Chapter Five: Grandparents Or Not

I had no reason to fear her. Every step Hope took, I trusted completely, as if whichever path she chose could only lead me forward without regret.
We walked hand in hand between the farms, the soil dark and rich underfoot, the smell of grass sweet in the breeze. For the first time, I allowed myself to imagine something I had always longed for: a simple, normal life.
As we approached a farmhouse, about thirty meters ahead, the door opened and an elderly couple stepped out. The wife carried a bucket, the husband a rake.
“Grandma! Grandpa! I’m home!” Hope cried, her voice bursting with joy.
They froze. Then, as if time had rewound itself, both dropped what they were holding and rushed toward her.
“Hope, dear! We missed you so much!” they said together, wrapping her in their arms.
I blinked in disbelief. They called her Hope? A chill ran down my spine. Just yesterday, I had given her that name myself. How could they know it? Had it already been hers all along? Did I somehow… know it beforehand?
For a fleeting moment, I wondered if I had some strange ability—one that revealed hidden truths to me without my realizing it. But no… if I really had such a power, I wouldn’t have stumbled through everything until now.
Still, the thought left me unsettled.
“Are you the boy who accompanied our granddaughter home?” the old man asked suddenly, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Y-yes,” I stammered. “My name is Sora. It’s nice to meet you.” I bowed politely.
The grandmother’s eyes softened. “Such manners. Come, you must be hungry. I’ll prepare something for you.”
And just like that, they welcomed me as if I belonged.
Inside, the warmth of their home wrapped around us. Hope’s laughter rang bright, filling the space with a joy I hadn’t realized I was missing. The grandparents smiled as though they had found something long lost. I sat quietly, not wanting to intrude, eating the steak and sweet desserts they served with fresh milk.
The interior felt almost like a scene from a game. A crackling fireplace. Animal pelts stretched across the walls. And then—my eyes fell on an old sword, still sheathed, hanging untouched above the mantel.
“Look at that sword…” I muttered before I could stop myself.
Hope’s grandmother froze, her voice dipping into sorrow. “Oh, that…” She said no more.
I regretted speaking, ready to apologize, but the grandfather’s voice carried the weight of years.
“That sword belonged to our son. Hope’s father.”
I set down my fork.
He told me the story plainly. How their son had been an adventurer, the pride of this town. How he and his wife—Hope’s mother—had set off for the capital with high ambitions. But six years ago, during a mission with the guild, their town was attacked by a demon lord, one of the Demon Queen’s subordinates. Nothing survived. Only his sword was returned.
My chest tightened. Hope… you’ve carried this pain all this time?
Anger stirred in me. Even without facing the Demon Queen directly, her shadow had already destroyed countless lives. Someone had to stop her.In stories, the summoned one is always called “the hero,” blessed with power to face the demon lords. But me? I felt no change since my summoning. Hope hadn’t said anything about abilities either. Maybe she was waiting for the right time. Even then… some instinct told me I might only be strong enough to face the lords, not the Queen herself.
After dinner, dusk painted the sky. I washed with a bucket and changed into clothes that had belonged to Hope’s father—far too large on me. Swimming in the fabric, I felt small, out of place.
Grandmother noticed. “Hmm… not quite your size. Stay still.” She knelt, chanting words I couldn’t understand. Light flared in her palms as she touched my shirt and trousers. In an instant, the fabric tightened, reshaping perfectly to fit me.
I gasped, heart racing at the glow of her magic. When the light faded, the clothes fit as though they’d been made for me.
“Thank you,” I said, still breathless.
She smiled and showed me to a spare room. Hope took another.
As I lay in bed, the day’s revelations crowded my thoughts. Hope’s family. Her parents’ fate. The magic in every corner of this world.
The door creaked open.
“Sora… are you asleep?” Grandpa’s gentle voice floated in. “I hope you have a nice dream.”
I opened my mouth, but the door closed softly before I could answer.
Their kindness reminded me of my own parents, and for the first time since I arrived here, I thought of my world. What were they doing now? Were they searching for me? Was Ridi lost in his games, unaware that I was gone?
Exhaustion swept over me, dragging me into sleep.
That night, I dreamed of Hope—sitting beside me, watching as I slept.

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Morning came with soft light through the curtains. The house was quiet, but in the barn I found Hope and her grandmother. Hope carried a bucket in simple clothes—trousers and a short sleeve shirt—that made her look almost like someone else, save for the sparkle of her long hair.
Grandfather wasn’t there.
I spotted him out in the fields and ran toward him, waving. “Grandpa!”
He was squatting, working the soil—but his hands were clean. As I watched, he leaned forward, barely touching the earth, and the ground responded. Potatoes lifted from the soil in neat clusters, tumbling into baskets.
I stopped, breath caught in wonder. Magic again…
“Grandpa, was that… magic?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never seen magic like this before?”
Panic fluttered in my chest. “Ah—where I come from, we don’t have magic,” I said quickly, hoping to cover my slip.
For a moment, he looked shocked. Then he laughed. “You’re a funny boy, Sora. I’ve never heard such a thing. Every living being can use magic.”
What? Everyone?
I swallowed, changing the subject fast. “Still, that was amazing—pulling potatoes out like that.”
He chuckled. “Our family has been farming for generations. Earth magic runs in our blood. If not for Mighty Week, I’d finish harvesting this entire field in a single chant.”Again, that phrase—Mighty Week.
I carried baskets for him as he pulled potatoes row by row, slicing roots with invisible blades of air. When the moment felt safe, I asked, “Grandpa… what is the Mighty Week?”
His expression sobered.
“A hundred years ago, when the Demon Queen was born, the first Mighty Week came. For seven days, no demons or monsters appeared. All evil vanished, as if swallowed by the world itself. People called it a miracle. But when the week ended, the demons returned. This time, weaker, smaller… but the Queen herself grew stronger. Every year since, during Mighty Week, our power is drained. Humans retain only one tenth of their magic. Elves, two tenths. Beastmen, three. The rest flows to her.”
I froze, the weight of his words sinking like lead. She absorbs the world’s power every year…
By the time he finished, we had cleared the field. Twenty baskets of potatoes sat ready for market.
“Say, Sora,” Grandpa said at last, his gaze sharp. “What kind of magic do you use? I can’t sense any aura from you. It’s as if someone sealed it away.”
My pulse spiked.
“There are… different kinds of magic?” I asked carefully.
He nodded, not suspicious at all. “Of course. Farmers like me wield earth magic. Limited, yes, but still earth magic.”
Relief trickled through me. I pressed on. “So… it can’t be used for fighting?”
He smiled slyly. “Don’t underestimate farmers.”
He raised his hand, chanting. The ground split open, and a colossal figure rose from the earth—five meters tall, a warrior made of soil and roots.
I staggered back, legs giving out as I stared up at the giant.
“My true warrior reaches twenty meters, with ten times this strength,” Grandpa said with quiet pride.
When the figure sank back into the soil, I could barely breathe. If this was a farmer’s power… what kind of strength did real warriors hold?
By the time we returned, Hope and her grandmother had already washed the potatoes with magic—water spinning in the air like a whirlpool, scrubbing the harvest clean in seconds.
I tried to look calm, but inside, excitement and dread twisted together. When will Hope tell me what I can do?
We sat down to breakfast, and when the talk turned to delivering potatoes, I spoke without thinking:
“Let me and Hope do it!”