The sun was dipping low by the time Litchzel returned to the quiet streets of their district. The evening breeze carried the scent of baked bread and woodsmoke—normal, peaceful smells.
Too peaceful for someone who'd just turned an S-class dungeon into a graveyard.
She stopped just short of the front door. Took a deep breath.
Okay, you've got time. You didn't bleed. Your cloak's in your pack. Your boots—
She glanced down.
Still crusty with scorched ichor. Damn.
She ducked around the back of the house, stripped her boots off, and hid them under a loose board in the fence. Then she rubbed a few fresh flower petals along her sleeves to mask the lingering scent of ash.
Creak.
The door opened just as she stepped up to it.
And there stood her mother.
Elma Hornford—tall, arms crossed, a wooden embroidery frame still in one hand. Despite the apron and the smile lines on her face, she radiated a sort of maternal intimidation only warriors-turned-mothers could achieve.
Her eyes scanned Litchzel from head to toe.
"You're late," Elma said, voice calm. "Dinner's going cold."
"Sorry, Mom. There was a big flower shipment today." Litchzel smiled, doing her best to not look like she'd just incinerated half a dungeon. "Had to help a merchant carry crates through Hill Market."
Elma squinted.
"Hmm." She sniffed. "You smell like… burnt meat. And sulfur."
Litchzel froze.
"W-Well, someone was cooking skewers near the cart! I think they overdid the spice mix—got all over the petals." She waved a hand innocently. "You know how street food is…"
Elma narrowed her eyes.
Litchzel fought the urge to fidget.
Finally, her mother turned away, muttering as she walked back into the house:
"If I find out you're sneaking off to fight again, I'll drag you by the ear and throw you into the bathtub myself."
"Y-You always say that!" Litchzel laughed nervously, following inside. "And I'm just selling flowers, I swear!"
-------------------
Inside, the warm light of the hearth washed over the small home. A modest meal was laid out on the table—vegetable stew, black bread, and fresh cider.
Across the table, her little sister Mayne sat kicking her legs, humming a tune and braiding flower stems into a crown.
"Big Sister! You're late!" she said, puffing out her cheeks. "I saved you the biggest potato!"
"You're the best," Litchzel grinned, ruffling her hair and kissing her forehead.
Mayne giggled, holding up her flower crown.
"Look! I made this one for Mom. But you can borrow it for tomorrow's market, if you want!"
Litchzel bowed dramatically. "An honor, Lady Mayne. With this crown, I shall rule the flower cart with unmatched elegance."
The table erupted in giggles.
For a few minutes, it was easy to forget monsters, dungeons, and the divine weight in her blood.
She was just Litchzel—older sister, flower girl, part-time liar, full-time protector.
--------------------
Later that night, after the dishes were cleaned and Mayne was asleep, Litchzel sat by the window, watching the moon rise. Her mother joined her, a mug of tea in hand reaching for her daughter's face.
"You've changed," Elma said softly. "Not in a bad way.You're more mature now."
Litchzel didn't answer at first.
"I just want to make sure you and Mayne don't have to struggle," she said at last. "Even if it means doing hard labor."
Elma sipped her tea.
"I feel like I failed as a mother."
Litchzel holds her mother's hand and
sighs—
"Mom, don't say that! You are the greatest mother there is in the world! I'm lucky to be a daughter of a loving mother like you."
"And don't worry too much about me. I am stronger than any other girl my age!"
"I don't care how strong you are, 'Zel. For me you and Mayne are my precious daughters and I can't stand seeing you both struggling."
Silence stretched between them.
Then Litchzel smiled, leaning against her mother's shoulder.
"I love you mom" she whispered.