As the last rays of the setting sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the rugged landscape of the Gilded Wilds, Byrt Tenebrae and his seven oldest sons trudged back from the iron mine. The air was thick with the scent of pine from the nearby forests and the earthy tang of freshly dug soil. Their home, a sturdy timber-framed house expanded over the years to accommodate their growing family, stood proudly on a gentle rise overlooking the budding town of Eldermere. Lanterns flickered warmly in the windows, and the savory aroma of shepherd's beef stew wafted out to greet them, mingled with the faint, herbal notes of Cindy's everyday magic—spells that kept the hearth fire steady and the pots bubbling without overflow.
The boys—Roland, Chris, Tom, Sam, Harold, Jeffrey, and Matthew—shed their dirt-caked boots at the door, washing up in the trough outside with splashes and good-natured jostling. Roland, at 20, led the pack with his broad shoulders and steady gaze, a mirror of his father save for the soft blue eyes inherited from Cindy. Chris, 18, and Tom, 17, followed, both lanky and quick-witted, often trading barbs about who could swing a pickaxe harder. Sam, 16, still recovering from his earlier queasiness, hung back with a smirk. Harold, 15, and Jeffrey, 14, were next; Jeffrey, the sixth oldest son, shared a twin bond with his sister Roselda, both gifted in the subtle arts of everyday magic that made chores lighter and hearths warmer. Matthew, the youngest of the working bunch at 13, brought up the rear, his youthful energy undimmed by the day's labor.
Inside, the house buzzed with life. Cindy Tenebrae, Byrt's wife of 21 years, moved with graceful efficiency, her hands weaving faint glowing threads of magic to stir the stew and set the long wooden table. At 34, she was the heart of the home, her practical spells a daily blessing—mending tears in clothes with a whisper or coaxing plants in the garden to grow fuller. Around her swirled the rest of the family: Clarice, Roland's twin sister at 20, hummed softly as she arranged bread loaves, her cheeks flushed from a recent visit by her suitor, Tyrell Levithoro. The Levithoro family, renowned smiths with forges that turned Tenebrae-mined ores into fine weapons and tools, had long ties to the Tenebraes through trade and mutual respect. Tyrell, their oldest son, was courting Clarice with earnest intent, his family's prowess in metalwork complementing the Tenebraes' mineral mining and storied military background.
Roselda, Jeffrey's twin at 14, helped her mother, her fingers sparking with minor enchantments that made the spoons dance into place. She had no suitor yet, but her talent for everyday magic rivaled Cindy's, turning mundane tasks into effortless wonders. The other daughters—Eden, 12; Landina, 11; and Elizabeth, 10—chattered as they set out plates, their skills honed in the ways expected of women in the Kingdom of Fatum: sewing intricate patterns that warded against chill, planting herbs with spells for bountiful yields, studying ancient texts under candlelight, crafting artwork and carvings that adorned the home, and tending to the family's goats and chickens with gentle, magical coaxing.
The youngest twins, Belfin and Ophelia, both 6, were already nodding off in a corner, their mischievous daytime antics—hiding tools or chasing chickens with illusory butterflies—giving way to sound sleep. They were a pair of whirlwinds when awake, Belfin's boyish grin matching Ophelia's giggles, but now they slumbered peacefully, oblivious to the world.
"Dinner's ready, my loves!" Cindy called, her voice warm and commanding. The family gathered around the table, the older sons squeezing onto benches while the girls perched neatly. Byrt took his seat at the head, offering a quick prayer to the gods for their blessings—healthy children born every year for 14 straight after Roland and Clarice's arrival, a testament to their fertile union in the year of King Augustus Solmire's coronation.
The meal passed in lively chaos: stories of the mine's progress, Clarice shyly recounting Tyrell's latest gift—a finely wrought iron brooch from the Levithoro forges—and the daughters sharing their day's lessons in sewing, planting, and animal care. Roselda demonstrated a quick spell to mend a torn napkin, earning nods of approval. Even the youngest twins stirred briefly for bites of stew before dozing again, their innocent faces a reminder of the family's enduring legacy.
As plates emptied and the fire crackled low, Byrt cleared his throat. "Girls, help your mother clear up. Boys—the seven of you—stay put. We've matters to discuss."
Cindy shot him a knowing glance, her hand briefly touching his shoulder with a subtle spell that eased the tension in his muscles. The daughters filed out, Clarice lingering to peck Roland on the cheek in sisterly solidarity, Roselda whispering encouragement to Jeffrey. Soon, only Byrt and his oldest sons remained at the table, the room lit by flickering lantern light.
Byrt leaned forward, his callused hands clasped. "Lads, you heard the whispers in the mine today. The meeting with Viscount Fairbourne… it's no secret now. The Gilded Wilds are richer than we dreamed—iron veins like ours, forests teeming with timber—but the creatures lurking in the shadows are fiercer too. The king's troops are stretched thin, and reinforcements from the capital could take months, if they come at all."
He paused, eyeing each son in turn. Roland met his gaze steadily, Chris and Tom shifted with restless energy, Sam frowned thoughtfully, Harold and Matthew exchanged glances, and Jeffrey's fingers twitched as if ready to weave a protective charm.
"The viscount needs able-bodied men for the militia," Byrt continued. "Under Captain Ulric Dane's training. Not forever—just until we're secure. I spoke up in the chamber, suggesting we let our sons choose their paths. Each house sends at least one, more if willing. It's a chance to gain skills, protect our kin, and honor the Tenebrae name—miners by trade, but warriors by blood, as our forebears were."
Roland spoke first, his voice firm. "Father, I've dreamed of the soldier's life since I was small. With Clarice courting Tyrell, and the Levithoros forging arms from our ores… it feels right. I'll go."
Chris nodded eagerly. "Me too. Mining's honest work, but swinging a sword against those beasts? That's glory."
Tom grinned. "Count me in. Can't let these two have all the fun."
Sam hesitated, then sighed. "I suppose I should. Better to learn now than regret later."
Harold and Matthew murmured agreement, their youth tempered by family duty. Jeffrey, the quietest, looked up. "And me, Father. Roselda's magic is strong, but if I train, I can protect her—and all of us."
Byrt's heart swelled with pride, though a pang of loss tugged at him. "You're all fine men, making your own choices. The mine will slow without you, but Eldermere's safety comes first. Report in a fortnight, as the viscount said. And remember—the gods bless the brave."
As the boys rose, discussing training with excited whispers, Byrt glanced out the window at the starlit wilds. The Kingdom of Fatum demanded much, but the Tenebraes would rise to meet it, their bonds unbreakable.