Chapter 2 – Meal
Jade entered the house quietly, closing the door behind him with care before bending down to remove his leather boots. They were worn at the heels and dust-stained from the road, placed neatly by the wall out of habit rather than thought. The house was dim, lit only by the fading glow of the hearth further inside.
He paused.
The smell reached him a moment later—warm, heavy, familiar. Stew.
Judging by the thickness of the scent and the faint crackle of fire, he turned toward the kitchen. It was slightly larger than his room, though not by much, and like most things in the house, it carried a sense of lived-in neglect. A bowl left to dry near the window, a cloth folded unevenly on the counter, faint splatters along the stone near the stove.
His sister stood by the pot, stirring slowly.
She didn't turn when he entered.
"Settled on going to Bertha," she said, "or are there still other ideas rattling around in that head of yours?"
Jade pulled out a chair and sat, resting his forearms against the table. "Bertha first," he answered. "I'll head to the city after a night."
She hummed in acknowledgment, continuing to stir. The stew thickened as it rolled, vegetables surfacing briefly before sinking again. The sound was steady, almost soothing.
"Only a night," she said. "You always rush."
"I don't like lingering."
"You never did."
The conversation drifted after that, light and unremarkable. Comments about the weather, the market earlier that day, a merchant who'd complained too loudly about prices. Nothing important. Nothing that needed remembering.
Eventually, she stepped away from the stove and began serving. The bowls were plain, chipped at the rim, filled generously. She set one in front of him, then took her own seat across the table.
"You don't plan on saying goodbye to anyone else?" she asked.
Jade picked up his spoon, the steam brushing his face. He spoke just before eating.
"You'll do that for me after I leave, right?" He glanced up briefly. "Please, Kass."
She sighed, long and slow, like she had expected the request but still disliked it.
"Fine," she said. "I'll handle it."
He dipped his spoon into the stew. The first bite was warm, grounding. He chewed, then swallowed.
"It's a bit salty," he said.
Kass didn't look at him. "A strong taste," she replied evenly, "so you remember it longer."
He almost smiled. He had expected that answer.
They spoke for a while after that—nothing worth recounting, nothing that lingered. Words filled the space, then faded, replaced by the clink of spoons and the quiet crackle of the hearth. Time passed without ceremony.
By the time Jade was nearly finished, he leaned back slightly, exhaustion creeping in around the edges.
"You won't have to cook so late after I leave," he said. "Eat earlier. Sleep earlier too. What kind of village has a sick chief?"
After the death of their parents, no one had paid much attention to their day-to-day life. There had been condolences, visits, quiet looks of pity—but no one stayed long enough to notice the details. As a result, their routines had slipped. Meals delayed. Sleep pushed back. Cleanliness treated as optional rather than necessary.
Kass scoffed. "I prefer eating late."
Jade shrugged, unfazed. "Fine. Do whatever you want. Just don't get sick." He paused, then added, "I'll visit every three or four months."
She looked tired when she answered. "Write a letter if anything interesting happens. I'm out of books to read."
He yawned, covering his mouth as he spoke. "Is my life a book to you?" He gestured vaguely toward the hallway. "There are plenty in my room. Give them a try."
Kass stood, collecting his bowl along with her own. "Good night," she said. "Get some sleep."
She left the kitchen, footsteps fading down the hall.
The house settled.
—
When Jade woke, light filtered through the window in thin strands. He lay still for a moment, listening. The house was quiet—no movement, no voices, only the distant sounds of morning outside.
He rose, washed, dressed, and packed without rushing.
Two books went into his bag. One he'd read before, one he hadn't finished. He added a small glass bottle of ink, its contents dark and steady, then another—black and bubbly, sealed carefully. He adjusted the strap and stepped into the hall.
Kass sat in a chair near the door, reading.
"I expected you to read more," she said without looking up. "You were cooped up for a long time."
"It was only two months," Jade replied, surprised. "Breaking into your little brother's room while he sleeps is really weird, sis."
She ignored that, eyes never leaving the page.
They exchanged a few final words—simple things. Take care. Don't rush. Be careful.
She stood, and together they walked to the door.
"Don't fall into a pit again," Kass said as Jade stepped outside.
"I will," he replied.
He didn't look back.
After wandering for a while, Jade found a carriage.