Page 3

Chapter 2

T he soft glow of the charmstone by my front door welcomed me, its gentle warmth a familiar comfort after a long day. I brushed my fingers over it, ensuring the wards were still in place, as I always did without thinking.

The next thing I saw was Elias’s wide grin as he sprinted out of the kitchen.

“Hello, birthday boy!” I greeted him, dropping to my knees and holding my arms open.

He threw himself against me, and I hugged him tightly, breathing in the scent of sunshine and the faint hint of sweat that always seemed to cling to him. It felt like just yesterday he was a tiny bundle in my arms, barely able to grasp my finger. Now, he was growing so fast, too fast, into the spitting image of his father—though with my softer features and his own mischievous smile.

“I missed you,” I said, pulling back just enough to look at his face. “Did you have a good day?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “We made a crown from the flowers in the yard!” He pointed to the small, woven crown now perched slightly askew on his head.

I smiled, reaching up to straighten it. “You look like a proper little prince.”

Elias beamed, puffing out his chest with pride. “Mrs. Crumble said the flowers will bring me good luck.”

At the mention of his sitter, I glanced over to see the elderly brownie woman emerging from the shadows of the kitchen, her small, wiry frame almost blending in with the dim light. She was no taller than Elias, her skin a warm brown, with tufts of moss-like hair peeking out from under a cap made of what looked like stitched-together leaves. Her large, round eyes twinkled as she cradled a tiny cup of tea. She had been with us for years now, slipping into our lives just when I needed her most.

“Thank you, Mrs. Crumble,” I said warmly. “Are you sure I can't pay you properly?”

“Don’t fuss now,” she said, waving me off. “Just leave me one of those rolls I smell from your basket, and I'll come to collect it tonight after I finish my errands.”

I smiled, shaking my head at our familiar routine. “I could leave you more than that, or... at least stay and eat with us.”

But she shook her head. “No, no. You two have your evening. Don’t worry about a thing, Soraya. I’ll be just fine.”

I nodded, though part of me still wished she would stay. “Thank you, Mrs. Crumble. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

Her smile deepened, her eyes twinkling. “Well, lucky for you, you won’t have to find out.” She patted Elias’s head and nodded to me before she gave a little twirl. In a blink, she was gone, leaving behind only the faint scent of wildflowers and the soft rustle of leaves.

“Alright, my little prince,” I said, turning back to him. “How about we see what Thyri sent for your birthday?”

Elias’s eyes lit up as he raced to the small table in the corner of the room, climbing into his usual seat. I followed, setting the bundle of sweet rolls on the table and carefully unwrapping them. The scent of cinnamon and sugar filled the air, and Elias clapped his hands in excitement.

I placed the sweet rolls on the table, their golden-brown tops glistening with sugar, and handed Elias the biggest one. “Now, you remember what to do?”

Elias nodded, his small hands cupping the roll.

We both leaned in, our faces close to the bread, following the birthday tradition everyone in Everwood grew up with—wishing over sweet rolls. It was said that the hearth spirits who made the bread carried wishes to the Alder trees, where the Seven might hear and grant them.

“Close your eyes and make your wish,” I reminded him.

Elias shut his eyes tightly, his brow furrowing in concentration. I followed suit, feeling the warmth of the roll beneath my chin, and whispered my wish quietly into the sweet, sugary surface.

“May this year bring Elias happiness and health. And may I find the strength to give him the life he deserves.”

When our wishes were made, we both opened our eyes and, in unison, gently tapped the tops of our sweet rolls, sealing the wishes inside before happily digging in.

As the evening wore on, I cleaned up the table and helped Elias change into his nightclothes. We followed the familiar routine— brushing his teeth, tidying up his toys, and finally, tucking him into bed.

His eyes were already growing heavy with sleep as I pulled the blanket up to his chin. The flower crown hung crookedly from the bedpost, a reminder of the day's adventures.

“Want to know my wish?” Elias asked in a sleepy whisper.

I hesitated, not wanting to pry. “Only if you want to share it.”

He nodded, his small hand reaching out to take mine. “I wished that we could have Papa’s forge working again, so we could be like we were before.”

For a moment, I couldn’t find my voice. I’d always been practical, focused on what was in front of us, not on dreams or wishes. But Elias still saw the world with hope, still longed for more. It surprised me—this difference between us. I wasn’t used to thinking beyond the day-to-day, but maybe I needed to be.

Finally, I swallowed hard, forcing myself to smile as I squeezed his hand gently. “That’s a wonderful wish.”

He smiled back, his eyes already drifting shut. “Goodnight, Mama.”

“Goodnight, little prince,” I whispered, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

I watched him for a moment, his breathing deep and even, before quietly slipping out of the room and closing the door behind me.

Back in the kitchen, I prepared a cup of tea. The dried herbs I’d gathered from the market earlier that week—lavender and moonmint—filled the room with their earthy scent. Once the water boiled and the herbs steeped, I wrapped my hands around the warm cup and stepped outside into the cool night air.

The street was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight and the faint shimmer of stargrasses that grew along the edges of the path, with only a few scattered cottages nearby, their windows dark. Behind me, the forest whispered, the trees swaying gently in the breeze, while ahead, the town’s quiet streets stretched toward the distant glow of the market square.

I leaned against the doorframe, sipping my tea slowly, letting the warmth spread through me as I stared across the street at the forge. It had stood there, dark and silent, for so long. The chimney, now overgrown with ivy, reached up into the sky, and the tools still hung untouched inside, waiting for a hand that would never return.

The forge had once been a place of life, of fire and strength. I could still remember the sound of the hammer striking metal, the rhythmic clang that had echoed through our days, steady and reassuring. It was where my husband had spent most of his time, crafting weapons and tools, and when he left to fight, the forge had been his parting gift—a promise that he would return, that our lives would go on.

But he never came back, and the forge had grown cold.

I took another sip of tea, the warmth doing little to ease the chill that had settled in my bones. For years, I had avoided that place. It had become nothing more than a monument to what I had lost.

But now… now Elias wanted the forge working again. He wanted something I hadn’t dared to even consider—a return to the life we had before. And for the first time in years, I felt a flicker of something deep inside me, something that had lain dormant for too long.

I finished my tea, the decision slowly solidifying as I set the empty cup on the step and crossed the street. The night air was cool against my skin, but I barely felt it as I approached the forge door. My hand hovered over the handle, hesitating for just a moment as the memories threatened to overwhelm me. But I pushed them down, focusing on Elias’s wish, on mine. With a steadying breath, I grasped the handle and pushed the door open.

The hinges creaked as the door swung inward, and I stepped inside. The smell of soot and metal still lingered in the air, faint but familiar, and I stood there for a long moment, letting the silence settle around me.

It was just as he had left it. The anvil stood in the center of the room, the tools neatly arranged on the walls now coated with a layer of dust and cobwebs, the forge itself still filled with cold ashes. It was like stepping back in time, into a place that had once been full of life and hope.

With a deep breath, I moved to the forge, my hand shaking slightly as I picked up a piece of flint and steel. I hesitated, the memories still so fresh, so raw, but then I thought of Elias, of his wish, and the resolve within me hardened. Everything I had done since the war had been for Elias, to keep him safe and make sure he had something steady to hold onto.

But now, he was asking for more. He needed something to look forward to, something steady and strong, something that could give him hope. Maybe it was time I stopped thinking about what we’d lost and started thinking about what I could give him.

I struck the flint against the steel, and a small spark leaped into the darkness. I struck it again, and again, until finally, the spark caught in the cold ashes, a tiny flame flickering to life.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start. The flame grew, feeding on the dry kindling, and a glimmer of hope sparked within me.

For years, I’d been surviving. Maybe now, it was time to start something new—not just for Elias, but for me. For us both.