The cold morning mist clung to the treetops as faint sunlight spilled across the clearing. The snow hadn’t fallen again overnight, leaving behind a crusty, frost-bitten world of silence. In the middle of that quiet space stood Klaus, bundled in an oversized coat and clutching a wooden sword with both hands. The weapon was far too large for him, more fit for an older teen, but he refused to complain. His breath came out in soft puffs as he positioned his feet the way Aren taught him.

Aren stood nearby with arms crossed, eyes following every motion with sharp precision. He wasn’t the type to yell or bark orders, but his presence was commanding enough that Klaus kept his posture upright and strikes deliberate. The sword was heavy, and his arms trembled after a while, but he pushed through the burning sensation.

“Lower your shoulder,” Aren instructed flatly. “Again. And stop looking at your feet.”

Klaus nodded and swung again. His form wasn’t perfect, but it was better than yesterday. Aren saw that.

“You don’t need much correction,” the older man murmured. “You listen. That’s rare.”

Later in the morning, Claudia arrived carrying a basket, her long hair tied up, cheeks red from the cold. “Breakfast break!” she called out cheerfully. “Unless Aren here decided to run you into the ground first.”

Klaus let out a quiet chuckle, lowering his sword. Claudia always brought warmth with her, and food. She cooked more often than not now, and stayed longer than she admitted to. She helped him stretch between lessons, taught him how to keep his stance even when grappling, and always made sure he drank something warm.

That evening, after another round of sparring and a hearty stew simmering in Claudia’s bowl, Klaus sat outside the cabin with her. The stars blinked faintly overhead, a few clouds skimming the sky. The smell of cooked meat and herbs still lingered in the air.

He stirred the bowl in his lap and looked up at the firelight pouring through the cabin window. “Claudia,” he said softly, “I noticed you come here every day.”

She raised a brow, pausing mid-stir. “Oh?”

“Does Aren perhaps… not know how to cook?” he asked, looking toward the the cabin.

Claudia burst into laughter. “Ha! I’ve been saying that for years.”

Aren’s voice came muffled from inside, clearly annoyed. “I heard that.”

Klaus smiled faintly and took a sip from his bowl, then glanced down. “Can I ask you something?”

Claudia leaned forward, her tone softening. “Of course.”

He hesitated, fingers tightening around the warm ceramic. “Do dreams mean anything?”

Claudia blinked. “Dreams?”

Klaus stared at the snow. “I see a fiery image sometimes. A house… burning. My mother yelling at me to run. Her voice echoes. Over and over. I wake up… shaking.”

Claudia looked toward the cabin. Before she could say anything, Aren had stepped outside, arms folded.

“I’ve had dreams like that,” Aren said after a long pause, voice low and distant. “Back in the war between Kendoria and Norwish. I remember the smoke, the screams, the cities burning like firewood. We were told we were liberating them, but all I saw were men dying. My men.”

Claudia looked down quietly.

Aren stepped forward, placing a hand on Klaus’s head. “You’re young. But you’ve already seen more than most do in a lifetime. Don’t let anyone tell you to forget. The world is cruel.”

Klaus looked up at him, unsure what to say. There was something different in Aren’s voice, like a tired ember still trying to stay lit. But it wasn’t just pity. It was recognition.

The wind picked up again. Snow swirled lazily across the clearing. Claudia sighed, stirring the stew im her again.

“Well, now that we’re all properly depressed,” she said, trying to lighten the mood, “I added mushrooms this time. Might be a bit chewy.”

Klaus nodded. He sat in silence for a while before asking, “Was there ever peace?”

Aren didn’t answer right away. He looked out into the woods, then down at Klaus. “Not out there. But sometimes… in places like this? Maybe.”

Claudia smiled. “That’s the best answer you’ll ever get from him.” She handed him a bowl of stew

Klaus smiled faintly and looked into the skies. It wasn’t the kind of home he imagined. But it was warm. Safer than anything he’d known before.

As the night deepened, and the snow began falling again, Claudia already went home, Klaus and Aren went back inside. Aren turned to Klaus and pointed his thumb at the wooden sword leaning against the cabin wall.

“You’re getting better,” he said. “You’ll grow into it.”

Klaus nodded, Siva thighter. He didn’t know where the path would lead next. But for the first time in a long while… he felt like maybe he didn’t have to walk it alone.