The scent of roasted rabbit filled the cabin, and Rael sat cross-legged at the table, staring at the plate like a wolf ready to pounce.
"Wait," Thorne said, holding up a finger as he carefully seasoned the meat. His face was stern, but the corner of his mouth twitched with amusement.
"I am waiting," Rael protested, his stomach growling loudly. "But if you go any slower, Grandfather, the food will get cold! Or I'll starve to death right here, and then it'll be your fault!"
Thorne snorted. "Starve? With the way you eat, boy, I'm surprised the whole mountain hasn't gone empty already."
Rael grinned and snatched a piece the moment Thorne turned his back.
"I saw that," Thorne said without looking.
Rael froze mid-bite, eyes wide. "How do you always know?"
"Because I used to be a rogue in my youth," Thorne said gravely. "No thief can fool these eyes."
Rael squinted at him. "You're lying."
Thorne finally chuckled, reaching over to ruffle his hair. "Maybe. But you still fell for it."
They both laughed, their voices echoing softly against the wooden walls. For Rael, the world was simple—warm meals, long training days, and his grandfather's doting scolds. For Thorne, every laugh was both a gift and a reminder of what he must protect.
That night, Rael curled up near the fire, fast asleep. Thorne sat in silence, gazing into the flames. The laughter was gone now, replaced by the weight of years pressing down on him.
A shadow stirred at the doorway. Martha stepped inside, her silver hair catching the firelight. She did not move closer, only stood and watched the boy's peaceful face.
Thorne's voice broke the silence, low and heavy.
"I don't know if I have it in me to tell him," he muttered.
Martha's eyes softened. "I don't want him to know," she whispered, almost pleading. "I don't want to see that cheerful boy in tears. Can't we keep him like this… just a little longer?"
Thorne nodded slowly, though his jaw tightened. "Then we won't tell him. Not yet."
The fire crackled. Rael stirred in his sleep, mumbling nonsense, still smiling faintly.
Martha turned away, her expression unreadable, and slipped back into the shadows.
The truth remained buried—silent, waiting for the day it could no longer be held back.