Morning light filtered through the small cracks of Reid’s window, painting soft golden lines across the floorboards. He hadn’t meant to sleep so deeply — the bed was too familiar, the air too warm, the memories too heavy — but exhaustion had claimed him the moment he touched the pillow.

  What woke him was a tiny hand smacking his cheek.

  Then another.

  And then a giggle.

  Reid blinked awake only to see two mismatched eyes staring directly into his face. Arttu had climbed halfway onto the bed, propped up on his elbows, drooling happily onto Reid’s shirt.

  “...Good morning to you too,” Reid whispered, his voice still rough with sleep.

  Arttu grinned — an uncoordinated, toothless smile that made Reid’s heart melt — and immediately grabbed Reid’s nose with both hands.

  “H-hey— gentle— gentle!” Reid laughed helplessly as the baby tugged, drooled, and giggled all at once.

  From the doorway came a familiar snort.

  “Looks like somebody figured out how to wake his brother,” Betty said, arms crossed, lips twitching. “He crawled down the hall like a little beetle just to get to you.”

  Reid sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. “He… crawled all the way here?”

  “Twice,” Betty replied. “First time he went into Roy’s room and headbutted him awake.”

  Arttu made another delighted squeak, now patting Reid’s cheeks with both hands as if sculpting clay.

  Reid pulled him gently into his arms.

  “Did you miss me that much?” he whispered.

  Arttu leaned forward and bumped his forehead onto Reid’s chin. A baby’s version of yes.

  Betty softened, stepping forward as if she couldn’t help herself.

  Reid carried Arttu outside after breakfast, wanting to let him feel the breeze. The tavern sat by a clearing, and morning dew still clung to the grass like glittering stars.

  Arttu stretched out his tiny hands for the sunlight, mesmerized.

  “You like it?” Reid asked.

  Arttu responded by smacking the air repeatedly, as if punching the sun.

  Reid laughed.

  “Yeah… I missed this too.”

  He set Arttu down gently on a large flat rock and picked up a small pebble from the ground.

  “Look,” Reid said, kneeling beside him. “I’ll teach you something. Watch closely.”

  He flicked the pebble lightly across the dirt. It bounced once and rolled to a stop.

  Arttu stared.

  Dead serious.

  Then he grabbed a pebble.

  Raised it.

  And threw it—

  directly behind himself.

  Reid’s eyes widened as the pebble bounced off his shoulder.

  “Oh— wow— that was, uh… backwards.”

  Arttu blinked up at him and clapped proudly.

  Reid cracked up, ruffling the boy’s dark brown hair.

  “No, that was… very good. Let’s try forward this time, alright?”

  He held Arttu’s hand and helped him angle the pebble. Together they flicked it forward. It skittered across the dirt like a bug.

  Arttu gasped — loudly — and flailed his arms again.

  “That’s right!” Reid grinned. “You did that!”

  The baby squealed, his whole body shaking from excitement.

  Reid couldn’t stop smiling.

  Maybe he had never been someone important. Never been someone special. But here — in this tiny moment — he felt like the whole world.

  After pebble training, they walked a little farther into the clearing. Arttu sat in Reid’s lap, looking up at the sky with awe so pure it momentarily stunned Reid.

  “What are you staring at?” Reid murmured.

  Arttu pointed — a wobbly, tiny finger reaching toward the clouds.

  Reid followed his gaze.

  Blue sky. White clouds rolling lazily above them.

  Reid lifted Arttu into his arms and pointed at the sky.

  “See that one? The cloud shaped like a sheep? That’s the wandering sheep of the sky.”

  See that one, my boy? The little sheep? It wanders because it’s looking for home.

  Arttu giggled, reaching toward it.

  “And that tall long one? That’s a sleeping giant. He only wakes up when it rains.”

  That giant there… he sleeps most days. But when the storms come, he rises.

  The two voices — one from the present, one from the past — overlapped in Reid’s mind like two notes played on the same string.

  “And that one…” Reid whispered, pointing at a drifting cloud with a round hole in its center, “that one is a bowl the gods use to pour blessings on the ground.”

  And that one… look carefully, son. The bowl with the hole in the middle. The gods pour luck from it.

  Arttu tried to reach for it, tiny fingers stretching with all the strength he had.

  “You can’t reach it, little brother,” Reid laughed softly. “But that’s okay. You’ll get taller one day.”

  You can’t reach it yet, Reid. But you will. One day.

  Arttu grunted in determination.

  Reid held him closer, the echo of his father’s warmth still lingering on his hands.

  “You’re going to grow strong,” he whispered. “Stronger than I’ll ever be. I just know it.”

  One day, you’ll surpass even me.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  And for a heartbeat, Reid wasn’t sure if he was speaking to Arttu…

  or if he was simply repeating the words once spoken to him.

  He pressed a gentle kiss to Arttu’s forehead.

  Arttu squeaked and snuggled against him.

  “Brother Reid!!”

  Fiona’s voice burst through the clearing like a fired arrow. Reid turned just in time to see her sprinting toward them, holding something behind her back.

  She skidded to a stop, nearly tripping over her own feet.

  “I made something!” she declared proudly.

  Reid raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What is it?”

  “Tadaa!”

  She presented… a wooden toy.

  A small hand-carved figure of a knight holding a miniature nunchaku. The carving was rough, uneven, but filled with care. Fiona puffed out her chest.

  “It’s YOU!” she declared. “Knight Reid! Defender of the Wandering Flame!”

  Reid stared at it, touched in a way he couldn’t quite put into words.

  “Fiona… this is incredible.”

  She beamed. “Really!?”

  “Yes. Really.”

  He ruffled her hair, and she giggled.

  Then Arttu reached for the wooden knight.

  “No! Arttu, no— don’t eat—!”

  Too late.

  Arttu shoved the knight into his mouth like it was a snack.

  “No—!” Fiona squeaked, grabbing it and wiping baby drool everywhere. “Arttu, that’s art!”

  The baby simply slapped his hands together, delighted.

  Reid nearly fell over laughing.

  Fiona pouted at Arttu. “One day you’re gonna owe me a new one.”

  Arttu responded with a hiccup.

  They played in the yard until noon — Arttu trying to crawl after butterflies, Reid chasing Arttu when he wandered too far, and Fiona showing off new toys she wanted to craft.

  Then Betty called them inside for lunch.

  Reid fed Arttu mashed carrots. The baby, of course, smeared half of it on Reid’s face. Betty brought a cloth and wiped both of them with exasperated affection.

  “You boys are a disaster,” she muttered, but her eyes were soft.

  Roy passed by carrying barrels.

  “Arttu’s louder than a rooster,” he grunted. “Good lungs on that one.”

  Reid only smiled as Arttu tugged on his hair again.

  It felt perfect.

  Too perfect.

  That evening, as the sun dipped low and the tavern glowed warm and gold, Arttu suddenly started crying.

  Not the usual soft whimpering.

  A full, trembling cry.

  Reid stood up instantly. “Hey— hey, what’s wrong?”

  Betty rushed over. “Maybe he’s hungry—?”

  “He just ate,” Roy said.

  “Maybe it’s gas,” Fiona suggested.

  “Maybe it’s—”

  But the moment Reid picked Arttu up—

  Silence.

  Immediate.

  The baby buried his face into Reid’s chest and stopped trembling.

  Everyone stared.

  Betty softened. “Look at that…”

  Roy folded his arms but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at his beard.

  “He only calms for you, boy. You’ve got something… special with him.”

  Reid swallowed.

  He held Arttu close, rocking him gently.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m right here.”

  Arttu breathed slowly, deeply, relaxing completely.

  Reid’s chest ached.

  He wasn’t sure why.

  Later that night, after everyone had gone to bed, Reid stepped outside for some fresh air.

  Arttu was already asleep upstairs, clutching Reid’s sleeve like a safety rope.

  Reid leaned against the wooden railing of the porch, staring into the quiet night.

  The tavern windows glowed softly behind him.

  The trees rustled.

  And then—

  A presence.

  He felt it.

  A faint chill.

  A silhouette at the edge of the forest.

  Too still.

  Too quiet.

  Watching.

  Reid narrowed his eyes.

  “…Who’s there?”

  No answer.

  The figure shifted once. Barely. Then disappeared into the darkness without a sound.

  Reid stood frozen.

  A knot twisted in his stomach.

  But the tavern door creaked open behind him, and Betty’s warm voice broke the tension.

  “Reid? You coming inside?”

  He turned.

  “Yeah… I’m coming.”

  He cast one last glance toward the trees.

  Nothing.

  He shoved the unease down, It must have been the wind

  Later that night, Reid sat on the edge of the bed with Arttu fast asleep in his arms. The baby’s hair brushed Reid’s wrist. His tiny fingers still clutched Reid’s sleeve.

  Reid looked down at him.

  At this little boy who had no one else in the world.

  Just him.

  Just his big brother.

  Reid leaned close and whispered into the quiet room:

  “I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

  He pressed a soft kiss to Arttu’s forehead, then lay back on the bed, the baby sleeping peacefully on his chest.

  As the tavern’s warm lanternlight flickered behind the door—

  Reid closed his eyes.

  And for a moment…

  everything felt right.

  The next three days passed like this—warm, peaceful, and full of small moments that felt brighter than sunlight.

  Reid fell into a rhythm he didn’t know he had missed:

  Arttu waking him by pulling his hair…

  Betty chasing Fiona around the kitchen…

  Roy muttering about barrels and taxes…

  And Brog and Drool bursting through the door at least once a day just to “check on the lad.”

  It was chaotic.

  It was loud.

  And it was perfect.

  On the second morning, as Reid sat on the porch sharpening Genusrosa’s hinges, he felt small fingers poking his back.

  “Brother Reid,” Fiona whispered, “sit still.”

  “Why—? Fiona, what are you doing—?”

  “Shh! This requires artistic precision!”

  Reid sighed and stayed still.

  Behind him, Fiona hummed a determined tune. Her small fingers moved through his hair—untangling it with surprising care, then twisting, looping, braiding.

  Arttu crawled around Reid’s legs, occasionally tugging at the ends of his cloak or trying to chew the weapon case at Reid’s hip.

  After a few minutes, Fiona stepped back with a proud gasp.

  “Done!”

  Reid touched the back of his head carefully. “…What did you do?”

  “I braided your hair like the heroes in the storybooks!” Fiona declared. “Look—look!”

  She held up a small metal plate like a mirror.

  Reid stared.

  His hair—normally messy, falling everywhere—was now neatly braided down the side, tied at the end with a tiny string Fiona must’ve stolen from Betty’s sewing basket.

  He looked…

  well…

  He looked like someone important.

  Fiona’s bright smile softened a little.

  “I always wanted to braid your hair before you left last time,” she said. “But… you left so suddenly.”

  Reid swallowed, chest tightening.

  “…Thank you, Fiona. Really.”

  Her grin came back instantly.

  Then Arttu crawled over, pulled the braid, and squealed.

  “ARTTU—!! Be gentle!!”

  Fiona burst into laughter and nearly fell off the porch.

  Later that afternoon, Roy found Reid behind the tavern, chopping wood.

  “You’re hitting it wrong,” Roy muttered.

  “I’m… hitting it?” Reid said.

  “Exactly. Wrong.”

  Roy pushed past him and grabbed the axe, splitting the last log with a single clean motion.

  Reid blinked. “You could’ve told me before I fought seven pieces of wood.”

  Roy grunted. “Builds character.”

  He wiped the sweat from his forehead, then reached to his belt.

  “Here.”

  He held out a small leather sheath.

  Inside it was a short knife — simple, sturdy, perfectly balanced.

  Reid blinked. “Roy… I can’t take this.”

  “Yes, you can,” Roy said firmly. “And you will.”

  He placed it into Reid’s hands.

  “I carried this when I was younger. It’s nothing special. But I figured… you should have something from home with you.”

  Reid stared at the blade, then at Roy.

  “…Thank you.”

  Roy shrugged, looking away quickly. “It’s practical, nothing more.”

  But Reid could see the warmth in his eyes.

  The pride.

  The love.

  And he tucked the knife carefully into his belt.

  On the third evening, after dinner, Arttu refused to sleep unless Reid carried him. So Reid paced the tavern slowly, humming, bouncing him gently.

  Arttu’s mismatched eyes blinked sleepily… then closed as he curled against Reid’s shoulder.

  Betty watched from the doorway, drying her hands on a cloth.

  “You’re good with him,” she said softly.

  Reid kept walking, kept rocking.

  “He’s my brother,” he whispered.

  “Yes,” Betty murmured. “And you love him.”

  She leaned on the doorframe, watching them.

  “You should know… you don’t just look after him. He looks for you. Small as he is, he knows you. He depends on you.”

  Reid felt something twist in his heart.

  A mix of pride.

  Fear.

  And something he didn’t want to name.

  Betty continued, voice gentle:

  “You two… only have each other, you know. You’re his world.”

  Reid swallowed hard.

  “I know.”

  She smiled sadly.

  “Good.”

  She walked back to the kitchen, leaving Reid in the quiet glow of the lanterns.

  Arttu’s breathing slowed.

  His little fingers tightened slightly on Reid’s shirt.

  Reid kissed the top of his brother’s head.

  And whispered:

  “I’ll keep you safe. Always.”

  Fiona fell asleep beside Arttu the next afternoon during naptime, curled like a cat at his side. Reid carried them both to their beds — Fiona stubbornly insisting she wasn’t tired even as she snored.

  Betty made Reid pancakes the next morning because “heroes need breakfast.”

  Drool nearly lost a tooth wrestling with Brog in the mud behind the tavern, and Reid had to separate them while Betty screamed that she would hose them both down like pigs.

  Roy sat with Reid late one night, teaching him how to tell when someone was lying by their eyes.

  Miriam, the caretaker, shyly braided a lavender thread into Arttu’s blanket.

  And every night…

  Reid fell asleep with Arttu tucked safely against him.

  On the fourth morning, sunlight spilled into the tavern like warm honey.

  Reid opened his eyes with Arttu sleeping on his chest again, tiny breaths tickling Reid’s collarbone.

  He lifted the baby gently, cradling him close.

  Outside, Morty’s whistle carried through the air.

  Roy’s voice came from downstairs — steady, deep.

  “Reid… it’s time.”

  Reid held Arttu a little tighter.

  Fiona opened his door without knocking, eyes already glossy.

  “Brother Reid… can I braid your hair one last time before you go?”

  Arttu stirred.

  Reid swallowed.

  “…Yeah. Please.”

  Fiona climbed onto the bed, weaving his hair with trembling hands.

  Roy waited downstairs with the knife’s sheath freshly oiled.

  Betty was at the door, a wrapped bundle of food against her chest, trying not to cry.

  Miriam stood by the stairs holding Arttu’s blanket, wringing the ends nervously.

  And Reid…

  Reid looked out the window at the morning light.

  This home…

  These people…

  This warmth…

  He wanted to take all of it with him.

  Not in bags.

  Not in the food Betty prepared.

  But in his heart.

  He lifted Arttu once more, pressing their foreheads together.

  “I’ll visit,” he whispered. “I promise.”

  Arttu reached up and touched Reid’s cheek.

  A soft goodbye.

  Reid’s throat tightened.

  He hugged him one last time.