The wagon jolted over a rut in the road, nearly tossing Darian from his seat. He gripped the rough wooden slats, his knuckles whitening. Beside him, Breck chuckled, seemingly unbothered by the bone-jarring ride.

"Almost home, lad," the blacksmith said. "Won't be long now."

Darian just nodded, not trusting himself to speak over the rattling of the wheels and the clopping of the mule's hooves. His stomach churned, though whether from the bumpy journey or the anxiety twisting his guts, he couldn't be sure.

So much had happened in Arbrook, so much he still didn't fully understand. The exam, the attack on the roads, his strange power that let him rewind time...it all swirled in his head like a maelstrom, threatening to pull him under. Part of him longed for the simplicity of home, for the everyday routines and familiar faces.

But another part, the part that had thrilled to the bustle of the city, felt...detached. Removed. As if Brookhaven was a distant memory, a half-forgotten dream. Could he really just go back to his old life, after everything he'd seen and done?

Lost in thought, Darian barely noticed when the village wall came into view. It was Breck's hand on his shoulder that jolted him back to the present.

"Look sharp, lad," the smith murmured. "I think you've got a welcoming committee."

Darian followed his gaze and felt his heart lift. There, bouncing impatiently at the gates, was a small figure with brown hair. As the wagon drew closer, she let out a shriek and came pelting towards them, skirts flapping.

"Dare! Dare, you're back!"

Talia launched herself at the wagon before it had fully stopped, scrambling up and flinging her arms around Darian's neck. He caught her with a grunt, nearly toppling backwards off the bench.

"Oof! Easy, Tali!" he laughed, steadying them both. "You're getting too big to do that."

"Am not!" she retorted, burrowing her face into his shoulder. Her words were muffled but fervent. "I missed you so much. It's been forever and ever!"

"I missed you too," he said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. He set her back from him a bit, looking her over critically. "Have you been good for Ma? Helping with the chores and minding your lessons?"

Talia rolled her eyes. "Yes, Dare. I've been good. Promise." She frowned at him, lower lip poking out. "You didn't bring me any treats from the city, did you? You said you would."

Darian tweaked her nose. "What, no hello for your big brother? No, 'I'm so glad you're back safe, Darian' or 'I've been worried sick about you, Darian'? Just straight to demanding sweets, is it?"

Talia giggled and squirmed as he tickled her sides. "Stoooop! Stop it, Dare, I surrender!"

"Darian. Talia."

Mara's soft voice cut through their laughter. Darian looked up to see his mother standing a few paces away, hands twisting in her apron. Her brown hair, streaked with grey, was coming loose from its bun, and there were new lines around her eyes and mouth that Darian was sure hadn't been there when he'd left.

But her smile trembled only a little as Darian untangled himself from Talia and slid down from the wagon. In a few quick strides he was there, wrapping his arms around his mother and feeling her shudder against him.

"Oh, my boy," she breathed. "My brave, clever boy. You're back."

"I'm back, Ma," he said, voice rougher than he'd like. "I'm home."

They stayed like that for a long moment, just holding each other as if afraid to let go. Darian breathed in the scent of wool and woodsmoke, letting it anchor him. Finally, Mara pulled back, cupping his face in her hands.

"Let me look at you," she said. "You've grown, I swear it. Shot up like a beanpole."

"Aw, Ma," he protested, ducking his head to hide the sudden prickling behind his eyes.

She thumbed away a smudge of road dust from his cheek, then glanced over at Breck. Darian had almost forgotten the blacksmith was still there, hovering awkwardly to one side.

Mara released Darian and approached Breck, hands clasped. "Thank you, Breck. Thank you for looking after my boy."

Breck cleared his throat, looking as wrong-footed as Darian had ever seen him. He waved away Mara's thanks like swatting a fly. "T'werent nothing, Mara. You've got a good lad here. Smart as a whip and steady as stone. Been a pleasure having him along."

Talia chose that moment to pipe up, tugging on Darian's sleeve. "I'm hungry," she announced. "Ma, can we eat? You said we could have porridge and honeycakes when Dare got back, and he's back now, so can we?"

Mara laughed, the sound only a little wobbly. "Aye, alright then. Let's get you boys fed. Breck, you'll join us? Least I can do."

"Oh, well." Breck shuffled his feet, looking tempted. "I don’t want to impose..."

"You wouldn't be," Mara said firmly. "I'd feel better knowing you had a hot meal in you before heading home.”

Breck raised his hands in surrender, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Aye, well, when you put it that way..."

Talia whooped and grabbed Darian's hand, already chattering a mile a minute about all he'd missed as she towed him towards the cottage. Darian let himself be pulled along, some of the tension in his chest easing. This was familiar. This was right.

He paused at the threshold, looking back at Breck and his mother. "I'll just be a minute," he called. "There's something I need to do first. But I'll be right in for supper, Tali, don't start without me!"

Talia pouted but released him with a huff. "Fine. But if you're not at the table by the time the porridge is ready, I'm eating yours too!"

"Agreed," Darian said gravely. He ruffled her hair, making her squeal, then turned and headed away from the cottage.

----------------------------------------

Thomas sat hunched on the edge of his bed, knees drawn up to his chest. Voices drifted up from downstairs, the murmur of a man and woman in earnest conversation with the matron. Would-be parents, come to look over the orphanage's offerings like livestock at market.

Thomas dug his chin deeper into his knees. It didn't matter. Not to him. Not this time. The other boys had seen to that.

He could still hear the loud clatter of the fancy tea set smashing on the floor, could still see the mean smirk on Gareth's face as he bumped into Thomas, making him drop the tray and then started crying to the matron about it. It didn't matter that Gareth was three years older and a lot bigger than Thomas. It didn't matter that he'd been picking on Thomas for weeks, just waiting for a chance to mess things up for him.

No, when the matron had come running, it had been Thomas she'd dragged up by the ear, scolding him for his clumsiness, his bad behaviour in front of their guests. Thomas had tried to defend himself, but what good were his words against Gareth's crocodile tears and the chorus of agreement from the other boys?

So here he was, banished to the room he shared with four others as punishment, listening to the muffled sounds of the other children being paraded before the visiting couple like prized pigs.

Thomas scrubbed angrily at his eyes with the heel of his hand. It didn't matter, he told himself again. He didn't want new parents anyway. Didn't need them.

His gaze fell on the slightly crumpled letter peeking out from under his pillow. Darian. His friend would be returning to the village any day now. The thought eased some of the tightness in Thomas' chest. He fished out the letter, smoothing it on his knee.

He'd already read it a dozen times or more since it arrived yesterday, but his eyes traced the words again.

Dear Thomas,

It’s not the same writing, I would rather have you here with me.

The exam was easier than I expected, so I think I did pretty well! Arbrook is even bigger and noisier than I imagined. I like it here but I miss Brookhaven. I miss our adventures.

I'm learning a lot here. I've even started training with a real adventurer! His name is Elias and he's teaching me how to fight. It's hard work but I know it will be useful. Maybe I can show you some moves when I get home. It might help with those bullies giving you trouble.

Maybe when I get back, we can try to explore that cave again, see if we can figure out what those symbols mean.

I'll be home soon. Can't wait to go hunting with you and just talk. Traveling is fun but it's not the same without my best friend.

Darian

Thomas ran his fingers over the letters, the dull pang of loneliness in his chest easing somewhat at the words "best friend". It had been hard, watching Darian head off to Arbrook for his big exam, knowing that his friend's path was leading him away from the village, away from Thomas.

Darian was so smart. He devoured books the way other boys devoured sweetcakes, always full of questions and dreams too big for Brookhaven. Thomas knew it was only a matter of time before Darian left for good, off to make his mark in the wider world.

And Thomas...Thomas would stay here, stuck in this wretched place with no family and no prospects, dodging Gareth's meaty fists and the matron's cutting words until he was old enough to be turned out to fend for himself.

But Darian didn't know that. Didn't know how bad it had gotten for Thomas. Every time his friend brought up the subject, Thomas changed it immediately, plastering on a carefree grin and cracking a joke until the worry faded from Darian's face.

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate Darian's concern. He did, more than he could possibly say. But Thomas had his pride. He would not be pitied, not even by his best friend. If he could not change his lot, he would at least bear it with his head held high.

A sharp knock at the door startled Thomas from his thoughts. He shoved the letter back under his pillow just as the door banged open, revealing the matron's sour face.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"Still sulking up here, are we?" she said coldly. "Lazing about while the other children tidy up the mess you made?"

Thomas bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. "It wasn't me!" The words burst out before he could stop them. "It was Gareth! He pushed me-"

"Lying now, too?" The matron cut him off with a disdainful sniff. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You always were a troublesome one. Just like your no-good father."

Thomas surged to his feet, fists clenched and shaking at his sides. The matron took an involuntary step back, real fear flashing in her eyes for an instant before it was buried under a sneer.

"Going to hit me, boy? Prove me right?" She crossed her bony arms. "I could throw you out, you know that? Toss you in the street like the trash you are. Be more than you deserve after all the headaches you've caused me."

Thomas wanted to scream. To rage and cry and throw something. But he ruthlessly shoved those feelings down, wrapping himself in icy control. Don't let her see, he told himself, blinking back the hot prick of tears. Don't ever let them see.

"Well?" The matron demanded. "What have you got to say for yourself?"

Thomas forced his jaw to unclench, prying his white-knuckled hands open finger by rigid finger.

"Nothing," he said flatly, dully. "I haven't got anything to say."

Because she wouldn't believe him. She never did. None of them ever did. What was the point?

The matron's mouth twisted in disgust. "Insolent whelp. I've half a mind to take a switch to you. But I've wasted enough time on you today."

She jabbed a finger at him. "You'll be staying up here for the rest of the night. No supper. And I'd better not hear a peep out of you, or there will be consequences."

With that, she stormed out, slamming the door shut behind her. Thomas listened to her tread fade down the stairs, not moving until long after the sounds of the other children settling down for the night had gone quiet.

He slumped back onto the bed, his brief surge of defiance draining away and leaving him exhausted and heartsick. Burrowing under his blanket, he clutched Darian's letter beneath his pillow like a lifeline and squeezed his burning eyes shut.

Come home soon, he thought miserably as hot tears leaked down his temples to dampen the thin mattress. Please come home soon.

----------------------------------------

Darian didn't bother knocking as he burst into the room. The sight that greeted him made his heart lurch painfully. Thomas was curled up on the farthest bed, so still that for a terrible moment Darian thought...

But then his friend's head jerked up, red-rimmed eyes going wide. "D-Dare?"

"Hey, Chom." The old nickname came easily to Darian's lips. He couldn't quite manage a smile though. Not with the way Thomas looked - face blotchy and tear-stained, body held stiff like he expected a blow. "I'm back."

The younger boy gaped at him before scrambling to wipe his face with his sleeve. "I didn't think...your Ma said you wouldn't be home for another few days!"

Darian shrugged, slowly walking closer. "We made good time."

He had never seen his best friend like this, Thomas usually put on a brave face in front of him, but Darian knew that deep down Thomas was hurting, hurting more than any boy should.

When he was only a few feet away from Thomas, he hesitated, then sat down on the edge of the bed. He wanted to pull Thomas into a hug, but something about the defensive hunch of his shoulders stopped him.

"What's going on, Chom?" he asked softly instead. "Why are you up here alone? And why..." His fingers ghosted over Thomas' damp cheek. "Why were you crying?"

Thomas flinched back, his face flushing an ugly red. "I wasn't," he mumbled, not meeting Darian's eyes. "Crying's for babies."

Darian sighed, his heart clenching. "Come on, Thomas. It's me. You don't have to pretend with me."

His friend shifted, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. "It's nothing. Just some stupid fight with Gareth. I got in trouble, that's all."

Darian's hands curled into fists. He was all too familiar with Gareth, the orphanage's resident bully. The boy had been a thorn in Thomas' side for the past few months, jealous of his cleverness and easy charm.

"What did he do this time?"

"Nothing I can't handle," Thomas said, trying to sound tough but not really pulling it off. When Darian just stared at him, not buying it for a second, Thomas slumped, his skinny shoulders drooping. "He...he knocked over the fancy tea set when I was carrying it. Bumped right into me and made me drop it, then made it look like it was all my fault in front of...in front of some folks who had come by."

Darian swallowed hard. He didn't need Thomas to spell out who those "folks" had been. What their visit had meant for a boy like Thomas, just on the cusp of aging out of his last chance at adoption.

"Oh Chom," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. That's rotten, just rotten."

Thomas looked away, blinking hard. "S'okay," he mumbled. "Not like I wanted to get adopted anyway."

Darian's throat ached at the poorly concealed lie. At the longing threaded beneath the forcibly careless words. He scooted closer, bumping Thomas' shoulder with his.

"You know," he said slowly, "my offer still stands. Ma would take you in a heartbeat. She already thinks of you as another son."

Thomas stiffened, shaking his head jerkily. "I can't, Dare. I just...I can't."

"But why?" Darian fought to keep the frustration out of his voice. They'd had this conversation before, more than once. "Is it pride? Some stubborn need to prove you can make it alone? Because let me tell you, Chom, there's no weakness in accepting help."

Thomas shot to his feet, hands clenching into fists at his sides. "You don't get it," he bit out. "It's not about pride. I can't be your family's charity case, Darian. I won't...I won't be a burden."

His voice cracked on the last word, tears springing to his eyes again. He swiped at them furiously, turning his back to Darian as if to hide this evidence of weakness.

Darian felt like he'd been punched. He surged up, grabbing Thomas by the shoulders and spinning him around. His friend resisted for a moment before slumping, defeated.

"Is that really what you think?" Darian demanded. "That we see you as a burden? Flames, Thomas, you're my best friend. You're...you're like my brother. Taking you in, giving you a home...that wouldn't be charity. It would be gaining family."

Thomas stared at him, his wet hazel eyes wide and stunned. Darian gentled his grip, moving his hands to cradle Thomas' face.

"I love you, Chom," he said fiercely. "You're not and could never be a burden. Not to me. Not to Ma or Tali. We want you with us because we care about you."

For a long, suspended moment, Thomas just gaped at him, a war of emotion raging across his open face. Then, with a low, wounded sound, he crumpled forward into Darian, clutching at him with desperate fingers.

"I'm sorry," he gasped into Darian's shoulder, his thin frame shaking with sobs. "I didn't...I thought...I'm sorry."

"Shh," Darian soothed, wrapping his arms tightly around his friend. "It's okay. It's gonna be okay now, Chom. I've got you." He held Thomas as he cried.

When the sobs had eased, Darian pulled back enough to look Thomas in the face. His friend was a mess, blotchy and damp and runny-nosed. But the misery had faded from his eyes, replaced by a tentative, wondering hope.

"Come on," Darian said, smiling gently. "I've got a surprise for you waiting at home. And I bet Ma will manage to scrounge up another honeycake if we hurry."

Thomas let out a watery chuckle. "Your Ma's honeycakes. I'd almost forgotten."

He rubbed his sleeve over his face, grimacing at the state of himself. "Darian, I'm...I'm not sure about this. What if she's changed her mind? What if-"

Darian gripped his shoulders, cutting off the spiral of doubts. "She hasn't. She won't. I promise."

He ducked his head to catch Thomas' skittish gaze. "Do you trust me?"

Thomas searched his face for a long moment before nodding slowly. "Always," he whispered.

Darian's smile widened. "Then that's all that matters. Come on."

He slung an arm around Thomas' shoulders and steered him toward the door. Just before they reached it, Thomas balked, a flash of real fear crossing his face.

"The matron - she said I wasn't to leave this room. That she'd...she'd throw me out if I caused any more trouble."

Darian's jaw clenched, a hot surge of rage searing through him at the thought of that hateful old harridan threatening his friend. But he pushed it down, keeping his voice level and sure. Thomas needed his steadiness now, not his anger.

"She won't. She can't, not anymore." He tightened his arm around Thomas' shoulders. "You're coming home with me, Chom. Where you belong. And if that dried up old besom has anything to say about it, she can say it to my face."

Thomas searched his eyes, that painful, disbelieving hope warring with the ingrained fear and insecurity. Darian met his gaze squarely, letting all his love and certainty and protectiveness shine through.

Slowly, inch by hard-won inch, Thomas relaxed against him, letting Darian take some of his weight. "Okay," he whispered, more to himself than Darian. "Okay."

Darian squeezed his shoulders. "Okay," he echoed, infusing the word with all the promises he could.

As they walked out of that small room for the last time, Thomas felt the first spark of something he'd thought lost forever kindling to life in his chest.

It felt like hope. Like beginnings.

Like home.