Family Farm
I scatter the last feed with my youngest son before dusk fully sinks. It is more than routine. It is how we make sure every creature returns to its shelter, safe from the night's chill and the kind of darkness that leads one astray.
Compared to Charlotte and Ian, Ryan shows a deeper pull toward this place.
He lingers over every moment spent tending the animals, even without any promise of inheriting this modest land.
Among the three, he is the one who gives his heart.
His steps are light.
His spirit never fades.
Without being called, he is always at my side.
The thought circles quietly.
If one day he chooses this place, I will not hesitate.
The farm will be his.
The old plan to bring in an outsider will disappear.
Everything rests on Ryan.
If he turns elsewhere, I will return to that plan.
A stranger will take over what I built.
My gaze lifts to the western horizon.
The sky glows in molten gold.
Calm at a glance, yet holding a tremor I cannot quite hide.
Ryan notices.
"Father... you miss Sister Charlotte and Brother Ian, don't you?"
Straight to the truth.
Their shadows never truly leave.
How could I forget my own blood, the ones who stood beside me for years?
Ryan carries the same weight. It lives within him, steady as breath.
His eyes meet mine. So much like his mother's.
"And you? You miss them too, don't you?"
"Of course. They're my siblings. We grew up together. We went through so much."
His voice softens, trailing through memories that refuse to fade.
"It all keeps replaying... like it was only yesterday."
"You're right, my son. I miss them deeply."
"But, Father..."
He pauses.
"One day, we can see them again, right? With your strength."
His certainty does not waver, as if distance were nothing more than a fragile illusion.
To me, it is.
"Yes. One day we will find them. Together with your mother and Karina."
"Alright, Father."
A father's longing is not easily spoken.
It runs too deep.
Too strong.
At times, it tightens the chest without warning.
***
Dusk fades.
Night settles in, gentle for some, restless for others.
People are always divided by choice. Crossroads that never repeat. Even the same path can lead elsewhere, given a different moment.
What should be rest becomes struggle for those who stay awake. Trading the last of their strength for a handful of coins, just to endure until dawn.
The inn in Gluthera stands among the finest.
Its wooden walls carry a soft, natural scent, easing the weight of a tired body.
I return from the market with Ian.
My stomach is full, almost uncomfortably so. It hardly matters. As a shinobi, turning food into chakra is effortless.
The outing felt different.
No Father. No Mother. Just the two of us. No watchful eyes. No limits.
Like birds that have finally found open sky.
I have already finished what I set out to do.
Ian sits on a wooden chair. His hands move with quiet care, polishing the blade as though it were part of him.
In truth, it is.
That sword cannot be replaced.
A gift from Father.
Its form differs from a knight's blade. A single edge, made for decisive strikes.
A graceful curve. Father calls it a katana.
Mine is similar, differing only in the color of the hilt and sheath.
Even so, I never truly liked swords. That reluctance faded for the sake of survival.
Instead, Father gave me something else on my tenth birthday.
A fan.
Its size shifts at will. At its center rest three black tomoe, mirroring my eyes. The surface is pale gray, edged with a thin ring of black.
Light. Comfortable when the air turns heavy.
Yet its worth goes far beyond that.
The fan can withstand any impact. It is made from a foreign wood, one Father never cared to explain.
More than that, it resonates with chakra. It absorbs energy, turns it into wind, and sends it back with equal force.
Without that, I might have traded it for something prettier, something more fitting for a girl.
I step closer to Ian.
The braid I made earlier sits neatly in his hair. A little endearing, at least to me.
"You haven't even used that sword since yesterday. Does it really need that much care?"
Eyes identical to mine flick toward me for a brief moment, then return to the blade.
"Father once said a sword is part of its owner. One day, it will protect them, depending on how it's treated."
"That sounds excessive. Surely that applies to blades that have seen use, not one that hasn't even been drawn yet."
"..."
"Look at you. You're treating it like a child."
"I'm making sure no dust settles on it."
A quiet laugh slips out. It sounds like an excuse.
"You're obsessed with swords. Just admit it."
"You're right."
The answer comes without hesitation.
He has always liked them. Father acknowledged it long ago. That interest took root the moment he watched us spar. Since then, his gaze has followed every swing.
Father often urged me to focus on swordsmanship instead of losing myself in ninjutsu and genjutsu.
My taijutsu improved quickly. My body adapts with ease. But when it comes to the blade, every step feels heavy.
Not because I lack the ability.
I simply don't like it.
Learning without interest slows everything down. Body and mind refuse to move as one.
Ian is different.
His fondness for the sword stands just beneath his fascination with genjutsu.
"Ian, your sister is overheating."
"Use your favorite fan."
"Help me fan myself. It's too large to handle alone."
"It can change size at will. Why would you need me?"
The reply comes without distraction.
"You're cruel. I thought you cared about me."
"I do."
"Then why won't you help?"
"Because you're too spoiled for your age."
I let out a small huff, feigning annoyance.
"What does my age have to do with anything?"
"You're more than capable of using it yourself. With or without me, the result is the same."
"That's not the point."
"Then what is?"
"Because you're my little brother. Your attention means more than a hundred others."
"..."
His hand stops.
The sword is set aside. He rises. His dark gaze softens, deep and steady, like a quiet darkness that somehow brings warmth.
"Alright, Sister."
"My dear little brother."
He smiles and follows me to the bed across the room.
We chose a single room with two beds. Not out of necessity. Just because I wanted it that way, for reasons I never cared to explain.
The night passes quickly. Sleep comes easily, so comfortable that morning arrives unnoticed.
***
We leave the inn after breakfast.
I ask the coachman to take us to the city center. There is something I want before we continue.
When we arrive, Ian follows me into a building that stands above the rest.
A confectionery.
Fenwick Honeycakes.
The name is carved neatly into the wooden sign above the door.
Fenwick. The family that owns it.
We step inside. The door creaks softly.
A young woman with deep red hair greets us. Her dress matches the shade, neat and refined.
"Welcome, Young Master and Young Lady."
Her voice is low, easy to listen to. After a brief introduction, she presents the selection.
There are too many choices.
For a moment, I can't decide.
Honey gingerbread scented with cinnamon. Nut honey cakes. Biscuits rich with spice.
There are sugar confections as well, but I lean toward those made from honey.
Not without reason.
Ian warned me not to indulge in sugar. He even brought up Mother, leaving me no room to argue.
Almond candy catches my eye. I have missed that taste.
Grandmother used to bring it whenever she visited from the city. She was never as strict as Mother.
I understand the rule. I tend to overdo it. Father sees no issue, but Mother remains firm.
Perhaps one day I will understand, when I stand where she stands.
For now, I choose to respect it.
We leave the shop after paying. Ian selects a few things for himself as well.
My hands are filled with neatly wrapped sweets. Fine paper beneath a layer of linen.
I pass two bundles to the coachman who has been with us since we left the village.
"Thank you, Young Lady."
"Enjoy them. Or stop by your home before we depart."
"That would delay our arrival in Count Flammenberg's territory."
"It won't matter. A little delay changes nothing. We'll still spend the night on the road and arrive by midday tomorrow."
He hesitates.
"Go on, Carl. Or we truly will be late."
"Very well, Young Lady. Thank you again."
"If you must thank someone, bring those to your family. Your face wants to leave. Your words are the only thing holding you back."
An awkward smile forms.
"As you wish, Young Lady."
"You. I'm not your mistress. I'll let it pass this time, but treat me normally."
"I understand, Young Lady."
Moments pass. Our carriage slowly leaves the gates of Gluthera.
The open land stretches ahead once more. A quiet the city never offers. Mother once said nature holds a truer peace. I doubted it back then. Not out of defiance, but curiosity about the place called the city.
Cecilia and Rose spoke of it often when we were younger. Their words lingered, repeated until they took root in me. In the end, Father and Mother brought me there for the first time.
It is hard to describe.
That world draws you in. Buildings rise far above village homes. The crowd never seems to rest. It is no longer just a story, but something I have seen with my own eyes. Even the air carries a different scent.
The noise has its own charm. Something new. Something that urges you forward, to see more, to widen your world.
Beside me, Ian looks out the window. The glass feels like a boundary between two lives.
"The view is beautiful, isn't it? It makes me miss Green Pine Village."
Our eyes meet.
"It has always been beautiful."
"Then compared to the city, which would you choose?"
"A comparison?"
He glances outside before looking back at me.
"I prefer the village. The trees bring shade. The birds bring calm."
"That's subjective."
"I don't deny it."
A soft laugh escapes.
"You're not wrong. The city doesn't offer peace, but it has something the village doesn't."
"Food?"
"You think that's all I care about?"
"You like it. Especially the city's sweets."
"That's true. But there's more."
"..."
I let out a quiet breath.
"Ian, you prefer the sword over your fists, don't you?"
"..."
"You would choose the sword and praise it. But that doesn't mean it is always superior."
"..."
"A blade brings fear. One drawn to the throat is enough to shake anyone. But fists are different."
"..."
"Before a strike lands, fear depends on the one throwing it. A sword…"
"It's frightening, no matter who holds it."
A faint smile forms.
"You catch on quickly."
"So your view of the city is the same?"
"I'm not entirely objective either."
"Even when it comes to food?"
A quiet laugh follows.
"Yes. But that's not all."
"I can guess."
"Impossible. Not unless you can read my mind."
"The city may not be my choice, Sister. But I don't ignore its strengths."
"A moment ago, you sounded very subjective."
"Because you asked me to judge based on preference."
"Did I?"
His gaze softens. That familiar warmth only our family carries. It eases the quiet ache of home.
He continues, tone light, almost teasing.
"My dear sister, have you truly forgotten your own words?"
"Fine. I forgot. Go on, then. Give me your objective view."
"The city's greatest advantage over the village is access to information and knowledge."
I fall silent.
He is right.
News from beyond always reaches the village late. The city learns first. The village receives what remains. Knowledge follows the same rule. Without gold, books and skilled teachers are out of reach.
Even with gold, connections are needed. And those exist only in the city.
Like us.
Ian and I can enter the Imperial Academy without starting from nothing, all because of Grandmother. Since I was seven, she has sent the finest tutors.
"You're right. The city offers wider access, even if it still excludes most people."
"I don't overlook that. Without status, people only receive things later. Still, it's faster than the village."
A small smile forms.
"You've grown sharper. I'm almost jealous."
He lets out a quiet laugh and turns to the window.
"You praise me too much."
"I'm being honest."
"..."
Our eyes meet again. His smile is faint, yet meaningful.
"My sister is the same. Intelligent and..."
"And what?"
"Very beautiful."
A soft laugh escapes me. Warmth rises to my cheeks.
"You're embarrassing me."
"I'm only stating the truth. You are beautiful. I need to make sure no one takes you away."
"Don't worry. Who could possibly defeat me?"
"That's true. You're strong. But I'm still your younger brother. I should be by your side. Making sure you're always safe."
His words linger.
The part of me that resists being protected slowly softens. Father was right. If trust cannot be given to others, then give it to family. In time, they will become your support.
I don't know when that time will come.
But I know it will.
"Thank you, Ian. I care about you."
"You're welcome, Sister."
Silence settles again.
I break it by opening one of the bundles.
"Try this, Ian."
He nods and takes a bite.
"Well?"
"It's good. Too sweet."
"It's candy."
I pout slightly. Praise followed by criticism never feels pleasant.
We continue anyway, opening each bundle one by one.
He keeps commenting on the sweetness, yet never stops eating. A quiet kind of teasing I already understand.
It's a relief Mother isn't here.
She doesn't forbid honey sweets, but seeing this much would test her patience.
I'm sorry, Mother.
Your troublesome daughter can only send her regards.
I'm sorry.
And I love you.