Caled motioned for Aifi to follow him into the modest wooden house. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air.
The interior was simple but well-kept - wooden furniture polished smooth by years of use, shelves lined with carefully preserved books, and the lingering scent of herbs hanging from the rafters.
Argin, ever the gracious host, had already prepared coffee by the time they settled at the worn oak table. The rich aroma filled the room as he poured steaming cups for them both.
Aifi wrapped her slender fingers around the warm ceramic, her delicate eyebrows arching in appreciation as she took her first sip.
"This is excellent," she remarked, her melodic voice carrying genuine surprise. "Though I must admit, I'm more shocked to find the legendary embodiment of wrath living like... this."
Her blue eyes swept across the cozy interior before settling on Caled.
"Tilling fields, drinking coffee, playing farmer. Who would believe it?"
Caled leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight.
"You didn't come here to discuss my domestic habits," he said, his deep voice calm but firm. "Why are you here, Aifi?"
The elf woman set her cup down with deliberate care.
"Are you keeping up with continental affairs?" she asked, her tone shifting to something more serious. "The political landscape is changing rapidly."
A dry chuckle escaped Caled's lips.
"Information finds its way here easily enough. I know about the unrest in the western provinces, the new trade agreements, the power struggles among the noble houses. Retirement doesn't mean ignorance."
"Then you understand why I'm here," Aifi said, folding her hands neatly on the table. "As Head of the Magic Association, I-"
"Exactly," Caled interrupted. "Why is the most powerful mage on the continent sitting in my kitchen? You have an entire bureaucracy at your disposal."
Aifi's lips curved into a knowing smile.
"I came to offer you a position."
Caled's expression darkened.
"I retired for good reason. The 'Nameless Hero' is gone. That chapter is closed."
"I'm not asking you to be a hero," Aifi countered smoothly. "I'm asking you to be an educator. A guardian."
This caught Caled's attention. He tilted his head slightly, the morning light catching in his dark eyes.
"Explain."
"The magic academies across Acridia are in turmoil," Aifi said, her voice dropping to a more confidential tone. "We're training the next generation of the continent's most powerful women. One misstep in their education, one wrong influence..." She let the implication hang in the air. "I can't oversee them all personally."
Caled snorted.
"So appoint someone. You have hundreds of qualified mages."
Aifi shook her head, her golden hair shimmering.
"None I would trust with this. The position of Archscholar requires someone with... unique qualifications. Someone who understands true power and its consequences." She met his gaze unflinchingly. "Someone like you."
"The Archscholar?" Caled barked a laugh. "You want to give me jurisdiction over every girls' academy on the continent? That's either brilliant or the stupidest idea you've ever had."
"Probably both," Aifi admitted with a small smile. "But you're the only one who can do this. The only one I trust to shape these young minds properly."
Silence settled over the table. Caled stared into his coffee, his expression unreadable.
Outside, the sounds of farm life continued - chickens clucking, the distant bleat of goats, the rustle of leaves in the wind. A world away from the halls of magical power Aifi was offering.
Finally, without looking up, Caled spoke a single word:
"Why?"
Aifi's response was immediate.
"Because despite everything, you still care. You always have."
The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the ensuing silence. Caled didn't reply, but the set of his shoulders suggested the wheels in his mind were turning.
Aifi rose gracefully from her seat, her white dress flowing around her as she moved toward the door.
Caled followed in silence, his bare feet padding softly against the wooden floor. The morning sun cast long shadows across the settlement as they walked toward the edge of the clearing, where the dense forest marked the boundary of his self-imposed exile.
Aifi paused, turning to face him. The breeze played with her golden hair as she spoke, her voice tinged with nostalgia.
"I still remember when we fought side by side," she said, her blue eyes distant. "The demon invasion. The blood, the fire, the screams. And yet… we brought peace."
Caled exhaled, his expression unreadable.
"That was a lifetime ago."
Aifi's lips curled into that familiar, sly smile.
"And yet, here you are. The same man who once told me he dreamed of standing in front of a classroom, shaping young minds." She tilted her head. "You'd make a fine professor, Caled."
A smirk tugged at Caled's lips.
"Maybe."
"Retirement doesn't suit you," Aifi pressed.
Caled shrugged. "It doesn't have to."
With a soft sigh, Aifi raised her hand. Magic shimmered in the air around her, the faint glow of a teleportation spell weaving itself into existence. Her form began to dissolve, golden motes of light peeling away like petals in the wind.
"If you change your mind," she said, her voice already fading, "come to Viera. I'll be waiting."
And then she was gone.
Caled stood there for a long moment, the silence of the forest pressing in around him. Then, with a slow exhale, he turned and walked back to his fields.
The day passed in quiet labor—turning soil, tending crops, the rhythmic motions of a life he had built over a century.
But his mind was elsewhere. Memories surfaced unbidden—the roar of battle, the faces of comrades long gone. And beneath it all, an old dream, buried but never forgotten.
Night fell, and Caled sat by the hearth, the firelight flickering across his sharp features. He stared into the flames, lost in thought.
Argin found him like that, silent and brooding. The old man settled into the chair beside him, the wood creaking under his weight.
"You're a good teacher," Argin said at last, his voice gentle. "Everything I know, you taught me. And wasn't it your dream, once? To stand before students?"
Caled didn't answer. But when dawn broke, he was already packing.
A simple bag. A few belongings. The trappings of a life left behind.
Argin and his family gathered outside to see him off. Marza pressed a wrapped loaf of bread into his hands—"For the road"—while the grandchildren stared up at him with wide, curious eyes.
"Will you come back?" one of them asked.
Caled ruffled the boy's hair.
"Maybe."
Then, with a final nod to Argin, he turned and walked away.
The forest path stretched before him, the trees parting as if in farewell. Behind him, the farm—his home for 106 years—grew smaller, until it was swallowed by the wilderness.
Ahead?
Viera.
The beating heart of the continent. The capital of magic.
And, perhaps, a new beginning.