Tristan walked beside Aric in silence, his footsteps falling over a road so familiar he could have crossed it blindfolded. Tristan's thoughts, however, were still trapped inside the hut, trapped in the moment everything had nearly gone too far.
He froze.
While everyone else fought to hold things together, he had stood there uselessly, rooted in place.
He froze.
He didn't put up a fight.
He turned his head and looked at Aric walking ahead.
As always, Aric was in front.
The prodigy of Durvarn. The genius boy everyone praised. The dependable elder brother who always seemed to know what to do.
That was how everyone saw him.
But Tristan knew better.
He had seen what no one else noticed.
Back in the hut, when Aric had gripped that knife behind his back—his hand had been shaking.
At the end of the day, for all his sharp mind and impossible composure, Aric was still just a child.
That fact made Tristan feel worse.
"Tristan."
"Hm?" Tristan snapped out of his thoughts.
"When do you think we can explore the world?"
Tristan sighed inwardly.
Again.
This was the third time Aric had asked that same question this week.
Ever since the Maiws had left a month ago, Aric had grown increasingly restless. It was subtle to anyone else, perhaps, but impossible for Tristan to miss. Aric's eyes lingered longer on the roads leading out of Durvarn now. He paused when traders passed through town, studying their wagons like they carried secrets.
And lately…
He had become more aware of himself.
Tristan's gaze drifted to Aric's ears… the slight pointed curve at their tips were impossible to ignore once he noticed.
Half-elf.
Aric never said much about it outright, but Tristan could hear it in the strange questions he asked at odd hours.
'Do you think there are many half-elves outside Durvarn?'
'Do elves accept half-elves as their own?'
Tristan sighed, "I already told you Aric."
Aric frowned, "Just tell me. I want to hear it."
Tristan shook his head in exasperation as he spoke, "Whenever we awaken our conduits."
Aric glanced at him for a second longer, then nodded, "Right… It will take years."
He looked down, biting his lip.
"Years…"
The walk after that was silent.
Soon, they reached the market as the two saw a familiar figure.
He waved enthusiastically toward a woman arranging baskets near one of the stalls. She turned at once, her tired face breaking into a warm smile.
"Ah! Tristan, dear!"
The middle-aged woman brushed her apron clean and waved them over. Her brown hair was tied back in a loose knot, a few strands falling over her cheeks as she leaned down slightly to greet them.
"Have you two been well?" she asked.
Tristan nodded quickly. "We've been fine. How about you, Auntie?"
Liori sighed, placing a hand on her hip.
"Oh, the usual. Liend is busy as ever in Giwap." She smiled, "After all, Nessa dear's sculpture keychains are selling like hot cakes."
Tristan grinned.
That small business had been his idea.
A few months ago, he had realized Nessa's carving talent could be more than just a hobby. Since Durvarn's market was too limited to make much profit, he had convinced Liori's husband, Liend, to take Nessa's wooden sculptures to Giwap and sell them there in exchange for a share of the earnings.
The arrangement had worked better than any of them expected.
In short, Nessa and Tristan had built themselves a business.
Aric had his role too—though his contribution was less visible. Whenever Resol came back for money, it was Aric who hid their earnings. The others had tried before, but Resol always found their hiding spots eventually.
Aric, however, had an uncanny talent for making things disappear.
"Aunt Liori."
She turned to him, smiling. "What is it, Aric dear?"
Aric met her gaze with his usual flat expression as Liori's eyes widened in understanding. "I-I see!" She shook her head disappointingly, "Unfortunately, It's still very hard to get cloud melons into this region of Meiriith. With the Var'Kai blocking trade routes, I doubt we will be able to get them in the near future."
Aric sighed solemnly. Ever since Aric had seen a cloud melon in the walk to the temple, he kept wanting to know what its taste was like… It was a shame due to Var'Kai. The Var'Kai were a group of indigenous people living in the Dreadwoods, southwest to the capital of Meiriith, Valleren.
Aric shivered thinking about them.
'Scary guys…'
"Oh! But I have this!" Liori snapped him out of his thoughts. Holding her hands front, Tristan and Aric tilted their heads at the fruit she presented. It looked like an apple of sorts, its coloration orange and yellow, littered all over with white. Aric took it from Liori's outstretched hand and examined it, "Is the skin safe? He asked to which Liori nodded. Aric glanced at her for a moment before taking a bite.
Liori was already handing another fruit to Tristan.
"Here, one for you too, dear."
Tristan took it eagerly and turned to Aric. "How is it?"
Aric looked at him, taking one more bite, "Tastes pretty sweet, pretty much like an apple."
Satisfied, Tristan took a huge bite.
"Mhm! It is swee—"
His sentence cut off abruptly as Tristan's face froze.
Aric's ears had turned bright red, his eyes slowly widening.
The sweetness vanished, replaced by a blazing wave of heat that exploded across their tongues like fire.
Both boys whipped around toward Liori in horror.
She covered her mouth, laughing helplessly.
"Kids these days! Of course, fire apples are spicy!"
Without another word, both brothers bolted toward the nearest water barrel.
They dropped to their knees beside it, shoving each other aside as they drank greedily, splashing water everywhere in their desperation.
"Move!"
"You move!"
"I took the bigger bite!"
"That's stupid! I took two bites!"
***
"My tongue still stings," Aric muttered as he and Tristan made their way home, still recovering from Aunt Liori's cruel little joke.
"At least you can still feel yours," Tristan shot back bitterly, fanning his mouth with one hand. "Mine went numb three streets ago."
Aric grimaced. "That thing shouldn't even count as food."
Tristan gave a weak nod of agreement, and the two pushed aside the curtain flap of their hut.
The moment Aric stepped inside, he froze.
The air was filled with the aroma of rich, smoking taste.
There was only one breath inhaled by Tristan and his entire face was illuminated.
'MEAT!'
He ran toward the kitchen corner as if he were possessed.
Aric followed more slowly, but he too had wide eyes.
Lilia stood by the furnace, with her sleeves rolled up, wiping the sweat at her brows as she leaned over the fire. In her hands, there was a still-crackling thick slab of roasted meat. Fat hissed as she sprinkled salt over the surface, the scent making Aric's stomach clench with hunger.
Meals for families like theirs consisted mostly of bread, root vegetables, and thin soups when they were lucky. A good piece of meat was preserved for special occasions only.
Aric glanced around the hut.
The room glowed warmly under the lantern light, soft gold spreading over the clay walls. The broken wooden table from that morning was gone, replaced by a neatly placed cobblestone slab in the center of the room. Someone had even swept away every last splinter.
The whole hut felt… different.
"What's so special?"
Lilia turned toward him with a grin, the kind that reached all the way into her tired eyes.
"Did you really forget?"
She carried the steaming plate over and placed it carefully on the stone slab in the center of the room before clapping her hands.
"Happy 9th birthday Aric!"
Aric just stared for a moment.
Then his eyes became big, a warm feeling entering his chest.