He glanced at Timmy across the hall. His brother was mid-laugh, pantomiming a clumsy sword swing that had his little audience in stitches. In that moment, everything in Spud softened. The tight coil of doubt inside him unwound, slackened by the warmth in the room and the certainty in Timmy’s grin.
Spud took another sip of the honeyed wine, letting it melt across his tongue and settle warmly in his chest. The music lifted, and laughter sparkled like candlelight on polished stone. For the first time all day, Spud didn’t feel like he was chasing after something.
He was already inside it.209Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNIh9jbLucZ
Inside the story.209Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAw0B59WlEC
Inside the dream.
They found a quiet alcove near the far end of the hall, where the music still reached but softened, like an echo through velvet. There, the scents came sharper: roasted meats mingling with cinnamon and clove, the faint perfume of trampled herbs underfoot, a trace of wax and woodsmoke from the tall candelabras.
And then—two strong hands rested gently on their shoulders.
Their father.
Solid. Warm. The kind of presence that needed no announcement. The kind of touch that didn’t just ground you—it reminded you where your roots were.
Neither boy said a word. They didn’t need to.
For all the wonder of the night—for the music, the magic, the promise of what was to come—nothing felt more real than that quiet touch. That bond.
“Congratulations to you both,” he said, his voice low and steady. It rumbled like a hearthfire—calm, enduring.
“Thanks, Dad,” they said in unison.
He leaned down between them, eyes glinting. “Sneaking sips already, are we?”
Spud blinked. “I—no, I was just—”
But his father was already chuckling, warm and amused. “Relax. Just don’t let your mother catch you.”
He glanced across the room. “Ah. Too late.”
Spud followed his gaze. Magda stood at the other end of the hall, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised—half a warning, half a smile.
“Well,” their father said with a theatrical sigh, “it’s been an honor knowing you. Tomorrow’s going to be rough. You might need a spell to survive it.”
Spud grinned. “Do you know any?”
Their father paused, tilting his head. For a moment, something softer flickered in his eyes.
“Of course I do,” he said quietly.
Then, turning to Timmy: “A swordsman—just like in your dreams.” And to Spud: “A magician’s apprentice. Just like in no one’s dreams—but that’s what makes it special.”
He opened his arms.
“Come here. Hug your old man before he disappears.”
They stepped into him, arms tightening in a familiar embrace. His coat smelled of pipe smoke and rosemary, iron from the forge—and beneath it all, something older. Something that smelled like home.
For a moment, time loosened. The sounds of music and laughter blurred into a distant hush. They were just boys again, held fast in the arms of the man who had steadied them since their first steps.
He pulled back slowly, eyes shining. “Looks like I’m staying longer. Your mother’s on the warpath.”
Magda approached—elegant, radiant, unstoppable. Her dress flickered in the candlelight like embers stirred by breath, and the weight in her gaze made both boys stand taller.
Without a word, she wrapped them both in a fierce embrace.
“My boys,” she whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Not so little anymore.”
She pulled back just enough to see them. Her eyes brimmed, catching the light like dew on glass.
“You’re both perfect,” she said, brushing their cheeks with her thumbs. “Exactly who you’re meant to be.”
Timmy laughed, wiping at his eyes. “Now that was a moment.”
Magda’s smile broke through, radiant and proud. She ruffled Spud’s curls, then pointed at him, teasing.
“We’re going to need to revisit a few house rules,” she said, feigning sternness. “Like no conjuring fire near the pantry.”
Her laugh spilled out—musical and unguarded. It caught Spud off guard with its brightness, and something deep inside him shifted.
But beneath the warmth, a knot stirred in his stomach. He swirled the wine in his cup, watching it spin. The firelight rippled in the glass like a warning.
A magician’s apprentice. The words echoed again.
His fingers tensed slightly on the stem of the goblet.
What if he wasn’t ready? What if this wasn’t the right path? Spells. Stars. Incantations he didn’t understand. Responsibilities he hadn’t asked for. The questions circled, quiet but persistent.
Beside him, Timmy’s expression had softened—eyes misted, distant. He was smiling, but there was something underneath it. A tremor of doubt. A ripple of fear.
And in that glance between brothers, something passed unspoken. They were still in this together.
All of it.
The crowd faded. The noise dissolved. Only family remained—an unbroken circle of arms and memory, lit by the firelight of a single shared truth: they were growing up. Together, but not unchanged.
Magda stepped back at last, dabbing her cheeks with the edge of her sleeve. Her smile stayed soft and full—an ember that refused to fade.209Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsQn86bn9hW
Then she turned to her husband. In that quiet glance—steady, knowing, fierce—the boys saw a lifetime unfold. A history written not in words, but in the unspoken choices made side by side. There was love here, yes, but also battle and endurance. The quiet strength of two people who had built a world together—and raised sons within it.
The four of them stood there, bathed in the glow of the great hall—still, close, suspended softly in time.209Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrI3M2OL2YD
For one breath, there were no expectations. No burdens. No looming tomorrows.209Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡE6HInIpotP
Just family.209Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTXBaLZk6uR
Just love.
Magda exhaled softly, brushing a stray curl from Spud’s brow. “We have to go,” she whispered, her voice thick but steady. “Please don’t overdo it. That includes both the wine…” She raised a brow, “…and the magic.”209Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5aq3mzN7kC
Spud chuckled, caught somewhere between embarrassment and awe.
With a final wink, she reached for her husband’s hand. Fingers found fingers—worn hands fitting together with the ease of long habit—and the two slipped away into the river of departing guests, still hand in hand as the crowd folded quietly around them.
A hush settled, like the echo of a heartbeat.
Timmy broke it with a grin. “Well,” he said, “she didn’t kill us.”209Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMB6UoeSW8O
“Not yet,” Spud muttered.
They both burst into low, unguarded laughter—the kind that loosens something deep and old.209Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYnY7lZunqv
Music bloomed again—gentler now, golden and full of longing. Lutes strummed a slow rhythm; flutes wove through the air like drifting smoke. Near the dais, dancers returned to the floor, their steps weaving like threads through candlelight.
The warmth of the Duke’s court wrapped around them—lanterns swaying, boots tapping, joy humming low through stone and story.209Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCtJQYgdzHb
And in that warmth, the Raspin brothers found their footing again.
The night still brimmed with questions, shadows curled at the edges of the light—but in each other, they had an anchor. A shared breath. A wordless vow.
Timmy clapped a hand on Spud’s shoulder—light but sure. No words were needed.209Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUCepZXSoK4
Together, they stepped forward into the swirl of silk and sound, eager to steal a few more moments before the morning—and the world—changed them.
*
“There are two key differences,” Micah said quietly, his voice low but steady. “First—you’ll never return to that cursed swamp. No more leeches. No more muck. No more breaking beneath the sun. Second—” He gestured toward the building. “This will be your new dwelling.”
Spud and Alexi exchanged uneasy glances. After all they’d been through, this—comfort? Shelter? Spud’s stomach knotted. Kindness this sudden felt like a blade cloaked in velvet. Every smile was a question, every shadow a warning.
His gaze sharpened. Something was wrong. Something was off.
“Why?” The word slipped out before he could stop it—too sharp, too raw.
Silence stretched between them.
“Sorry, sir,” Spud muttered, shame creeping in as he lowered his eyes.
But Micah’s expression didn’t harden. Instead, he tilted his head, watching Spud with a strange mixture of patience and something else—something unreadable. “No offense taken. Speak freely.”
Spud swallowed, feeling the weight of that gaze. “I don’t understand. Why help us? Why not leave us to rot like the others?”
Micah’s gaze locked onto his, steady and cold beneath the flickering light. A shadow flickered in his eyes—too quick to read, too deliberate to ignore. “Because it’s… the right thing to do.”
The words sounded simple, but the weight behind them pressed on Spud’s chest like an unseen hand.
Was that truth—or something else? A calculated answer meant to disarm.
Micah’s hand moved, sliding open a heavy door with a slow, deliberate motion. “Come inside. There’s more you need to know.”
The room beyond was modest but clean, the scent of lemon oil sharp in the air. A long wooden table sat centered, flanked by plain chairs. No grandeur, but no neglect either. A strange sort of respect, carefully measured.
Micah gestured toward the chairs. “Sit.”
Spud’s hand trembled as he reached for the nearest one, heart hammering with tension.
Micah settled opposite them, steepling his fingers with an unnerving calm. “These quarters are yours now,” he said. “And while I could simply assign you tasks—no questions asked—I’m offering you something rare in this place.”
He paused, letting the silence thicken.
“A choice.”
The room seemed to hold its breath.
Spud straightened, eyes sharp. Alexi leaned forward, wary.
Micah’s offer was unexpected, disarming—almost generous. But beneath it lay an edge, a hidden weight. A crossroads without a map.
“Why give us a choice?” Spud asked, voice low and cautious.
Micah’s gaze softened, but something flickered in his eyes—something unreadable. “Because I think we can help each other.”
He folded his hands, voice steady but deliberate.
“I need to learn your language. And I need to learn to ride… those four-legged creatures you travel with—what do you call them? The ones with the strapped-on seats?”
Alexi’s eyes brightened. “Horses. The seat’s a saddle.”
Micah nodded slowly, savoring the word. “Horses. Yes. I’ll need your help to speak like your people… and to ride like them.”
He gave them a moment—an unspoken question hanging between them.
“If you accept, that will be your task—to teach me your world. In return, your lives here will be… protected. Maybe even more.”
Spud and Alexi exchanged a charged glance—half hope, half dread.
Spud’s voice dropped to a whisper. “What exactly do house slaves do?”
Micah’s eyes narrowed just a fraction, sharp and cold. “You’ll handle domestic work—cleaning, tending quarters, small repairs. You’ll answer directly to me. If I’m absent, Kenafal—the kitchens’ head—and Rinnal, the house manager, may give orders. Their word is final after mine. My father will not summon you.”
The firmness in his tone was sharp, almost possessive—like a warning masked as reassurance.
Spud leaned back, his heart pounding. Alexi’s eyes flickered with doubt.
“And if we refuse?” Alexi asked, voice barely steady.
Micah didn’t flinch. His tone dropped, colder, final. “Then you’ll be sent to general labor. No favors. No protection. No guarantees.”
The silence that followed hung heavy—almost suffocating.
Yet in that charged stillness, something shifted. A fragile flicker of choice—a whisper of agency—burdened by invisible chains slowly tightening around them.
Spud swallowed hard, the weight of this rare gift twisted by shadows settling deep in his chest. The unmistakable scent of a trap, closing in.
His eyes narrowed as he considered the hierarchy laid bare. “So, we’ll be at the beck and call of those above, handling their tasks?”
Alexi cut in, eager yet wary. “And teaching you our language and how to ride horses?”
Micah nodded. “Yes. You’ll be shown around, given time to learn.”
Spud mulled over the implications while Alexi saw a sliver of hope—a chance to build bridges.
Breaking the silence, Micah stood. “For now, I’ll leave you here. I’ll return tomorrow for your answer. Think it over.”
And just like that, he was gone—leaving behind a room full of unspoken questions.
Alexi turned to Spud. “Obviously, we’re taking the position, right?”
Spud chuckled—low, skeptical. “Of course. I’d rather scrub chamber pots than rot in that swamp. But... why us?”
Alexi’s grin faded. “Yeah... still feels off. Why does he care about Midterra?”
“Exactly.” Spud leaned forward, fingers drumming the table. “He never leaves this world. Why would he need our language?”
The flickering lantern cast long shadows that seemed to dance with their doubts.
Then, softer, hesitant: “When you got captured... was your brother with you?”
The air shifted.
Spud’s fingers stilled. The memory hit like a stone dropped in still water—sudden, heavy, impossible to ignore.
His gaze dropped. Voice low, raw. “We got separated before it happened. I don’t know if he’s okay. Or even alive.”
Silence settled—no longer just speculation, but deeply personal. Heavy with grief and questions too sharp to speak aloud.
The bond between Spud and his brother, stretched thin by time, war, and distance, now felt like a fragile thread—one Spud feared might never lead him home again.
Outside, the unknown world waited.
But inside, what lingered was more than Micah’s mysterious intentions. It was the ache of a boy searching the stars for someone lost in the dark.
*
At the head of the stone table, King Elron’s warmth outshone even his crown. Beside him, Queen Despara sat steady—an anchor of silk and steel. Their three broad-shouldered sons joined Timmy, Arlep, Arkin, Fronan, and Simo at a feast fit for dwarven kings: roast meats glazed to a deep shine, honeyed roots, steaming bread, and amber wine glowing like molten gold in the torchlight.
The chamber rose around them—carved from the mountain’s heart by dwarven hands long gone. Vaulted ceilings bore carvings of ancient battles and blood oaths. Firestone and gold stood like silent guards.
Murals flickered in the torchlight, telling stories Timmy had heard but never truly felt—until now. Here, the mountain whispered legacy. Yet Timmy was still a guest in its shadow.
To the side of the chamber, two dwarven guards stood sentinel beside a small cage holding the alien prisoner taken back from the encampment. It sat in eerie, unsettling peace.
Elron ruled without pomp, with presence—laughing, listening, drawing even the most guarded into ease. Despara’s power was quieter, but no less commanding.209Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡodWH7LpKQR
Seated between Fronan and Arlep, Timmy tried to anchor himself in the familiar voices. Once, this table had been a place of comfort. Now, beneath the surface, something stirred—distance, frayed bonds, words left unspoken.
Though Timmy wasn’t of Elron’s blood, the king had treated him like kin. He had taken in a grief-worn boy—sharp as thorns, fierce as fire. Over the years, Elron had watched him grow—not just in strength, but in skill, in purpose. Yet lately, a shadow had settled over Timmy’s eyes—a quiet storm of silence and rage that no one dared name.
Now, Elron looked at him less like a ruler and more like a father who sensed something was broken—and feared what it might mean.
Timmy’s gaze swept the chamber, the weight pressing hard on his chest. He remembered his first night here—nervous and silent, a boy still mourning, barely holding himself together. Elron had leaned close then, whispered a joke about dwarves and beard oil. Timmy had laughed—a sound foreign and fragile after so many weeks.
Not pity. Not comfort.209Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3H8Gm8Byl6
Just purpose.
Now, that purpose felt like it was slipping away.
He thought of Emrys—the magician cloaked in shadow—and the choice already made. The decision dug deeper into his chest, growing heavier with every heartbeat, yet his eyes burned brighter than ever.
Tonight, everything would change.209Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3Nk2j9IXVK
Quietly.209Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMTa88Tp63A
Alone.209Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPFmKBWQ8gW
and then Add to home screen.