! You awake?”

Yvar.

Ludger sighed, muttering something under his breath about mornings and their natural enemies, before heading to the entrance. When he opened the door, the scholar was standing there, posture perfectly straight as always — and behind him were five unfamiliar faces.

Children.

No, not exactly children — around Viola’s age, maybe twelve or thirteen, old enough to be in training. But still young compared to most of the roughnecks who hung around the area.

Ludger blinked once, then frowned. “What’s this?”

Yvar adjusted his glasses, holding up a sealed envelope. The wax bore a familiar insignia — a bull, red and silver. The Torvares family crest.

“Letter from Lady Viola’s grandfather,” Yvar said. “Delivered this morning.”

Ludger took it, turning the envelope over in his hand before tearing it open. The neat handwriting inside was unmistakable — Lord Torvares’s crisp, deliberate strokes.

He skimmed the contents quickly, his frown deepening with every line. Then he looked up at Yvar, and at the five young recruits who were trying very hard to look brave under his stare.

“Let me guess,” Ludger said flatly. “They’re the punchline to this letter.”

Yvar gave a small, patient nod. “Candidates. Sent directly by Lord Torvares. He said he’s providing ‘fresh blood for the guild’s future.’”

Ludger groaned quietly. “Of course he did.”

Yvar went on. “They’re apparently from close households connected to your grandfather’s trade routes. Talented, according to him — decent combat basics, a few magic affinities. And… motivated.”

“Motivated,” Ludger echoed. “Right.”

He glanced at the kids again — five sets of eyes watching him carefully. Two boys stood ramrod straight like soldiers-in-training, one girl carried a bow nearly as tall as she was, and the other two looked more like they’d been dragged out of some academy by force. Regardless, the letter said that Luna investigated them and confirmed that they could be trusted. Ludger wasn’t so sure about trusting teenagers with cars, much less with weapons and magic.

He folded the letter, tucking it into his coat pocket. “I did ask him to help with recruitment,” he admitted. “But I didn’t mean ‘send me a batch of newcomers overnight and without warning.’”

Yvar’s lips twitched. “In fairness, you never said when you wanted his help. Knowing Lord Torvares, he probably took that as permission to act immediately.”

Ludger exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah. Sounds about right.”

He gave the recruits one more look — cautious, sharp, assessing. “Alright,” he muttered. “If they came all the way up north, might as well see what they’re made of.”

Yvar nodded approvingly. “I’ve already prepared their temporary quarters near the guildhall. We can run evaluations later today.”

Ludger smirked faintly, crossing his arms. “Fine. But if any of them cry after the first day, you’re handling it.”

Yvar raised an eyebrow. “You underestimate how often students cry around me.”

Ludger snorted. “Guess I’ll find out soon enough.”

He stepped outside, motioning for the group to follow. The morning chill bit at his skin, but the green scarf around his neck fluttered warmly in the wind.

So the old man decided to get involved personally, Ludger thought, watching the young recruits shuffle into line. Fine. Let’s see if they’re worth the trouble.

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