Lio walked beside his two friends, his steps slow, almost hesitant. The cobbled streets of the village stretched before them, winding toward the town square, where an ominous gathering was set to unfold. A thin layer of mist clung to the morning air, swirling around their ankles as they moved forward. The sky above was overcast, casting a gray pall over the town, as if even the heavens refused to bear witness to what was about to occur.

  Despite the chatter of the villagers around them, Lio barely heard a word. His thoughts were consumed by Felix. Ever since the incident, Felix had fallen ill, his small body wracked with fever and chills. Lio had spent hours by his bedside, wiping the sweat from his brow, whispering reassurances even as dread curled in his stomach. The physicians had offered no clear answers, only meaningless comforts that did nothing to ease his fear. What if Felix never recovered? What if the festering wound, the one the physicians claimed was cursed, truly could not heal? The wound where his leg had been severed was swollen, inflamed, and reeked of infection. They called it the witch’s poison, a curse brought upon him by her dark arts, but Lio had his doubts. What if this was not magic, but something else? What if Felix's suffering was not the result of a spell, but of the very people who claimed to save him? The thought made Lio’s chest tighten. He had always been the one to protect Felix, to make him laugh when things got difficult, to shield him from the harshness of the world. But now, he felt helpless. Useless. The memory of Felix’s pale face haunted him now, overlaying the scene before him like a ghostly veil. Every step he took toward the town square felt like another step away from the only place he wanted to be - by Felix’s side, fighting for him in whatever way he could.

  A gentle nudge against his shoulder pulled him from his thoughts. He turned to see his friend, Edric, studying him with concern.

  "You’re quiet today," Edric said.

  Lio forced a small smile. "Just tired."

  Edric didn't look convinced but let it go. Beside them, Elysia, the third member of their trio, walked with her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. She had always been the most outspoken of the three, yet today she was silent, her gaze fixed ahead, as if unwilling to acknowledge where they were going.

  As they neared the square, the murmur of the crowd grew louder. The execution had drawn nearly the entire village, and for a moment, Lio felt suffocated by the sheer number of people pressing forward. The square itself felt different today - colder, as if the very air carried the weight of what was about to happen. The once familiar place, where markets bustled with life, now felt like a graveyard. Shadows clung to the edges of the buildings, and every face in the crowd seemed hardened, resolute.

  A wooden platform stood at the center, the executioner already in place, his face obscured by a hood. Lio’s stomach twisted. The scent of damp wood and burning torches mingled in the air, and beneath it, the acrid tang of fear - some from the accused, some from those too afraid to speak out. He felt as though he were walking through a nightmare, his body moving forward while his mind screamed at him to turn back.

  From the other side of the square, heavy footsteps echoed against the stones. The crowd parted slightly, and through the gap, Lio saw her.

  The witch.

  She was being dragged forward, her hands bound with thick ropes, her tattered dress trailing behind her like a shadow. Though her frame was thin and bruised, she held her head high, her eyes burning with a fierce defiance. The guards shoved her forward, and she stumbled, her knees scraping against the stone. A murmur of approval rippled through the crowd, cruel satisfaction in their eyes. Still, she did not break.

  The murmurs of the crowd grew louder, a mix of whispers, gasps, and tense silence weighing heavy in the air. She faltered for a moment, catching herself before she could fall completely. Her gaze darted over the sea of faces, searching, hoping. But all she found was scorn.

  Minister Aldric stepped onto the platform, his long crimson robes flowing around him, embroidered with golden patterns of the sacred Light. A heavy medallion bearing the symbol of the faith hung from his neck, glinting in the weak morning light. His expression was impassive, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd with the weight of authority. He lifted his hands, calling for silence. "This woman stands before us accused of practicing forbidden magic, of corrupting the innocent, and of bringing ruin upon the boy Felician Everhart with her vile sorcery," he declared, his voice deep and unwavering. "For her crimes, she has been sentenced to death, so that the Light may cleanse our land of darkness. Let none forget that those who stray from the righteous path shall face judgment."

  The crowd erupted in cheers after the minister’s proclamation, voices rising in fervent approval. Some hurled rocks at the witch, their faces contorted with hatred, while others spat or cursed her name, damning her soul to darkness. The intensity of their conviction sent a chill through Lio. The air itself seemed to hum with righteous fury, a storm of condemnation and devotion that swallowed the square whole.

  She inhaled sharply, steadying herself despite the restraints and the weight of the moment. Then, lifting her chin, she let her gaze sweep over the hostile crowd before fixing her eyes on Minister Aldric. Her voice, though hoarse, carried a fierce resolve. "Listen to me, all of you!" she called out, her words pushing against the rising noise of the crowd. "Before you cast your final judgment, before you take a life in blind devotion, hear the truth that I bring!"

  She paused, her breath shallow but steady. "You call this justice?" she spat, her gaze locking onto Minister Aldric. "You, a man who preaches virtue while rotting from the inside. You accuse me of harming the boy, but you are the ones who have crippled him with your blind cruelty. Felix suffers not from my hands, but from yours!" She took a shaky breath, her tone rising. She turned to the crowd, her eyes blazing with urgency, her voice trembling yet unyielding. "You brand me a witch, a heretic, because I do not bow to your twisted doctrines. But tell me, who among you has seen true justice under his rule? Who among you has not lost something to his greed, his fear - mongering?" Her eyes swept over the crowd, desperate yet unwavering. "I did nothing to Felix! I did nothing but try to heal, to help, and for that, I am condemned! You let your fear make you his puppets, but you are more than that! You are people, not tools of a corrupt minister!"

  The villagers erupted, their fury cascading like a wave. "Witch!" someone shouted, and the cry was quickly taken up by others. "Blasphemer! Corrupting our children!" The air was heavy, charged with hostility. Lio felt his own pulse quicken. As the crowd's rage grew, his gaze drifted back to Minister Aldric. He caught a flicker of something unusual in the minister’s eyes - an almost imperceptible shift, a flash of something that looked like fear. It was gone in an instant, masked beneath his usual stern authority, but Lio had seen it. What could the minister possibly fear from the words of a condemned woman?

  Minister Aldric’s eyes darkened. With a swift motion, he raised his hand, commanding silence throughout the square. The murmurs died instantly, the weight of his authority pressing down on the crowd like an iron grip. "Enough. I will not tolerate more of this foolishness. Justice shall be passed onto you for your sins. "

  The executioner tightened his grip on the axe.

  Lio clenched his fists. He didn’t want to be here.

  He didn’t want to watch, but the weight of the moment held him captive. His breath hitched as the executioner’s grip tightened around the axe handle, his muscles tensing like coiled rope. The crowd’s fervor swelled, drowning out his own thoughts. He could feel the heat of the torches, the press of bodies around him, the heavy scent of fear and hatred mingling in the air. The axe was lifted into the air, glinting under the gray light. Lio’s stomach churned, and he squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable.

  A sickening crack split the air, followed by the dull thud of something heavy hitting the ground. Minister Aldric stepped forward, his voice calm yet firm as he addressed the villagers. "Let this be a reminder to all who may waver," he proclaimed, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. "The path of the Light is the only true path, and those who stray shall meet the fate of the condemned. Hold fast to your faith, lest darkness take root among us." Gasps rippled through the crowd, quickly drowned out by murmurs of satisfaction. Lio's entire body tensed, his fingers digging into his palms as the finality of it settled over him like a suffocating weight. His breathing came shallow and unsteady, his heart hammering against his ribs. The crowd shifted, murmuring amongst themselves, the energy of the execution still thick in the air. He dared to open his eyes, his gaze drifting toward the wooden platform.

  The body lay still.

  Blood pooled across the worn planks, dark and glistening under the weak afternoon light. The witch's head had rolled a short distance away, her eyes frozen wide in defiance even in death.

  The stench of iron filled Lio’s nostrils, making his stomach churn. His fingers twitched at his sides. He wanted to run, to bolt from the square and never look back, but his feet refused to move.

  Edric exhaled beside him, a slow, heavy breath. "It’s over," he murmured.

  A single raven cawed overhead, its dark silhouette swooping low before vanishing beyond the rooftops. The moment should have felt final, but a creeping unease slithered through Lio’s chest. He stole a glance at Elysia. She hadn’t spoken a word throughout the entire ordeal, her arms still tightly folded across her chest. Her expression was unreadable, her knuckles pale where they gripped her sleeves.

  The crowd was already shifting, the initial shock of the execution fading into a sense of grim normalcy. Some villagers turned away, speaking in hushed voices as they made their way back to their daily routines. Others lingered, staring at the lifeless body with expressions ranging from grim satisfaction to unease.

  Lio clenched his jaw, a storm of emotions swirling within him. He had thought that seeing the execution would bring some sort of clarity, some understanding of the world he lived in. But all he felt was hollow. A deep, aching emptiness settled in his chest, and the image of Felix’s pale face came rushing back to him.

  He turned away from the platform, his fists tightening at his sides. "Let’s go," he said quietly.

  Edric and Elysia exchanged a glance before following him. As they pushed through the dispersing crowd, Lio’s mind was already elsewhere. Felix was waiting for him, sick and suffering. And no amount of blood spilled in the square would change that.

  The last echoes of the minister’s proclamation still echoed throughout the square, a bitter reminder of the event that had just taken place.

  Moving beyond the square, the lingering tension still clung to the air, heavy and unshakable. The distant murmurs of the crowd faded behind them, swallowed by the familiar rhythm of the village streets. Before they could fully leave the scene behind, a villager stepped into their path, his face lined with age and hardened by years of conviction. His sharp, calculating eyes roamed over Lio, a smirk creeping onto his lips.

  "Did you see that, boy?" His voice carried a weight of certainty, rough with experience. "I hope you took a good, long look at that witch’s fate. You children are fortunate, getting to learn such an important lesson so early in life. Many don’t understand until it’s too late - just like her." He scrutinized Lio’s face, his expression unreadable, yet something in his gaze lingered - assessing, measuring. Then, his smirk deepened. "The village has great expectations for you," he continued. "We’ve never had one like you before - blessed by the Light, I mean." His tone carried reverence, but beneath it lay something else, something less spoken but heavily implied. "You’re destined for great things, boy."

  Lio barely registered the villager’s words, his thoughts still weighed down by Felix’s condition. The man’s voice faded into a distant hum, another murmur among the many voices that had blurred together throughout the day.

  Taking a winding path through the village, they moved past the towering stone structure of the old library, its arched windows dark and solemn in the afternoon light. A turn at the baker’s corner filled the air with the comforting scent of fresh bread, momentarily cutting through the lingering heaviness in Lio’s chest. They passed a row of small homes, their wooden shutters rattling slightly in the breeze, and finally, the bustling market square came into view, its usual lively hum a stark contrast to the silence they had left behind.

  Lio slowed his pace as they neared the street, the weight of the day pressing heavily on his shoulders. Stalls lined the road, filled with merchants calling out their wares - fresh produce, trinkets, warm bread. Amidst the noise, a glint of gold caught his eye. A basket of golden apples sat neatly stacked on a vendor’s cart, their smooth surfaces reflecting the dim afternoon light.

  Without hesitation, Lio stepped forward and pulled his coin pouch. The vendor, an elderly man with a crooked smile, took the money and handed him the ripest of the bunch. Elysia, watching from behind, furrowed her brow. "Lio, that’s the last of your allowance," she pointed out.

  Lio tightened his grip on the leather bag filled with golden apples, their smooth skins gleaming faintly through the opening. He reached in, pulling one out and turning it in his hand, its cool surface a stark contrast to the warmth of his palm. "It doesn’t matter," he replied softly. "If it’s for Felix, then it’s worth it."

  He then waved a quick goodbye to the vendor, tucking the golden apple safely under his arm before continuing down the winding streets. The village carried on around them, unfazed by the weight of the day’s events. Children played near the fountain, their laughter mingling with the rhythmic clang of a blacksmith hammering metal in his forge. A group of women stood near a cloth merchant’s stall, inspecting bolts of fabric, their hushed gossip drifting through the air. A cart laden with barrels rolled past, its driver calling out for pedestrians to clear the way. The scent of roasting meat and fresh herbs wafted from a nearby inn, mingling with the earthy aroma of damp cobblestone. Passing under the arched bridge that spanned the narrow canal, Lio barely noticed the fisherman casting their nets below, too lost in the anticipation of seeing Felix.

  Felix’s home stood at the edge of a quiet lane, a modest yet welcoming cottage with ivy creeping up its timber walls. The thatched roof, weathered from years of sun and rain, sloped gently over small, shuttered windows. Smoke curled faintly from the chimney, carrying the faint scent of burning wood and dried herbs. A small flowerbed lined the entrance, though the plants looked slightly untended, as if their caretaker had been too preoccupied to maintain them. Lio knocked gently on the wooden door, stepping back as soft footsteps approached from within. When the door swung open, Felix’s mother stood before them.

  She had the same light brown curls as her son, though streaks of silver wove through them, and her deep blue eyes carried the exhaustion of sleepless nights. Despite this, a warm smile graced her lips as she took in Lio’s presence.

  “Ah, Lio,” she breathed, relief evident in her tone. “I’m so glad you came. Felix has been waiting eagerly for you.” Her gaze dropped to the bag in his arms, eyes widening slightly. “Golden apples?” She shook her head lightly. “Oh, dear, you didn’t have to do that. You’re too kind.”

  Stepping aside, she gestured for them to enter. “Come in, come in. He’s asleep now, but you can see him.”

  Lio stepped into the entryway, the wooden floor creaking softly beneath his feet. The room was dimly lit, the glow of the hearth casting flickering shadows against the wooden walls. A wooden table sat in the center, its surface worn from years of use, and a single chair was pulled slightly askew, as if someone had just been sitting there. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling, their faint aroma mingling with the lingering scent of burning wood and something medicinal. The space was modest but held a certain warmth - though today, there was an unmistakable heaviness in the air.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Without a word, Lio made his way toward the narrow staircase tucked beside the hearth. Each step groaned under his weight as he ascended, the dim light giving way to deeper shadows. The second floor was quieter, the walls enclosing the stillness like a secret.

  He reached Felix’s room and pushed the door open gently. The moment he stepped inside, a wave of unease settled over him. The air was thick, almost stagnant, carrying the faint, unmistakable scent of sickness. It was as though death itself loomed in the corners, watching, waiting.

  Felix lay on the small wooden bed, his blankets pulled up to his chest. His usually bright blue eyes remained shut, his breathing heavy and uneven. His once lively, mischievous expression had faded into something fragile - his sharp features now softened by exhaustion, his skin paler than Lio had ever seen it. Yet, even in his weakened state, there was an undeniable beauty to him, something delicate and untouched. Lio's gaze lingered on the curve of his cheek, the way his light brown curls cascaded around his face in fascinating waves, framing his refined features. Each strand seemed to catch the dim candlelight, adding a softness to his exhausted form. The way his parted lips allowed slow, shallow breaths to escape made him seem even more fragile, as though he might fade away if Lio looked away for too long.

  Hidden under the covers, his wounded leg remained concealed, but Lio knew all too well what lay there. The amputation had been harsh, rushed, and now, the wound was an angry mess of swollen flesh, wrapped tightly in linen stained faintly with yellowed spots. The scent of bitter herbs and salve did little to mask the sickly undertone of festering skin. His fingers twitched at his sides, an aching helplessness settling deep within him.

  For a fleeting moment, Lio felt something stir in his chest, a warmth foreign to the overwhelming worry pressing down on him. He had always known Felix was handsome, but seeing him now - so vulnerable, so different from his usual self - it was as though that beauty had taken on an entirely new meaning.

  Lio approached the bed, his footsteps careful, almost hesitant, as if afraid to disturb the fragile stillness of the room. He placed the bag of apples on the small wooden table beside Felix’s bed, the soft rustle of the leather breaking the silence.

  At that moment, Felix stirred, his eyelids fluttering weakly before slowly opening. His bright blue eyes, once vibrant and full of mischief, now seemed dulled, as though the illness had drained them of their usual shine. Yet even in their weakened state, they still held a certain depth, a striking contrast against his pale complexion.

  "L - Lio?" Felix’s voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, yet the faintest trace of happiness flickered across his face. His tired expression softened, if only for a moment, as his weary blue eyes met his friend’s.

  Lio took a hesitant step closer, his gaze fixed on Felix’s tired features. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he lowered his voice to something gentle, almost fragile.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked, his words carrying the weight of unspoken concern.

  Felix exhaled a shaky breath, tilting his head slightly against the pillow. "Like I got trampled by a horse," he whispered, a ghost of his usual mischief flickering in his eyes. "But I suppose I’ve had worse."

  Lio parted his lips, wanting to offer reassurance, to tell Felix that everything would be alright. The words formed in his mind, but they felt hollow, empty - a lie he couldn't bring himself to say. He wanted to be strong for Felix, to soothe him with certainty, but how could he promise something when even he wasn't sure? The weight of helplessness settled in his chest, pressing against his ribs like an iron grip.

  Instead, he forced a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "You always have a way of making things sound better than they are," he murmured, voice quieter than he intended.

  His hands clenched at his sides as he looked down at Felix, his throat tightening with guilt. His best friend lay there, fragile and suffering, and he hadn't been there when it mattered most. The words left his lips before he could stop them, raw and aching.

  "Oh, Felix, I should have been there for you - to protect you!"

  His voice wavered, thick with regret. He wanted to believe that his presence now could make a difference, that it wasn’t too late to be the friend Felix needed. But the reality pressed down on him like a weight he couldn’t lift.

  Felix forced a faint smile, though it barely reached his tired eyes. With visible effort, he lifted a weak hand slightly before letting it rest against the blanket.

  "Lio," he murmured, his voice soft but firm, "it’s not your fault."

  He let out a slow, shallow breath, his expression calm despite the exhaustion weighing on him. "You’ve always been there for me. Don’t blame yourself for something you couldn’t have stopped."

  His gaze lingered on Lio, the dim light reflecting off the dull blue of his once - vibrant eyes. Even through his suffering, there was warmth in his look, a silent reassurance that Lio desperately wanted to believe.

  With great effort, Lio swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing back the sting of tears threatening to escape. He straightened slightly, trying to gather himself before speaking.

  "Look, I've brought you golden apples," he said with a soft voice. He reached for the bag beside the bed, carefully opening it to reveal the gleaming fruit. "The ones you love so much! I made sure I picked the best of the bunch."

  A small, hopeful smile flickered across Felix's face, but it wavered slightly. He wanted Felix to know he still had something to look forward to, something familiar, something that might bring him comfort.

  Felix’s gaze softened as he looked at the apples, his tired expression lifting ever so slightly. With what little strength he had, he managed to whisper, “Thank you, Lio. I appreciate it.” He noticed the despair written on Lio's face. "Don't worry, Lio. Soon enough, I will be back on my feet, ready for new adventures! Or shall I say, my foot." He laughed briefly, looking at the place where his leg used to be. "We promised ourselves we'll explore the world together, remember? Don't think I'd ever let that little scratch stop me, ba!"

  Lio let out a soft chuckle, momentarily caught up in Felix’s unwavering optimism, despite the grim reality surrounding them.

  He hesitated for a moment, his eyes lingering on Felix’s fragile frame. He didn’t want to leave, but Felix needed rest. With a quiet exhale, he forced a small smile and readied himself to leave.

  "I’ll let you rest now, Felix," he said gently. "Enjoy the apples before they dry out, will you? I’ll visit you again tomorrow - and I’ll bring you something even more special."

  "Looking forward to it. Thank you, Lio."

  Lio descended the stairs, the wooden steps creaking softly under his weight. The glow of the hearth greeted him once more as he stepped into the entryway, where Edric, Elysia, and Felix’s mother were waiting. The woman looked up as he entered, her expression weary yet filled with quiet gratitude.

  “You should stay for dinner,” she offered warmly, her hands clasped together. “It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done for Felix.”

  Lio exchanged a glance with his friends. Elysia hesitated, but Edric gave a small shake of his head, and Lio knew they were all thinking the same thing - after everything that had happened today, none of them had much of an appetite.

  “Thank you,” Lio said, offering a polite smile, “but we should be heading home.”

  Felix’s mother studied them for a moment, then nodded in understanding. “Very well. But do come by anytime, Lio.”

  He nodded before glancing back toward the staircase one last time. Stepping outside, Lio was met with the breathtaking sight of the evening sky painted in hues of gold, crimson, and soft lavender. The sun lingered just above the horizon, casting its final rays across the village, illuminating the rooftops in a warm, amber glow. Wisps of clouds stretched across the heavens, tinged with fiery orange at their edges, as if the sky itself had been set ablaze. The air carried the crispness of the approaching night, a gentle breeze stirring the scent of distant hearth fires and the lingering aroma of baked bread from the marketplace. Shadows stretched long across the cobbled streets, the flickering lanterns in shop windows beginning to challenge the dying light. It was a serene beauty, one that felt almost out of place after the weight of the day.

  For a moment, Lio simply stood there, gazing at the sunset. The world looked so peaceful, so unchanged - yet deep within him, everything felt different.

  He felt a gentle touch on his arm - Elysia had wrapped her hands around it, her grip soft yet intentional. Her voice carried warmth, a quiet fondness she didn’t bother to hide.

  “Lio, look at the sky,” she murmured, her gaze fixed on the painted horizon. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  Lio barely registered her words, his thoughts still lost in the weight of the day. Without turning to her, he gave a vague nod. “Yeah,” he muttered absently.

  For a moment, Elysia was silent, then her voice dropped to something softer, more tentative. “Not as beautiful as your purple eyes,” she added, almost shyly.

  He remained distant, too lost in his own thoughts to fully process what she had said. But even in his distraction, he caught the subtle shift in her tone - the disappointment just beneath the surface. Realizing how dismissive he had been, he let out a quiet sigh and turned slightly toward her.

  “Sorry, Elysia,” he said, offering a small, fleeting smile. “I’m a little distracted today.”

  Elysia studied his face for a moment, her grip loosening slightly. Then, with a small, knowing smile, she gave his arm a gentle squeeze.

  "It’s alright," she said softly, though something unreadable lingered in her voice. "I shouldn’t bother you when you’re this worried about Felix. I know how much he means to you."

  "Thank you" said Lio, though he saw the disappointment on her face deepening. "What is wrong with her?" he thought to himself. "She's been acting strange lately." His pure, childish mind, failed to understand the complex emotions of girls.

  "I think it is time we part ways." said Edric. "My foster mother will be irritated if I don't return by sunset.

  Lio waved his friends goodbye and turned toward the road leading home. The streets of the village were quieter now, the last remnants of the market day fading into the soft hum of evening life. A few villagers lingered outside their homes, speaking in hushed tones or finishing their daily tasks. Lanterns flickered against wooden walls, casting long, dancing shadows onto the cobbled paths.

  His steps were slow, unhurried, as his mind drifted back to the events of the day. The execution replayed in his head like a cruel echo - the witch’s defiant gaze, the deafening cheers of the crowd, and, most of all, Minister Aldric’s expression. There had been something there, something beyond his usual authority and stern presence. For the briefest moment, when the witch had spoken, Lio had seen it - a flicker of something almost like fear.

  Why?

  What could a man as powerful as Aldric possibly fear? The idea gnawed at him, pulling his thoughts in directions he couldn’t quite grasp. He had never questioned the Minister before, had never thought to. But now, after today, after hearing the woman’s words, after seeing that moment of weakness in his eyes…

  He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if to clear it. It wasn’t his place to question such things. Aldric was the voice of the Light, the guiding force of the village. Doubting him - it was foolish, dangerous even.

  And yet, the feeling wouldn’t leave him.

  The execution had been meant to bring clarity, to deliver justice. But as Lio made his way home through the dimly lit streets, all he felt was uncertainty.

  Lio's feet carried him forward on their own, his thoughts so deep that he barely noticed his surroundings. When he finally lifted his gaze, he found himself standing before his house - a grand yet unpretentious home, fit for a boy of noble birth. The structure was built from rich, polished wood, its surface gleaming faintly even in the dim evening light. Intricate carvings adorned the beams, subtle yet elegant, depicting stories of old heroes and great battles.

  The house was surrounded by a spacious yard, larger than most in the village. The front yard was well - maintained, with a neatly paved stone path leading to the entrance, flanked by trimmed hedges and decorative lanterns. In the back, a lush garden stretched wide, filled with fruit - bearing trees, a small training ground, and an area where wildflowers grew freely, adding a touch of natural beauty to the refined estate. The windows, framed with finely crafted shutters, were slightly ajar, allowing the golden glow of candlelight to spill onto the wooden porch. It was a home that spoke of wealth, but not excess - comfort, but not indulgence.

  He stood there for a moment, staring at the familiar sight, yet somehow feeling distant from it. It was his home, yet at that moment, he felt as though he were merely passing through, his mind too entangled in the questions left unanswered.

  Pushing open the heavy wooden door, Lio stepped into the entry hall, the scent of polished wood and faint traces of candle wax greeting him. The space was wide and open, designed not for comfort but for practicality, yet it carried an understated elegance. The floor beneath his feet was made of dark, varnished planks that reflected the golden glow of the wall - mounted torch holders - each crafted from gleaming brass, their flames flickering gently against the wood - paneled walls. The grand staircase stood to the left, its carved wooden railing smooth under years of careful upkeep, leading to the second floor where the bedrooms lay. Next to it, a hallway stretched deeper into the house, branching off into the various rooms - the small library, where his father would retreat, losing himself in deep contemplation of military tactics and the changes he deemed necessary, the dining area, and the sitting room where a hearth always burned warmly in the evenings. Lining the walls were numerous framed drawings, each one carefully placed. Some were of landscapes, rolling hills, and forests beyond the village, while others depicted moments from stories, heroes and beasts frozen in charcoal and ink. A few, though, stood out - simple sketches done with a less refined hand, childish attempts at capturing the faces of people dear to him.

  For a moment, Lio’s gaze lingered on a particular drawing - one of him and Felix, done years ago. The lines were uneven, the proportions slightly off, but it was unmistakably them. He had drawn it himself, determined to capture their friendship on paper.

  The quiet warmth of the hall stood in stark contrast to the turmoil in his mind. It felt distant, almost unreal, as though the home he had always known no longer quite fit around him.

  A faint, savory aroma drifted through the air, stirring Lio from his thoughts. The scent of something rich and well - seasoned, carrying a warmth that contrasted with the weight of the day, beckoned him toward the kitchen. Without thinking, his feet followed it. As he stepped inside, his eyes fell on his mother, moving gracefully between the hearth and the wooden countertop. She was a woman in her prime, standing at the peak of her beauty. Her black, curly hair cascaded freely down her back and over her arms, catching the glow of the flickering firelight. Every movement she made carried a quiet confidence, the effortless grace of someone who knew her worth without the need to prove it.

  At the sound of his footsteps, she turned to face him. Her sharp blue eyes landed on him instantly, their calculating nature assessing him in a single glance. They held an undeniable intelligence, as if she could read his thoughts before he even spoke. And yet, beneath that sharpness was a gentler warmth - a quiet kindness that softened her features, making it clear that while she understood much, she judged little.

  She studied him for a moment, then offered a knowing smile. "Welcome home, Lio," she said, her voice smooth, steady - like the kind of voice that could command a room without ever needing to raise in volume.

  Mom?” Lio asked, blinking at the sight before him. “You're home? And you’re cooking? What about the maiden?”

  His mother turned fully toward him, her lips curving into a soft, radiant smile. “I let her go home early today,” she said, her voice smooth yet carrying a familiar warmth. “I figured you haven't had my cooking in a long time.” Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, knowing and gentle. “And I know how much you love it.”

  “Thank you, Mom, but I’m not feeling very hungry right now. How was your trip?”

  “Boring. All of the candidates were pompous and arrogant nobles. None of them are even a fraction of the man your father was.” His despair must have been written on his face because her smile suddenly shifted into a serious expression, mixed in with concern. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought him up. Please, forgive me.”

  “I’m not upset because of that. There is something else on my mind that’s troubling me.”

  “Felix? I heard what happened to him. Terrible, indeed. Poor boy. I also heard what happened today at the village’s square. I’d understand if you’re confused or scared and need someone to…”

  “There is nothing to be confused about, Mom.” Lio interrupted her, slight irritation in his voice. “The witch poisoned my friend and got what was coming for her.” He then look at his mother’s eyes and realized how rude he was. His gaze lingered on her, heavy with guilt. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t let my irritation out on you. I’m just so worried about Felix and…and… what am I going to do if I lose him?”

  His mother gently placed her hand on the back of his head, guiding him down to rest against her chest. “There's nothing to apologize for,” she said, her voice soft, trying to soothe him. “Felix will be fine, I know it. Now, be a good boy and eat your dinner. You wouldn’t want to hurt my feelings, would you?” A playful smile tugged at her lips. “I’m heading to bed - I'm a bit weary from the trip. Please, after you’re finished, put your plate in the sink for the maiden to wash. Can you do that for me?”

  “I will wash it myself, Mom. It’s just one plate.”

  His mother smiled gently at him. “You’re such a good boy, Lio. I love you more than anything in this world. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Mom. I love you too.”

  His mother left the room, gently closing the door behind her. Lio sat at the table, gazing at the steaming plate before him - roast chicken with tender root vegetables, glazed in honey and herbs, accompanied by warm, crusty bread. It was simple but comforting, a dish fit for a noble's table. He took a spoonful, savoring the rich flavor. It was true; he had missed his mother’s cooking. After finishing, he rinsed his plate and spoon, then placed them neatly in the cabinet.

  He opened the door and stepped into the hallway. He climbed the stairs to the second floor and paused in front of the large portrait of his father. The man in the painting stood tall, his expression stoic and weathered, a lifetime of battles reflected in the hard set of his jaw and the faint scars that marked his face. His dark brown hair was neatly combed back, and his piercing purple eyes seemed to gaze directly at Lio, as though judging him. Yet, beneath the stern exterior, there was a softness in his eyes, a quiet kindness that spoke of a man who, despite the harshness of war, had never lost his compassion. He lingered for a moment, eyes fixed on the painting, before turning and heading to his room. The door opened to reveal a room that was simple yet refined. A sturdy wooden bed sat against one wall, its dark green coverlet neatly tucked in, with a few decorative pillows adding a touch of comfort. The stone walls were adorned with a few tapestries depicting scenes of nature rather than battle, giving the room a sense of warmth. Shelves lined one side of the room, stacked with books bound in soft leather - tales of ancient warriors and their struggles with beasts of legend. A small desk sat beneath the window, with a few open books, parchment, and a quill resting beside an inkpot. The space was modest, but it was his own, a quiet retreat where he could escape the world outside. He reached for a book from the shelf, choosing one at random, and settled onto his bed. The soft rustle of the pages echoed in the quiet room as he tried to focus on the words, but his mind was too troubled. The letters blurred together, and he found himself staring at the pages without truly seeing them. His thoughts kept drifting back to Felix and the weight of the day. Time seemed to stretch on, the book forgotten in his hands, as his eyes grew heavier. Eventually, exhaustion claimed him, and he slipped into a restless sleep, his dreams filled with the faces of witches and priests, their whispered voices echoing in the shadows of his mind.