When my father and I returned to the house, he paused in the doorway, his broad frame filling the space and blocking my view inside. He stomped his feet heavily on the mat, dislodging clumps of dirt, then stepped inside, pausing just long enough to glance over his shoulder at me before I could retreat to my room.

  “Vidal,” he began, his voice stern. “Let me be clear—there is no way I’m allowing you to join Regante tomorrow.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but before I could, my mother swept into the room like a sudden breeze, her presence commanding and immediate.

  “Paul! Your shoes!” she exclaimed, her tone exasperated. “How many times do I have to remind you? We’re not barbarians.”

  My father’s stern demeanor shifted instantly. “Honey, of course. I was just about to take them off. I’d never bring shoes into the house,” he replied, his voice softening. “What are you doing up? How are you feeling?”

  He shot me one last warning look before retreating to get ready for dinner.

  Mother turned her attention to me, her sharp gaze bright despite her frail appearance. Her dress clung to her thin frame, and her once-lustrous hair was now sparse, falling out in uneven patches. Her pale face bore the marks of illness—deep lines and dark shadows—but her green eyes remained vivid, sparkling with a mix of curiosity and determination.

  “I heard the bell ring earlier,” she said. “What’s going on?”

  I hesitated, torn between telling her the extent of the trouble and the need to avoid adding to her worries. She hadn’t left her bed today until now, and while she’d seemed stronger in recent days, the effort of going into town could easily exhaust her. Yet I knew there would be no convincing her to stay behind tonight. She had always insisted on observing tradition.

  Every year, on the first day of Lafta, we joined the modest festival at the tavern—a celebration of light and renewal. It wasn’t a widely celebrated holiday, but for her, it was sacred. Even after she fell ill, she somehow found the strength to make the trek into town for this one evening.

  My excitement won out.

  “The Redcloaks are clearing out a black widower nest tomorrow,” I said, unable to hide the excitement in my voice. “Can you imagine it? The glory of beating back the Riftspawn!”

  Her expression soured, and she shook her head as if warding off an unpleasant memory. “It’s a thankless job, but necessary,” she said quietly. “Be glad you don’t have to do it yourself like we used to train for. When the last surge happened, the emperor practically enlisted the whole nation. Now, go change so your sisters aren’t kept waiting all night.”

  I stared at her, taken aback. “You used to kill Riftspawn?”

  She laughed softly. “No, you’re being silly. I didn’t mean it like that. Now, shoo. I need to ask your father a few things—like whether it’s even safe to go out tonight.”

  As I changed into my dinner clothes, her words lingered in my mind, stirring a strange unease. Civilians didn’t train to fight Riftspawn. While I knew my parents had lived through the last surge, I had always thought the effort to push the monsters back to the Northwest and construct the Claws was a task for soldiers—the Redcloaks, the emperor’s elite, and the noble families. They were the ones who had turned the tide, united by the guilds and driven by a shared purpose.

  But her offhand comment didn’t fit. Neither did my father’s behavior earlier, his tension since we’d seen the cow’s corpse.

  I shrugged it off, trying to suppress my doubts. It was time to enjoy the evening.

  – – –

  We arrived at the tavern early in the evening, but it was already bursting with people. The tension from earlier in the day had been swept away by the lively din of Lafta celebrations, with drink and laughter drowning out any lingering unease. The atmosphere was infectious, and the warmth of the packed room made it feel like the entire village had come together.

  The musician for the night was on a break, chatting with Gideon, who manned the bar with his usual unflappable demeanor. From across the room, I could hear Ol Greybeard recounting yet another of his tall tales, this one about the time he killed a Vortrax. The crowd roared with laughter as he tried—and failed—to shout over them. It was laughable, really. The idea of a mere human killing a Vortrax was absurd. Those beasts never left the Rift, and even the rare few who encountered one and lived to tell the tale bore scars that went deeper than the skin. Only the dead gods themselves were rumored to have ever slain such creatures, and Ludwick always said he felt that was more legend than fact.

  Two long tables near the back were dominated by the emperor’s reds. Despite Regante’s orders, they clearly had no intention of heading to bed early. They were loud, already deep into their cups, and seemed oblivious to the glares from the tavern’s regular patrons. I thought back to what Ludwick had once told me about their name—that their cloaks were dyed red from all the monster blood they spilled. In reality, the cloaks were a cheap maroon, a threadbare imitation of the glory they claimed to represent.

  Glory wasn’t something you found in Tristvale. The Claws lay far to the Northwest, a barrier against the Riftspawn, while the Capital was an unreachable dream to the East. Here, the Redcloaks were little more than soldiers of circumstance, serving out their time in exile. Some bore it better than others.

  Thankfully, they ignored us as we took our seats. From what I’d seen, soldiers like them preferred to drink first and brawl later but usually only if provoked.

  Kendra, Gideon’s daughter, soon approached to take our order. She moved gracefully through the bustling crowd, her long, wavy brunette hair swaying in time with her steps. Her smile was warm enough to melt the frostiest demeanor, and her deep blue eyes had a way of holding your attention mid-conversation, leaving you momentarily adrift. She never seemed to have an unkind word for anyone, no matter how rowdy the night became.

  I did my best to keep a straight face as my heart fluttered the way it always did when she was near. The older boys all said she was the most beautiful girl in the valley, and while I thought they might have been exaggerating, it was hard to argue. Of course, in my mind, she was only the second most beautiful. Zara held the top spot naturally. Other than Stoney, she was my best friend.

  Even so, almost everyone I knew had a crush on Kendra. And for good reason. Every boy my age had one as well.

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  When it was my turn to order, Kendra turned to me with a dazzling smile. “And what would you like, handsome lad?”

  She knew my name perfectly well, of course, but Kendra never missed a chance to flirt. And, as always, it worked. My thoughts scattered like dry leaves in the wind, and my face burned as I felt the blush creep up to my ears. She tilted her head slightly, her gaze locking onto mine with playful intensity, as if enjoying watching me flounder.

  I glanced toward my mother for support, silently pleading for rescue.

  She laughed, shaking her head. “He’ll have the same thing as Paul.”

  Kendra’s grin widened. “Excellent choice. It’ll be delicious,” she replied, before turning back to me with a lingering look. “Let me know if you need anything else. Anything at all.” She punctuated the statement with a sly wink before prancing back to the kitchen, her departure leaving me staring dumbly after her.

  But as much as Kendra’s words and charm worked their usual magic, they weren’t what had tangled my thoughts the most. Try as I might to focus on her flirtatious smile, my mind kept drifting to Zara. I hadn’t seen her all day, and every part of me itched to tell her what had happened: the cow, the Redcloaks, the widowers. She’d understand better than anyone.

  “Girl’s got him tongue-tied, girl’s got him tongue-tied!” Abragale teased in a sing-song voice, her laughter cutting through my daze.

  “Hush!” Sarah shot back, grinning wickedly. “If another girl so much as looks at him, he might not be able to speak for the rest of dinner.”

  I scowled at my sisters, who clearly found no end of entertainment in my predicament. Little devils, the both of them. Well, most of the time. At least Jules had the decency to stay quiet.

  Father couldn’t resist chiming in. “Fifteen years of marriage to your mother, and I’m still speechless every time I see her.” He gave me a knowing smirk. “Maybe try and hide it better next time.”

  The whole table erupted in laughter, and my face burned even hotter. Now I was fuming in pure embarrassment. My father, it seemed, could never resist treating me like a child in front of everyone.

  I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. I tried to summon the calm I had felt earlier when speaking with Ludwick, visualizing the stillness and the weight of his wisdom. Gradually, I wrestled my emotions back under control, though my cheeks still smoldered.

  “Cheers to mother’s eternal beauty,” Jules declared, grinning as she raised her glass, clearly trying to lighten the moment.

  “Cheers,” I muttered along with the rest of my family, though I didn’t lift my gaze.

  As the laughter at the table subsided, my eyes drifted across the room to the emperor’s reds. They were rowdy as ever, raising their mugs and roaring with approval as one of their fellows appeared to win some sort of contest. The noise was grating, but I couldn’t help but watch them, curiosity prickling at the edges of my thoughts.

  What would it feel like to be part of a unit like that, bound together under orders that came from the emperor himself? What would it be like to charge into battle, to face the horrors spawned from the Rift, and to emerge victorious? My stomach twisted at the thought, a mix of yearning and trepidation. There was glory in it, yes, but also danger—and sacrifice.

  "Now, now," my father said, pulling me from my thoughts. His tone carried an air of anticipation, as if he’d been waiting for this moment all evening. "Since this is a celebration, I bought gifts for everyone." He turned to Abragale first, a mischievous glint in his eye. "For the youngest, a small metal horse. You can finally go on your adventures at home."

  Abragale scoffed dramatically, crossing her arms. "But adventures are only adventures if they’re not at home! You know that as well as I do!"

  Father chuckled, undeterred by her protest. "You're going to have to grow up soon, my dear. Responsible girls don’t chase their neighbors' chickens or leave crawfish in drinking buckets." He held out the little metal horse with mock seriousness.

  "But the crawfish didn’t want to die," Abragale argued, pouting. "The bucket was a good home!"

  "Abragale," I interjected, shaking my head. "Take the horse from Father and thank him. It's a good gift."

  With a reluctant huff, she puffed out her cheeks but eventually took the horse. "Thank you, Father," she said with exaggerated politeness. "I'll leave it at home, where it belongs."

  "Abragale!" Mother scolded, her voice sharp but affectionate. "Don’t talk back to your father like that. You don’t know how much thought he put into finding the perfect gift for you."

  My sister took a sip of water, unbothered by the reprimand. Abragale had a way of charming her way out of almost any trouble. For all her antics, she was the heart of our family, and we adored her for it.

  Father turned to me next, holding out a small wooden box. "For Vidal, the one I had thought the most responsible of this group—a card deck holder. But don’t expect anything in the future unless you behave. When you come of age, there are more important considerations than independence, like duty."

  I scowled at his jab but accepted the box. At first glance, it seemed plain and uninspired, but as I opened it, the craftsmanship took my breath away. The carvings were intricate, the wood worn smooth from use and care. At the center was an image of the Queen of Death, her shadowy figure commanding attention. Her ebony crown seemed to devour the light, her onyx necklace gleaming like a dark star. She was hauntingly beautiful, regal yet mournful, a symbol of both power and isolation.

  "It’s..." I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. "It’s a good gift."

  My father frowned slightly, clearly hoping for more enthusiasm, but he moved on. "For Jules," he continued, "you already know what we’re getting you, so I won’t ruin the surprise just yet. That leaves Sarah." His voice softened. "We’ll all miss you. Your mother and I talked it over, and you’ll be taking the nice cutlery with you."

  Sarah, the eldest of us, beamed. She was soon to be married to a kind man from a neighboring village. We were all thrilled for her, though the thought of her leaving tugged at my heart.

  Father's gaze flicked back to me, and I caught a glimpse of something behind his eyes—concern, maybe even hope—but it quickly faded. "Do you like it?" he asked, nodding toward the box.

  The words I wanted to say, Thank you, Father. It's perfect, danced on the tip of my tongue, but they refused to come. Instead, I muttered, "It's a good gift."

  My father's smile faltered, and he turned away, hiding his disappointment. "Well, I think it’s time to eat," he said with a forced cheerfulness. Then his eyes glinted slyly. "Or am I forgetting something?"

  Mother rolled her eyes, but a playful smile tugged at her lips. "Oh, give it up, you thrifty bastard. I’ve been waiting for your surprise all night."

  "Surprise no longer," Father declared with a flourish. "After the harvest, you and I will take a trip to the Capital. All the plans are in place. And," he added, glancing at us children, "you’re all coming with us."

  The table sat in stunned silence, the weight of my father’s announcement sinking in. For a brief moment, my mind spun with endless possibilities. This was my chance—finally. I wouldn’t have to wait for an imperial tester to stumble into Tristvale. In the Capital, I could find one myself, demand to be tested. If I passed, I could enter the Academy, earn a place among the Redcloaks, and prove myself. And beyond that, there was Uncle Regante—I could shadow him, learn from his stories, and see the world through his eyes.

  But just as quickly as my excitement bubbled up, it died away. My gaze shifted to my mother, and guilt hit me like a cold wave. I’d been so caught up in my dreams that I’d forgotten why this trip mattered most.

  Her eyes glistened, tears threatening to spill as she clutched the edge of the table. Her voice cracked, thick with emotion. “Really? Paul… that’s so thoughtful of you. I thought we couldn’t leave because of the farm and the danger.”

  She looked down for a moment, her smile trembling before lifting her face to meet his. “It’s been years since I’ve seen the skyline of the Capital, tasted the food, or shopped in those endless markets. And my family…” Her voice faltered, and she wiped at her cheek, her hand trembling. “It’s the perfect gift.”

  My father reached across the table, his hand covering hers. “The farm will survive. Sarah and a few people I’ve spoken to will watch it while we’re gone. And once the harvest is fully behind us, there’s nothing keeping us here. It’s been long enough that we’ll be safe there.”

  The tears finally escaped as my mother smiled, radiant despite her pale features. “I can’t believe it. After all this time…” She trailed off, lost in thought.

  My sisters, who had been unusually quiet, chimed in, their voices a mix of excitement and awe.

  “Will there be markets with ribbons and candies?” Abragale asked, her eyes wide with wonder.

  “Markets?” Jules teased. “You’ll get to see the Emperor’s palace, the tallest spires in the world, and you’re thinking about ribbons?”

  “I’m jealous of you all,” Sarah added. “I’ll be home all alone with my new husband for hours on end. However shall I live? I’m going to be sore every morning.” Mother had just managed to compose herself before she laughed again..

  I watched my family, their excitement infectious, and a small smile crept onto my face. For the first time in a while, the tension in our home seemed to ease, replaced by anticipation for the journey ahead.