The walk back to Willowmere took longer than the journey out.
Not because the hunters were lost. Every man there knew the forest paths better than the roads of the village. But now they carried nearly two hundred pounds of meat between them, and the forest floor was uneven with roots, rocks, and low brush.
The pole across Garrick and Halren's shoulders creaked softly as they walked, the wrapped weight of the boar swaying slightly with each step.
Kael stayed close beside them, his small boots crunching carefully over the leaves.
At first he tried to stay quiet like a proper hunter.
That lasted about five minutes.
"Dad?"
Garrick exhaled slowly through his nose.
"Yes."
"How long did it take you to learn the knife slash?"
"What slash?"
"The one you did to the boar."
"That was not a special slash."
"It looked special."
"It was not."
Kael walked in silence for about three steps.
"Can knives cut through boar skin?"
"Yes."
"How sharp do they have to be?"
"Very."
"How do you sharpen them?"
"With a whetstone."
"What's a whetstone?"
Halren chuckled from the other end of the pole.
"You've got yourself a talker, Garrick."
"He gets it from his mother," Garrick said.
"I do not," Kael protested.
Darin, walking ahead with the bow across his back, looked over his shoulder.
"You liked the bow yesterday."
Kael's eyes lit up instantly.
"Oh! Yeah!"
"You ever shot one before yesterday?" Darin asked.
"No."
Darin shook his head slightly.
"You picked it up quick."
Kael puffed his chest out a little.
"I'm good with weapons."
Garrick snorted.
"You are good at enthusiasm."
"That counts."
The hunters laughed.
They continued through the forest until the trees began thinning ahead of them. Sunlight spilled through the branches now, bright and warm against the damp ground.
Soon the familiar path leading back toward Willowmere appeared between the trees.
Kael recognized the crooked oak stump near the path.
"We're close," he said excitedly.
"Yes," Halren said. "And your mother is going to skin your father alive."
Kael blinked.
"…Why?"
Halren gave Garrick a sideways look.
"Because a certain knight brought a certain six-year-old into the forest."
Garrick sighed.
"Yes."
Kael looked up at him.
"Are we in trouble?"
"Yes."
"…Both of us?"
"Yes."
Kael thought about that.
Then he nodded.
"That's fair."
The men stepped out of the forest and into the open fields surrounding Willowmere.
Morning had fully arrived now. Sunlight stretched across the village roofs, and smoke curled lazily from the chimneys as people began their day.
A farmer driving a small cart along the road slowed when he saw the hunters approaching.
"Well I'll be," the man said, staring at the boar. "That's a monster."
"Found him instead of the deer," Darin said.
The farmer's eyes drifted down to Kael.
"…Is that Garrick's boy?"
Kael waved proudly.
"I helped."
The farmer laughed.
"Did you now?"
Kael nodded seriously.
"I stayed behind trees."
"That's important work."
They continued toward the village square.
By the time they reached the well, several villagers had already gathered, drawn by the sight of the massive boar being carried through the road.
Murmurs spread quickly.
"That thing's enormous."
"Look at the tusks."
"That'll feed half the village."
Kael walked beside the hunters like he belonged there, trying very hard to look like a very serious member of the hunting party.
Then the forge door slammed open.
Lysa stepped out.
She had clearly been looking for someone.
Her eyes swept across the road.
They landed on Garrick.
Then on Kael.
Her expression did not change.
Which was somehow worse than yelling.
Kael slowly stopped walking.
"…Hi Mom."
Garrick stopped too.
"Morning."
Lysa crossed the road slowly.
She looked first at the boar.
Then at Garrick.
Then down at Kael.
"You," she said calmly to her son, "snuck out before sunrise."
Kael nodded.
"Yes."
"You followed the hunters into the forest."
"Yes."
"You stood near a wild boar."
Kael hesitated.
"…Behind a tree."
The villagers nearby tried very hard not to laugh.
Lysa turned her eyes toward Garrick.
"And you brought him home."
Garrick cleared his throat.
"Yes."
She folded her arms.
The entire square went quiet.
Even Halren suddenly looked interested in the sky.
Finally Lysa looked down at Kael again.
"Are you hurt?"
Kael shook his head quickly.
"No."
She studied him for another moment.
Then she sighed.
"Good."
The tension broke instantly.
The villagers began talking again.
Halren nodded toward the hunters.
"Let's get this meat to the butcher."
The men carried the boar toward the center of the square.
Kael stood beside his mother for a moment.
Then he looked up at her.
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
"I think I'm really good at hunting."
Lysa sighed again.
"I'm sure you do."
Kael smiled proudly.
Behind him, Garrick rubbed the back of his neck.
Because he had a feeling that tonight's conversation at dinner was going to be much harder than fighting a wild boar.
The village square slowly came alive as the morning unfolded.
Word spread quickly whenever hunters returned with a large kill, and this one was hard to miss. The boar alone could feed families for days. By the time Halren and the others carried it toward the butcher's shed near the well, a small crowd had already gathered.
Farmers wiped their hands on their aprons to come look. Children crept closer with wide eyes. Even old Mrs. Bren, who rarely left her front porch anymore, shuffled over with her cane to see what the fuss was about.
"That thing could've eaten someone," one of the farmers muttered.
"Probably tried," Darin replied.
The butcher came out wiping his hands on a cloth and let out a low whistle when he saw the boar.
"Well now," he said. "That's a proper catch."
Halren nodded. "Winter's coming early this year."
The butcher gestured toward the shed. "Let's get it hung before the sun climbs too high."
The hunters carried the boar inside while the villagers continued murmuring outside.
Kael stood beside his mother, watching everything with shining eyes.
His chest still buzzed with excitement.
He had seen a hunt.
A real hunt.
He had seen arrows fly, spears strike, and his father step between him and a charging boar without hesitation.
A thousand questions spun through his mind.
He looked up at his mother again.
"Did you see the tusks?"
"I saw them."
"They were huge."
"I noticed."
"It charged really fast."
"Yes, your father mentioned that part."
Kael rocked slightly on his heels.
"And Dad cut it with his knife."
Lysa glanced toward Garrick, who was currently helping the others hang the boar from a heavy hook inside the shed.
"I imagine he did."
Kael folded his arms thoughtfully.
"I think I should start learning knives."
Lysa looked down at him.
"Oh?"
"Yes."
"You're six."
"I know."
"That doesn't help your argument."
Kael tilted his head, thinking.
"But I already know swords."
"You have a wooden stick."
"It's a training sword."
Before Lysa could answer, Garrick stepped out of the butcher's shed wiping his hands on a cloth.
The morning sun had fully risen now, lighting the square in warm gold. Sweat darkened Garrick's hair at the temples, and a faint smear of dirt streaked across his sleeve.
He spotted Kael immediately.
Then he spotted Lysa standing beside him.
Garrick paused.
The villagers nearby suddenly became very interested in other things.
Garrick approached slowly.
"Well," he said carefully.
"Well," Lysa replied.
Kael looked between them.
Garrick rubbed the back of his neck.
"He followed us."
"Yes."
"I told him to stay behind me."
"Yes."
"He stayed behind a tree."
"Yes."
Lysa let the silence stretch for a moment.
Then she sighed.
"I know what he's like."
Kael looked proud of this statement.
"But," she continued, glancing at Garrick, "he's still six."
"I know."
"And wild boars are not six."
"Also true."
Kael cleared his throat loudly.
"I was very brave."
Both parents looked down at him.
Lysa raised an eyebrow.
"Were you?"
"Yes."
Garrick huffed quietly.
"He didn't run."
Lysa studied her son's face for a moment.
Then she reached out and brushed a stray leaf from his hair.
"Well," she said softly, "next time you feel brave, you can practice that bravery by listening to your parents."
Kael considered that.
"…That's harder."
Garrick snorted.
Lysa shook her head and turned back toward the forge.
"Come on. Breakfast."
Kael blinked.
"Second breakfast?"
"Yes."
Kael grinned.
"That's the best kind."
The three of them began walking back down the road together.
The village had fully awakened now. Chickens wandered across the path, wagons creaked past carrying bundles of hay, and voices filled the air with the familiar rhythm of daily life.
Kael walked between his parents, swinging his wooden sword gently against his leg.
After a few minutes he looked up at Garrick again.
"Dad?"
"Hm?"
"When can I start knife training?"
Garrick glanced down at him.
"You want knife training now?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Kael thought for about two seconds.
"Because it looked cool."
Garrick laughed under his breath.
"That's not a good reason."
"It's a very good reason."
Garrick looked at Lysa.
Lysa looked back.
They both knew that stubborn tone.
Finally Garrick sighed.
"First you learn discipline."
Kael nodded eagerly.
"I can do that."
"Second," Garrick continued, "you practice with your wooden sword every day."
"I already do."
"Properly."
"…Mostly properly."
"And third," Garrick said, pointing a finger toward him, "you listen to your mother."
Kael groaned.
"That one's the hardest."
Lysa smiled faintly.
"That one's the most important."
They reached the forge just as the village bell rang softly in the distance, marking the start of the morning.
Garrick pushed the door open.
Kael stepped inside, still buzzing with energy.
His mind raced with images from the hunt.
Bows.
Spears.
Knives.
Tracks in the dirt.
The deep forest stretching far beyond Willowmere.
And for the first time in his life, Kael Thorne felt like the world outside the village was calling to him.
And he was already planning how to answer.
The forge felt warmer after the cold air of the forest.
Morning light spilled through the window above the table, catching the dust in the air and turning it gold. Lysa had already set bowls out, steam curling from thick stew she had reheated while the village buzzed outside.
Kael slid into his chair like a starving wolf.
Second breakfast had clearly become his favorite invention.
He tore into the bread before the bowl had even settled in front of him.
"You were supposed to be asleep," Lysa said calmly as she sat down.
Kael spoke through a mouthful of bread.
"I woke up early."
"Yes."
"And then I went hunting."
"Yes."
"And we killed a giant boar."
Garrick leaned back in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck.
"We killed a giant boar."
Kael nodded proudly.
"I helped."
"You hid behind a tree," Garrick said.
"That's still helping."
Lysa hid a small smile behind her spoon.
Kael kept eating, pausing only when another thought returned to him.
"Oh," he said.
Both parents looked up.
"I've been thinking."
Garrick groaned quietly.
"That sentence never ends well."
Kael ignored him.
"I'm going to train harder."
"With what?" Garrick asked.
"Everything."
Kael gestured broadly with his spoon.
"Swords. Knives. Bows. Tracking. Hunting."
He leaned forward.
"I want to learn everything."
Garrick studied him carefully.
"You're six."
"I know."
"That's not the age people start hunting boar."
"It's the age people start training."
"That depends on the person."
Kael pointed to his father.
"You started young."
Garrick didn't answer immediately.
That was true.
Too young.
Too much too fast.
He had hoped his son would want something quieter.
Something safer.
Kael finished his bread and sat back.
"And I still want a sibling."
Garrick nearly choked on his drink.
Lysa lowered her spoon slowly.
Kael continued very seriously.
"Because if enemies attack the house, I can't defend it alone."
Garrick stared at him.
"That is not the reason people have children."
"Well it should be."
Lysa exhaled slowly and stood, carrying the empty bowls to the basin.
"We are not discussing siblings during breakfast."
Kael nodded thoughtfully.
"Lunch then."
Garrick rubbed his temples.
After a moment he stood up.
"Come on."
Kael blinked.
"Training?"
"Yes."
Kael jumped out of his chair so fast the stool scraped loudly across the floor.
Outside behind the forge was a flat patch of hard dirt surrounded by stacked wood and old fence posts. Garrick used it sometimes when he needed space to split logs or repair tools.
Today it became something else.
Kael grabbed his wooden practice sword from beside the door before Garrick could even ask.
He stood in the dirt with both feet planted wide, trying to look very serious.
Garrick picked up another wooden blade leaning against the wall.
"Show me what you know."
Kael charged.
Not carefully.
Not thoughtfully.
Just pure enthusiasm.
The wooden sword swung toward Garrick's side.
Garrick stepped slightly aside and tapped Kael's wrist.
The boy's sword dropped into the dirt.
Kael blinked.
"That didn't count."
"It counted."
Kael grabbed the sword again and swung harder.
Garrick blocked the strike and nudged Kael's shoulder with the flat of the blade.
"You're open."
Kael frowned.
"I was attacking."
"You were flailing."
Kael attacked again.
And again.
Each time Garrick moved only a little.
A small turn of the wrist.
A shift of his weight.
A quiet tap to Kael's arm or shoulder that would have ended the fight.
Soon Kael's breathing grew heavier.
His hair stuck to his forehead.
But he refused to stop.
Inside the doorway, Lysa leaned against the frame watching quietly.
Garrick noticed her and sighed inwardly.
He had hoped the boy might lose interest.
Most children did when things became difficult.
But Kael didn't slow down.
If anything, every failed strike made him more determined.
Finally Garrick lowered his blade.
"That's enough."
Kael bent slightly, hands on his knees.
"I almost got you."
"You didn't."
"I was close."
"You were not."
Kael straightened again.
"So what do I need to fix?"
Garrick paused.
The boy wasn't discouraged.
He was studying.
Thinking.
Learning.
Just like a soldier.
Garrick pointed to Kael's feet.
"You move too much."
Then his shoulders.
"You swing too wide."
Then his hands.
"And you grip like you're strangling the sword."
Kael adjusted immediately.
"Like this?"
"Better."
Kael lifted the wooden sword again.
"Again."
Garrick stared at him for a moment.
He had intended the lesson to be tiring.
Frustrating.
Something that might convince the boy weapons weren't as exciting as he imagined.
Instead Kael looked more excited than before.
Garrick exhaled quietly.
"Fine," he said, lifting his own blade again.
"Again."
Inside the forge doorway, Lysa rested a hand lightly against her stomach without realizing it.
The morning sun warmed her back as she watched father and son training in the dirt.
Somewhere deep within her body, life had already begun growing quietly.
A small secret neither of them knew yet.
The sibling Kael had demanded with such certainty.
Outside, Kael stepped forward again, determination burning in his eyes.
And the training continued.
A week passed in Willowmere the way weeks often did in quiet villages.
Slowly.
Peacefully.
And yet, for Kael Thorne, it felt like everything had changed.
Every morning now began the same way.
Before the sun had fully climbed over the hills, Garrick would step outside behind the forge and find a small figure already waiting in the dirt patch.
Wooden sword in hand.
Hair sticking up in every direction.
Barefoot half the time.
"Again?" Garrick would ask.
"Again," Kael would answer.
The first few days were brutal.
Garrick made him repeat the same movements over and over. Footwork. Balance. How to hold the sword without gripping it like a club. How to keep his shoulders steady when he swung.
At first Kael tripped constantly.
His swings were wild.
His stance sloppy.
But Kael had one trait that made Garrick both proud and slightly concerned.
The boy refused to quit.
If he fell, he got up.
If Garrick knocked the sword from his hand, he picked it up again.
If his arms ached, he switched hands and kept going.
By the end of the week, his movements had already begun to change.
Not perfect.
Not even close.
But more controlled.
More focused.
Just enough that Garrick noticed.
"Better," Garrick said one morning after deflecting Kael's swing.
Kael froze.
"You mean it?"
"I didn't say good," Garrick replied.
Kael grinned anyway.
—
The rest of the day belonged to the village.
After training, Kael usually disappeared toward the fields or the river where the other children gathered.
One afternoon he raced Bram and Tomas along the fence lines behind the farms, chasing a runaway chicken that absolutely did not want to be caught.
Another day he helped Elin collect arrows after her father finished teaching her.
Kael still asked endless questions.
"How far can arrows fly?"
"What happens if you shoot straight up?"
"Can a bow break?"
Darin eventually handed him a small training bow one evening just to stop the questions.
Kael spent the next hour shooting arrows into the dirt.
His first shot went sideways.
His second nearly hit a fence post.
The third struck the target.
Darin blinked slowly.
"Huh."
Kael beamed.
—
But not everything in the village felt quite the same.
Inside the forge, Lysa had begun waking with a strange heaviness in her stomach.
At first she ignored it.
Village healers were used to odd aches and tired mornings. She spent her days gathering herbs, grinding medicines, and tending to the villagers who came by with coughs, cuts, and fevers.
Still, something felt… different.
One morning while sorting herbs at the table, a sudden wave of nausea rolled through her.
She quickly stood and stepped outside, breathing in the cool air until it passed.
Garrick noticed.
"You alright?"
"Yes," she said.
"Just tired."
He studied her face a moment longer.
"You've been saying that all week."
"I've also been working all week."
Garrick didn't press further.
But he noticed she rested her hand against her stomach more often now.
—
That same afternoon Kael returned from the river covered in mud.
Completely covered.
From his knees to his elbows, he looked like he had attempted to wrestle the entire riverbank.
Lysa stood in the doorway of the forge and stared at him.
"What happened to you?"
Kael looked down.
"…Mud."
"I can see that."
"We were building a fort."
"With mud?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because it's stronger."
Lysa sighed.
"Go wash before you step inside."
Kael ran to the water barrel, splashing half of it onto the ground while scrubbing his hands.
As he cleaned up, his mind returned to a very important subject.
He ran back toward the doorway.
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
"Did you think about the sibling?"
Lysa paused.
"…The sibling."
"Yes."
"Still working on that one."
Kael nodded like that made perfect sense.
"Good."
He stepped inside.
"Because if I'm going to be a knight someday, I'll need someone to defend the house while I'm gone."
Lysa watched him walk past toward the table.
A small smile tugged at her lips.
Lysa watched Kael disappear into the forge, still dripping river water onto the floorboards as he searched for something to eat.
The smile lingered a moment longer before she stepped inside behind him.
Kael had already climbed onto a stool and was rummaging through a basket like a small raccoon.
"Don't touch the dried herbs," she warned.
"I'm not."
"You are."
"…I was checking."
"For food."
"Yes."
She handed him a piece of bread before he could dig through anything else.
Kael took it happily and hopped back down, chewing while pacing around the room the way he often did when his mind was busy.
His wooden training sword leaned against the wall near the door.
He kept glancing at it.
"Dad said we're training again tonight," he said between bites.
Lysa raised an eyebrow.
"Tonight?"
"Yes."
"After morning training?"
"Yes."
"And afternoon practice?"
Kael shrugged.
"I have to get better."
He finished the bread and wiped his hands on his tunic before grabbing the wooden sword.
"Watch this."
Lysa turned just in time to see him plant his feet the way Garrick had shown him earlier that week.
He swung once.
Then again.
The movements were still clumsy, but there was something new in them now. Less flailing. More thought.
He stopped and looked at her expectantly.
"Better?"
Lysa tilted her head.
"A little."
Kael grinned.
"Dad said that too."
Before she could answer, the forge door creaked open again and Garrick stepped inside carrying a bundle of firewood.
He set it beside the hearth and glanced toward Kael.
"You practicing inside now?"
"I was showing Mom."
Garrick watched him take another swing.
"…That one wasn't terrible."
Kael lit up instantly.
"That's the best compliment you've ever given me."
Garrick snorted.
"That's not true."
"It is."
Lysa shook her head slightly and returned to sorting herbs at the table.
But halfway through tying a bundle of dried mint, that strange wave of nausea returned.
Harder this time.
She set the herbs down quickly and pressed a hand against the table.
Garrick noticed immediately.
"Lysa?"
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine."
She exhaled slowly.
"I just need air."
She stepped outside again, breathing deeply until the dizziness faded.
Behind her, Garrick stepped into the doorway.
"That's the third time today."
"I know."
"You should rest."
"I have work."
"You have a husband who can tell people the healer is resting."
She turned slightly toward him.
"…Do you remember when this happened before?"
Garrick frowned.
"Before what?"
She hesitated only a moment.
"Before Kael."
Garrick went still.
For a second the sounds of the village drifted around them. Chickens clucking. A cart rolling along the road. Children shouting somewhere near the well.
"You mean—" he started.
"I think so."
Garrick ran a hand through his hair slowly.
Inside the forge, Kael was still swinging the wooden sword and narrating his own imaginary battle under his breath.
"…and then the knight defeats the monster…"
Garrick glanced toward the doorway where their son was practicing.
Then back at Lysa.
"…We're not telling him yet."
Lysa smiled faintly.
"That might be wise."
Because if Kael found out he was getting a sibling, the entire village would probably know within five minutes.
Inside, Kael stopped swinging suddenly and rushed toward the door.
"Dad!"
Garrick looked at him.
"What?"
"Bram and Tomas are building a fort near the grain barn."
"And?"
"And they need a knight."
Garrick crossed his arms.
"What did I say about chores first?"
Kael groaned.
"But—"
"What did I say?"
Kael sighed heavily.
"Chores first."
"Good."
Kael trudged toward the woodpile with all the enthusiasm of someone marching to their doom.
But halfway there he brightened again.
"After chores can I train again?"
Garrick gave a tired laugh.
"We'll see."
Kael grabbed an armful of wood and carried it toward the stack beside the forge.
Despite the chores.
Despite the sore arms.
Despite the constant corrections from his father.
His excitement hadn't faded at all.
If anything, the hunt had made something inside him burn brighter.
He wanted to be stronger.
Faster.
Better.
And somewhere behind him, unnoticed, his parents watched quietly as the small boy carried the firewood inside.
Neither of them said it out loud yet.
But life inside the little forge in Willowmere was about to grow louder.
Much louder.
Kael dropped the last armful of wood beside the hearth with a dramatic sigh, as though he had just carried it down from a mountain.
"There," he announced. "Chores complete."
Garrick glanced at the stack.
"You carried six pieces."
"There were six pieces."
"There were twelve."
Kael looked offended.
"Someone must have stolen the other six."
Garrick pointed silently to the pile still sitting outside.
Kael groaned and dragged his feet back toward the door.
Outside, the afternoon sun had warmed the village road. A few farmers passed by with carts of grain, and somewhere down the lane Bram and Tomas were shouting excitedly.
"Kael!" Bram yelled from near the grain barn. "We need help!"
Kael brightened immediately.
"See? The fort needs me!"
"Wood first," Garrick replied.
Kael grabbed the remaining pieces, stacked them inside, and then immediately bolted out the door like he'd been launched from a sling.
"Don't break anything!" Lysa called after him.
"I won't!" Kael shouted back.
A moment later a loud crash echoed from the direction of the grain barn.
Lysa sighed.
"Too late."
—
Near the barn, Bram and Tomas had indeed built something that loosely resembled a fort.
Three crates, two planks, and a very confused goat stood nearby watching the construction.
Kael arrived at full speed.
"What happened?"
"It collapsed," Tomas said.
"You leaned on it," Bram accused.
"I barely leaned!"
Kael grabbed one of the planks.
"Alright, move. I'm the knight."
"You're always the knight," Bram said.
"Yes," Kael replied confidently, "because I'm the best one."
They rebuilt the fort in slightly better shape and spent the next hour defending it from imaginary enemies.
Sometimes the enemies were bandits.
Sometimes monsters.
Once it was a group of evil chickens that Tomas insisted were very dangerous.
Kael stood on top of the crate stack, wooden sword raised.
"Hold the wall!" he shouted.
"There is no wall!" Bram yelled.
"Then build one!"
—
Back at the forge, the afternoon had grown quieter.
Lysa sat at the table again, but the herbs in front of her had remained untouched for several minutes.
Garrick noticed.
"You should lie down."
"I'm not sick."
"You're pale."
She leaned back slightly in the chair.
"Just tired."
Garrick studied her carefully.
He knew that look.
He had seen it once before, years ago.
When Kael had been on the way.
"You're sure?" he asked quietly.
She hesitated.
Then nodded once.
"Pretty sure."
Garrick exhaled slowly and leaned against the wall.
"Well," he said after a moment.
"That explains a few things."
Lysa smiled faintly.
"It might also explain Kael's sudden obsession with siblings."
Garrick chuckled.
"If we tell him now, he'll start building training equipment for the baby."
"That might happen anyway."
—
As the sun began lowering toward the hills, Kael returned from the barn covered in dust, hay, and victory.
"We defended the fort!" he announced proudly while marching into the forge.
"From what?" Lysa asked.
"Chickens."
Garrick blinked.
"…Chickens."
"Evil ones."
Garrick rubbed his forehead.
"I'm not asking."
Kael grabbed his wooden sword from the wall again.
"So… training?"
Garrick looked down at him.
"You're not tired?"
"No."
"Your arms don't hurt?"
"No."
"They will."
Kael shrugged.
"That's fine."
Garrick stared at him for a moment.
The boy had spent the morning hunting, the afternoon building forts and running across half the village, and somehow still had energy left.
Just like him.
Garrick sighed and picked up the practice blade again.
"Fine," he said.
"Show me your stance."
Kael planted his feet immediately.
This time his grip was steadier.
His shoulders more balanced.
He swung.
Garrick blocked the strike and nudged his arm aside.
"Better."
Kael grinned.
They practiced as the sun dipped lower, shadows stretching across the dirt behind the forge.
Inside the doorway, Lysa leaned against the frame again, watching them.
Her hand rested lightly against her stomach.
Still a secret.
Still quiet.
But not for long.
Because soon Kael Thorne was going to learn that he wasn't going to be defending the house alone anymore.
A month slipped by in Willowmere the way autumn often did.
Quiet mornings.
Golden afternoons.
Cool evenings that smelled faintly of wood smoke and falling leaves.
But for Kael Thorne, the days had become something entirely different.
Training.
Every morning before the village properly woke, Garrick stepped outside behind the forge to find Kael already there.
Sometimes the boy was half-awake, hair sticking out wildly, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.
But he always had the wooden sword in his hand.
And he was always ready.
At first Garrick had assumed the excitement would fade after a few days.
It hadn't.
If anything, Kael had grown even more stubborn about it.
So Garrick made the training harder.
Much harder.
"Down," Garrick said one morning.
Kael dropped to the dirt immediately.
"Push-ups."
Kael groaned.
But he started anyway.
One.
Two.
Three.
By six his arms were shaking.
By ten his face was red.
He collapsed flat on the ground.
"I'm dying."
"You're resting," Garrick said.
Kael rolled onto his back.
"I'm definitely dying."
"You'll live."
After a minute Garrick nudged his boot.
"Sit-ups."
Kael groaned again.
But he did them.
Then squats.
Then balance drills.
Then the worst exercise of all.
"Hold it."
Kael lifted the wooden sword and held it straight out in front of him.
Arms locked.
Shoulders tight.
"Don't drop it."
"How long?"
"Until I say."
Thirty seconds passed.
Then a minute.
Then two.
By three minutes Kael's arms trembled like leaves in the wind.
"It's heavy."
"It's wood."
"It's evil wood."
Garrick crossed his arms.
"Hold it."
Kael's arms shook harder.
But he didn't drop the sword.
Finally Garrick nodded.
"Enough."
Kael let the sword fall and collapsed dramatically onto the ground.
"I hate training."
"You love training."
"…That's also true."
Garrick couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his beard.
Because despite the complaints…
Kael was improving.
The boy's stance had steadied.
His feet no longer tangled over each other.
His swings were still rough, but they were beginning to carry intention behind them.
He watched.
He learned.
And most importantly—
He listened.
Well.
Most of the time.
—
The village had started noticing too.
One afternoon near the well, Bram watched Kael practicing with a stick.
"You swing weird," Bram said.
"It's a stance."
"It looks weird."
"It's professional."
Bram shrugged.
"If you say so."
Kael swung again.
This time his feet stayed planted exactly where Garrick had taught him.
The stick cut cleanly through the air.
Elin raised an eyebrow.
"…Okay that was better."
Kael grinned proudly.
"I told you."
—
Inside the forge, life had begun shifting in quieter ways.
Lysa's tiredness had grown stronger over the past few weeks.
Some mornings she moved slower than usual, sitting longer at the table while preparing herbs.
Other mornings she simply watched Kael and Garrick training outside with a quiet smile.
One evening she finally told Garrick.
They were standing near the hearth after dinner while Kael slept in the back room, completely exhausted from the day's training.
"I'm certain now," she said.
Garrick leaned against the wall.
"How certain?"
"Very."
He ran a hand slowly through his hair.
"Well."
Lysa laughed softly.
"That's all you have to say?"
Garrick smiled faintly.
"I'm happy."
She stepped closer and rested her head briefly against his shoulder.
"Kael is going to lose his mind."
Garrick chuckled.
"He's been campaigning for this for weeks."
"We should tell him soon."
"Maybe."
They both glanced toward the back room where their son slept.
Kael lay sprawled across the bed, one arm hanging off the side, wooden training sword still clutched loosely in his hand.
Garrick shook his head.
"He fell asleep mid-war again."
Lysa smiled.
"He trained hard today."
"He always does."
Outside the forge window the night had settled over Willowmere, quiet and calm.
Inside the small home, the Thorne family slept peacefully.
Four heartbeats now lived under that roof.
One of them just hadn't been introduced yet.