Snow fell again that morning, soft and fine.
The village moved in its usual winter rhythm. Men rotated on the walls, smoke drifted from the meat houses, and the academy children sat near a fire, practicing their crooked marks under Ophelia and Shelia's supervision while Isabella checked storage records nearby.
Osiris was bored.
He sat on a stone fence, legs swinging, watching Isabella's back as she worked.
Her thick winter dress could not hide the roundness of her stomach or the way her movements had become slower, heavier. The sight made his chest feel strange.
He did not want to admit he was worried.
So he did what he always did.
He decided to cause trouble.
"Isabella," he called lazily. "You are writing again. Do you not trust your own head. You will lose your brain from too much scratching."
She did not look up.
"Someone in this village has to use their brain," she replied. "If I rely on you, the sky will fall."
The children nearby snickered quietly.
