Aston made his way back to the kitchen. The sunlight had shifted. It was mid-afternoon, yet they hadn't eaten since breakfast, and his stomach gave a low, unimpressed gurgle.

He opened the pantry again, this time with more purpose.

Canned goods, some vacuum-sealed grains, a bundle of dried herbs, rice, and a few spices in labeled jars. Then he turned his attention to the fridge - meats, eggs, butter, milk, cheese. A modest selection, but enough.

He rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

A pot clinked against the stove as he measured the rice, rinsed it and set it to cook. While it steamed, he grabbed some meat with fat in it, probably from a pork beast, and sliced it into bite-sized pieces. He then opened a can of season beans, chopped a few preserved vegetables, and stirred everything together with some garlic flakes and dried chili. It wasn't elegant, but it was warm, filling, and smelled halfway decent.

Gray leapt onto the counter beside him and sniffed the air. Its nose wrinkled.

Aston raised an eyebrow. "We don't all have access to hotel chefs, you know."

Gray let out a chirp of complaint that sounded suspiciously like a scoff.

Mirage, perched on top of the cabinet, fluffed its feathers in a diplomatic silence.

Aston plated the rice and pork and beans, setting aside for Gray, minus the chili, of course. He also served a portion minus the beans to Mirage. They sat at the small kitchen table, the afternoon light golden through the window, casting lazy shadows across their bowls.

Gray took a bite, then blinked slowly.

It looked up at Aston with a face that could only be described as judgemental.

"Hey, I never said I was a professional," Aston said, eating his own portion. "It's edible. That's what counts."

Gray turned his back dramatically, tail flicking, and nibbled the meal in reluctant acceptance.

Aston chuckled, shaking his head. "Guess I've spoiled you."

Despite the lack of flair, the quiet warmth of the kitchen wrapped around them. No loud noises, no clatter of city streets. Just the soft clink of spoons, a flicker of breeze through the window, and the low grumble of a cat trying to pretend it wasn't enjoying itself.

For the first time in days, it felt like an ordinary afternoon.

—

The next three days passed like a quiet ripple across still water.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Aston kept a disciplined routine - his mind never straying far from the looming final trial. Each morning began early, with soft sunlight slipping through the curtains and Gray stretching dramatically on the windowsill before jumping onto Aston's chest to demand breakfast.

After a light meal, Aston would step out into the small backyard, now trimmed and livable, where he trained.

He asked Nova about training for scouts, and Nova gave him a set of combat forms, which he practiced daily. With Mirage perched nearby and Gray lounging on a sun-warmed stone, Aston cycled through agility drills, reinforced movements, and honed his control over the energy within him.

Aston also once asked Gray to transform to its original form and to try to claw into a rock. It morphed back into its Obsidian Claw Tiger form - its fur turned black, and white stripes seemingly grew from its spine. It grew to a foot in length, and its claws glowed darkly against the sun. It radiated regality and ferocity, but still looked cutely at Aston.

Aston commanded Gray to slash against the rock. Gray pounced at the rock at breakneck speed. It passed by the rock and looked back. A few seconds later, Aston noticed that the upper half of the rock was slowly sliding down, as it was cut diagonally. He looked at Gray in shock. He was so strong! The cat will be his secret weapon from now on.

While Aston trained, Mirage didn't stay idle either. The avian beast spent hours gliding through the open sky above their home, weaving through the open sky above their home, weaving between trees, dipping low across rooftops and practicing its aerial maneuvers. Sometimes, it returned with small pebbles clenched in its talons, dropping them precisely onto targets Aston placed for it. Its movements grew sharper and swifter.

Afternoons were quieter.

Inside the house, Aston would settle down to read books or flick through the sluggish screen of his old phone. Oftentimes, the phone lagged which annoyed Aston a great deal.

After the trial, let's buy a new phone.

With a cup of hot chocolate beside him, Aston pored over old battle records, elemental theories, and strategic insights. He highlighted key patterns, mentally mapping out scenarios for the final trial.

Sometimes, Mirage would flap down beside him and click its beak gently - its own way of nudging him away from reading too long without breaks.

In the late afternoons, Aston meditated.

He'd sit cross-legged on the living room floor, windows open to the breeze, the scent of fresh wood and herbs lingering in the air. Gray would curl in his lap, purring softly. Mirage would stand guard at the window, unmoving as a statue.

Aston didn't always find clarity in the silence. Some days, his mind wandered - thoughts of failure, of pressure, of people counting on him.

But he breathed through it.

Every breath grounded him deeper. Every exhale loosened the knot of nerves.

At night, he sometimes cooked again, getting better at every step he took in the kitchen. He experimented with spices, adjusted heat levels, and even grilled fish with the precision of someone avoiding another Gray-induced guilt trip. Gray approved with dignified nods and faster bites.

Before bed, Aston would take a final walk around the house. It had been a ritual - checking the rooms, ensuring everything was in place, not out of paranoia, but of reassurance.

He'd stop at his aunt's door. He didn't go in, but he stood outside quietly, a hand sometimes brushing the frame.

On the third night, Aston lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Gray was curled at his side. Mirage had tucked its wings and nested on the back of a nearby chair.

Tomorrow will come fast.

But tonight, he felt ready. Not because he was flawless, not because he had a golden potential, but because he'd faced his own quiet trials - and passed.

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