Dawn.

  I opened my eyes and scanned the dim room.

  Thomas snored with his mouth wide open, tousled brown hair spilling across his face.

  Julian lay buried and curled beneath the rug like a hibernating bear cub, his messy chestnut locks peeking out.

  Fiorella snored lightly nearby, clutching her ragged doll tight, silver-white strands framing her shy face like moonlight.

  As usual, I was the first to wake up—or not.

  At the corner of the room, two pools of emerald gazed upon me.

  The face hid in the dark, perfectly still... Xanthia.

  My frayed rug slipped away as I sat up. Cold air enveloped my body.

  I stretched my arms and legs as I endured the chill weather.

  The townsfolk had been talking about an early winter that year.

  It did feel colder today. I tiptoed towards Xanthia.

  "Good morning, Tia," I said softly, offering her a faint grin.

  She didn’t answer, of course—just her usual silence.

  ...Well, that’s norm. I reached out my hand, and she clasped mine.

  We stepped quietly to the door, careful not to wake others in the room.

  We moved quickly toward the back of the building.

  Xanthia carried the pitcher in one hand while tugging on the hem of my clothes with the other.

  I offered to carry it, but she insisted.

  The path to the well was bright and clear. The sinister-smiling moon reigned over the night sky.

  No sign of any golden thread from the East.

  "...Acrysus, Argus, Isolus..." Xanthia stopped in her track and muttered, finger pointing at the stars.

  Three exceptionally bright stars clustered together, but yet to form a perfect alignment.

  "I can never remember half of them, you’re as impressive as ever, Tia."

  I gave her hair a good ruffle.

  Nobody else came close to Xanthia when it comes to stars and fables.

  "Let’s fill the pitcher and wash ourselves."

  I poured the icy cold well water into the pitcher. The biting cold slapped me wide awake.

  My fingers numb as I quickly wiped my face with a clean, worn cloth.

  Xanthia stayed quiet after speaking of the stars. Her face had gone pale from the cold.

  "Back to the building, Tia. I’ll fetch the water."

  It was my turn to fill the big barrel in the kitchen.

  She stood in front of me, motionless like a statue. When she met my eyes, she shook her head.

  I sighed, white air puffed out of my mouth. Young but strong-willed.

  I leaned in and met her gaze and suggested,

  "Ol’ Lucia must be waking those sleepyheads by now. Why don’t you help her in the kitchen?"

  Up close, the pair of emeralds blinked a few times. They shone like precious gemstones.

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  Finally, she gave in. Looks like I won the staring match.

  I hurried to finish the work. By the time the kitchen barrel was full, the sun had broken over the horizon.

  ??????????

  I rolled my shoulders and stretched.

  All that work had warmed me up. One last inspection—yes, the floor was completely dry.

  I’d taken care of the spill this time. Ol’ Lucia should be satisfied.

  I headed for the dining hall. It was really just a room, but everyone called it that anyway.

  "Just in time!"

  I entered the hall and jumped into my usual seat next to Xanthia’s. She was not here.

  "You’re late, Allen!"

  Julian’s voice wasn’t deliberately loud, but it was brash as ever.

  "Don’t shout, Julian. It’s piercing my ears!"

  Millie, the petite girl beside him protested; her chestnut pigtails bouncing.

  "No, I’m not!" Julian barked.

  Here it went again.

  Why did they always sit together yet stay at odds?

  I thought they were related, judging from their chestnut hair... it was better not to interfere with the fighting duo.

  I was wiser now. I shifted my gaze to Thomas, waiting across from me.

  "Good morning, Thomas."

  "Morning, Allen. Good job!"

  Thomas gave me a slap in the back.

  He leaned closer, eyes shut tight and sniffed hard.

  "The soup today smells tasty! My nose tells me that."

  He was practically drooling over the soup, though it was still in the kitchen.

  Ol’ Lucia and Xanthia must be preparing it.

  "Allen, Thomas, are you going to work today?"

  Fiorella approached anxiously, gripping her rag doll, silver-white hair tucked under her hood.

  "Yes, Fio! Don’t worry," Thomas grinned, resting a hand on my shoulder. "Me and Allen are the best team! We’ll finish in no time!"

  "It’s all right, Fio," I added gently. "Brother Julian’s home today, remember? And Millie too."

  I raised my voice slightly at their names and glanced at the bickering pair.

  Feeling the weight of my gaze, they paused and turned to Fiorella.

  "Hello, Fio, good morning! Today I’ll do the house cleaning. Call me anytime!" Millie waved energetically.

  "That’s right!" Julian added, still loud but firm. "I’m collecting feathers at the coop. You’ll have the fluffiest pillow this winter!"

  Four pairs of eyes on her, Fiorella lowered her head, gripping her rag doll tighter.

  She nodded and went to sit beside Julian.

  Shortly after, Xanthia appeared, a long wooden ladle in her hands.

  Her blank expression gave her the look of a priestess holding a ceremonial staff.

  Behind her, an old yet iron-strong lady hefted a great clay cookpot.

  The sight bore a resemblance to rituals I saw in Shrine of Levia.

  "THUD!"

  Ol’ Lucia slammed the heavy pot of broth in the center of the table, burning hot.

  Xanthia passed the wooden ladle over, then scurried back to her seat.

  "Echoes of drums from our tummies, rejoice! For our savior finally descends before us!"

  Unable to contain himself, Thomas burst into his eccentric play again.

  "O’ brethren, let the feast begin! Bless us, O’ holy relic of the heavenly cookpot!"

  Fork and spoon in each hand, he raised his arms high and was immersed in his own show.

  It was impressive that he went to such lengths to learn those words.

  I suspected head priest Nolan from the Shrine of Levia. After all, we never miss the weekly soup kitchen.

  "Whack!"

  Ol’ Lucia recovered from the initial shock and, lightning-fast, she delivered a powerful smack on Thomas’ head.

  Everyone giggled uncontrollably. To make Tia giggle, Tom—that’s a feat worth a thumbs up!

  Ol’ Lucia exhaled a colossal sigh; her shoulders slumped under the weight of Thomas’ mischief.

  Exasperation and exhaustion etched years onto her face.

  She regained composure swiftly, and the atmosphere shifted.

  Her gaze razor-sharp and unforgiving, Ol’ Lucia was a figure even ogre dreaded.

  Everyone fell silent, discipline instantly returned. That’s our fearsome caregiver!

  I glanced at Fiorella. Bravo, Fio—hold back those tears! You’re bolder than ogres!

  Thomas trembled under the pressure. He’ll survive; a hero wreaking havoc at the demon’s lair.

  Xanthia nonchalantly held her bowl and waited for the delayed breakfast. Weren’t you the true hero here, Tia?

  Silly thoughts drifted through my mind as the solemn scene unfolded.

  I lowered my head, hiding my face, struggling to stifle my inappropriate giggle.

  Another big sigh from Ol’ Lucia. With a mountain of work ahead, she knew lingering before breakfast was ill-advised.

  Wooden ladle tapped the hem of cookpot.

  "Clank!"

  Faint but clear—the customary sign that breakfast began.

  Relief rippled through the room. The storm was over, for now.

  We moved our bowls across the table, forming a neat circle around the cookpot.

  Bowls filled, prayers said, and tummies full.

  Fiorella and Ol’ Lucia cleaned.

  "The porcupine meat is superb!"

  Thomas savored the rare treat, reluctant to swallow.

  The trap’s catch from last night became his greatest simple pleasure now.

  Julian and Millie left for chores. Julian went to the coop, Millie to the cleaning.

  Xanthia prepared in the room. She joined Thomas and me today.

  We would make a detour to the Shrine of Levia, dropping her at the library.

  Our proud Tia earned the acknowledgement of that stone-faced Nolan himself, free to study there anytime.

  She carried a battered leather satchel, a gift from Nolan.

  Her faded dress swayed, a seashell pendant glimmering at her neck.

  Raising her head to meet my eyes, her emerald gaze struck with unexpected force.

  Tugging on my clothes, she was eager to leave.

  Sensing the silent pressure, I called out to Thomas.

  "Thomas, are you done yet?"

  He stuffed food and water into the knapsack. I bet he was overstocking again.

  His fear of famine ran deep.

  We didn’t say goodbye to Ol’ Lucia or Fiorella; they were too busy counting supplies.

  We pushed the heavy door open, stepped onto the cold stone.

  Bright and sunny, the chill air greeted us, and with it, the day began.