The snow crunched softly under my boots—the kind of sound you hear only in places that are truly yours.
At the Academy, snow always felt cold.
Here—it felt alive.
I stood on the road in front of our house and suddenly realized that nothing had changed.
The sa old fence.
The sa walls, darkened by ti.
The sa roof, where I once carved patterns into the snow as a child.
The sa sll of smoke from the chimney—a mix of dry firewood and my mother’s flatbreads.
And by the doorstep—two silhouettes with a lantern.
I took one step, then another—and they saw .
Mom ran first.
The lantern swayed in her hand, scattering golden circles of light across the snow.
— Zen! Zenushka! — her voice broke. — My son… you’ve grown… how you’ve grown…
She hugged
so tightly, as if afraid I might disappear.
Father approached more slowly, but when his hand settled on my shoulder, I suddenly felt the full weight of these months apart.
— Welco ho, — he said simply.
And that was enough.
The three of us stood there until the lantern went out in the wind.
Only then did Mom step back, wiping her eyes.
— Co in, co in, you’re freezing! — and she was already pulling
into the house, just like when I was little, as if I weren’t an Academy mage, but a barefoot boy running through the yard.
A Warm House
Inside, it slled like… ho.
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Not magic.
Not runes.
Not training halls.
But bread.
Stewed cabbage.
Warm wood.
And sothing else—forgotten, familiar.
Mom bustled around :
— Take off your cloak!
— Sit down!
— I’ll heat it up right now!
Father simply sat across from , looking straight at , and in his eyes was pride—quiet, steady, real.
— We’re not complaining, — he said. — You write rarely, but… we understand. Studies, responsibilities… You’re grown now.
Mom snorted imdiately:
— Grown? He’s a child! Grown is when you write letters yourself instead of forgetting!
But she was smiling as she said it.
Conversations Until Late at Night
We ate a hot dinner, and I told them everything—well, everything I could tell.
About my classmates.
About lessons.
About Elinia, Kairen, Finn.
About stupid training sessions.
About the labyrinth.
About fencing.
About late-night reading.
Father listened carefully, sotis grunting, sotis asking precise questions—he’d always been like that.
And when the conversation drifted to “life beyond the Academy,” he suddenly said:
— I’ve heard… rumors. About the elves.
I looked up.
— A lot of good ones. Very good ones. About their goods… and about their forest. As if living there is like being protected by the spirits themselves. People say it’s beco calr. As if strong guardians are nearby.
He looked at
closely.
— You’ve been there, haven’t you? I can feel it. You don’t have to say anything—just know this: we’re glad you found friends among them.
The word friends struck deeper than I expected.
Mom added softly:
— Good people… or elves… are rare. We’re grateful for them.
I just smiled.
What else could I say?
Late Evening
When Mom went to bed first, Father stayed behind.
He poured himself warm tea—and poured
so too, even though I didn’t want it.
Lit a small desk lamp.
Sat beside .
— Zen, — he said without looking at . — You’ve beco… calr. Stronger. But there’s also sothing else… a kind of loneliness.
I stayed silent.
He continued:
— Son… rember this. There will always be a place for you here. You can be anyone you want there, at the Academy… but here—you’re our boy.
He looked
in the eyes.
— Don’t lose yourself. And don’t lose those who are dear to you.
Sothing warm tightened in my chest.
My father has no idea who I truly am.
What lives inside .
What I’m hiding.
And yet his words went straight to my heart.
Night
That night, I lay down in my old room.
The wooden ceiling.
Letters I never sent.
Old books.
Wooden toy animals I once carved myself.
And suddenly—the whole world slowed down.
Half a year of anxiety.
Of study.
Of fear of revealing myself.
Fear of standing out.
Fear of being noticed.
All of it faded.
I whispered to myself:
— I’m ho.
And the house answered—with a silence that has room for the heart.
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