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  Spring 6 years after

  The air is warm and dry in paradise. The stretch of these rolling hills are like a loving embrace of home whenever I look at them. The glimmer of pink mixed pastel sunlight kisses my skin while I bask and savor the peace of my little sanctuary. My heart however is not satisfied unless I'm put to work, knowing that I go on with my peaceful morning chores. Chopping is nice and simple, the tactile sensation of the blowback of the axe slamming into the worn cut up stump I use. I've used the same stump for ages but it has served me very well. I often chop wood to relieve stress, the control that it takes not to obliterate the stump takes my mind off anything. This means our storage is constantly filled to bursting with fire wood, the winters are cold and it's nice to have this much but It's definitely excessive.

  It seems as much as I love doing these chores, they end up boring jobs I use to blow time. I stare at the pile of firewood I've chopped, before I turn it into a little mountain I carry the stack to our shed behind the house. The grass is soft and squishy after the morning dew, it's a nice reminder of the quaint place I've made home. The shed is something I've handmade, it wasn't too much work to make good carpentry but the robust frame and dark green paint are things I still take pride in.

  After jamming in the logs wherever I could find room, I went to my many other chores. People say washing and stringing up clothes like this is a woman's job, but with me having the time and needing something to do it has become my responsibility.

  ===

  The sun is barely up, It’s nice, having this little bit of paradise alone. Eventually, I get uncomfortable when I’m alone, I start to feel less alone, and more isolated and far from anyone else. Of course, spending the early few hours of the morning isn’t that bad, but I’m always worried that the dread of being stranded will set in if I spend too much time on my own. Luckily, I don’t have to be alone for that long.

  Stepping into my warm cozy cottage, I feel that warm air of home greet me as I enter. The place is homey, small trinkets, plants, and overpowering furniture gives this place a strong, mothering air.

  Walking down the halls, I head into our room. In the slightly too thick for spring wool blanket, my wife lays, holding our son in her arms. Her dirty brown locks of hair splay over my contented son’s face. Her loving embrace coils around him like a snake coils around prey, though here it’s so tender and lovely. My son bobs lightly at each of her relaxed little breaths, he’s so content, eyes shut, smile gently painted on in the morning light in the window.

  Seeing this beautiful scene, like something better found in the most opulent art galleries instead of the bedroom of my cottage, I give both of them a gentle kiss on their heads before stepping downstairs to make breakfast.

  Cooking breakfast should be a simple task. I breathe deeply looking at the portion of ham I set aside for my son. In my pocket I reach for my ‘secret ingredient,’ a small clear bottle filled with a purple hued liquid. I drip the oil onto my son’s portion of ham, watching the dilute extract be absorbed by the meat instantly. This dose is harmless but it still is poison. I push the vial back into my pocket as I try to keep it out of my mind. Ham in the pan, then eggs, then bread. Cooking is simple, but whenever I add elixir to the food, I’m always on edge until everything is plated and on the table. By then I hear light footsteps from the hall.

  “It smells like heaven in here.”

  She steps into the room, hand and hand with my little boy. She is radiant, the ray of sun that hits her face from the window makes her look more like an angel then a mother. The gentle curve of joy on her lips and the dimples from her constant laughing and smiling are gorgeous.

  Connected to her hand is my son, he’s shining with joy as well. His eyes are crinkled in excitement, cheeks pushing high on his face. The way the hair he got from his mother, those dirty blond locks messily cover his head is adorable.

  They sit down and dig into the food, my wife coaxing out a few complements out of my son before we eat. I watch as my son cuts into the egg yolk before eating it with a bite of ham, focusing on the slightest reaction. As my wife reaches over to dab a cloth over the smudge of yolk on his lip, I let myself breath a sigh of relief as always.

  When I finally relax, breakfast is a short and sweet affair, we enjoy the food and my wife offers to clean up while I wipe the boy’s mouth clean. She waves us goodbye soon afterwards, me going to my post, and my son going out to play with his friends.

  ===

  This town is always busy in the morning, not busy like a morning market in a big city, but like the hustle and bustle of a small community of early risers. I walk around through the town, followed by my bright eyed recruit, some neighborhood boy who supposedly wants to be a manly fighter just like me.

  The air, just like around my little cottage, is just a hint sweet. Even the fields smell just a touch sweet from the type of grass here. The sun, barely out, is only a touch warm, like it was designed to only shine so much that it feels like a warm embrace when outside. The houses on either side of the thin dirt road are well cared for and made out of planks and logs, each house is probably made from hand all the way out here just like I made the cottage.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  This town doesn’t need someone like me, I’m beyond overqualified for a position like this. This town really only needs an amateur at best. Is not just the nice part of the country, it's the nicest part of the world, no monsters, no crime, no danger whatsoever.

  I don't usually see anything worse than the most petty crimes. The last actual crime was when a row of corn was stolen. I tracked the thief to his house, the thief being a fourteen year old boy who told his parents he was given the corn. Apparently the family had had a bad harvest from their small lot, the matter was settled when the farmer who was stolen from hired the family to help with the harvest.

  The kid following me around prods me on the side to get my attention. He’s around eight years old, in this town with no danger, he doesn’t need supervision whatsoever, his parents probably don't know where he is or that he’s bothering me.“So sir, how can I be strong like you?” He asks, excited wide eyes fixed on my every expression.

  I almost scoff, holding myself to just a deep exhale. “A lot of hard work” I responded, exacerbating the false interest in my voice.

  The kid eats it all up, I can almost see the gears turning in his head.

  “Today you can be my squire, but you better behave for your mother.” I say, waving my finger at his as I talk. “ You can even follow me into the store to try the new batch of jam.”

  ‘When did I go from badass to babysitter,’ I grouch to myself. ‘I hope I’ll find time for training today.’ I think to myself as I grip my sword’s handle at the thought, gritting my teeth to push back on the constant mental tug of the blade.

  ‘I can push it a bit more right now, but I need to let loose soon.’

  ===

  I return home to a large hearty dinner, there is not much to mention on simple days like this. Nor is there anything to consider beyond enjoying and savoring every warm moment of family I get.

  After dinner, me and my loving wife dance. She loves to dance, it's like her little thing between me and her. It wasn't even much long after she had my son before she was back to dragging me outside to dance on the grass.

  I'm grateful to her, she thinks all the time that she's the luckiest woman to have me but I'm of the opinion that it's actually the other way around. I'm lucky to have her, I wouldn't be the happy loving man she admires so without her intervention.

  We step onto the gentle green grass, bare feet against the cooling soft blades. She pulls my arm into her step back, beginning our back and forth. In and out, I follow her pep, her flowing steps. We pull out, synchronized as we lean back on each other’s arms, my eyes on her sunkissed smile. I pull my arm up, twirling her into me for a dip.

  After we went back inside after what must have been an hour of dancing. I'm surprised to see that my son is already home from his after dinner adventures. I immediately bring him onto my lap on the couch, my wife following and latching to my side as we spend more of the warm loving family time I cannot get enough of.

  It's not long, or at least it doesn't seem that long until it's bedtime and I'm walking into my son's room for bedtime stories.

  “Daddy, mom said that you went to the top of the world! That's true right?”

  “Yeah son, that's true. “ I hesitantly push out the response to his innocent question.

  “Was it an amazing adventure? Why don't you talk about it? “

  I set my face into a grave line, I knew this would come up. Just the idea of that place fills me with anxiety and malaise. I take a deep breath before starting.

  This has to happen eventually.

  “I wish I could tell you that everything went as planned and we had a great time, no one got hurt and we celebrated afterwards, but that would be a lie. I wish I could ease your worries about that place, bolster your confidence and completely prepare you for it, but that’s impossible. You have to understand, son, I should have died somewhere on that stage in the sky, bleeding out on the golden stairs. It makes more sense to me to have given into ruin on that forsaken ship than to live to tell the tale to you.” I say, slowly regaining the haunted eyes I get whenever I think of that place, recounting those dark days like the broken man I am under my family man facade. My son’s face is horrified, shocked to hear what he thought would be blissful stories of heroic valor and rowdy parties afterward.

  “ That being said, I will have to send you to that place, no matter what your mother says, no matter how scared you are. It’s cruel, especially after what I just said, but you need to go. I can’t tell you why, only that it’s paramount to very important things.” I say, watching my little boy process these things, he doesn’t know what to think, this I assume from his unfocused eyes.

  “Daddy, how did you survive then?”

  My eyes cast down, unable to meet his anticipation head on. My lips purse into a tight line before I admit my guilt to my 5 year old son.”They took pity on me and mine, They laughed at us, like we were nothing to Them, which we were.” I finally uttered before looking up to find my son looking at me with worry. “But, Daddy’s so strong!” He says, eyes taut in apprehension of my horrors. “Not strong enough, but I will need you to be when you go.” I respond to him in a more grave tone than anything I have used with him or his mother

  My son tries to process this, but the idea seems to only be half digested by his head. He’s still young but I need him to start preparing now. He needs to be built up to what I wasn’t. That has already happened with me giving him all the care and nurturing for his heart, mind and body, but I want to impart this gravity to him, to drive him to prepare for things beyond him.

  I pull him into my side, arms wrapped around him on his small bed. “That’s not for a while yet, but soon you will need to be strong.” I whisper gently, brushing my hand through the fluffy coffee color hair he got from his mother. “I will give you everything I wish I had, everything you will need. That is my job as your father. If I’m still healthy when I need to send you off, I will go too.” I say pulling him into my lap and laying him into the crook of my neck. We stayed there for a while, both me and him know this is the most vulnerable I’ve been. Somewhere in his heart he knows this is a part of me I’ve kept from his mom, a part of me hidden to anyone but me, but now it’s between father and son.

  “I’m so glad you are my son, I love you.”