7 - Heart of the Hearth

Pine needles pierce through my torn leather jerkin, their sharp points mingling with the wet soil that clings to my flesh like a second skin. The goblin's blood has dried to black crusts across my forearms, each flake a testament to the violence that still burns in my veins. My muscles scream with every step along this damned muddy trail, yet something deeper aches within me. Something that has nothing to do with the day's butchery.

The forest path stretches before us like a wound through the trees, each footfall squelching in the mire left by yesterday's storm. But then it reaches me through the evening gloom: the rich, meaty scent of Mother's stew threading through the damp air. My throat constricts. The aroma pulls at memories of warmer days, when my father used to bring rabbits and we would skin them together.

"Did you smell that?" Alira's voice cuts through my brooding like a blade through silk. She grins as she scrapes mud from her palms, her wild red curls catching the dying light like living fire. "She's made the lamb stew again."

I grunt, managing what passes for a smile, though my gut still churns with unease. "Guess goblin guts were worth something after all."

The weight of what happened at the lake sits heavy as a millstone on my shoulders. Questions gnaw at me like hungry rats, and I have no answers for any of them. How did my sword move with such precision? Why did my body know what to do when my mind was blank with terror?

Alira's laughter rings pure and untainted by the day's carnage, unlike when she was in the forest. She bounds ahead as our cabin emerges from the treeline, smoke curling from the chimney like beckoning fingers against the darkening sky. The wooden floor protests under her enthusiasm as she bursts through the door.

"We're home!" Her voice echoes off the timber walls, carrying the same boundless energy she'd somehow kept through everything.

"Welcome back, my loves!" Mother's voice drifts to us from the kitchen, warm as summer honey.

The cabin's warmth hits me like a physical blow as I step inside, along with the full force of that mouth-watering stew. My stomach betrays me with a treacherous growl, but before I can move further, I feel Mother's eyes upon me. She emerges from the kitchen, and though her smile glows with warmth, her gaze rakes over my bloodied state with that particular brand of maternal scrutiny that makes me want to shrink away.

"Einar." Her voice carries gentle reproach. "You look like you've been chasing rabbits through the mud."

I glance down at my battle-worn state and grimace. The goblin's ichor has stained my jerkin a sickly brown, and mud cakes my boots thick as mortar. It’s best she didn’t think it was blood. "Long day, Mother."

Without another word, she raises her wand. The familiar soft glow traces intricate patterns through the air as she murmurs, "Purificare." A cool breeze washes over me, and I feel the grime lifting away like smoke. The spell reaches deeper than flesh, as if trying to cleanse more than just the physical remnants of violence.

"Thanks," I manage, forcing my mouth into something resembling gratitude.

"What about me?" Alira's mock-wounded voice cuts through the moment. "Do I not warrant the magic treatment?"

Mother's laugh lightens the heavy air. "Come here, my sweet girl. Can't have my princess looking like a mudball." Another flick of her wand, and my sister stands pristine, beaming as if she hadn't spent the afternoon knee-deep in forest muck.

"Much better!" Alira declares, practically bouncing on her toes.

"Sit, both of you." Mother gestures toward our battered wooden table. "Supper grows cold. I’ve made your favourite stew."

The familiar sounds of bowls and spoons fill our small cabin as we settle in, but tension crackles beneath the domestic peace like lightning before a storm. The normalcy feels wrong after what happened at the lake. But Alira, true to her nature, cannot contain the fire within her.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"Maa!" Her eyes shine with that familiar flame. "I'm so close to awakening! I could feel it today... The energy around the lake was dancing, responding to me. My whole body was feeling the warmth you always mention."

Mother's expression softens, pride and worry warring in her emerald eyes. "Your magic grows swift as wildfire, my sweet. Your father would have burst with pride."

The mention of father sends that familiar blade through my chest, and I notice how Alira falters for just a heartbeat before pushing forward with renewed fervor. "And then two goblins came shrieking out of nowhere!"

Mother's hands freeze mid-stir, her smile cracking like ice in spring. "Goblins? Near the lake?"

"They were weak, Mother," I cut in quickly, trying to stem her rising fear. "We dealt with them."

Her brow furrows deep as winter furrows, and I can see the fears multiplying behind her eyes like rabbits in spring. "It's still dangerous out there. I won't have either of you hurt."

"Ma, you should have seen brother!" Alira bursts out, ignoring my warning glare. "He was magnificent! He moved so fast with that blade. One swing, and the goblin was dead. I saw its head spinning through the air while its body still stood like a scarecrow."

Mother's gaze shifts to me, sharp as a flint knife. "Is this true?"

I shrug, uncomfortable under her piercing stare. "It wasn't much. Just... a little fast."

But she won't let it go. Her eyes bore into me, searching for something I don't understand. "Your father... he wielded swords since he was thirteen. It took him years to master the blade properly," she says quietly, almost to herself. "But you've never swung a real blade, only wooden practice swords... until you asked me for a proper blade."

This was the first time she'd spoken of father's past in such detail, but my heart pounds too hard to keep pace with her words. How can I explain what I don't comprehend myself? That moment when my body moved without my will, guided by some inherited memory I never knew I possessed?

"I don't know," I mumble, studying the wooden grain of our table as if it holds answers. "It just... happened in the heat of battle."

"I'm telling you, Ma!" Alira chirps, blind to the tension thick as porridge in the air. "He was incredible! Like he'd been born to wield the swords. And those fierce eyes of his made him look like a warrior from the old tales you used to tell us."

Mother forces a smile while rising from her chair, turning back to the stove and stirring the stew with deliberate focus. The weight of her worry fills the room like smoke from a poorly tended fire.

"I'll chop wood tomorrow," I offer, desperate to turn the conversation from dangerous ground. "Need to build up our stores for the next batch."

The tension in Mother's shoulders eases slightly. "You've grown into a fine man, dear. I sometimes fear how swiftly you've grown." Her voice thickens with emotion. "It was only yesterday when you would come running on those small legs toward me, and whenever you fell, you would cry 'Mother! Mother!'... That child who called for his mother at every little pain has somehow... slipped away. Like each day, he grows further and further from me."

Something in her words pierces through my usual defenses like an arrow finding its mark. Before I can think better of it, I'm on my feet, wrapping her in a fierce embrace. "Don't cry, Mother," I whisper, my own throat tight as a noose. "I'm here. I'll always be here for you. I'm not going anywhere. You both are everything to me."

She sniffs, letting out a watery laugh. "I know, my love. I know."

"What about me?" Alira protests, crossing her arms like a petulant lordling. "No love for your dear sister?"

I roll my eyes but can't help grinning. "Come here, little vixen!" I reach out and pull her in, ruffling her hair despite her squealed protests.

Mother's laughter fills our small cabin, and for a moment, I let myself believe everything might be well. That we can stay in this cocoon of warmth and safety forever, just the three of us, whole and together. But somewhere in the depths of my mind, I know better.

Something was changing within me, gnawing at the edges of who I'd always been like a canker. Each time these borrowed instincts surfaced, they claimed another piece of my soul as payment. Today they had saved us, granted me the skill to protect Alira, but at what price? My own nature, my own movements, sacrificed for something that felt ancient and hungry as winter wolves.

The dreams that plague my sleep were bleeding into my waking hours now, demanding more than mere rest as tribute. How long before they consumed not just moments of my consciousness, but minutes? Hours? How long before the person who walked beside my sister, who offered hollow comfort to my mother's fears, became someone else entirely, wearing my face like a mummer's mask?

I had no answers, and the not knowing terrified me more than any goblin blade ever could.