Vonjo parked his car near the quiet little house with the crooked roof and dim lantern light swaying outside.

The night air was calm, and for a moment, it felt like he'd stepped into another world entirely—far away from the blood-red glow of his family's chaos and the suffocating weight of the Sutterfouse name.

On the porch, a tiny food stall clung to the front of the house, just the way he remembered it.

Wooden planks formed a low counter, the edges smooth from years of elbows leaning on them.

A faint smell of broth and grilled meat hung in the cool air, carried on a soft night breeze.

Vonjo cut the engine and leaned back in his seat, a small smile curling at his lips. He hadn't been here in ages.

The three-headed frog on his shoulder croaked softly, tilting its middle head curiously.

"You smell that, Frog?" Vonjo said, his voice carrying a note of nostalgia. "That's the smell of heaven for someone who's starving. Back then… I was done. No family, no money, nothing but bruises. And this little stall? This was where I crawled to when I thought I was gonna pass out in the gutter."

The frog croaked again, a low ribbit-ribbit-croak that almost sounded sympathetic.

Vonjo chuckled, leaning his head back and letting the memories play out. He could still remember the night like it was yesterday.

He'd been kicked out of the Sutterfouse estate, literally thrown past the front gate like garbage. His stomach was empty, his pride was shattered, and he'd walked aimlessly for hours, head spinning.

The world had felt gray and cruel, and every alley stank like something rotten.

He remembered the sharp pangs in his stomach, the dizziness, and the faint shame that he, a son of that prestigious house, had become a wandering beggar in a single night.

And then, he'd smelled food.

A rich, comforting scent of stewed pork, fried scallions, and freshly baked flatbread had drifted from this very stall.

He had stumbled toward it like a moth to light, half-expecting to be chased off the moment they saw his dirty, bruised face.

But instead, an old man with kind eyes had stepped out and said, "Sit down, boy. You look like the world's chewed you up."

Vonjo's hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel as the memory hit him.

That single act of kindness had felt like a lifeline in the storm.

He had eaten here for free, trembling and barely able to hold the chopsticks, and the couple had told him he could come by anytime until he got back on his feet. That small kindness had burned itself into his soul.

He blinked, shaking off the haze of memory, and glanced at the frog. "These people saved me when I was at my lowest. They didn't care about the Sutterfouse name. They didn't ask for anything. Frog, I think it's time I… give something back."

The frog's left head croaked softly, almost as if in approval.

Before Vonjo could step out, a voice called from inside the house. "Customer! There's a customer!"

A wooden door creaked open, and an elderly man shuffled out, wiping his hands on a cloth. His hair was whiter than Vonjo remembered, and his back slightly more bent, but his eyes—sharp and kind—were the same.

The moment the old man's gaze landed on Vonjo, he froze mid-step. His wrinkled face trembled, and his mouth opened slightly, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Vonjo stepped out of the car and smiled warmly. "Long time no see, Old Clark."

The old man's eyes widened, and then he broke into a slow, toothy grin. "Oooohhh… It's you! My, my, my… Vonjo, is that really you?"

Vonjo strode forward, his boots crunching lightly against the gravel, and extended a hand. "It's been a long time, old man. A very long time."

Clark grasped his hand with surprising strength, his weathered fingers warm and trembling. "Hah! You've grown into a proper young man, haven't you? I can't believe my eyes. The last time you came here, you were…" His voice faltered as memories caught up with him. "…a broken kid who could barely stand."

Vonjo laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah… that was me. But I survived."

He then gestured toward his shoulder. "Oh, and this is my new friend."

Clark blinked and leaned in—then nearly stumbled back in shock. "Heavens above… A three-headed frog?!" His voice was low but trembling with awe.

The frog croaked thrice, each head making a different pitch like a strange chord.

Vonjo noticed the glimmer in Clark's eyes and smirked. "You can see it, huh? Guess you're still not just a regular human."

Clark chuckled, his voice rough but warm. "Ha! I may be old and weak, but a sorcerer's senses never truly fade. I can see its aura—faint, but steady. My word… this creature carries quite the presence."

The frog puffed up its throats, all three heads croaking in what sounded like smug pride.

Vonjo rolled his eyes. "Don't flatter it too much. It's not some legendary battle mount or anything. It's just a storage glutton that I lug around."

All three heads whipped toward Vonjo and croaked furiously, as if deeply offended by the slander.

Vonjo burst into laughter, and Clark followed suit, the hearty, lighthearted sound carrying into the quiet night. For a moment, the world outside didn't exist.

From inside the house, a woman's voice called out, slightly hoarse but full of energy. "Clark? Who's out there?"

"Wendy!" Clark shouted back, his grin wide. "You won't believe who came to visit!"

The door creaked again, and an elderly woman with silver hair and bright eyes stepped into the doorway. Her hands were dusted with flour, and her apron bore the marks of a day's work.

She froze when she saw Vonjo. Her lips parted, and her eyes softened with instant recognition. "…Vonjo?"

Vonjo's usual smirk melted into a genuine smile. He bowed his head slightly out of respect. "It's me, Aunt Wendy. Been a while, huh?"

The woman's hands trembled as she pressed them to her chest. "My, my… Look at you. Taller, healthier… and those eyes… You looked like you made it through."

"Yeah," Vonjo said, voice quieter than before. "I made it through… thanks to you two."

The couple exchanged a glance that was part pride, part relief. Wendy's voice wavered as she said, "Come inside, boy. Sit. Eat. You must be hungry."

Vonjo's stomach growled on cue, and he couldn't help but laugh. "Heh. Can't say no to that."

The moment he stepped inside, the smell of home-cooked food hit him like a wave. It was rich and savory—stews simmered for hours, pan-fried dumplings crackling in oil, and freshly baked bread cooling on the counter. His mouth watered instantly.

He sat at their small wooden table as Wendy and Clark bustled around the tiny kitchen, serving him bowl after bowl—steaming pork stew, crispy dumplings, sticky rice topped with scallions and sesame seeds.

Vonjo clasped his hands together, inhaling deeply, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he felt something warm settle in his chest.

Home.