Luckborn

The road to Tarnbrook wound through a narrow glen thick with thistle and vine, the trees leaning close as if to whisper secrets to one another. When they finally crested the last low hill, the village came into view—little more than a scattering of cottages wrapped around a narrow river bend. Smoke rose lazily from a handful of chimneys. Chickens pecked near low fences. A cluster of children ran barefoot across a bridge, shouting something about river eels.

It was... quaint.

"Is that it?" Milo asked, peering down the slope.

"Yep," said Jasper, chewing a blade of grass with absolutely no urgency. "That's Tarnbrook. Population: suspicious and underpaid."

Otter blinked. "It's smaller than I expected."

"It's exactly as I expected," Erin muttered, eyeing the crooked rooftops.

They followed a gravel path into the village proper, drawing the attention of a few locals. Most people nodded politely—or at least didn't openly glare—but Otter noticed how their eyes lingered on Jasper a bit too long. They didn't seem hostile, exactly, but the warm and welcoming looks he'd expected from such a tight-knit community were absent.

A woman stepped out of a general store with a basket of necessities and did a double-take. "Well, if it isn't Jasper Thorne," she said, her voice somewhere between amused and exhausted. "Back to drag your sorry name through the mud again, are you?"

Jasper tipped an imaginary hat. "Pleasure as always, Mrs. Dendry."

"Your mama know you're back?"

"She will shortly."

When the woman was out of earshot, Milo said, "Well, now I'm dying to know what we've gotten ourselves into."

Jasper shot him a glare, but said nothing.

They continued on, passing a weathered sign that read Tarnbrook Trading Post & Medicinals, though the word "Medicinals" had been half-sanded off and replaced with "Miscellany" in uneven script.

They turned down a dirt lane lined with squat houses. While small, they appeared very well-kept. One in particular looked like it had a fresh coat of green paint with newly repaired shutters. The porch had a wrought-iron railing—a sign of prosperity, especially out here. Jasper veered toward it without hesitation.

"This is your house?" Otter asked.

"This is it."

Before he could say anything else, the door creaked open and a wiry woman in her late fifties stepped out, wiping her hands on a flour-streaked apron.

Her gaze locked onto Jasper like a hawk spotting a rabbit.

"You got nerve showing up here, boy."

"Hi, Ma."

Otter froze. So did Erin.

The woman stepped down the porch stairs with a limp that spoke of long days on her feet and years of hard work. Her gray hair was pulled into a messy braid, and flour dust clung to the creases of her weathered hands. She cast her gaze over the others assembled at her door, then turned her attention back to Jasper.

"It's been a year, Ma. You're telling me he's still not gonna talk to me."

She shrugged. "We'll discuss it later. Not in front of company." She extended her hand to Erin, who shook it. "Welcome to the Thorne residence. I'm Greta."

"Erin, nice to meet you."

"Sorry, Ma. This is my team. Erin, Otter, Sage, and Milo."

She arched an eyebrow. "Your team? I thought you had two more years."

"Yeah. I do, but we got a sponsorship to work for the Guild this summer. Kind of like an apprenticeship, you could say."

Her face clouded over at that, and Jasper flinched before changing the subject. "We're on our way to Crookpine, and I thought it might be nice to make introductions."

"I see. Well, come on in y'all. Just take your boots off at the door." Jasper's mother stepped aside, opening the door wide.

The interior of the house was small but tidy. The furniture was handmade, crafted with care, and worn smooth by years of use.

The team filed in. Otter paused just inside, admiring a set of wooden carvings on the mantle—tiny woodland creatures rendered with impressive detail. He said nothing, sensing the heaviness in the air.

From deeper in the house, footsteps sounded. A boy emerged from the hallway, maybe thirteen or fourteen. His sleeves were rolled up, arms flecked with soot, a hammer still in his hand. He froze when he saw Jasper.

"You're kidding me," the boy said, scowling. "You've got some nerve showing your face around here."

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"You too, huh? Everyone, this is Horace." Jasper kept his tone light, but his posture was rigid.

Horace's eyes narrowed. "Dad know you're here?"

"No. Thought I'd start with Ma first."

Horace shook his head. "You should've stayed gone. The forge didn't miss you."

"That's enough," Greta snapped, not raising her voice but cutting clean through the tension.

The two brothers glared at each other, clearly each having more to say. Otter felt a little awkward and hoped Jasper would eventually explain what had happened here, but knew better than to ask now.

Greta cleared her throat. "Dinner's not for a bit, but I've got bread and broth if you're hungry. Come sit down, all of you."

She disappeared into the kitchen, leaving the rest to follow—awkwardly, silently.

Jasper lingered near the doorway before stepping in, glancing once toward the closed door at the far end of the hall.

"Still pounding metal?" he asked Horace.

"Someone has to," Horace muttered, then turned and walked away.

Greta kept her hands busy, ladling out bowls of steaming broth and slicing thick wedges of crusty brown bread. The kitchen was warm from the stove, the smell of herbs and slow-cooked vegetables mingling with flour and woodsmoke.

She set the table quickly, clearly trying to steer the room away from confrontation.

"So, Erin," she said, placing a bowl in front of her. "That accent of yours, you're a Brighthaven girl?"

"Yes, ma'am," Erin said politely. "Born and raised. My parents were herbalists, growing and gathering ingredients for apothecaries in the area. Not the most exciting, but it pays the bills."

Greta smiled. "Reliable work. Honest work."

She turned to Otter next. "And you?"

"Also from Brighthaven. My mother is a dockworker." He didn't elaborate.

She nodded, then moved down the line. "You?" she asked Sage.

"I am a Divine Conduit of Elarion. We shed our old lives when entering the conclave to be remade."

"Well, that sounds quite awful for your family."

Sage shrugged. "They were devout followers as well. They are allowed to visit, and they do. But we do not return to our old homes."

Greta made a face. Sage's explanation was apparently not enough to mollify her, and she still found the practice distasteful. She quickly moved on. "Where do you hail from, young sir? Milo, was it?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm from Aurelia, actually. My parents are both Spell Lords. My older sister is, too. Artificers. They were hoping I'd follow in their footsteps."

Greta frowned. "We know quite a bit about what that's like, don't we, Jasper?"

Jasper hadn't touched his food. He just sat at the far end of the table, chewing the inside of his cheek and glancing toward the hallway every few minutes. Greta didn't push him. She just sat beside him and patted his arm once. Quiet, wordless comfort.

The conversation drifted to safer ground: the road to Tarnbrook, the weather, and what they might find in Crookpine Hollow. Greta listened closely and asked good questions, her focus always on the others, never pressing Jasper about his time away.

Then the front door opened.

The room tensed immediately.

A man stepped in—tall and thin, still wearing his work apron. His hands and forearms were covered with soot, his skin slick with sweat. His eyes swept the room, briefly landing on the unfamiliar faces before settling on Jasper.

He didn't speak.

Jasper stood, stiff as a board. "Hi, Da."

His father's jaw tightened.

"I'll be at the workshop," he said to Greta, voice flat and clipped.

"You want to—?" she started.

"No."

He turned and walked out, closing the door with deliberate care.

Silence followed, heavy as lead.

Otter looked down into his broth. Erin didn't move. Milo cleared his throat and then thought better of speaking.

Greta exhaled slowly, smoothing her apron. "Don't mind him. "

Sage looked up. "Begging your pardon, but I feel like we've been led into a family feud. Jasper, would you mind telling us what's going on?"

Jasper swallowed hard. "My da's not too happy that I went to the Academy."

Greta scoffed. "That's an understatement."

"Jasper ignored her and continued. "He wanted me to be a blacksmith like him. Started teaching me the trade when I was big enough to pick up a hammer. But…that's not what I wanted. When the System gave me a choice, I picked Fighter. I couldn't bring myself to tell him, though, and he only found out when I got my invitation to the Academy. I kind of figured he'd be over it by now. I mean, he's got Horace. He's a way better blacksmith than I would have been."

Greta's eyes softened. "Oh, honey, you think he's angry about your choice? That's not what this is about."

Jasper screwed up his face in confusion. "It's not?"

"No. Your father is a stubborn man. Proud. But not heartless. He's hurt that you kept it to yourself. You never gave him the chance to give you advice. To be your father when it mattered most. And then you left. That's not the kind of wound that heals when left alone."

Jasper's face fell, and he said in a small voice, "Oh."

Greta stood and began clearing the table. "I'd offer you all a bed for the night if we had any extras. But the inn here don't cost much."

"That would be great," said Otter. "Thank you for your hospitality."

A few moments later, they said farewell and made their way to the inn. At only five alms per room, they each got their own, and they settled in for the evening. Except Jasper. Once the others were settled, he excused himself and left. From the look on his face, Otter assumed he was in some inner turmoil over the revelation his mother had just shared.

Erin and Otter lingered in the common room late into the night. It was small, but cozy, even though no fire burned in the hearth. Instead, the windows were thrown wide to let as much air move through the place as possible.

Otter stared at a lantern flickering on the wall. "I hear some of the fancier places in Aurelia hire Spell Lords to put enchantments on their rooms in the summer to keep them cool. Think we'll ever be able to afford something like that?"

Erin shrugged. "Maybe Milo can do that for us one day."

Otter laughed. "Yeah, maybe."

Eventually, Erin leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. "That was rough. The whole thing with Jasper, I mean."

"Yeah," Otter said. "I thought coming home was supposed to be… healing, or something."

"I guess it doesn't always work that way. Maybe we're the lucky ones. Loving family. Always welcome to come home. But what if you didn't have that, you know? It's hard to imagine."

"You make your own family, in that case. I think. Or at least, I would try."

"It's hard to imagine. They fell into a quiet lull again. The fire popped. Somewhere above them, a floorboard creaked as someone shifted in their room.

Otter leaned back in the chair and sighed. "Thanks for staying up."

Erin gave a small shrug. "Didn't want to let you brood alone. You're the heart of this team, you know."

He blinked, surprised. "I thought that was you."

"Oh, no," she said, biting into a fig. "I'm the spine. Keeps things upright. But you? You're the part that makes us feel like we're something more than a bunch of kids pretending to be heroes."

He didn't know what to say to that, so he just smiled.

After a while, Erin rose, stretching her arms overhead. "Try to get some sleep, Otter."

"You too."

Otter stayed a while longer, letting the night sounds wrap him in comfort. But eventually, he went to bed, thoughts of family and feelings of gratitude swelling his chest.