After a while, everyone gathered around the newly made stone table. Smooth and sturdy, it gleamed faintly in the dim light, as though it had been waiting for this moment, welcoming them to sit together for the very first time.
Upon it lay their feast—goat meat cooked in different styles. Some portions were roasted until crisp, the skin crackling golden-brown, while others had been simmered into a tender stew whose warmth filled the air with a rich aroma. A few cuts had been smoked with herbs, carrying a deeper, earthier flavor that made mouths water even before tasting.
Beside the meat were wild vegetables and roots, carefully arranged despite their humble origins. They were rare finds in this snow-blanketed world, but here, set upon the stone table, they looked like treasures.
It wasn't a grand feast by any measure, yet to this family, it felt like abundance. Every piece of food represented effort, resilience, and the will to survive. This was more than just eating—it was their way of celebrating the renovation of their home, proof that they had taken one more step toward shaping a life in this unforgiving land.
Laughter soon filled the air as they ate. The chill outside didn't matter anymore; warmth spread through them, not only from the food but from the company they shared. Every bite carried comfort, and sitting together at the smooth table gave the meal a new depth of meaning, as though the house itself now acknowledged them as its family.
When lunch at last came to an end, no one moved. They lingered, unwilling to break the moment.
Wooden cups were soon passed around, each filled with steaming tea. Its sharp, earthy scent rose with the curling steam, filling the room with calm. This was no ordinary drink but their medicinal brew—tea meant to soothe weary muscles and heal the body after long labor. For them, it was as important as food itself.
Neil lifted his cup first, taking a careful sip. Heat spread instantly through his chest, loosening the heaviness in his limbs. He leaned back, letting out a long sigh. "Well, this feels good. It makes my body so light."
Caspian laughed, raising his own cup. "I agree! There's nothing better after all that effort."
The others joined in, voices overlapping with murmurs of agreement. Their faces softened, weariness giving way to quiet relief.
Aunt Seraphina, who had been quietly savoring her own tea, placed her cup down with a small smile. "Then you should thank Lyra. She's the one who found the herbs for this brew. In fact, most of the vegetables and plants we eat come from her gathering."
At once, Lyra's cheeks flushed red. She tried to hide it, but her chest swelled with pride. For once, all eyes were on her, acknowledging her hard work.
Neil grinned and added warmly, "She really is the best gatherer in the family."
That broke her composure, and Lyra couldn't help but smile wide. The others chuckled at her obvious delight, and the air seemed brighter, warmer. In that moment, bonds felt unshakable.
But soon, the conversation shifted.
Orion straightened, his expression proud, and said, "Well, I am the eldest among us. I've just turned eighteen."
The words seemed simple, yet the air in the room shifted. The laughter that had filled the space faded, replaced by a silence that grew heavier with each passing second. The adults exchanged looks—some tinged with worry, others with sorrow. None of them smiled.
Neil noticed immediately, and unease crept into his chest.
Finally, Grandpa spoke, his tone steady but weighted. "Well, Orion… would you like to hear how we came here?"
The children froze. Curiosity burned bright in their eyes. Neil's heart skipped a beat. Could this be it—the truth they had all been denied for so long? His body leaned forward without thinking, drawn to the promise of answers.
But before Grandpa could continue, the other adults stirred uneasily. One by one, they moved to hush the children, diverting the talk away as they always did. It was familiar—whenever Neil or his siblings asked about the world beyond the forest, the response was silence.
Neil clenched his fists under the table. Frustration twisted inside him. In his past life he had seen the world beyond snow—lands where people lived more freely, without the constant threat of cold. Yet here, that truth remained hidden, locked away.
This time, though, Grandpa was ready to speak. Yet it seemed only Orion was meant to hear.
"No!" Lyra's voice rang clear, cutting through the tension. "I want to hear too!"
Her mother shook her head firmly. "You are not old enough for that yet."
Neil's heart sank. The hope he had felt began to slip, just as it had so many times before. But then Grandpa raised his hand, his voice resolute. "Let them stay—all of them."
Excitement jolted through Neil, though it lasted only a heartbeat before his father, Anil, spoke quickly. "But Father, they are too young to hear the truth."
The other adults nodded in agreement, worry etched into every line of their faces.
Grandpa's voice grew stronger. "Even if they are young, they must face it one day. You all know what awaits them. Instead of hiding the truth, we should prepare them for it. Especially Neil—" his eyes fixed on the boy, unwavering, "—you know how different he is. Even if I wish otherwise, the time will come when he must leave. And even if we try to leave this place, destiny will not release us."
The words struck the room like a weight. All eyes turned to Neil. He felt their stares—worry, fear, sorrow—bearing down on him.
His mother's hand tightened around his, trembling.
Neil's chest ached. He wrapped his arms around her and whispered quickly, "I'll never leave, not if you want me to."
Her trembling softened, and though unease lingered in her eyes, she managed a faint smile. "Don't worry, Neil. I'm fine now."
The silence eased slightly, though the heaviness remained.
Then Grandma, who had stayed quiet until now, reached out and laid her hand on Grandpa's. Her voice was soft but certain. "He is right. The children deserve to know. Sooner or later, they will face the truth. Better they learn it now than stumble unprepared."
With both elders united, the other adults could no longer object. Slowly, reluctantly, they nodded.
The siblings exchanged glances, their hearts racing with a mixture of excitement and dread. If the truth was heavy enough to darken even their strong family's faces, then what awaited them could only be greater than they imagined.
Once again, they sat together at the smooth stone table. Yet this time, there was no laughter, no teasing. Only silence, thick with anticipation.
Neil sat between his parents, his mother's arm wrapped protectively around him. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, caught between fear and longing.
At last, the moment had come. The veil of silence was about to be lifted. The truth of why they lived in this frozen land—hidden for so long—was finally ready to be revealed.