The next morning, Neil woke to an unusual silence. Normally, when he stirred from his sleep, he would hear the soft snores of his cousins, the quiet rustle of blankets, or the faint sound of someone rolling over.
But today, the room was empty. Their mats were folded and neatly stacked against the wall, and not a single cousin was in sight.
Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Neil sat up and rubbed his face with both hands.
Something felt strange—almost unsettling—in the absence of the usual morning chaos. He folded his own mat, tucking it away carefully, and padded toward the door.
When he slid it open, warm lanternlight spilled into the hallway, wrapping him in gold. His parents, grandparents, and aunts and uncles were already gathered at the stone table in the lobby. Their faces were calm, their voices low but cheerful as they chatted.
"Good morning," Neil greeted, his voice still rough from sleep.
The conversation paused as everyone looked up. Smiles spread quickly across their faces.
"Good morning, dear," Maya replied warmly.
Neil stepped closer, glancing around with faint confusion. "Where are my cousins? They weren't in the room when I woke."
Maya chuckled softly. "They were too excited to wait. They've already gone down to bathe in the new chambers. We decided we'd join them later."
Neil tilted his head. "But… what about the daily work? Shouldn't someone be out hunting or gathering by now?"
At this, Seraphina smiled knowingly. "Neil, after some discussion, we've decided to take a break today."
Astrid leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand. "We have plenty of goat meat and wild vegetables stored already. Thanks to your barrel, everything stays fresh."
His grandmother lifted her chin, her tone filled with relief. "And with the campfire you built that never goes out, we hardly use any wood anymore. We don't need to chop or gather for days."
Seraphina added warmly, "And best of all, the spring you made downstairs means no one needs to trek to the frozen lake for water. Everything we need is here, under our roof."
Neil froze for a moment. It was true. Slowly, the realization settled in. The long, tiring chores that had once chained their lives—fetching water, chopping firewood, finding ways to preserve food—were shrinking, one by one.
His grandfather's deep voice rumbled through the lobby. "It won't hurt us to rest. And it's all thanks to you, Neil. You've made it possible."
Heat flooded Neil's cheeks. He looked down quickly, embarrassed. "It's… it's something I should do."
Maya slipped her arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. "You've been working too hard, Neil. Let yourself rest for once."
His father reached over, a rough hand settling on Neil's head in a gentle stroke. "Listen to your mother. Rest today."
A lump caught in Neil's throat at their words. He nodded faintly, too touched to speak.
The moment lingered, a quiet testament to their love, until the rumble of hungry stomachs finally brought them back to the day's tasks: breakfast. Goat meat was roasted until its aroma filled the room, and wild vegetables were simmered into a hearty stew. The scents mingled, rich and comforting. But this time, no one sat down to eat.
Instead, once the food was ready, it was carefully stored inside the barrel Neil had built. Its cool, fresh interior would keep the meal perfectly until after their baths.
Only when the last dish was tucked safely away did the adults rise. Together, the family made their way down the stairs into the underground chamber.
At the bathhouse, the group parted naturally—men to one side, women to the other. Neil started to follow his father when a hand suddenly caught his wrist.
He turned to see Maya holding him firmly, her eyes twinkling.
"Where are you going, Neil?" she asked.
"To the men's bathhouse, of course," he answered, confused.
Maya shook her head, smiling softly. "Oh, Neil. You're only ten. And more importantly… I've never given you a proper bath before." Her voice carried the weight of memory: years of cold winters when they could only wipe themselves down with wet cloths, when water was too rare and precious to use for bathing.
Neil stiffened. "I can bathe myself now. I'm not that young anymore."
Maya's grip didn't loosen.
Seen that neil glanced at his father, desperation clear in his eyes - Please help me.
Anil paused, looking between his son and his wife. For a moment, it seemed he might step in. But then Maya's steady gaze fell on him. He cleared his throat awkwardly and, with a muttered excuse, hurried into the men's bathhouse, leaving Neil behind.
"Father—!" Neil cried, betrayal sharp in his voice.
Before he could slip away, Seraphina grabbed his other arm. "Come on, Neil," she teased with a grin. "You'll be the cleanest boy in the whole village."
Astrid giggled, covering her mouth with one hand as she followed behind.
"No! I should be with the men!" Neil protested loudly, trying to dig his heels into the stone floor.
But it was useless. Between his mother and aunts, he was dragged forward, arms flailing. From the doorway, his cousins peeked out, eyes shining with mischief.
Their giggles echoed down the hall as Neil was hauled into the women's bathhouse, his complaints drowned out by laughter.
When the family returned upstairs, their hair was damp and their faces flushed pink from the warmth. They wore fresh, warm clothes, and there was a rare brightness in their eyes.
The barrel was opened, releasing the delicious aroma of the meal that had been stored away. The family gathered eagerly around the stone table, filling bowls and plates with steaming food.
Everyone was cheerful—everyone except Neil.
He sat at the far end of the table, arms crossed tight against his chest, eyes fixed stubbornly on the floor. His posture alone declared his sulking to the entire room.
Maya approached him gently, crouching to his level. "Alright, Neil," she said softly. "We won't force you to bathe with us again. Pinky promise."
Neil glanced at her suspiciously, then slowly extended his hand. Their pinkies hooked together, sealing the promise. His pout softened, though traces of sulk still lingered.
Maya kissed his forehead before returning to her seat with a smile.
Breakfast was long and unhurried. Laughter filled the lobby as the family ate together, free for once from the weight of daily chores. No one rushed, no one fretted. They simply enjoyed the food and each other's company.
As the conversation drifted, Maya glanced at Seraphina. "Can you believe it's been six months already? My brother should be visiting us soon."
At once, Lyra's face lit up. "Yes! Then I'll ask Uncle James for lots of candy. Not like Grandpa, who still hasn't made any for me!" She shot her grandfather a mock glare.
The old man chuckled, stroking his beard. "I'll make candy for you, little one. But first, you'll have to fetch me honey. Did you find any?"
Lyra's grin faltered. "No…" she admitted sheepishly.
Her siblings burst into laughter at her defeated tone.
Neil, quieter than the rest, let his thoughts wander. Uncle James… he remembered the man's booming laugh, his easy smile, and the wagon always filled with strange and wonderful goods. Spices, cloth, glittering trinkets—and best of all, candy. Sweet, colorful candies that melted on the tongue, that made his cousins squeal with delight.
Uncle James wasn't just a merchant. He was a bridge to the wider world beyond Frostlake, a bearer of news and laughter. His visits always felt like festivals.
Neil's lips curved in a faint smile. Yes. It would be good to see him again.
The day stretched on peacefully. No one gathered weapons or trudged into the snow. No axes rang out against wood. No buckets scraped ice at the lake.
The eternal campfire flickered steadily, the barrel held their food, and the spring below shimmered without end. For the first time,
Frostlake Village truly rested.
But beyond the quiet, the world moved still.
Snow crunched under heavy wheels as an ox-drawn wagon rolled along the frozen path. Its tracks stretched behind it, cutting a line through the white.
Atop the wagon, a man sat with reins in hand,his eyes were fixed on the road ahead—toward Frostlake Village.
He did not yet know how much had changed.