Chapter 134.5 — A Choice Earned

  That night, three children survived their first skirmish.

  Their hearts still pounded—

  each to a different rhythm.

  At noon, they had barely looked at one another. Words were scarce. Trust thinner than paper.

  Only Nicole spoke freely.

  But when they parted that evening, something had shifted.

  They said goodbye.

  Not loudly.

  Not dramatically.

  But willingly.

  And then they returned to their separate homes.

  Nicole nearly kicked the door off its hinges.

  “MA! PA! EVERYONE— I’M BACK!”

  “WELCOME BACK, NICOLE!”

  The reply came in a thunderous chorus that shook the wooden rafters.

  Shouting truly was hereditary.

  The neighbor aunty next door groaned and covered her ears.

  Nicole grinned like a victorious general and held up the coin pouch first—

  then revealed a neatly wrapped bundle of fresh meat.

  “For dinner!”

  His mother gasped. His father burst into laughter.

  Four younger siblings swarmed him immediately.

  “Did you fight monsters!?”

  “Did you win!?”

  “Did you see blood!?”

  Nicole straightened his back until it almost creaked.

  And told them everything.

  Well—

  His version of everything.

  How the Silver Ward leapt from horse to horse like drifting silver silk.

  How there were thirty bandits—no, maybe forty.

  How steel clashed beneath a blazing sun.

  How arrows cut the wind.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  How he stood firm, overwhelming charging enemies while protecting a damsel in distress.

  He may have left out the part where his hands shook.

  Some siblings listened with sparkling eyes.

  Some shrank back, half terrified, half amazed.

  Questions flew.

  Answers grew bolder.

  By the time the meat was roasted and shared, laughter filled the house—warm, loud, alive—stretching deep into the night.

  “OH! AND MISS SILVER WARD EVEN PAT MY HEAD! I’M NOT WASHING FOR THREE DAYS!”

  “OH NO YOU DON’T!”

  “WAIT MA! NO NO NO NO—DON’T WASH MEEEEEE—”

  He was dragged to the well in the backyard, scrubbed mercilessly while protesting the loss of sacred blessing.

  His father laughed.

  His siblings howled.

  That evening, one boy returned home—

  Carrying coins in his pocket.

  And a legend in his mouth.

  Nasha returned with dragging steps and a face drawn tight with exhaustion.

  What should have been a simple escort turned into bandit suppression.

  The moment she reached the shop—

  “Nasha!?”

  “What happened!?”

  “Are you hurt!?”

  Her parents and little brother rushed out from behind the counter.

  Hands pulled her inside. Warm lamplight. Familiar scents of dried herbs and paper.

  And she broke.

  Months of tension shattered all at once.

  She cried into her mother’s shoulder.

  She spoke of the contract she failed to scrutinize.

  Of the investment that ruined them.

  Of pride swallowed.

  Of taking orders from someone younger—an orphan at that.

  Then fear.

  Of arrows aimed at living people.

  Of bandits rushing the gate.

  And finally—

  Of awe.

  “…She was amazing,” Nasha whispered hoarsely.

  “The Silver Ward.”

  She told them of the promise Ivaline made—

  an introduction to a potential investor.

  A chance to work with ledgers again.

  When she finished, silence lingered.

  Then—

  “That’s good,” her father said gently. “You can return to numbers. Safer than blades.”

  Her mother hesitated. “But… the guards invited you, didn’t they? That means you did well.”

  Her little brother’s eyes sparkled.

  “Big sis can choose? Like—choose her own path?”

  Nasha blinked.

  Choose.

  For the first time since their family’s fall—

  Her chest felt light.

  She had a choice.

  And that choice existed because of a quiet girl who never once realized how many lives she tilted simply by standing at the front.

  Bubble returned alone to her rented room near the guild.

  She heated water. Washed slowly. Carefully.

  As if confirming she was still real.

  Then she lay on her narrow bed, staring at the ceiling.

  “…Coming here was my choice.”

  Once, her life had been decided long before she could speak.

  Smile.

  Obey.

  Be sold.

  But today—

  She stood in a real fight.

  She was taken hostage—

  And survived.

  She healed wounds with her own hands.

  She earned coins that were hers.

  People thanked her.

  That was new.

  She was still clumsy. Still uncertain. Still afraid of tomorrow.

  But tonight—

  She understood something she never had before.

  She could walk this path.

  Because she chose it.

  And the one who showed her that path—

  Was a girl three years younger.

  A small back—

  Yet vast beyond sight.

  Bubble turned to her side.

  “I’ll follow that back,” she murmured.

  Not out of debt.

  Not out of fear.

  But because she wanted to.

  Sleep claimed her gently.

  For the first time since fleeing home—

  There were no nightmares.

  And Ivaline—

  The quiet axis of all these shifting fates—

  Slept soundly.

  No dreams.

  No worries.

  No thoughts of legends forming in distant houses.

  Just a child breathing evenly beneath a simple blanket.

  Peaceful.

  Unaware.

  For now.