After the children were hushed and sent to their rooms, they unfolded their mats and sat cross-legged on them, whispering to each other about Uncle James's sudden arrival. Their voices were full of curiosity about what the adults might be discussing.
Not long after, faint voices drifted from the lobby. The children, unable to resist, crept near their door and pressed their ears against it, eager to catch every word.
Eldrin sat with his sons—Kael, Rhys, and Anil—beside Henry and James. The two old men had once been close friends, and years later their bond had deepened when Eldrin's youngest son, Anil, married Henry's daughter, Maya. What began as friendship had long since become family.
After a long breath to steady himself, Henry finally spoke, his voice carrying the weight of grief.
"You may be wondering what happened to us… why we are in this condition. Let me tell you."
He paused, eyes distant. "It was about a week ago. We were living a simple life—nothing luxurious—but it was peaceful, happier than anything we had known in years. We had our own house, our own village."
His voice tightened. "But unlike you, Eldrin, I built our village in the snowy mountains. For a time, it was fine… until the avalanche."
He swallowed hard. "It came without warning, swallowing everything. Our homes, our things, all buried beneath the snow. We survived only because the family had gone out earlier that day for hunting, but when we returned, there was nothing left."
Silence hung heavy in the room. Then Henry went on, his tone trembling. "We tried to dig, to salvage what little we could. After five days of struggle, we even began rebuilding. Just when hope flickered back to life, a storm came. Without proper shelter, without warm clothes, we were struck down again. Everything was destroyed a second time."
His words faltered. "Worse still… Olivia fell ill. We had no medicine, no herbs, nothing to help her. Watching her weaken before my eyes—I knew we could not stay. So we left. With nowhere else to go, I thought of you, Eldrin. Your home was closest, and you… you were once my closest friend and now family."
Henry's shoulders sagged, as if the telling itself had drained him. James sat silent, fists clenched tight in helpless anger at their misfortune.
The men listening felt a chill of helplessness creep into their hearts. Even the children inside the room were shaken, imagining themselves in such desperation.
In the kitchen, Catherine quietly retold the story to the women. The news struck them just as heavily. Maya's heart ached as she thought of her father and family enduring such suffering.
For a while, no one spoke. The only sound was Astrid crushing herbs into a bowl. She brewed a remedy and handed it to Anna, who carefully fed it to Olivia. Gradually, Olivia's trembling eased. The wrinkles on her fingers smoothed, and a faint rosy flush returned to her cheeks. Relief washed over her mother and the others as they saw her condition improve.
By evening, Seraphina and the others had prepared dinner. The men and children ate at the table, while the women remained in the kitchen, keeping watch over Olivia as they shared their meal in quiet concern.
Afterward, they faced a new problem—where would James's family sleep? Discussion circled until someone suggested the underground hall. It was spacious, near the storage, warmer than the other rooms, and could easily hold extra mats.
The plan was settled: Olivia, Anna, and Maya would sleep in the kitchen where they could be tended to quickly, while James, his parents Henry and Catherine, and young Noah would sleep in the underground hall.
The children were sent off to bed under their parents' watchful eyes. Eldrin and his sons then led James's family to the stairway descending into the hall, while Maya, Seraphina, and Astrid prepared sleeping spaces in the kitchen.
James, Henry, and Catherine were already astonished by the house itself, but when they saw the vast underground chamber, they were left speechless.
Henry finally turned to Eldrin. "How… how did you even build this? Even government shelters were only built with wood. Stonework like this—only the academy had them. How is this possible?"
James added, his brows furrowed in disbelief. "It's only been six months since I last visited. How could you have achieved this in such a short time?"
The Frostwood family exchanged quiet smiles, their thoughts unspoken. *If we told them the house itself was only weeks old, raised in mere days, and that this underground hall had taken only a single day to create… they would never believe us.*
Sensing the silence, James nodded respectfully. "If it is something you cannot reveal, I won't press."
Anil chuckled softly. "You already know who built it."
The others nodded knowingly, while James and Henry stared, puzzled.
At last, the truth was shared. They told them of Neil—his strange ability, his impossible work, and all that he had done to keep the family safe.
Shock rippled through the new arrivals. Henry leaned back, his weathered face twisting between disbelief and awe. "A child… did all of this? This entire house, the hall, the walls outside?" His voice cracked as he looked around once more, as if seeing the place for the first time.
Catherine covered her mouth, her eyes wide. "Blessed by the Will of Lumin itself…" she whispered, trembling.
James, however, stood frozen. His thoughts raced, trying to reconcile the quiet boy he remembered with the impossible feats being described. Finally, he exhaled a shaky breath.
"If this is true… then Neil carries a gift beyond anything I've ever heard of. Not even the greatest mages of Solara could have done this." His words came out low, almost reverent.
Henry nodded slowly, his expression softening as he turned to Eldrin. "I thought we had lost everything. Yet here… here you live in safety because of that boy. I never imagined my grandson could hold such power."
Their shock lingered, but beneath it grew something else—relief, admiration, and a fragile hope that perhaps, with Neil among them, survival was no longer only a desperate fight.
By the time the story ended, it was deep into the night. Exhaustion pressed on everyone. They exchanged final words of comfort before retiring to their places of rest.
The house grew quiet once more. Lanterns burned softly in the halls, and within that gentle light, the weight of hardship began to lift, replaced by the fragile warmth of hope.