Anthony and I went back inside the house, immediately embraced by the welcoming warmth that came from the kitchen. The smell of soup already filled the air, blending with the stronger scent of meat slowly roasting on the stove. The soft crackle of the firestone mixed with the clinking of utensils that Emanuelle handled with such care.
She moved from one side to the other with the agility of someone who had already learned every detail of the kitchen routine. When we walked in, she was placing bowls at the five seats around the wooden table, her red hair falling lightly across her face, illuminated by the midday sun streaming through the windows.
"Eli, Anthony, sit down. I'm almost done serving," she said without turning, hurried yet carrying that sweetness in her voice she always had whenever she wanted to be helpful.
In the center of the table, rustic bread and fresh fruit were set in a wicker basket. The fruit looked more vibrant, more succulent than what we usually saw at the market; it was impossible not to remember they came from the hands of the Dark Throne mages, who always supplied provisions. One of them was always stationed as our guard — though curiously, Mage Anna seemed to stay longer than the others. Between her and my mother, there was a quiet bond, a friendship blossoming in confidences and glances I still couldn't decipher.
The bowls in front of us were already filled with hot soup, steam rising in slow spirals. When Manu returned, she carried a tray of tender meat, perfectly browned — probably rabbit. She added to the soup simple yet well-prepared vegetables: sweet potato, cabbage, and a few herbs that Mother usually dried and kept in little cloth pouches.
I watched her in silence, charmed by the way she dedicated herself to helping Mother. She was still a child, yet already displayed a maturity that sometimes made me forget her age. I couldn't resist teasing.
"Hey, Manu."
"Yes?" she replied, not looking at me, still focused on the tray.
"You're going to make a good wife one day," I said playfully, just to see her reaction.
She spun around at once, startled.
"What are you talking about, Eli?" Her voice wavered, and a faint blush colored her cheeks.
I laughed quietly, satisfied with the effect.
I sincerely hope that, in the future, she finds someone who cherishes her above all else. Someone who treats her the way Father treated Mother. Because Manu deserves far more than any pain this world might try to bring her.
While she finished setting the table, I noticed Mother leaning quietly against the kitchen doorway. Her eyes lingered on us, as if she wished to engrave that simple moment into memory forever. There was exhaustion in her expression, of course, but beneath it something deeper: pride. Pride in seeing us together, in watching Emanuelle grow, in realizing that even after so many losses, we could still smile around a table.
We finally sat down, and for a moment silence reigned. The crackling of the fireplace and the sound of utensils being arranged were the only noises. I closed my eyes for a moment and breathed deeply. It was just an ordinary meal — but for me, it felt like a small miracle.
★★★
We ate in silence, though it wasn't a heavy silence — only the natural pause between words, filled by the soft clatter of spoons against bowls and the steady crackle of the firestone in the hearth. At the head of the table sat Mother, serene as always; to her right was Anthony, silent as usual; to her left, Manu and I; and at the opposite end, Mage Anna, who today wasn't there as a guard, but as a guest.
The closeness between her and Mother was already evident. From time to time, they exchanged glances and discreet smiles, as if sharing unspoken thoughts. Seeing my mother smile — even faintly — was enough to bring me a rare sense of calm.
Lunch was simple: fresh bread, fruit brought by the Dark Throne mages, and hot soup steaming in our bowls, with pieces of rabbit and vegetables — sweet potato and cabbage. But to me, it was true abundance. The scent of spices filled the room, comforting like an invisible embrace. I had never thought that simply smelling food could bring so much peace.
As I ate, I couldn't help but wish Father were with us. His empty chair was a cruel reminder. Yet I chose to look at those who were present. Life had already taught me, in this life and the last, that not everything could be as we wished.
The meal passed without incident. Between spoonfuls of soup, the sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating the steam rising from our bowls and tinting the room with golden hues. For a fleeting moment, everything felt perfect.
Just before we rose to help with the dishes, Mother turned to me, her voice carrying a softness that hid a heavier weight:
"Elian, I'd like to speak to you about your birthday."
"My birthday?" I asked, a little surprised.
I had completely forgotten about it. I once asked out of curiosity how many months a year had here, and it was essentially the same as on Earth. My birthday was January 21st; Manu's was the 6th. Only fifteen days apart. Anthony's was August 9th, Mother's September 4th, and Father's… May 5th. His name still echoed in my mind like an open wound.
"Yes," Mother confirmed. "In fact, yours and Emanuelle's."
"What about our birthdays?" I asked, trying to decipher what she meant.
"Well… I've already spoken with Emanuelle and she agreed. Since you two were born in the same month, and Elian will soon leave for the Dark Throne fortress, I thought of celebrating both together."
Ah, that's right… after my birthday, I'd be leaving for Askov. Not that I had forgotten, but these past days had been so full of life, so joyful, that I'd let that looming shadow slip from my mind.
I looked at Manu. She was smiling, happy with the idea. How could I deny her something that made her so delighted?
"It's fine with me. What about you, Manu?"
"Mother already talked to me, and I don't mind," she replied, radiant, as if just sharing the day was already a gift.
Seeing that sparkle in her eyes… it was impossible not to smile back. I didn't need a grand party. Their happiness was enough.
"All right, then. In eight days, we'll hold a joint celebration," Mother concluded before turning to Anna. "Will you join us, Anna? And what about the other mages? Do you think they'll come too?"
Anna looked at my mother as if trying to decipher the reason behind the invitation. The sound of running water at the sink, where the soup still steamed, filled the short silence between them.
"Are you sure it's all right for us to come?" she asked, hesitant.
"Of course! Why wouldn't it be?" Mother retorted, frowning as though she couldn't understand the doubt.
"Well… in a few days your son will leave for our fortress and only return once every few months," Anna said, her voice lower, eyes fixed on Maria. "I thought you wouldn't want people around to remind you of that."
"I'd be lying if I said it won't cross my mind," Mother admitted, her voice steady though slightly wavering.
"That's why—" Anna began, but Mother raised her hand, cutting her short.
"But that has nothing to do with it," Maria said, lifting her gaze with solemnity. "After all, how long will you be protecting us? Months? Years? I can't even be sure. Besides, we've already built a friendship. Am I wrong?"
Anna drew a deep breath, disarmed by the strength of those words.
"No… you're not wrong," she admitted. "Well, I'll ask the others, but I doubt they'll refuse." She then shifted her gaze to me, her green eyes seeming to measure me. "After all, it's the birthday of the Elder Marduk's second disciple, and we're all under his command."
Ah, so he had another disciple? It had to be Iolanda.
"Tell them that if it's out of obligation, they don't need to come," my mother replied firmly to Anna's words.
"That's not what I meant," Anna countered, shaking her head. "They'll be honored to join. I can assure you it won't be forced."
"All right," Maria said, exhaling a brief sigh. "But I'm counting on your presence, Anna."
"I'll be here. Thank you," the mage replied with a slight nod.
The smell of spices still lingered in the air, mingling with the scent of fresh bread on the table. We began clearing the dishes and helping with the cleaning, while Mother scrubbed the pans at the sink and Emanuelle hummed softly, excited about the celebration to come.
As for me, the bittersweet taste only grew inside. My last days as a simple peasant were coming to an end. And looking at that ordinary scene — the warm kitchen, my mother quietly laughing with Anna, Emanuelle tidying plates, Anthony drying the table — I realized how quickly it was all becoming memory, even before it was over.