The smell of cinnamon filled the air, mixing with the smoky crackle of the fire. The snow piled high outside made the house feel even cozier, like we were tucked inside a storybook. Mom was busy fussing around the kitchen, wiping the table for the millionth time while Nate stacked his blocks into a wobbly tower by the fireplace.
I sat on a stool, resting my chin in my hand as I watched her. "Why's Dad always gone?" I asked, not bothering to hide my frustration. "Feels like he's never here."
Mom stopped what she was doing, her hand on her hip as she gave me a look. "He's gone because he has to be, Andrew. You know that. He's Awakened. It's his job to keep people safe."
"Yeah, but he doesn't have to be gone all the time," I grumbled, crossing my arms. "Maybe he's just scared you'll throw another pan at his head."
Nate snorted, his tower swaying dangerously as he tried to hold back a laugh.
Mom narrowed her eyes at me, wiping her hands on her apron. "Oh, you want to bring up the pans, huh?" she said, her voice sharp but teasing. She turned toward Nate, who was busy steadying his tower. "Nate, go grab me some eggnog. I need it if I'm gonna relive the absolute worst day of my goddamn life."
"Language," I muttered, grinning as I leaned back on the stool.
Mom shot me a look. "Oh, don't you start. I've earned the right to curse. Especially after that day."
Nate scampered off to the kitchen, his blanket dragging behind him. He came back a minute later with a mug that was way too big for his hands. Mom took it, downing a good gulp before sighing dramatically.
"Alright," she said, leaning against the counter. "You want to know why I chuck pans at your dad? Let me take you back to when I was young and stupid, falling for that idiot with a sword."
Nate plopped down next to me, his blanket now draped over his shoulders like a cape.
"I was about to confess my love to him," she began, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "after months of working up the courage. He was standing all tall and cocky, looking like a complete ass, but he was my ass, y'know?"
"Mom!" I groaned, covering my face.
"What?" she shot back, waving the mug at me. "You think you two got here by magic? Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah. It was a perfect day. Blue skies, birds singing, and then—WHAM! Your dumbass father gets launched off an ox like a sack of potatoes."
Nate gasped. "Launched?!"
"LAUNCHED," Mom repeated, throwing her hands up. "That ox sent him flying so far, I swear he hit another village. And do you know what that idiot says when he finally stumbles back, covered in mud?"
"What?" Nate asked, eyes wide.
Mom leaned forward, her expression dead serious. "'I think the ox doesn't like me.' That's it. That's what he said after ruining the moment where I was gonna tell him I loved him."
I tried to hold back my laugh, but it slipped out. "So it's his fault you throw pans?"
"Damn right it is!" she snapped, pointing at me with the mug. "If he hadn't been so stupid back then, maybe I wouldn't have had to spend the rest of my life keeping him in line."
Nate giggled. "Is that why you hit him with a pan last week?"
Mom smirked. "Exactly. He's lucky I love him enough not to throw bigger pans."
We all burst out laughing, the warmth of the fire and Mom's cursing filling the room like a big, cozy hug. Even if Dad was late, it didn't feel so bad when we had moments like this.
As our laughter died down, we heard the sound of boots crunching in the snow outside. My heart jumped, and I looked at Nate, who was already scrambling to the window.
"Is it Dad?" I asked, running to stand next to him.
Nate pressed his face to the frosty glass. "I think it is! He's carrying something!"
We both bolted to the door, flinging it open before Mom could say anything. The cold bit at my nose and cheeks, but I didn't care. There he was—Dad, his long coat dusted with snow, carrying a bag slung over his shoulder. He looked tired but happy, his green eyes lighting up when he saw us.
"Hey, boys!" he called, dropping the bag and kneeling as Nate and I crashed into him, hugging him as tight as we could.
"You're late!" Mom shouted from the doorway, her hands on her hips again. "And you better not have forgotten my gift this time, James, or I swear—"
Dad reached into his coat and pulled out a small wrapped box, holding it up like a peace offering. "Would I dare?"
Mom narrowed her eyes but stepped aside to let him in, muttering, "Lucky bastard."
We all piled into the house, the cold air disappearing as soon as the door shut behind us. Dad set the bag down by the fire, pulling off his gloves and rubbing his hands together for warmth.
"I missed you guys," he said, ruffling my hair. "Been counting down the days to this."
"Yeah, well," Mom said, crossing her arms, "you've got a lot of days to make up for. Dinner's ready, so sit down and eat before I decide to throw something."
Dad laughed, but Nate and I didn't wait. We ran to the table, our chairs scraping against the wood as we sat down. It wasn't every day we got to have dinner together as a family, and I wasn't going to waste a single second of it.
The smell of stew filled the house as Mom set a steaming pot on the table, her usual no-nonsense expression softening just a little as Dad pulled out a chair. Nate was already bouncing in his seat, his blanket still draped over his shoulders like he was a king.
"Did you fight any Death Walkers?" Nate asked, his voice full of awe as he leaned forward.
Dad chuckled, scooping a ladle of stew into his bowl. "A few, here and there."
"Did you win?"
"Of course," Dad said, his tone playful as he flexed his arm. "Your old man's still got it."
Nate's eyes sparkled like he'd just heard the greatest story ever. I rolled my eyes but couldn't help smiling.
"Eat first, brag later," Mom said, smacking Dad's shoulder lightly as she sat down. "The kids don't need you inflating that ego any more than it already is."
Dad smirked, taking a bite of his stew. "If I don't brag, who's going to teach them about confidence?"
"Confidence, my ass," Mom muttered, but there was no bite in her words.
The fire crackled in the hearth, and for a moment, the room felt like it was glowing. Nate started rambling about his block tower and how he'd made it taller than ever before. Dad listened intently, nodding at all the right parts, like it was the most important thing he'd ever heard.
"And then Andrew knocked it over!" Nate finished, glaring at me.
"Did not!" I shot back, but Nate stuck out his tongue.
Dad held up his hands, laughing. "Alright, alright. No fighting at the table. We've got plenty of time for that tomorrow when we build a snow fort."
"Really?" Nate's face lit up, and even I felt a flicker of excitement.
Dad winked. "Really. But only if you finish all your stew."
Nate grabbed his spoon like it was a weapon and dug in, slurping loudly.
"Good luck keeping that promise," Mom said, leaning back in her chair. "You'll be snoring by noon."
"I'll prove you wrong," Dad said, his grin widening. "You'll see. This year's snow fort is going to be the best one yet."
The conversation moved on, and for the first time in a while, everything felt normal. No talk of Death Walkers, no long goodbyes. Just us, together.
Later that night, after the dishes were done and Nate had passed out on the couch, I sat by the fire with Dad. He was sharpening his sword, the soft scraping sound filling the quiet room.
"Dad," I said, breaking the silence.
"Hmm?" He didn't look up, his focus on the blade.
"Why do you have to fight them?" I asked, my voice small. "The Death Walkers, I mean. Why can't someone else do it?"
Dad paused, his hand stilling on the blade. He looked at me, his green eyes serious but kind. "Because it's my duty, Andrew. When I became Awakened, I promised to protect people. That's what it means to have this power."
I frowned, hugging my knees to my chest. "But you're always gone."
"I know," Dad said, his voice soft. He set the sword down and turned to face me fully. "And I hate it. I miss you and Nate and your mom every single day. But if I don't do it, more people will get hurt. More families will lose someone they love."
"But what if something happens to you?" I asked, my throat tight.
He reached out, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Then you'll be strong enough to protect them instead."
I hesitated, my fingers clutching the blanket draped over my shoulders. "Then… can you teach me?"
Dad raised an eyebrow. "Teach you what?"
"How to fight," I said, looking him in the eyes. "In case… in case you don't come back."
He stared at me for a long moment, the firelight flickering in his eyes. Then he let out a soft sigh, setting the sword aside. "Andrew, you don't need to worry about that. I'll always come back."
"But what if you don't?" I pressed, my voice shaking a little. "I don't want anything to happen to Mom or Nate. I want to keep them safe, like you do."
His expression softened, and he pulled me into a hug, the warmth of his arms chasing away the fear clawing at my chest.
"You've got a big heart," he said quietly. "And one day, you'll be ready to protect the people you love. But for now, it's my job. Yours is to be a kid, alright?"
"But—"
"No buts," he said, pulling back to look at me. "When the time comes, I'll teach you everything you need to know. But that time isn't now. Right now, you need to sleep."
I wanted to argue, but the look in his eyes told me there was no point. I nodded, the lump in my throat too big to speak around.
"Goodnight, Andrew," Dad said, ruffling my hair with a small smile.
The memory broke as my head pressed against the cold metal wall of the carriage. The rattling wheels beneath me shook me back into the present, the warmth of the fire and the scent of cinnamon fading into the biting cold that seeped through the iron frame.
I stared out through the small barred window, watching the snow-covered trees blur past in the fading light. It had been ten years since I'd seen him—since I'd seen any of them. That night, with the wisteria trees swaying in the breeze and the fire crackling in the hearth, felt like another lifetime.
I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat refusing to go away. My breath fogged up the glass as I whispered, just loud enough to hear myself.
"Goodnight, Dad."
A tear slid down my cheek, catching in the dim light. I closed my eyes, letting the rhythmic clatter of the carriage wheels carry me away, the cold still biting but somehow less sharp than before.