The World Beyond the Rift

The forest was alive with the sounds of morning—birds chirping, leaves rustling in the gentle breeze, and the faint hum of insects. Adam stepped outside his home, taking in a deep breath of the crisp, fresh air. It was a stark contrast to the metallic stench of blood and ash that had filled his lungs for as long as he could remember. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt... peace.

He stretched his massive frame, feeling the stiffness in his muscles ease as he moved. The sunlight filtered through the canopy above, casting dappled shadows on the ground. Adam closed his eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the sun wash over him.

[This is... nice.]

It was a simple thought, but one that carried a weight he hadn't realized he'd been carrying. The life he had lived before—the endless battles, the constant struggle for survival, the bloodshed—felt like a distant memory now. It was as if the moment he had stepped into this new world, a part of him had been left behind. The rigid, unyielding warrior who had fought for the survival of his people, who had carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, was slowly being replaced by... someone else. Someone who could appreciate the quiet moments, the simple joys of life.

He chuckled softly to himself. [I used to make jokes, didn't I? Back when I was young. Before everything went to hell.]

It was strange, remembering that version of himself. The one who had fought for glory, who had laughed with his friends, who had believed in the thrill of adventure. That version of him felt like a stranger now, but... it wasn't a bad thing. If anything, it was a reminder that he was more than just a weapon, more than just a tool for war.

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. There was no point dwelling on the past. He had a new life now, a new purpose.

With that, he turned and walked back inside the house. The interior was simple, almost bare, with only the essentials—a wooden table, a few chairs, and a makeshift crib for Barolt. Adam paused for a moment, looking around.

[It's... sparse. But it's home.]

He made his way to the small room where Hans and Bam were sleeping. The two idiots were sprawled on the floor, using dried leaves as makeshift bedding. Adam raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

"Wake up," he said, his voice calm but firm. "Prepare food. My son might be hungry."

The effect was immediate. Both men jolted awake, scrambling to their feet like startled rabbits. They exchanged a quick, panicked glance before rushing toward the kitchen.

Adam followed them, watching as they surveyed the room. The kitchen was rudimentary at best—a stone hearth, a few wooden utensils, and a couple of pots. It was functional, but far from modern.

Hans hesitated, glancing nervously at Adam. "Uh, boss... wouldn't it be better to buy some proper tools? I mean, this looks like the kitchen of a caveman. And not just the kitchen—the whole house barely has any furniture!"

Bam nodded vigorously, adding, "Yeah, boss! A few upgrades wouldn't hurt. You know, for the kid's sake."

Adam crossed his arms, considering their words. He looked around the house, seeing it through their eyes. To him, it was more than enough. He had lived in worse conditions for most of his life. But... they had a point. His son deserved better. A proper home, with proper furniture, and a proper kitchen.

[I guess I've been living like this for so long, I didn't even notice how bare it is.]

With a sigh, he reached into a pouch and pulled out a handful of cash. He tossed it toward Hans and Bam, who caught it with wide eyes.

"Fine," he said. "Buy what's necessary. But don't even think about running away. I'll find you."

The two men froze, their expressions shifting from excitement to sheer terror. They nodded rapidly, clutching the money like their lives depended on it.

"Y-Yes, boss!" Hans stammered. "We'll get everything you need!"

"Right away, boss!" Bam added, already backing toward the door.

Adam watched them go, shaking his head. [Idiots. But useful idiots.]

With that taken care of, he turned his attention to his son. The baby was awake, his tiny hands waving in the air as he cooed softly. Adam walked over to the crib, gently picking him up.

As he held his son, a realization struck him. [I've never named him, have I?]

It was a strange oversight, one that made him feel a pang of guilt. He had been so focused on building a new life, on protecting him, that he hadn't even thought to give him a name.

[Should I just call him 'Boy'?] he wondered, but immediately dismissed the idea. [No. That's too irresponsible. He deserves a proper name.]

He thought for a moment, his mind drifting back to his past. Memories of his teacher, Barolt, surfaced—a man who had been kind, strong, and fearless. A man who had taught him not just how to fight, but how to live. Adam had admired him, had tried to emulate him in every way. Even now, years later, he could still hear his teacher's voice, urging him to be better, to be stronger.

[Barolt...]

The name felt right. It carried the weight of a legacy, of someone who had shaped him into the man he was today. Someone who had been a father figure to him, even if only for a short time.

Adam looked down at his son, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Barolt," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "That's your name. Barolt."

The baby gurgled in response, as if approving of the choice.

Adam's smile widened. [Happy times.]

For the first time in a long time, he felt a sense of hope. A sense of purpose. He wasn't just a warrior anymore. He was a father. And he would do everything in his power to give Barolt the life he deserved.