Betty finally loosened her death-grip, sniffing loudly and wiping her face with her apron.

  “Look at you!” she said, holding Reid’s shoulders at arm’s length as if inspecting a prized piece of fruit. “You look stronger! Don’t you all think so?”

  Fiona immediately nodded with sparkling eyes.

  “Yes! Brother Reid, you look like you could fight a whole bear now!”

  Reid choked out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “Guys… I was gone for two weeks,” he said helplessly. “Not two years.”

  Roy barked a wet laugh while wiping the last of his tears.

  “That’s what I told them,” he muttered. “But try telling Betty that.”

  Betty pointed a finger at Roy.

  “Two weeks is still two weeks! And boys grow fast! He left looking like a tired noodle and now look— look at these arms!”

  She grabbed Reid’s arm and shook it like she was demonstrating a prized chicken at a market.

  Reid turned red.

  “Betty— it’s the same arm as before—”

  “No it isn’t,” Fiona insisted, touching his sleeve. “It feels… sturdier!”

  Roy rolled his eyes. “Fiona, everything feels sturdier to you. Yesterday you said the cat felt like a lion.”

  “It did!” she protested.

  Reid laughed until his stomach hurt.

  Arttu, hearing the laughter, reached out toward Reid again, kicking his little legs excitedly. His mismatched eyes sparkled, and he let out a tiny squeak that made Reid’s heart fold in on itself.

  Betty nudged the caretaker — Miriam — with her elbow.

  “Well? Go on, give the baby to his brother again. You saw how he reacted.”

  Miriam swallowed, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

  “R-right… sorry,” she whispered as she gently placed Arttu back in Reid’s arms. “I didn’t know. They just told me to protect him.”

  “It’s alright,” Reid said softly. “Really. Thank you for taking care of him.”

  Miriam smiled a little — shy, relieved — and quietly retreated.

  Reid sank onto a chair, Arttu curled on his lap like a tiny warm ball of life.

  The baby giggled, pressing his forehead to Reid’s chest and smacking his palm on Reid’s shirt.

  Fiona squealed.

  “He remembers you! See, Dad? SEE!?”

  Roy chuckled, leaning against the counter.

  “Aye… looks like he didn’t forget his big brother after all.”

  Betty was already bustling around.

  “Sit, sit! You must be starving. You look starving. Fiona! Heat up the stew!”

  “I’m already doing it!” Fiona yelled from the other room.

  The tavern filled with noise again — warm, familiar noise.

  The clatter of pots.

  The low hum of the fire.

  Betty scolding someone in the kitchen.

  Roy muttering about something being overcooked.

  Arttu’s soft hiccuping giggles.

  Reid let his head fall back for a moment.

  He breathed in the smell of wood, and hearth.

  “…I missed this,” he whispered.

  Roy heard it, and his eyes softened.

  “We missed you too, lad.”

  Reid looked around the room — at Arttu in his arms, Fiona peeking from behind the kitchen door, Betty yelling at a pot, Roy polishing glasses with a smile he couldn’t hide.

  Home wasn’t the walls.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  It was them.

  Betty looked back at Reid once more, hands on her hips, voice softening.

  “Oh, Reid… you must be tired. We left your room just as it was. Do you want to take a nap?”

  Reid shook his head quickly.

  “No, no, I’m fine. Really. Thank you, Betty.”

  He absolutely was not fine — after fainting on Morty’s horse, he still felt a little jumbled inside — but he wasn’t about to admit that.

  Not now.

  Not when Arttu was giggling on his lap.

  Reid glanced down at his brother again, brushing a thumb gently through Arttu’s soft hair.

  Is missing you this much really normal?

  The thought slipped from him like a sigh.

  Arttu babbled, grabbed Reid’s collar, and drooled on him a little.

  Reid smiled.

  Then from the kitchen, Betty’s voice roared:

  “DINNER’S READY! EVERYONE TO THE TABLE!”

  Reid blinked.

  He hadn’t even realized time was passing.

  The table had already been set — plates neatly arranged, warm light from the hearth dancing across the wooden surface.

  The smell hit him first:

  Julien-cut chicken…

  Basil cream…

  Fresh pasta…

  Reid nearly melted.

  He slid into his chair.

  “You made my favorite meal,” he said, eyes wide. “Thank you, Betty.”

  Betty brushed him off with a proud grin.

  “Of course I did. You came back from Aquilonis — what kind of host would I be if I didn’t make your favorite?”

  Fiona placed Arttu in a basket beside Reid’s chair, humming happily as she sat down. Roy followed last, lowering himself into his seat with a small grunt and wiping his hands on a cloth.

  Then he cleared his throat.

  “Oh, yes, Reid — I’ve been meaning to ask.” His tone turned serious. “You did pass the Academy exam, right?”

  Reid’s chest lifted with quiet pride.

  “Yes,” he said. “I passed.”

  Roy’s smile was slight but full, as if a weight had lifted from him.

  “Well of course you did. Harven chose you for a reason.”

  He paused… then his expression darkened just a touch.

  “But listen, boy… be careful. There’ll be people — many people — who will try to use you because of your position. You’re stepping into a world where alliances matter as much as strength.”

  Betty scoffed loudly, slapping a spoon onto the table.

  “Oh, Roy, honestly!” she said. “He just got back! Let him eat first before dumping those worries onto his plate.”

  “It’s important,” Roy insisted. “He needs to hear it.”

  “And he will,” Betty snapped back. “When the time comes. But right now? Let him breathe.”

  She softened, turning to Reid with a warmer look.

  “I know,” she said gently, “that when choices come your way… you’ll pick the right ones.”

  Roy let out a long breath — somewhere between disappointed and content.

  He didn’t argue.

  Dinner resumed.

  Reid watched them all as they dug in — the familiar bickering, the clatter of cutlery, Fiona feeding Arttu mashed carrots while making sound effects, Betty fussing over portion sizes, Roy testing the stew and pretending he wasn’t crying again.

  Reid felt the warmth soak into him like sunlight.

  They were halfway through dessert when the tavern door banged open so loudly that even Arttu jolted in his basket.

  “WE’RE COMIN’ IN!”

  Brog’s voice.

  Reid didn’t even need to look.

  Drool followed immediately after, both of them tracking mud into the hall like a pair of overgrown wolves.

  Roy sighed. “I thought you two went home.”

  “We did!” Drool announced proudly. “But then we remembered—”

  He pointed at Reid dramatically.

  “HE’S BACK IN TOWN!”

  Reid rubbed his forehead. “You literally saw me two hours ago at the city gate.”

  “Yes,” Brog said, slamming a giant arm around Reid’s shoulders. “But we didn’t get our official reunion hug.”

  Reid gave him a deadpan stare.

  “You hugged me three times already.”

  “FOUR!” Drool corrected, raising a finger. “Count properly.”

  Betty stomped forward, waving a rag.

  “Wipe your boots OR GET OUT!”

  Brog froze like a scolded dog.

  Drool lifted one foot sheepishly.

  “Betty, we just wanted to check on the lad,” Brog said, scratching his head.

  “Well, you’ve checked,” Betty replied. “And he’s fine. Now take off your boots before I hang them from the rafters.”

  Drool hurried to unlace his.

  Brog kicked his off in one dramatic motion—

  and one boot flew straight into Roy.

  “BROG!” Roy shouted.

  “Oops.”

  Reid couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped him.

  Even Arttu giggled from the basket, waving his little arms.

  Drool gasped. “He laughed! The baby laughed at us! That’s it. I’m adopting him.”

  “No, you are NOT,” Reid said immediately.

  Brog puffed his chest out. “Well, I think he likes MY face more.”

  Arttu stared at Brog’s beard.

  Then grabbed it.

  Hard.

  Brog screamed.

  Drool clapped.

  “LOOK AT THAT GRIP! A TRUE WARRIOR!”

  Reid buried his face in his hands.

  Fiona was giggling behind him so much she nearly fell over.

  The tavern filled with noise again — warm, ridiculous, familiar.

  After a few more minutes of chaos, Roy finally waved the two men away.

  “Alright, you walking disasters. Let the boy rest.”

  Brog saluted dramatically.

  Drool winked at Arttu.

  And the two of them vanished out the door, arguing the entire way home.

  Later that night, when the tavern was finally quiet, Reid slipped down the hallway to his old room.

  He opened the door.

  Nothing had changed.

  The small wooden shelf.

  The old blanket folded neatly.

  The carving Roy made him.

  A faint smell of pine and stew lingering from the kitchen downstairs.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

  The mattress dipped exactly the same way it always had.

  Reid lay back, staring at the ceiling beams he used to count on sleepless nights.

  He could still hear faint echoes of earlier —

  Arttu’s soft giggle…

  Betty fussing…

  Drool screaming because Arttu pulled his beard…

  Roy muttering as he cleaned glasses.

  Reid closed his eyes.

  “…This is home,” he whispered.