The bitter cold bites fiercely against a mysterious rider’s face as he guides his horse slowly through the snow-covered landscape. The frozen ground beneath him creaks softly with each step, and the darkness seems to press in tightly around him. His cloak billows slightly in the wind as he pulls the small bundle closer—an infant wrapped tightly in thin, tattered cloth. His hands tremble slightly as he carefully sets the basket down on the frosted ground, making sure it is secure.
His voice, low and rough, carries a quiet urgency, filled with both sorrow and resolve as he leans over the basket:
“We don’t have much time, Aaron… They cannot find you as you are now.”
His gaze lingers on the sleeping infant, as if memorizing every detail.
“I’m sorry for this. I don’t know where else to turn…”
He carefully folds the blankets tighter around the baby before settling him down. A soft, fragile cry escapes the bundle—sharp and sorrowful in the dead of winter. The rider’s expression softens briefly, and he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a folded note. With gentle hands, he tucks it securely into the side of the basket.
Without another word, he glances once more at the sleeping child, his face clouded with grief, then slowly pulls back. He mounts the horse and turns toward the narrow, winding path leading away from the farm. But as he spurs the horse forward, he pauses—and with a sharp knock, he raps his gloved fist against the farmhouse door.
The sound echoes through the quiet stillness of the early night, jarring the peaceful darkness. Inside the farmhouse, Taren stirs in his bed, his brow furrowing. Lilly wakes up beside him, hearing the unusual noise. Sleepy and confused, they exchange uneasy glances before Taren rises to investigate.
As they reach the door, the sound of footsteps fading into the distance reaches their ears. They pull open the door to find a small basket sitting on the porch, a bundle wrapped in worn blankets, abandoned by unseen hands.
Lilly’s breath catches in her throat. She kneels and reaches to retrieve a folded note tucked into the side of the basket. She unfolds it carefully, her fingers trembling slightly as she reads the hurried, uneven handwriting:
“We cannot care for this child. Something happened, and we need to find someone who can provide a good home. Please… take care of him.”
Her heart ached as she glanced at the Infant, a helpless sleeping figure.
Without a word, Taren stepped beside her, his expression thoughtful but conflicted. After a long pause, his gaze softens, and he silently nods.
Lilly: “He needs us… We can’t leave him out here…”
Together, they bring the basket inside, the warmth of the fire flickering faintly against the cold, and the soft cries of the baby fill the room—a sound that will forever change their lives.
Twelve and a half years later…
The clearing near the village shimmered under the warm afternoon sun, the scent of grass and wildflowers drifting through the air. Aaron and Kyler stood a few paces apart, wooden swords in hand, their breath steady as they sized each other up. Though they were both thirteen, the brothers couldn’t have looked more different.
Aaron Whitlock, with his sharp green eyes and unruly light brown chestnut hair, had a lean, medium-to-skinny build that made him quick on his feet. Standing at about 5’9”, he had a wiry frame that seemed built for speed and precision rather than brute strength. His calm demeanor and steady gaze hinted at a sharp mind always calculating his next move. His grip on the wooden sword was firm but relaxed, as though he held complete confidence in his control.
Kyler Whitlock, on the other hand, loomed over him, standing at an imposing 6’3”. His broad shoulders and powerful build made him appear more like a budding warrior than a farm boy. With sandy blond hair tied back in a loose knot to keep it out of his brown eyes, Kyler carried himself with confidence. His stance was solid, his frame built to absorb and counter blows, and his playful grin suggested he enjoyed every moment of their sparring matches.
“Ready?” Aaron asked, his tone calm and measured, his sharp gaze locked on Kyler as though assessing every muscle twitch.
Kyler grinned, shifting into his defensive stance. “Always. Let’s see if you’ve figured out how to get past this wall of mine,” he said, tapping the side of his sword against his free hand.
Aaron smirked faintly, giving a short nod. Then, with a burst of precise energy, he closed the gap between them, his strikes quick and calculated. His movements were fluid, each step and swing honed by a practiced efficiency that spoke of strategy over brute force.
Kyler, true to his nature, didn’t flinch. His blade met Aaron’s with solid, deliberate parries, his feet planted firmly in the earth. “That all you’ve got? You’ll wear yourself out before you even scratch me.”
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“Maybe,” Aaron replied evenly, shifting his stance in an instant to redirect his momentum. “Or maybe you’re too busy blocking to see what’s coming next.”
Kyler chuckled, his deep voice carrying easily in the open air. “Big words for someone who can’t break my guard.” He stepped back slightly, absorbing the next strike before twisting his blade to disarm Aaron with a forceful sweep.
But Aaron was ready. Instead of resisting, he flowed with the motion, twisting his wrist to retain control of his weapon and pivoting to Kyler’s exposed side. “Too slow,” he murmured, tapping Kyler’s ribs lightly with the tip of his sword.
Kyler growled, more amused than frustrated. “One point for you. Don’t get cocky.”
“It’s not cocky if it works,” Aaron replied, stepping back with a faint smile, his posture relaxed but alert.
The brothers exchanged blows for a while longer, their wooden swords clacking rhythmically in the quiet clearing. Their banter was lighthearted, but the respect between them was clear. Aaron’s calm precision balanced Kyler’s raw strength, creating a natural rhythm in their sparring.
As they finally lowered their weapons, the sweat that was beading their foreheads ran down their faces as they took heavy breaths, regaining their stamina. Aaron stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders. “You’re getting better,” he said, his tone genuine.
Kyler wiped his brow with the back of his hand, grinning. “And you’re still annoying. But thanks.”
From the direction of their home, a warm voice called out. “Boys! Time to wash up before supper!”
Their mother’s figure stood in the distance, her long brown hair catching in the sunlight as she waved. Behind her, their father worked near the chicken coop, his tall, lean frame bent over as he checked the fencing. The sight of him, with his long gray beard and strong, weathered hands, brought a sense of comfort.
Aaron clapped Kyler on the shoulder. “Come on. If we’re late, we’ll get an earful.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Kyler muttered, slinging his sword over his shoulder as they started toward home. The scent of the fields and the sound of clucking chickens welcomed them back, the world simple for now—but full of quiet potential.
The dirt path back to their house was well-trodden, a mix of soft earth and scattered stones that crunched underfoot. The sun hung low in the sky, painting the horizon with streaks of amber and crimson. As they neared their home, the sights and smells of their modest farm greeted them like an old friend.
To one side of the house lay a small cotton field, its rows neat and precise, though the plants were still growing and wouldn’t be ready for harvest for some time. Their father, Taren Whitlock, ever diligent, had spent hours ensuring the field stayed healthy, though Aaron and Kyler often helped weed it when they weren’t busy with other chores. Nearby, the fenced-in pigsty housed a few snorting, restless pigs rooting around for scraps, while the chicken coop bustled with activity, hens clucking and scratching the dirt.
The house itself was a simple but sturdy structure, its timber walls weathered to a warm gray, with a stone chimney rising from one side. Attached to the left of the main living space was their mother Lilly Whitlock's tailor shop, a quaint addition with a slanted roof and wide windows to let in plenty of light. Inside, neatly folded fabrics in various hues sat stacked on wooden shelves, alongside spools of thread and tools for sewing. A dress-in-progress hung from a mannequin in the corner, its intricate stitching a testament to Lilly’s skill. The air carried the faint scent of lavender sachets she kept tucked among her supplies, mingled with the sharp smell of cotton and wool.
The scent of supper, however, was what truly drew the boys in. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, carrying with it the rich aroma of roasted chicken, herbs, and fresh-baked bread.
“Wash up before you sit down,” Lilly said as they stepped inside, her tone warm but firm. She stood at the hearth, her long brown hair tied back to keep it out of her face as she stirred a pot hanging over the crackling fire. Her soft features were touched by the glow of the flames, and her brown doe eyes, full of warmth, softened her stern expression, making the house feel even more welcoming.
“Yes, ma’am,” Aaron replied, heading to the water basin by the door. He splashed his face and hands, shaking off the dirt and sweat of the day. Kyler followed suit, muttering something about the water being too cold, though Aaron barely noticed.
Their father, Taren, entered from outside moments later, carrying a basket of fresh eggs. His tall, lean frame filled the doorway briefly, and his long gray beard twitched as he sniffed the air appreciatively. “Smells good, doesn’t it, boys?” he said, his voice low and steady.
“Better than Kyler’s cooking,” Aaron quipped with a smirk.
Kyler snorted, nudging him with an elbow. “I don’t hear you complaining when I make stew.”
Lilly chuckled softly, her hands deftly arranging the roasted chicken on a wooden platter. “If you’re both so confident, maybe you should help more often. Aaron, could you fetch the bread from the table? And Kyler, see if the butter’s ready.”
The boys moved quickly, their bickering giving way to cooperation as they helped set the table. The room filled with the comforting clatter of wooden plates and cups being arranged, the aroma of the meal growing stronger with each passing moment.
As they sat down, the table seemed to embody their family’s simple but fulfilling life. Alongside the golden roast chicken and the crusty bread sat a bowl of butter Kyler had churned earlier in the day, a small pot of berry preserves, and a dish of freshly steamed greens from the garden.
Their father bowed his head briefly before they began eating. “Let’s be thankful for what we have,” he said quietly.
“Amen,” the others murmured, their voices soft but sincere.
Conversation flowed easily as they ate, the kind of light chatter that only came from familiarity. Kyler recounted a story about one of the chickens escaping earlier in the day and how he’d had to chase it halfway across the yard. Their father chuckled, his deep laughter echoing through the room.
“And what about you, Aaron?” Lilly asked, her brown eyes warm. “Anything interesting happen today?”
Aaron shrugged lightly, pausing to sip from his cup of cool well water. “Just sparring with Kyler, as usual. He’s getting better.”
“Of course I am,” Kyler said through a mouthful of bread, grinning. “You can’t stay the best forever.”
Aaron rolled his eyes but smiled faintly, enjoying the playful banter.
Lilly sighed softly, shaking her head. “I wish you weren’t so hell-bent on becoming adventurers. I want my boys’ home, taking care of the farm, not out chasing dreams of far-off lands. It’s so dangerous out there with all the creatures and bad people of late”
Taren, noticing the shift in mood, chuckled quietly. His deep voice rumbled through the room as he leaned back slightly, his eyes twinkling.
“Now, honey, let the boys explore their dreams. They’ve got their own paths to follow, just like I did. Life had other plans for me, but I didn’t regret wanting to be an adventurer when I was young.”
He glanced at Aaron and Kyler with a warm smile.
“Follow your hearts, boys. There’s room for both dreams and responsibility.”
Lilly looked at Taren for a moment, her lips pressing together as she weighed his words. Finally, she gave a soft nod, relenting. “Very well. Just... be careful.”
The boys exchanged grins before digging into their meal, the warmth of the family’s conversation filling the space. The light chatter began again, a mixture of teasing, laughter, and shared memories—small moments that made this simple life feel full and rich.
By the time the evening meal was finished and the table cleared, the first stars had begun to peek through the night sky.
Aaron sat on his bed, which was little more than a sturdy wooden frame with a straw-stuffed mattress, staring out the small window at the darkened fields. The faint chirping of crickets and the rustling of leaves in the breeze filled the air.
Kyler, already sprawled on his bed across the room, yawned loudly. “Think we’ll ever get out of this place?” he asked, his voice low.
Aaron didn’t answer right away. He watched the stars for a moment longer, his mind wandering to dreams of adventure and distant lands. “Someday,” he said quietly. “When we’re ready.”
Lilly’s voice called softly from the other room. “Lights out, boys.”
Kyler mumbled something incoherent and rolled onto his side, while Aaron blew out the candle on his bedside table. Darkness filled the room, but it was a comforting sort of dark—the kind that carried dreams of possibilities and a future yet to unfold.