The kitchen was warm, the scent of roasted meat and freshly baked bread filling the air. The wooden table at the center of the room was large and sturdy, scarred from years of use but polished to a soft sheen. A single lantern hung above it, casting a golden glow over the meal Ingrid's mother had prepared.
Rorik sat at the head of the table, his broad frame seeming almost too large for the chair beneath him. Inga flitted between the hearth and the table, her movements efficient as she placed steaming dishes in front of us. Ingrid, Bjorn, Viggo, Astrid, and Sten had already claimed seats, their usual confident demeanor replaced by the relaxed ease of being home.
Emery and I hesitated near the doorway until Inga waved us over with a smile. "Sit, sit. There's plenty for everyone."
We took the last two seats, wedged between Ingrid and Bjorn. I felt out of place, my hands fidgeting in my lap as the others dug in with the enthusiasm of people who hadn't eaten a proper meal in days.
"Don't be shy," Bjorn said, grinning at me around a mouthful of bread. "You earned this."
"He's right," Ingrid added, passing me a plate. "You've had a rough start. Eat up."
Emery didn't need much encouragement. She leaned forward, grabbing a piece of bread and tearing into it with a soft sigh of satisfaction. I followed suit, the first bite reminding me just how hungry I was. The bread was warm and buttery, the kind of food that soothed something deeper than just an empty stomach.
"This is incredible," Emery said, her voice muffled by a mouthful of stew.
Inga beamed. "Thank you, dear. It's nothing fancy, just what we've got on hand."
Bjorn laughed, slapping the table. "Nothing fancy? You've outdone yourself, Inga. If I had this every day, I'd never leave the farm."
"You'd also never fit into your armor," Astrid shot back, earning a round of laughter from the group.
The banter flowed easily, the room filling with warmth and noise. Bjorn and Astrid traded jabs, Viggo occasionally chiming in with his deep, rumbling laugh. Even Sten cracked a rare smile when Bjorn tried—and failed—to balance a spoon on his nose.
---
As the meal wound down, Rorik leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes sweeping over the group. "So, you'll be heading back to the academy tomorrow?"
"That's the plan," Bjorn said, his tone more serious now. "We've got to report in and finish our final year."
"You'll do well," Rorik said, his voice steady. "But keep your heads on straight. The world's not as forgiving as this farm."
"We know, Father," Ingrid said softly, her hand resting on the table.
Rorik's gaze shifted to me and Emery. "And what about you two? What are your plans?"
"We're just trying to figure things out," I said carefully. "One step at a time."
"Fair enough," Rorik said. "But if you're staying here, you'll pull your weight. There's plenty of work to go around."
"Of course," I said quickly. "We'll do whatever you need."
"Good." He gave a curt nod, his expression softening slightly.
---
Later, as the group prepared for bed, Emery and I lingered in the living room, the fire crackling softly in the hearth. She was quiet, her hands clasped in her lap as she stared into the flames.
"You okay?" I asked, leaning closer.
"Yeah," she said, though her voice lacked conviction. "Just… thinking."
"About what?"
She hesitated, then looked at me. "About us. About how different things are now. I mean, a few days ago, we were…" She trailed off, her lips pressing into a thin line.
"Normal," I finished for her.
"Yeah." She gave a small nod. "And now we're here. In this… place."
I reached over, placing a hand on hers. "We'll figure it out," I said quietly.
She gave me a faint smile, her fingers tightening around mine.
---
Inga appeared a short while later, showing us to our rooms. The house was simple but comfortable, the wooden walls and soft candlelight giving it a cozy atmosphere. She led me to a small room at the end of the hall, the bed neatly made with a thick quilt folded at the foot.
"Get some rest," she said with a warm smile. "You've had a long journey."
"Thank you," I said, my voice sincere.
As the door closed behind her, I let out a long breath, the day's events finally catching up to me. The bed was inviting, but the room felt… empty.
I had just settled under the quilt when a soft knock came at the door. Before I could respond, it creaked open, and Emery slipped inside, her eyes wide and uncertain.
"I can't…" she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can't sleep alone. Not after everything."
I sat up, my exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "Emery…"
"Please," she said, her voice trembling. "I'll stay on the floor. I just… I don't feel safe."
"You're not sleeping on the floor," I said firmly. "Come here."
She hesitated for only a moment before crossing the room and sitting on the edge of the bed. I moved over, giving her space as she slipped under the quilt.
The room fell silent, the only sound the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth. Emery lay close, her presence a steady warmth against the cold weight in my chest.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"For what?"
"For being weak."
"You're not weak," I said immediately. "You're here. You're surviving. That's not weakness."
She didn't respond, but I felt her relax slightly, her breathing evening out.
As the room grew quieter, I found myself grateful for her presence. I'd been trying so hard to be strong, to hold everything together, but the truth was, I needed her just as much as she needed me.
---
Sleep came slowly, the weight of the day lingering in my mind. But for the first time in days, I felt a sliver of peace. We were safe. Together. And for now, that was enough.