“Beware the Beast of Ravenwood!” he roared.

The children ran away as Milo ran after them, his hands high in the air and trying to catch those who didn’t run fast enough. Their laughs echoed through the busy streets, accompanying the shouts of the fish sellers and the merchants. The sun shone bright and high in the sky, and the salt coming from the nearby seaport filled the air.

"Milo, stop scaring the children. They won’t sleep tonight and their parents will pester me again.” chastised his mother as she focused her attention on her knitting.

Milo stopped running, letting a sigh leave his lips as he stood upright again. How was he supposed to play with them? All their other games seemed boring and childish to him. From the corner of his eye, he spotted the newest group of nomadic merchants. Their clothes all looked weird to his inexperienced eyes. Milo, in his 15 years of life, had never seen clothes embroidered with such precision and care. The flowers on their vests seemed to come alive with their every move and the bright colors would have made even the best dyer in Alvoort blush in envy. 

“Don’t get too close to them, you’ll get some disease from the East.” 

Milo couldn’t care less. Knowing so many types of people with so many other cultures existed was what made his heart flutter. If it hadn’t been for his mother, he would have hopped on a ship like his older brother and sailed the seas a long time ago. Or at least that’s what he liked to tell himself. Milo had always been acutely aware of his mother’s worry and had never wanted to hurt her. Yet, the yearning still prevailed. Quickly, the rumors of a new ship in the port arose from the market’s crowd. Milo glanced at his mother, she had that twinkle of hope in her eyes, the same one she had a hundred times before when hearing the news. With a smile and a nod she allowed Milo to go. The teenager ran for the port, his heart beating hard in his chest, blowing up like a balloon full of hope and happiness. Some merchants saluted him on the way there, but he barely answered, he had no time to do so. He slithered through the crowd of onlookers and found himself in the furthest part of the port. There, right after the colorful sail of the Saotie merchants’ boats, between the port and the horizon, the yellowed sails of a ship approached. The giant magpie on the main sail made no mistake in Milo’s mind, it was Milanko’s ship. His brother was coming back home. Someone pushed him, disturbing his admiration of the scene.

“Hey!” he snapped. 

Other words wanted to leave his lips, but he stopped himself. The person who had pushed him was a lanky girl, around his age. She had short brown hair that barely touched her bare shoulders; she had wrapped her chest in fabric, and wore the same embroidered sleeveless jacket he had seen earlier. 

“I-I’m very sorry.” she stuttered, repositioning her small glasses higher on her nose. 

She had an accent Milo hadn’t heard before; it sounded like the one a Sheyja merchant could have but something was strange about it, as if her tongue was used to making other sounds far from the language she was speaking.

“Don’t worry you didn’t hurt me,” he reassured her, a gentle smile on his face. “Just be careful where you go.” 

It took a few seconds for Milo to understand that her face was only partially of a light brown color. It covered her face, chest, shoulders, and hands in diamond shapes, but the rest of her skin was a rather deep brown in contrast. 

“What ship is this?” she tried to ask through her thick accent.

“It’s the Loyal, one of the fastest ships in Dobrin’s army.” Milo answered proudly, taken away from the oddness of her skin. “We’ve been waiting for it for months now.” 

The girl nodded in response, and they watched intently as the ship finally docked. The crowd roared as the sailors appeared from the depth of the ship. Milo’s excitement grew bigger while his eyes desperately searched for Milanko. After a few seconds which seemed to him like an eternity, a jolt of joy coursed through his body. There he was, his brother’s oddly chopped blond hair, sticky with sweat and sea mist, flew around his freckled face. Milo had seen him coming back home a lot, yet this time, once he walked towards him, his face bright with joy, something felt off. His smile looked painful, and his skin looked worse than it ever had. Milo knew that his family’s skin was more delicate to the sun than others, but his brother had the largest sunburn he’d ever seen on his left cheek. 

“Milo!” Milanko shouted as he let go of his heavy bag and kneeled to the ground.

Milo ran up to Milanko and hugged him with all the force his arms could give. The hug almost crushed him, which earned a hearty laugh from Milanko.

“You’ve gotten stronger!”

“Yep, and I bet I could break you in half next time you come back!”

Milanko laughed once more, the light coming back to his eyes for a moment.

“Has anyone told you anything bad?”

Milo shook his head.

“Good.” Milanko answered with a smile on his face. “Let’s go see mom.” he said, picking up his bag.

With that, Milo and Milanko walked through the town and back to the house. Milanko had missed all of it. The clamor, the colors, the smells. It was always an explosion for his senses after months of blue sea and salt and sweat. His legs were weak, weaker than usual, but he held on. Milo’s smile was worth the world to him and he would never let it disappear. Not again. Milanko looked around at the merchants. Some still looked at Milo with disgust or anger. Most of the people who knew them in the town had taken Milo’s change very well, but some still couldn’t understand. Milanko had thought that these people would bring Milo down and lead him to lose his smile again. Yet, he kept it. As soon as he had told his family his need to be the boy he always was, and that they had accepted it, the smile never left his lips. No matter how much the town talked. Their mom was right, he had the same stubbornness and resilience as her.

As Milo and Milanko approached their house, Milanko’s heart tightened. He had missed it, much more than he ever had before. The older brother braced himself as the swarm of children ran up to him, immediately showering him with questions, none of which he had the time to answer. 

“Kids, let him breathe.” chuckled Milanko’s mother. 

The children let him go, and, led by a joyful Milo, ran away to go play some more. The middle-aged woman embraced Milanko, tighter than ever. She took a step back and observed her son’s withered face. Her happiness turned bittersweet. Milanko took her hand and squeezed it tight.

“I know, mom. I know.”

The woman nodded.

“I’m going to go prepare dinner, you better go rest.” 

Milanko could only nod back. The journey home had been harsh, harsher than he thought it would be. The young man walked to his old room, holding himself on the walls, his legs shaking from the change of effort between land and sea. He looked around. The bed was low and too short for him, as it had been for the past eight years. The hay of the mattress came out in little strands throughout the worn out fabric. The well-loved books he had adored during his childhood were piled up in a stack on the floor, and his wardrobe consisted in a simple wooden box which he knew would be half empty. Milanko sat down on his bed, his knees coming up to his chest awkwardly. The young man let out the biggest sigh his body was capable of before he finally took off his boot and laid down on the bed. His back hurt for a little while from the change from his usual hammock, but in the end, he could finally relax. Milanko’s eyes felt heavier by the second. He finally closed his eyes, letting himself melt into his childhood bed.

Milo's mother was chopping cabbages in the kitchen. Her mind drowsed itself in the rhythm of her knife against the chopping board. Her thoughts floated elsewhere, somewhere in her memories where her husband was still there. A time where he would have stayed on land, helped the merchants who would pay him in return with either food, goods, or sometimes money. It was a simple life, but he was there, their family was complete and truly happy. Her bed was never cold and his arms adorned her waist when she cooked dinner. She could still hear him as he whispered her name in her ear ‘I love you so much Vesna’. A sharp pain in her finger took her out of her thoughts. She let go of the bloody knife and grabbed fresh linen, kneeled to the bucket of clean water and washed her injured finger. She inspected her wound and found out it was only a cut. It was pretty deep but not deep enough for her to need to go see someone for help. After making sure her finger wasn’t bleeding anymore, she went to a cupboard on the other side of the kitchen and took out her healing salve. She put the salve on her cut and wrapped it with the fresh linen.

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“Mom?” 

She turned around and there stood Milo, a look of worry on his face.

“Are you ok?” 

“Yes Milo, I am,” she smiled. “Did you bring the children home?” 

“Yes, here,” Milo said as he put a small pouch of money on the table. “Margot’s mom said she didn’t have enough to pay so she’ll bring a pie for us in the morning.” 

Vesna walked over to Milo and patted his head. 

“You’re a good kid.”

Her smile died down as she saw the glints of worry in Milo’s eyes. She turned around to the chopping board and there was much more blood than she had thought. She didn’t even have time to reassure her boy that he pulled his sleeves up, washed his hands in the bucket of clean water, and walked up to the cabbages. 

“I won’t let you cook with your hand like that, tell me what to do and I’ll do it.” 

Vesna softly smiled at her son. He had grown independent, maybe a bit too much for her taste. She still remembered when Milanko was in his place, taking care of him and helping her cook from time to time. She couldn’t help but see him as a child, as all mothers see their children. Milo and her spent an hour or two cooking, Vesna giving directions and Milo following them, not without some frustration from each of them, Vesna’s instructions were not always clear to Milo, and his questions didn’t always make sense to her without his own explanation of why he was even asking. After a while, Milo put the final herbs on top and looked at the dinner with pride. It was only cabbage soup and a small chicken kindly gifted by a neighbor, but it was enough. 

“Go get Milanko, he must be starving.” asked Vesna.

Milo nodded and climbed the stairs. Whenever Milanko was home, Milo felt like a child again. He very much had the same dreams, and the yearning for adventure was only more present whenever he came back. Milo knocked softly on Milanko’s door. After a loud snore answered him, Milo knocked much harder, earning a snort and a confused ‘huh?’ this time. Milo knocked once more. He heard the sheets ruffle and heavy steps shuffling to the door. Milanko opened it, a look of pure tiredness on his face. His under-eye bags had grown heavier and deeper, but a glint lit up his eyes as he recognized his brother from the door’s crack. 

“Dinner's ready.”

“Give me a second and I’ll be there.” replied Milanko, a weak smile on his lips.

Milo closed the door and walked back downstairs. His mother had already put the table down. Before she could say anything, Milo took the pot of cabbage soup and put it down on the table for her.

“Thank you,” she said as she patted his head.

Milanko stepped down from the stairs and joined his family for a long awaited dinner. He had missed it terribly. Sitting down to enjoy a meal with his family was on his mind for months now. A year ago he would’ve had his father beside him on the ship to keep him company and remind him of all the wonderful memories they would have once they got back home. He missed him the most. His laugh, his stupid dad jokes and even the way he frustratedly taught him his job before Milanko himself became a carpenter and mended the ship with no supervision. 

“Did you fight the Order again?” asked Milo, stars in his eyes.

Vesna shot a look of concern to Milanko, but the young man only chuckled.

“Well,” he said, “the soldiers did, but I knocked one over the head with the pommel of my awl.” 

Vesna lifted an eyebrow. 

“That must’ve been so scary!” Milo replied, astonished.

“It was! But I'm not a child anymore so I have to be brave and keep on going,”

The conversation continued for the entire duration of the diner. Milanko told his stories, some with more fake details than others, to Milo. The young boy had his eyes full of stars and kept the conversation going with more and more questions. The both of them felt like flowing rivers dancing in perfect harmony to Vesna who only listened to them while she ate with her unbandaged hand. For a few minutes, her worried heart eased. Seeing her sons so lively and chatty despite their dire situation made her feel like they might have some hope after all. She looked at the empty chair standing in front of her. She could almost see her husband smile at her there. His charming smile. Their sons had it, especially Milo. She could see it most when he heard stories from overseas. She thought about how proud he would be of his sons; one continuing his work and the other helping her keep up the home together. Vesna looked up from the empty to look at her smiling children once more, she could never get sick of this view, she thought to herself. Once they finished their dinner, the family took a herbal tea, then Milo went to his bedroom to honor his bedtime, leaving his brother and his mother to talk for a while. Milo went to bed and took care of himself. He washed his face and changed into more comfortable clothes. While doing so, he took off the contraption that he and his mother had made for him to wear. It was only a tight top, yet extensible enough so that it wouldn’t be too tight around his ribs. He had made a promise to his mother to never wear it to bed, and always take it off if it ever bothered him. Some days, these two things on his chest made him spiral into an abyss of pain and anxiousness. The thought of having to live his entire life with them made him incredibly desperate. He had never thought about it until they started growing. He felt like his body was an imposter. A traitor. He knew, in the deepest of his being, that his body should’ve never looked like this. Most days he could ignore it and go on about with life, but some days, his brain was tired of forgetting what his body looked like, and it gained up on him for a few hours.This night, he quickly put on his night blouse and went to bed. He tried to make his thoughts go back to Milanko and his wonderful stories about fighting the Order and pranking the sailors on the ship. He knew not all of it was true. That the truth was worse. He saw the state his brother had come back in. But it didn’t hurt to believe these stories, did it? 

Milo turned around in his bed, so many times he lost count. He tried counting sheep, fishes, birds, anything to tire himself out, but something deep inside him kept him awake. A part of him refused to sleep. In an annoyed sigh, Milo sat in his bed. He lit up his candle, put on some pants, his loose blouse, a light cardigan and socks his mother had knitted for him, and walked out the door. With his candle, he guided himself down the short hallway before voices stopped him dead in his tracks.

“I beg of you don’t go on that ship again.”

“But mom, I-”

“Do you see yourself? I’m not letting you go back there.”

“I’m continuing what he left unfinished,”

“I don’t care. That stupid ship already took my husband and I won’t let it take my son too.”

Milo’s foot slipped on a creaky floorboard. Silence drowned the house.

“Milo?” called out Milanko.

Milo ran back to his room, closing the door loudly behind him. He jumped on his bed and curled under his covers, holding himself tight, wishing he hadn’t heard this conversation. 

“Milo?” softly asked Milanko.

Milo felt the bed dips under his brother’s weight. 

“Milo, it’s okay. You’re old enough to be part of the conversation too, you know?” 

Milanko slowly took the cover away from Milo’s face. It’s only at this moment that Milo’s age struck him. He had recently turned 15. He wasn’t a child anymore, and he had already started to grow into the adult he would later be. His strawberry blond hair was longer and shaggier than he had remembered. His heart pinched as Milo bore his blue eyes into his.

“I knew there was another reason mom didn’t want me to follow you on the Loyal.” Milo mumbled.

“I won’t blame her. Losing dad was especially harsh on her.” 

Milanko felt his next word edging in his mouth, afraid of what they would cause if he dared to say it out loud.

“I-” he stopped himself, thought about his word with precision, and took the jump. “They haven’t been paying me as much.”

Milo furrowed his brows in confusion.

“I give all the money I have to you and mom and lately they’ve halved my pay. That’s why you’ve been working with the neighborhood’s children so much.” Milanko swallowed with difficulty as he saw the saddened look on Milo’s face. “The Order has taken back some of its strength and working has become more difficult. Look.” 

Milanko showed Milo his hands. Calluses had grown thicker than ever, bruises had appeared underneath his fingernails, and his palms looked like they had been skinned and healed ten times over. Milo brought his hand up from underneath the covers and brushed Milanko’s palms with his fingers. 

“That’s why mom wants me out. She could see it as soon as I arrived.”

“What are you going to do?” Milo asked, trying to keep his tears in.

“I don’t know yet. I want to stay here and take care of you both, but it would be wiser for me to stay on the ship. It still brings me more money than working in the city or the port.” 

Milanko took Milo's hand and looked at him softly.

“I still have a day of permission to think about it.” 

Milanko’s smile brought some hope to Milo. The older brother hugged his sibling tight, as if a breeze would put him back on that ship for another 8 months if he didn’t hold him tight enough.