The sun bore down on the field like an unrelenting enemy, its rays searing Kael'tar's skin as he trudged through the uneven rows of dirt.
A hoe rested heavily in his hands, and the once-pristine calluses of his immortal hands were now hardened and rough from days of relentless labor.
His body still ached, bruises stubbornly clinging to his skin as a reminder of his recent "adventure."
Despite his mother's protests, Kael'tar couldn't stand idly by while there was work to be done. That, and he'd grown tired of being cooped up in the house, surrounded by worried glances and Ryn's constant chatter about chestnuts
Kael'tar stopped for a moment, wiping the sweat from his brow. "This is ridiculous," he muttered, glaring at the stubborn patch of soil before him. "A Demon Emperor, reduced to a glorified gardener."
"Talking to yourself again, big brother?"
Kael'tar turned to see Ryn standing at the edge of the field, holding a wooden bucket filled with water.
The boy's grin was as wide as ever, his youthful energy untainted by the heat.
"I'm not talking to myself," Kael'tar grumbled, straightening up. "I'm cursing this cursed earth."
"Ma told me to bring you some water and bread. She said you're not allowed to collapse again."
Kael'tar scoffed, taking the basket begrudgingly. "I didn't collapse. I fell—there's a difference."
Ryn tilted his head, looking genuinely confused. "Didn't you fall off a cliff?"
Kael'tar nearly choked on the piece of bread he'd just bitten into. He glared at Ryn, who seemed blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in his brother's mind. "Don't remind me."
Ryn shrugged, his grin unshaken. "Anyway, Ma said to take it easy. You're still not fully healed."
Kael'tar then drank the water.
The cool water was a welcome relief against the oppressive heat.
He handed it back to Ryn, who promptly sat down on the edge of the field.
"You know," Ryn began, plucking at the grass beside him, "You've gotten a lot better at this farm work. Ma says you're even stronger than Haron now."
Kael'tar raised an eyebrow, his pride stinging. "Is that supposed to be a compliment? Comparing me to that mortal woodsman?"
"Well, he is the strongest in the village," Ryn said cheerfully. "Or he was, before you started helping out."
Kael'tar shook his head, a wry smirk tugging at his lips. "I'll take it as a compliment, then. Not that it's much of an achievement."
Ryn's laughter filled the air, a sound so foreign to Kael'tar that it almost made him pause.
When was the last time he'd heard someone laugh like that—a pure, unrestrained joy?
The moment didn't last long, as their mother's voice called out from the house. "Carseain! Ryn! Lunchtime!"
Kael'tar exhaled, setting down the hoe. "Finally," he muttered, brushing dirt off his hands.
As they walked back toward the house, Ryn skipped beside him, chattering about the latest village gossip.
Kael'tar tuned him out for the most part, his mind wandering back to the field. Despite his grumbling, there was a strange sense of accomplishment in seeing the once-neglected patch of earth slowly take shape under his care.
"Big brother, are you listening?" Ryn's voice broke through his thoughts.
Kael'tar blinked and glanced down at him. "What?"
"I asked if you wanted to go fishing with me tomorrow," Ryn said, looking up at him hopefully. "We haven't done anything fun in a while."
Kael'tar hesitated.
Fishing? What a mortal pastime. Yet, there was something in Ryn's eyes that made it hard to refuse.
"Fine," he said finally. "But don't expect me to enjoy it."
Ryn grinned. "You'll love it, big brother. I promise!"
Kael'tar sighed, shaking his head as they approached the house. "We'll see about that."
As they stepped inside, the smell of stew and freshly baked bread greeted them. Their mother stood by the stove, ladling portions into bowls.
"How's the field coming along?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder.
"It's coming," Kael'tar said vaguely, sitting down at the table.
"You've been working hard," she said, placing the bowls in front of them. "You should be proud of yourself."
Kael'tar scoffed lightly but didn't respond. Proud? Of tilling dirt and planting seeds?
The idea was laughable. And yet, a small part of him—a part he refused to acknowledge—felt something akin to satisfaction.
As they ate, the simple sounds of their small family filled the room.
Ryn's excited chatter, their mother's gentle laughter, and the clink of spoons against bowls.
For a fleeting moment, Kael'tar allowed himself to forget the weight of his past and the bitterness of his fall.
For now, the field would wait.