Caelvir blinked, confusion clouding his mind. The sun was bright overhead, a brilliant blue sky stretching endlessly, pure and untouched. No dust swirling in the air from the arena, no coppery scent of blood or clashing steel. Instead, the smell of earth and grass filled his nostrils.
Where am I? he wondered aloud, voice barely above a whisper. Am I... dead? Is this the afterlife?
Around him, the sounds of village life echoed gently. Cows mooed in the distance. Chickens clucked busily nearby. A dirt road wound lazily through the fields ahead.
Ahead stood a small cabin, its wooden door flung open and banging softly in the breeze.
Recognition struck Caelvir like a thunderclap.
This isn't the afterlife.
From the cabin burst a boy, young and lively, his eyes bright with excitement. The boy's feet pounded the dirt road as he ran, laughter bubbling from his lips.
"Ronald!" a gentle, warm voice called after him.
Caelvir turned his gaze and saw a woman stepping out of the cabin, balancing a basket piled high with laundry. Her clothes were worn and simple—rough-spun cotton dyed a faded blue, sleeves rolled up past slender forearms, a patched apron tied around her waist. A scarf covered her hair, tied loosely at the nape of her neck. The fabric was coarse, but she wore it with a quiet dignity.
"I'm going by the riverside!" Ronald shouted back cheerfully.
"Don't be late again. Come back soon," she replied softly.
"Sure, mom!" the boy called over his shoulder as he darted down the road.
Caelvir's feet moved before his mind could catch up, following the boy toward the river.
The river was modest—shallow and narrow where Ronald headed—but alive with the sound of flowing water splashing over stones.
On the bank, a small group of children had gathered: boys and girls, their faces flushed with excitement and dirt-smudged cheeks. They greeted Ronald with cheerful shouts.
"Ronald's here! Let's get started!" one girl said eagerly.
"First one to catch a fish wins!" declared another boy, raising his voice.
Ronald grinned and pulled up his pants, stepping into the cool current. The others followed, splashing and laughing as their feet sank into the riverbed.
The children plunged their hands into the water, scrambling to catch the slippery fish, but none had any luck. Water splashed everywhere, cries of frustration rising.
"Stop splashing so much! You're scaring the fish away!" a girl called, sounding exasperated.
"That's 'cause you all don't know how!" said a boy named Jerek, puffing out his chest. "My dad's a swordsman—he says you just gotta hit hard and strong to get what you want."
Ronald shook his head, calling out to Jerek, "This ain't a battlefield, Jerek."
One girl, with bright eyes and freckles dusting her nose, spoke up, "My father's a fisherman. He says if you stay quiet and still, the fish will come to you."
But no one caught a fish.
Exhausted, some kids flopped onto the grassy bank, panting and dripping wet.
Ronald waded further up the river, standing still and silent, his face calm and focused.
Minutes passed.
"Ronald, come on! It's no use!" a girl named Mira called, urging him to give up.
Suddenly, with a quick snap of his hands, Ronald grasped a medium-sized fish.
Joy ignited in his eyes as he stepped back onto the bank, raising the fish triumphantly.
"Whoa! You did it!" someone cheered.
"How'd you do that?" Mira asked eagerly.
Ronald smiled and said, "I just did what your dad told you, Mira."
She beamed with pride. "Of course! Dad's a great fishman. He never lies."
Everyone was happy—everyone except Jerek.
With a scowl, he stepped forward and snatched the fish from Ronald's hands.
"Just got lucky, that's all. I'd catch one if I wanted," Jerek sneered.
"Give it back!" another kid protested.
Jerek laughed. "No way. Now my dad's right. Strength solves everything."
Ronald stood, fists clenched.
He then struck Jerek hard.
Jerek fell, angry but beaten.
"Your dad's wrong," he said quietly. "Some things need patience."
Jerek cursed under his breath and then spat out, "Where's your papa, Ronald? Probably dead on the battlefield by now."
The words hit Ronald like a hammer. His eyes widened; his fists trembled.
Jerek, rubbing his bruised cheek from Ronald's earlier hit, smirked, "Hey, everyone… I heard your mom's become a whore."
A stunned silence fell.
"My mom was whispering with the neighbors," Jerek went on, "saying Ronald's mom has to go on whoring to make a living."
"Shut up!" someone hissed.
But Ronald stepped forward, eyes burning with fury, fists ready to fly.
He pummeled Jerek, punch after punch, until other kids pulled them apart.
Jerek laughed through bruised lips. "That's all you got? You know it's true. Don't you smell it? The other men? Sometimes your mama goes out and comes back late at night."
Ronald pushed the others aside and turned toward home.
Caelvir followed silently as Ronald crossed the yard and entered the cabin, the wooden door creaking closed behind him.
Inside, the woman was now tending a fire, baking bread over the small hearth. The table was plain but clean.
"You're back!" she said cheerfully, but her smile faltered when she saw the bruises on Ronald's face.
She hurried over, kneeling beside him, a handkerchief in hand.
"Are you okay?" she asked, concern washing over her gentle features.
"I'm okay, mom. Just a scratch. I fell," Ronald lied.
She didn't believe him.
"Did you get into a fight?"
He said nothing.
She sat him down, dipping the cloth into a pot of warm water, gently dabbing the bruises.
Her worried gaze softened as she noticed a deeper bruise beneath the surface.
"Ronald, you can tell me, you know," she said quietly. "Is something bothering you?"
His expression shifted—serious, almost too grown for his age.
"When will dad come home?" he asked.
She hesitated, then smiled sadly.
"I don't want to lie to you," she said softly. "Your dad… he's a brave man, but battle is cruel. Many don't come home. He may not either."
Ronald's fists clenched tightly.
"I heard things," he said, voice low. "Rumors about you."
Her face darkened for a moment.
"I don't want you to sleep with other men," he said fiercely. "I can go work. We can have enough."
She looked at him sharply.
"Who told you those things?" she asked.
He remained silent.
"They're just rumors," she said, forcing a smile. "Don't worry about them. We have your dad's savings. And the chickens and cows sell eggs and milk."
He shook his head.
"You said you wouldn't hide the truth. We had no savings or animals when dad was here. All this happened after you went out one night and came back late."
She sighed, the weight of silence filling the room.
Then she wrapped him in an embrace, one arm pulling his head to her chest.
"I will protect you," she whispered fiercely. "No matter what happens. You don't have to work. You can be a child—live your life free."
She pulled back and looked him in the eyes.
"You can be free."
Ronald's voice cracked.
"I know you were married young… and maybe dad's gone. And maybe it's natural you had to use your body for coin…"
Tears welled in his eyes, throat tightening.
"But I don't want people to call you a whore."
Her eyes shimmered, stunned. Tears began to fall, but she brushed them away.
Then, her smile became real. Warm. Genuine.
"You're a smart boy," she said softly.
"Well, as expected of my son."
She promised him then and there—no more selling her youth, her body and beauty.
"I won't hide the truth from you anymore," she said, giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead.
Caelvir stood silent, expression unreadable.
But then a slow fire ignited in his eyes.
"Why am I here?" he demanded to the empty room.
"Why am I shown this?"
He clenched his fists.
Not hiding the truth? he scoffed bitterly, voice thick with contempt. "Ridiculous."
The room dimmed. Shadows stretched across the wooden walls, swallowing the corners in darkness. Only the soft, amber glow of the fireplace remained, crackling gently.
Sheets were laid neatly beside the hearth, where the warmth reached them best. On the worn floorboards, nestled under a single, patched blanket, Ronald lay beside his mother. Their forms huddled close in the dim light.
Ronald wasn't asleep. Eyes wide with focus, he held a small, battered book close to his face—its spine faded, pages crinkled with age. Perhaps the only book that cabin had ever owned.
His mother glanced over, folding her arms gently beneath her head.
"Are you going to keep looking at the pictures forever?" she murmured, her voice tender, teasing.
"I'm trying to read," he said, brows furrowed, lips slightly parted in concentration. "But... it's hard."
She chuckled, a short, surprised laugh, and leaned over to flick his nose with a sudden, sharp motion.
"You can't learn to read like that, kid!"
"Ow!" Ronald flinched, the book almost slipping from his hands. "Hey! That hurt!"
Her laugh grew fuller. "You're too dramatic."
"You're too mean, Mom!"
She ruffled his hair, then gently traced her fingers down the bridge of his nose. "Mean? Me? I'm the nicest mean woman you'll ever meet."
Ronald puffed his cheeks and crossed his arms, striking a defiant pose. "Hmph. I am reading. Test me. Show me a word from this book and I'll tell you what it means."
"Oh really?" she said, raising an eyebrow with playful skepticism. She picked up the book and waggled it in front of his face. "Alright then, tough guy. But every word you get wrong... you get a flick."
She snapped her fingers near his nose in warning and gave a mischievous smile.
Ronald's confidence briefly wavered, his eyes narrowing in worry. But he quickly masked it. "Go on. I'm ready."
She flipped through the fragile pages, carefully choosing. "Let's start with an easy one..."
Her finger landed beneath a particularly long, thorny word—nearly a dozen letters, framed in quotation marks.
Ronald blinked. "...That's cheating! That word's, like, sooo huge!"
"Ah, so you don't know it," she replied, raising her flicking hand once again, ready to strike.
He panicked. "Wait! I'm thinking, okay? Just give me a second!"
His hands shot up in surrender, palms open. He stared at the word, lips moving as he tried to sound it out.
A minute passed. The fire cracked and popped.
"We don't have all night," she said, voice low and teasing again. "I'll count down. Three... two... one—"
"Okay, okay!" he blurted. "It means... kingdom! Yeah! That's gotta be it, right? It's long, so it must be!"
She stared at him.
Then smiled.
And then laughed.
"Huh?" Ronald looked puzzled.
She leaned close, brushing the hair from his forehead. "Wrong."
He frowned, pouting. "What?!"
She whispered near his ear, "It means: 'My son is my life.'"
And kissed the tip of his nose.
Ronald reeled back in mock disgust. "That's not even a word! That's a whole sentence! That's soooo unfair!"
His cheeks puffed again in protest. "And—and stop treating me like a kid all the time!"
She smirked, folding her arms. "Aren't you a kid?"
"I'm almost seven!"
"Exactly. Still a kid."
He crossed his arms tighter. "Some kids can fight dragons by seven."
"Oh, is that so?" she said, raising her brow.
Ronald nodded, smug again. "Yep."
She grinned playfully. "Well then, my big brave knight—if you don't like kisses—"
She flicked toward him again.
"Ah—not that again!" he squealed, ducking under the blanket.
But she grabbed him in one swoop, wrapping both arms around him, blanket and all. "Caught you!"
"Nooo!" he shrieked, laughing already.
And then she tickled him.
"Stooop—MOM! HAHAHA—stop! HAHAH! Come onnnn!"
"Failed the test," she declared, fingers ruthless on his sides. "Gotta make you pay!"
"That!—HAHA—was—AHHH—unfair!!"
Finally, she stopped, letting him breathe, cheeks flushed, eyes watery from laughter.
He flopped back onto the sheets, panting.
She brushed back his hair gently, smile still warm.
"Alright," she said softly. "Time to sleep."
"I don't need a lullaby," he mumbled, breath still catching.
She raised a finger thoughtfully. "What if I told you a story from this book instead? Might even learn a few new words."
His eyes lit up.
"…That I can get behind."
His mother smiled, flipping slowly through the timeworn pages. "Let's see… Fiend's Fourth Hurdle! That sounds interesting."
Ronald's eyes lit up like sparks in the firelight. "Yes! That one! Read that one!"
He nodded rapidly, blanket huddled under his chin in anticipation.
"Well…" she cleared her throat with a dramatic little cough. Her voice shifted, thick with theatrical weight, dipping into a tone that was half lullaby, half legend.
"Once upon a moon… there were two knights," she began, slowly and deeply. "Renowned and respected in the realm. They slayed dragons. They conquered armies of men all by themselves and slaughtered hordes of demons with a single swing of their mighty swords. The legendary knights remained unchallenged, until…"
And then—Caelvir heard no more.
The voice faded, the edges of the room blurring like mist on still water.
Ronald, nestled in his mother's arms, drifted off mid-story.
His breathing slowed.
Soft, even.
Peaceful.
And as Ronald slept—
Caelvir woke up.