Serenya's gaze settled on the books before anything else.
Not long, but long enough to notice.
Her eyes moved from the worn leather in the boys' hands to Lenora, then back again, measuring something she didn't voice.
"I wasn't aware you were visiting mother." she said, her tone even.
Lenora adjusted her coat slightly, unbothered. "I was nearby."
"That so."
It wasn't quite disbelief. Not quite acceptance either.
Serenya stepped closer, her attention shifting fully to the boys now. Riven straightened instinctively under the look, while Talen remained still, his grip tightening just slightly around his book.
"And those?" she asked.
Riven lifted his a little, as if that explained everything. "Grandma bought them for us."
Serenya's brow creased faintly, her eyes flicking over the title before moving to the one in Talen's hands. Whatever she read there held her attention a second longer.
Then she exhaled through her nose, the tension easing—but not disappearing.
"…Of course she did."
Lenora said nothing, though the corner of her mouth hinted at something unreadable.
For a moment, the four of them stood there in the middle of the street, the noise of the market flowing around them like nothing was out of place.
Serenya broke first.
"Well," she said, turning slightly toward home, "if you're done shopping, you can explain why my sons are walking around with books they can't even read yet."
There was no bite in it. Just expectation.
Riven glanced at Talen briefly, then hurried after her. "We can read," he insisted, just enough protest in his voice to sound convincing.
They fell into step beside their mother as the village closed in around them again—voices, movement, the smell of food drifting through the air.
On the surface, nothing had changed.
But the weight in Talens hands said otherwise.
Talen adjusted his grip on the book, his thumb brushing along its worn edge as they walked.
The trek back to their home was much quieter than either of the boys had anticipated. Their mother said nothing, and the boys followed her lead in silent obedience.
When they reached the house, Serenya opened the door, and the smell of food hit them.
It was like a wall—thick, almost heavy, clinging to the air like molasses.
Savory, rich meat mixed with the earthy, piney scent of fried herbs and the deep warmth of broth.
The combination nearly knocked them over, their stomachs responding immediately with loud, unmistakable growls.
The table had already been set.
Two bowls of stew sat waiting, steam curling lazily into the air, with thick slices of warm bread laid out beside them. Nora must have finished not long ago—the scent was still fresh, still full.
Chunks of tender meat rested beneath the surface of the broth, surrounded by soft vegetables that had clearly been left to simmer long enough to melt at the touch. The broth itself was rich and dark, a deep blend of herbs and seasoning that clung to the air with a comforting weight.
Riven stepped closer without thinking.
Talen wasn't far behind.
"Take your food to your room," Serenya said, her voice calm but firm. "I need to speak with your grandmother."
Neither of them argued.
They didn't even hesitate.
Each grabbed a bowl, careful—but only just—and snatched a piece of bread on the way out, the warmth of it seeping into their fingers.
The moment the door to their room shut behind them, whatever restraint they had left disappeared.
Riven tore into the bread first, steam escaping as he pulled it apart, the soft interior giving way easily. He dipped it straight into the stew, letting it soak just enough before taking a bite.
Talen followed immediately, scooping up a spoonful of broth and meat, barely waiting for it to cool.
It was hot.
Too hot.
It didn't matter.
The flavor hit instantly—rich, savory, layered in a way that made it hard to pick out anything individually. The meat practically fell apart, the broth coating his tongue with warmth that settled deep in his chest.
Johnny let out a quiet sound that was somewhere between relief and approval.
"Fuck that's good," he muttered.
Anthony didn't respond right away, too busy taking another bite, this time slower—letting it sit, actually tasting it.
The herbs came through more that time. Something earthy. Something sharp. Balanced.
Yeah.
"Johnny... I'm marrying this woman. I don't care what it takes."
"Don't be greedy," Johnny shot back. "This is a shared resource."
"Shared?" Anthony scoffed. "You just want more portions."
"I'm thinking long-term here."
A brief pause
"Fine," Anthony relented. "We negotiate later."
The room settled into a quiet that felt earned.
Outside, the faint noise of the village carried on as it always did, but inside, it dulled to a distant murmur behind closed walls.
Riven was the first to move.
He set his bowl aside, wiped his hands quickly on his shirt, and pulled the book closer, the cover dragging softly against the wood before he climbed onto the bed. Talen followed not long after, bringing his own with him, the two of them settling into the space without a word.
For a moment, neither of them opened their books.
Then Riven did.
The cover gave slightly under his hand as he pulled it open, the spine creaking faintly in protest. The first page lifted with a dry whisper, the paper thicker than he expected, a little rough at the edges.
Talen shifted onto his stomach beside him, propping himself up on his elbows as he flipped his own open. The sound of pages turning filled the room in uneven intervals—soft, deliberate, occasionally faster when something caught their eye, then slower again when it didn't.
They adjusted constantly.
Riven leaned forward, chin nearly brushing the page, then pushed himself upright, drawing the book into his lap as if distance might help it make more sense. Talen rolled slightly onto his side, one hand supporting his head while the other turned a page, only to shift again moments later, stretching out flat before pulling himself back up.
Pages slid against pages.
A quiet rhythm formed—flip, pause, flip.
The light from the window caught the edges of the paper as they moved, dust faintly stirring with each turn, each small motion carrying a sense of focus that hadn't been there before.
Time passed without being counted.
Neither of them spoke.
They just read.
Almost at the same time, both books snapped shut.
Pages fluttered, leather thumped against itself, and the room fell quiet again.
Anthony exhaled first.
"So… what do you think?" he asked.
Johnny stared down at the cover for a second before answering.
"Well…" he started, then shook his head slightly. "It reads like the Bible. Everything's so foreign and dense, I'm starting to think I fucked up picking something this advanced."
Anthony let out a short, humorless laugh.
"Yeah, no kidding. Feels like the first time I picked up a guitar with sheet music in front of me," he said, leaning back on his hands. "I can read it… I just don't know what the hell I'm looking at."
Johnny frowned down at his book, thumb idly pressing into the page.
"…I just don't understand what this is trying to say," he muttered.
Anthony snorted. "That's already a problem."
Johnny ignored him.
"It keeps talking about weaving," he continued. "Like—threads. You're supposed to take… whatever this 'energy' is and weave it into shapes. Different structures, different results, that kind of thing." He paused, then added, "But it explains it like I'm supposed to already know what any of that looks like."
Anthony shifted onto his back, holding his book above him.
"…Yeah. Mine's not any better."
Johnny glanced over. "What's yours say?"
Anthony tilted the book slightly, scanning a line again before answering.
"It assumes the same thing," he said. "That people are building something when they cast. But this—" he tapped the page lightly, "—this isn't about making anything."
Johnny raised a brow. "Then what?"
Anthony exhaled through his nose.
"It's about stopping it," he said. "Like… interrupting whatever they're building before it finishes. Slowing it down, messing with it—cutting it apart before it actually becomes a spell."
Johnny stared at him for a second.
"…Cutting what?" he asked.
"Exactly," Anthony said flatly.
A brief pause.
"…So what—" Johnny started, frowning slightly. "You're just supposed to run up to someone with a pair of scissors or something?"
Anthony snorted.
"I really fucking hope not."
Johnny rubbed at his face with one hand before reaching for his book again.
"No, seriously," he said. "How does someone even learn this? The book talks like people are just supposed to understand what a 'thread structure' looks like."
Anthony shrugged slightly.
"Maybe they can."
Johnny looked up.
Anthony tapped the side of his head lightly with the book.
"We've been calling it magic this whole time," he said. "What if people here actually see something when they use it?"
That quieted the room for a second.
Johnny frowned.
"…You think we're missing part of it?"
"I think," Anthony said carefully, "we might've skipped a few steps."
"Dude," Johnny muttered, rubbing a hand down his face. "Is this the fucking mythical righty-loosey all over again? Is there a how-to guide on this shit we're missing?"
Johnny let out a long breath and dropped backward onto the bed, his book landing against his chest.
"Seriously," he muttered. "How does an entire civilization figure this shit out without a tutorial?"
Anthony opened his mouth to answer, but the sound of footsteps outside their room cut him off.
The two went still almost immediately.
The steps were light, measured.
Then came a soft knock at the door.
"Boys?" Nora's voice called gently from the other side. "Your mother is asking for you both in the dining room."
Riven and Talen exchanged a quick glance.
"Coming," Riven answered, his voice instantly softening back into that of a child.
Talen shut his book first, sliding it carefully beneath the blanket before hopping down from the bed. Riven followed a moment later, and together they crossed the room as Nora opened the door for them.
The smell of stew still lingered through the house, though fainter now beneath the warmth of candle wax and burning wood.
When they entered the dining room, everyone was already seated.
Their father, Zevran, sat at the far side of the table, his broad shoulders relaxed though his expression remained unreadable beneath the dim candlelight. Serenya sat beside him, one hand resting near an untouched cup while Lenora occupied the head of the table like she belonged there naturally—as though the room itself adjusted around her presence.
Riven noticed the silence first.
Like a conversation had already taken place before they arrived.
Lenora's sharp blue eyes shifted toward the boys as they entered, and immediately some of the weight in the room seemed to ease.
"There they are," she said.
Nora guided the two toward the table, and the boys climbed into their seats without complaint.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Lenora leaned back in her chair with a quiet exhale.
"I'll be leaving in the morning," she announced plainly. "The southern front will not manage itself while I sit around admiring grandchildren."
Talen noticed Serenya's expression tighten slightly at the words, though she said nothing.
Lenora continued regardless.
"I came because I wished to finally meet the two of you myself." Her gaze settled on the boys again. "And because I wanted to see the life my daughter built here."
The room fell quiet once more.
Then, unexpectedly, Lenora smiled faintly.
"You've done well for yourself, Serenya."
Serenya looked almost caught off guard by the praise.
Beside her, Zevran gave a small nod but remained silent, letting the moment belong to his wife.
Lenora's eyes drifted back toward the boys again, lingering there with a strange intensity.
"As for these two…" she said slowly. "I expect great things from them in the future."
Riven felt Talen glance sideways at him.
Neither of them spoke.
But somehow, beneath their grandmother's gaze, the words didn't feel encouraging.
They felt like expectation.
Riven felt Talen glance sideways at him.
Neither of them spoke.
But somehow, beneath their grandmother's gaze, the words didn't feel encouraging.
They felt like expectation.
For a moment, the room remained quiet.
Then Zevran exhaled through his nose and leaned back slightly in his chair.
"Well," he muttered, "hopefully they learn how to read those books before they start becoming 'great.'"
The tension in the room loosened almost immediately.
Serenya rubbed lightly at her temple while Lenora let out a quiet hum that sounded suspiciously close to amusement.
"They'll manage," Lenora said confidently.
"That confidence is exactly what worries me," Serenya replied.
Riven noticed the faint twitch at the corner of his father's mouth before Zevran reached over and took another piece of bread from the table.
Nora shook her head softly at the exchange before stepping forward to gather a few empty dishes.
"You two caused enough excitement for one day," she said gently to the boys. "Try not to cause any more before supper."
Talen lowered his head slightly in fake shame.
"What did we do?" he asked.
Lenora barked out a short laugh at that while Serenya sighed in defeat.
And just like that, the heaviness that had settled over the room began to fade into something warmer—something closer to family.
But even as the conversation drifted elsewhere, both boys could still feel the weight of the hidden books waiting upstairs in their room.