Bron Magnus And The Kingdom Of Lilia Chapter 2

Three fish.

Three fish in three hours. A fish for each hour. Honestly, that was more than Bron had dared to hope for. Despite his bold words at breakfast, a small part of him had expected to return home empty-handed again. But here they were—three glistening fish, their scales flashing in the midday light. Proof that the plan was working.

And more importantly, Kaleb was smiling. A small, lopsided grin tugged at his brother's face as he pulled the third fish from the basket, its tail flicking weakly. For the first time in weeks, the worry lines on his brow softened.

"They're small," Kaleb said, turning the fish over in his hands. It barely stretched the length of Bron's palm.

"Small fish still fill empty bellies," Bron said, clapping his brother on the shoulder. "And we'll catch more." He had to believe that. If not for himself, then for Kaleb.

They worked in silence for a while, the steady babble of the river and the occasional chirp of birds the only sounds. Bron reset the basket while Kaleb added more stones to the weir, strengthening the barrier. The water swirled around their ankles, icy despite the sun. His fingers ached from tying knots and hauling wet rocks, but the ache was a good thing—it meant they were doing something. Achieving something.

When they moved upstream to fish with their poles, Kaleb's excitement grew. He leaned over the water, scanning for flashes of silver beneath the surface. Bron let him take the first cast, watching as the younger boy's tongue peeked out in concentration.

"Do you think Father will be proud?" Kaleb asked quietly, his voice barely rising above the sound of the gently flowing river.

"If we catch a few more, he won't just be proud—he'll be speechless," Bron replied, a teasing grin tugging at his lips. "You know how much he loves fish. When he comes home from a long day of goblin hunting and sees a full pot of fish stew, he'll probably think the gods themselves have blessed us."

Kaleb smiled faintly at that thought, his earlier worries easing. For a moment, they weren't two boys struggling to feed their family—they were just sons, hoping to make their father proud.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, their efforts bore fruit. By midday, they had six fish in total, each one barely the size of Bron's hand but precious all the same. Normally, Bron would have called it a day and returned home triumphant, but not today. Today, he wanted more. Enough to fill the pot and enough to salt and store for leaner days.

He adjusted his grip on the fishing pole, scanning the water's surface. Was that a flash of silver beneath the current, or just a trick of the sunlight?

"Kaleb, go check on the basket, please," he said, his eyes never leaving the river.

Kaleb hesitated, shifting from foot to foot. "By myself?" His voice held the barest tremor.

He was still scared. Even with the sun shining and his eldest brother by him, Kalenb was still scared.

Bron softened his tone. "We're not far. If anything happens, just shout, and I'll be there."

He understood his brother's unease. Goblins hadn't been spotted near the river for months, but the fear of them never truly left. Still, Bron wanted Kaleb to feel capable, to believe he could handle small tasks on his own. If their family was going to survive this harsh life, Kaleb needed to be strong.

"...Okay," Kaleb said softly, and with a final glance back, he trudged toward the basket downstream.

Bron watched his brother go, pride warming his chest. Kaleb was braver than he realized. At his age, Bron would have balked at going alone. He still remembered his first goblin sighting—the way his stomach had twisted, the cold sweat on the back ofhis neck. It wasn't just their twisted faces that disturbed him. It was how cunning they were. Goblins weren't like wild animals.

They spoke. They schemed. And worse, they delighted in causing pain.

But then again, what else could be expected from creatures born of magic?

It was an old story, told by firelight when the nights grew long.

Long ago, Orcadia, the kingdom they belonged to, had waged war against the mighty kingdom of Kansura. Desperate for victory, the Orcadian Prince, in his arrogance, had opened a rift to another world and called forth an army of monsters. He thought he could control them.

He was wrong.

The creatures' bloodlust was unquenchable. Orcs, goblins, dragons, werewolves, demons, shapeshifters—they poured through the breach and turned on their summoners. What was meant to be a weapon had become a curse. Orcadia had never recovered, reduced to a shadow of its former power, now the smallest of the four main kingdoms

Magic, Bron thought, adjusting his pole again. What kind of force could rip open reality and call forth nightmares? What kind of mind could wield such power and think they were in control?

His musings were cut short by a sound that chilled his blood.

"BRON!"

The panic in Kaleb's voice pierced the air like an arrow. Pure, raw fear. Bron's heart slammed against his ribs as he dropped the pole and bolted downstream.

A thousand terrible possibilities raced through his mind. Had he slipped into the river and fallen? Was he cornered by a bear, or worse—a goblin?

He found his brother in less than a minute, though it felt like an eternity.

Kaleb lay on the ground, his face pale, chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid breaths. His wide, frightened eyes were locked on the figure looming over him.

A man draped in a black hooded cloak. Silver embroidery curled across the back in twisting, unfamiliar patterns, ending in a strange symbol Bron had never seen before.

A dragon circling a rose.

"Get away from him!" Bron bellowed, raising his fishing rod like a weapon.

The man stepped back immediately, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. As he moved, the hood slipped from his head, revealing a sharp-featured face framed by unruly red hair. His piercing blue eyes glinted with curiosity, and a thin beard traced the line of his jaw.

Bron's heart pounded harder. The stranger wasn't much older than him—five years, maybe six. Who was this man? Greywick was a day's journey from the nearest town. Travelers rarely passed through, let alone ones dressed like this.

"Whoa, whoa, let's relax," the man said, taking another step back. His voice was smooth, easy. "I didn't mean to scare the kid. I saw the basket had some fish, and, well…" He flashed a sheepish smile. "I was hungry. Thought I'd snag one and be on my way, but I guess I spooked him. No need to skewer me with—"

His eyes narrowed slightly, stepping closer to get a better look at the object in Bron's hands.

"…Is that a fishing rod?"

Bron felt the tips of his ears burn with embarrassment, but he didn't lower the rod. If anything, he gripped it tighter.

"Kaleb, come here," he said, keeping his voice steady.

His brother didn't hesitate. Scrambling to his feet, Kaleb darted to Bron's side, his small hands clutching the hem of Bron's tunic in a white-knuckled grip. He was still trembling.

"You okay?" Bron whispered, not taking his eyes off the stranger.

"I just… didn't see him," Kaleb murmured. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine."

Bron lifted his chin and faced the man, his voice harder now. "Who are you? Why are you here?"

The man relaxed his stance but kept his hands where Bron could see them. "My name's Corrin," he said easily. "I'm an… emissary from the kingdom of Lilia. I'm looking for someone."

Bron frowned. The tip of his fishing rod lowered—just a little. "Lilia? I've never heard of that kingdom."

Corrin chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Not surprising. We're new—only been around for about ten years."

A new kingdom? That didn't make any sense. Orcadia, Kansura, Solarus, and Caldur—those were the four great kingdoms. Their histories stretched back over a thousand years.

No one had ever spoken of a fifth kingdom.

How did one even start a kingdom with four giants around you?

"You're lying," Bron said, though his words were uncertain. "There's no such place."

Corrin smiled faintly, as if he'd expected the skepticism. "Believe me or don't—it's the truth. Lilia's real, and I'm here because I need to find someone."

"Who?"

The man-Corrin-winced. "That's a bit harder to explain. I don't actually know their name, or what they look like. I just received a tool from my king to help me find them, and it led me here. I didn't expect there to be a village nearby, now with how many goblins I passed."

Bron blinked, his grip loosening slightly as he processed the words, and the utter ridiculousness of them.

What kind of king sends an emissary without even knowing who or what he was searching for? It sounded insane, like something from a tale spun by a fool. Passing goblins, bandits, and whatever else lurked in the wilderness to chase after shadows—it didn't make sense.

He's lying.

Bron was sure of it. But…why would he lie? His robes were far too clean to be a bandit's. He looked too well-fed to be a peasant. He was obviously of nobility of some kind, a person with a high place in his kingdom. Bron tentatively decided he wasn't dangerous, but still kept the fishing rod up.

Corrin seemed to sense the shift in Bron's mood and quickly added, almost sheepishly, "Look, I'm not asking for much. But if you could spare a fish, I haven't eaten since last night. My food ran out, and I'm… a bit hungry."

Bron had opened his mouth to sarcastically ask the man to look in the basket and see if they had any to spare, when his gaze shifted. That's when he noticed the basket on the ground next to Corrin and more precisely, what was in it.

Fish.

Giant fish.

Fish the size of his father's forearm, fat and plump, their scales shimmering in the afternoon light. Six or seven of them—so large that they spilled out of the basket, their bellies heavy and glistening. Fish that hadn't been seen in the river for years.

He thought they were long gone

No, he knew they were gone.

His heart skipped a beat. His mouth went dry, and a flood of saliva rushed to his tongue. Even though Bron had never been fond of fish—especially in the quantities he usually caught, but this much? It was too tempting. Too much to resist.

For a moment, Bron forgot about the man's strange story. He forgot about the strange new kingdom Lilia, the mystery of Corrin himself, the goblins that his father was dealing with. The only thing that mattered was the basket at his feet, brimming with food, food that had vanished long ago from the river that ran past his home.

Kaleb, too, seemed to lose himself in the moment. His eyes widened so much that they looked ready to pop from their sockets, and with a joyful whoop, he sprang forward, eager to claim the prize. It was only Bron's quick reflexes, his hand snapping out to grab the collar of Kaleb's tunic, that stopped him from darting toward the basket.

Bron's gaze was locked on the fish. He gestured toward them, still trying to wrap his mind around the sight. "Where did those fish come from?" he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and suspicion.

Corrin shrugged nonchalantly, but there was a smirk on his lips as he answered. "They were in your basket. I don't know what you want me to say. I didn't catch them."

Bron's frown deepened. "That's not possible. I haven't seen fish like that in years." He stepped closer, his eyes studying the thick, glistening scales.

These weren't just any fish—they were bigger than anything he'd ever seen, their bodies sleek and shiny, far too large for the waters around here.

It felt wrong. All of this felt wrong.

Corrin's grin was wide as if the whole situation amused him. "Maybe you got just lucky. You shouldn't turn your nose up at blessings."

Kaleb whined impatiently, his excitement barely contained. He tried to wriggle free from Bron's grip, tugging at the sleeve of his tunic. "Bron, what are you doing? Let's get the fish before the ants do!" His voice was a mix of hunger and childlike impatience, and the words seemed to break the tension for a moment.

For one mad moment, Bron actually considered just leaving the fish on the floor and walking away, no matter how hungry he and CKaleb were. Everything about this just felt off. A mysterious stranger, dressed in even stranger garb, just happened across the two of them whilst they were alone? And just as they met that stranger, huge amounts of giant fish, fish that were way too big to have come from the filthy river appeared. Bron was missing something here, an important piece of the puzzle, and he didn't like it.

Reluctantly, Bron walked forward, his eyes never leaving Corrin or the basket. He reached down, lifting it with both hands, wanting to just grab the fish and dart back, out of arm's reach. To his surprise, it took more effort than he anticipated. The fish were heavy, almost ridiculously so, their weight causing his arms to burn with strain.

Yeah, these fish were not from the river. What would they even have eaten to get this big? The other palm-sized fish?

Bron stood up, still holding the basket, his gaze flicking from Corrin to the fish in his arms.

He had no intention of letting this go. "Follow us," he said, surprising both Kaleb and Corrin with the firmness in his voice. "Our mother will cook it for you, and you can ask our father to help you find the person you're looking for. He knows everyone in the village"

Kaleb's eyes lit up with the prospect of a warm meal, his previous worries forgotten in the face of food. He nodded eagerly, practically bouncing on his heels.

And Father can meet this strange man for himself.

Whatever secrets this man was hiding, his father would surely sniff them out.

_________________________________________________________________

On second thought, maybe Corrin had nothing to hide, because for the next thirty minutes, the man just would not shut up. And Kaleb, with his endless stream of questions, was only encouraging him.

"What's Lilia like?"

"Lilia?" Corrin grinned, stretching his arms behind his head. "It's a small kingdom, but a beautiful one. Fertile fields as far as the eye can see, rivers so clear you can see the fish swimming beneath, and a capital city with marble towers that shine like silver when the sun hits them. Our king is a visionary who comes up with new ideas to help the people of Lilia every day."

"Who's your king?" Kaleb asked eagerly.

Corrin straightened up, puffing his chest out with pride. "Our leader is King Oberon, one of the wisest and kindest men I have ever met. He is dedicated to helping the people of Lilia grow and prosper. He doesn't just sit on his throne issuing decrees like the other monarchs—he walks among the people, listens to their troubles, and finds ways to make their lives better. There's not a soul in Lilia who doesn't love him."

Yeah, right. That's what everyone said about their rulers. Bron had learned a long time ago that people loved to deify kings, to put them on pedestals and pretend they had no flaws.

He used to be one of them.

When he was younger, he had thought King Abraxas of Orcadia was amazing. The stories of his bravery and cunning filled the air on long winter nights: how he had won wars against Kansura and Solarus with clever tactics; how he had tamed the monsters that roamed the wilds of Orcadia and turned them into an unstoppable army, saving human lives in the process. As a child, Bron had imagined the king as a shining figure clad in golden armor, watching over Orcadia like a guardian.

Until the day his father had gone to beg for help.

Greywick had been suffering under goblin raids for years, and when the attacks grew worse, the village elders had sent his father and a few other men to petition the king directly.

Everyone had been so sure that King Abraxas would help. Why wouldn't he? Greywick was part of his kingdom, and the king had a whole army of monsters at his command. A few days' march would have crushed the goblins and saved them all.

Except his father's group had returned with nothing but devastated looks in their eyes.

King Abraxas, their great and mighty king, had refused.

Greywick paid no taxes.

Greywick offered no soldiers.

As far as he was concerned, Greywick did not exist.

"Why should I waste my resources saving a village that gives me nothing?" he had told them. "If the goblins are such a threat, then perhaps it is the will of the gods that your village fades into history."

Bron would never forget the way his father's face had changed after that. The spark in his eyes had dulled, his shoulders never again standing quite so straight. The hope he had once held—that their king would care for them—was gone, crushed beneath the weight of royal indifference.

So whenever someone like Corrin sang the praises of their beloved king, Bron only rolled his eyes. Behind all the pretty words and fine silks, kings were all the same. Greedy. Cold. Caring only for what you could give them.

Bron glanced over at his brother, who was still hanging on Corrin's every word. For a fleeting moment, he envied Kaleb's innocence—the belief that there were good rulers out there, people who genuinely cared.

He used to believe that too.

"Your king sounds cool, but not as cool as King Abraxas," Kaleb said, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. "King Abraxas kills orcs and ogres and trolls with his bare hands! He'll fight any monster, big or small, and then he forces them to join the Royal Army so they can protect the kingdom instead of attacking it."

He cocked his head to the side, curiosity bright in his eyes. "Did you get to meet King Abraxas before you came here?"

For the first time since he'd started talking, Corrin hesitated. The wide, easy grin on his face stiffened just a little before he let out a loud, too-loud laugh.

"Oh—King Aldric? Um, not quite," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "You see, this mission was such an emergency that I sort of…passed the royal palace on my way here. My king wanted me to find the person we're looking for very quickly, so there wasn't exactly time to inform King Abraxas. Priorities, you know?"

Bron stopped in his tracks, narrowing his eyes. "So, the ruler of these lands doesn't know you're here?" His voice came out slow and careful.

Corrin's smile dimmed further, shifting to something more sheepish. "Well…when you put it that way, it sounds bad. But really, what's the harm? Greywick's right on the edge of his kingdom—it's not like I'm wandering through his throne room unannounced. If everything goes well, I'll be in and out in a few days. No need to bother him." He shrugged, as if the matter were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Ah.

Something clicked in Bron's mind.

Corrin was a spy.

It all made sense now. A new kingdom like Lilia wouldn't know much about its neighbors, so they must've sent Corrin to snoop around and report back. No wonder he gave off that strange, restless air—he wasn't supposed to be here. All his talk about finding some nameless, faceless person? Just a convenient cover for his real mission.

The pieces clicked together the longer Bron thought about it. Corrin's questions—too many, too specific—weren't just idle curiosity. And that weird business with the giant fish? Oh, Corrin was definitely behind that.

Somehow.

He wasn't sure how or exactly why yet, but if he had to guess, it was all part of his elaborate spying scheme.

Yeah, yeah, get the trust of two young local boys, and have them tell you everything about their village as they ate. Corrin had been surprised to see a village here, so far from the main kingdom: his information must not have told him about Greywick. He must have wandered here, thinking he was going to cross the border, when he realized there were people living here.

His mind raced ahead. If Corrin was a spy, that meant he'd be gone soon—like he said, Greywick was on the kingdom's fringes. All he had to do was poke around, pretend to search for someone, and then slip back across the border. King Abraxas wouldn't be any wiser.

A true, patriotic citizen of Orcadia would probably try to send a message to the capital. If someone from another kingdom was sneaking around, the king should know, right?

But Bron knew better.

Why bother? Even if word somehow reached Aldric's ears, why would he care about Greywick now? He'd already made it painfully clear that their village was beneath his notice. What was one more stranger poking around?

Besides, Bron thought as a wicked smile curled his lips, what harm could it do to tell Corrin everything he knew about Orcadia? Not that there was much to share—Greywick wasn't exactly a bustling hub of secrets—but if it made Abraxas' life harder in any way, shape or form?

That would be worth it.

And, if he was being honest with himself, it was kind of exciting—having a spy in their midst.

For once, life in Greywick wasn't boring!

____________________________________________________________________

You would have thought Kaleb and Bron were noblemen returning from a victorious campaign, draped in silks and gold, the way the village stopped and stared as they strode into Greywick.

Or perhaps treasure hunters, carrying riches from the royal vault itself, the way people's eyes widened at the impossible sight before them.

Fish.

Not the meager, finger-sized catches that sometimes appeared in the river—these were monstrous, each one longer than a man's arm, thick and gleaming in the dying light of the evening.

Isolde, the old widow who rarely left her doorstep, gasped aloud, clutching the front of her tattered shawl as Kaleb, brimming with delight, gave her a cheeky wave, a fish half the size of his torso dangling from each hand.

Old Harlan, who had never once been seen standing up straight, straightened his back for the first time in years, peering over the heads of others to get a better look.

And Elric, the young hunter who had spent the day clearing out goblins with his father, actually dropped his sword, the dull clatter swallowed by the murmurs rising around them.

Bron had never felt pride over something as simple as fish before. But now, walking through the village with everyone watching, a stupid grin crept onto his face despite himself.

Kaleb, for his part, was practically preening, his chest puffed out as if he'd slain a orc instead of caught a few fish.

Though, to be fair, considering the state of the river, this was nearly as miraculous as slaying a beast of legend.

But not all the attention was on them.

The whispers followed Corrin, the stranger in finely stitched robes with the silver-and-black emblem on his back—a rose entwined with a serpent—a sigil no one in Greywick recognized.

"Do you see the size of those fish?"


"Bigger than my leg, they are."


"Where'd they even find them? Not in that filthy river, surely."


"Who's the man with them?"


"You see his clothes? A noble, for sure. But why is he here in Greywick?"


"Where did he even come from? No carriage, no horse I can see… And what is that symbol on his back? That's not Orcadia's crest."

Corrin, however, ignored these murmurs: he was happy enough to take in every inch of Greywick, giving little waves to the people that stoped and gawked at his robes.

The crowd grew behind them, trailing them like a flock of hungry crows as they approached their home.

Magnus, standing outside the house, was in deep conversation with their mother, Maeve curled in his arms. The moment he looked up and saw the parade of villagers trailing after his sons, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"Boys?" His deep voice carried easily over the murmurs. "What's the matter?"

Then, he saw the fish.

His eyes widened, his grip on Maeve instinctively tightening before he carefully set her down, and she scampered over to their mother, who was staring just as dumbfounded as the rest.

Magnus took a step forward, reaching out to one of the massive fish in Kaleb's hands, testing its weight as if to make sure it wasn't some trick or illusion.

His voice was barely above a whisper.

"By the Goddesses… Look at this." His hands ran over the fish's thick scales in awe. "I haven't seen fish like this in…well, not in years, I'd say."

His gaze lifted to Bron and Kaleb, eyes filled with disbelief.

"Where did you two get these?"

"The river!" Kaleb said excitedly, then quickly pointed at Corrin. "But he found them first!"

For the first time, Magnus seemed to register the stranger in their midst.

His expression flickered, just for a brief second, from suspicion to a well-practiced smile.

Bron knew that look. His father might be the strongest man in the village, but he wasn't stupid. A man like Corrin, wearing fine robes, carrying no weapons, yet moving with the confidence that he had, was not normal.

Still, Magnus extended a hand. "Hello," he said warmly. "Magnus Farkin. You are?"

Corrin clasped it with both hands, grinning easily, completely unfazed by the goblin blood still dried on Magnus' sleeves.

"Corrin. No last name." He glanced between them all. "It's an honor to meet you. You've raised some remarkable boys, Magnus. Wonderful fishermen, they are."

Bron had to admit, it was a funny sight—Corrin, shorter than Magnus, dressed in fine robes, his hands smooth and clean, standing before their father, who was towering, broad-shouldered, still covered in the grime of goblin hunting, gripping a giant fish in his free hand.

Magnus let out a chuckle, his grip firm but not crushing as he shook Corrin's hand once more. "Welcome to Greywick, then. We don't get many visitors, but you're welcome here. Would you like to join us for dinner? I daresay we have more than enough."

Corrin's grin widened. "I'd love to."

Then, Magnus paused, his gaze shifting from the stranger to the gathering villagers, all of whom were watching hungrily, eyes fixed on the impossibly large fish in their hands.

And in that moment, Bron knew what his father was about to do.

He knew, and for the first time in his life, he hated him for it.

Magnus turned to the crowd, raising his voice so all could hear.

"My friends!" he called out. "Tonight, we feast! My sons have brought home a bounty unlike any we've seen in years. Let us eat together as kin, as neighbors, as family!"

A cheer erupted from the villagers, their hunger momentarily replaced with joy, voices rising in relief and celebration.

Everyone cheered.

Even Kaleb.

Even Maeve.

Everyone—except Bron.

____________________________________________________________________
He moved stiffly, mechanically, his mind simmering in anger as he helped his mother and old Isolde gut and clean the fish, cutting chunk after chunk and handing them off to waiting hands.

With every piece he gave away, the fire in his chest only grew hotter.

Because this wasn't just a meal.

This was his work.

This was his plan, his effort, his risk.

He had been the one to go back to that godsforsaken river day after day, despite knowing there were barely any fish left.

He had been the one to set the weirs, to tell Kaleb where to place the basket, to make sure their plan worked.

He had fought against every miserable, hungry night with the belief that if he just tried hard enough, things would change.

And for one brief moment, they had.

For one brief moment, it felt like his family would eat well, like his father—who had never gone a night without giving up his portion for them—would finally get to eat his fill.

But no.

Magnus was giving it all away.

And no one—not Kaleb, not their mother, not even Magnus—seemed to understand what they had just lost.

Bron clenched his teeth so hard it hurt, his hands gripping the knife tighter than necessary as he continued cutting.

The fish was theirs.

And now, it belonged to everyone else.

You would have thought it was a festival, the way people gathered and celebrated, voices high with laughter, hands clapping each other on the back, joy sparking in eyes that had been dull with hunger just that morning.

Two massive iron pots, usually kept in Old Lady Isolde's house, had been dragged out and set over roaring fires, the bubbling water inside steadily turning into stew as ingredients were thrown in one by one.

Mushrooms, nettles, and tiny wild onions—whatever scraps could be gathered.

A handful of pitiful carrots, shriveled and thin, but still usable.

A single radish, carefully placed in by Wulfric, who had apparently been saving it for a special occasion.

The fish—their fish—was butchered, cut into chunks, and divided between both pots. The heads, bones, and intestines were boiled separately to make a rich broth, with a pinch of salt—just enough to bring out the flavor.

Bron's stomach growled, but the fire in his chest only burned hotter.

Even worse, his father had poured some of their own barley and oats into the pots, thickening the stew even further. That was their food too.

And the villagers—the same ones who had done nothing for them when they were hungry—were singing. Laughing. Dancing.

Bron had never seen so many grown men and women act like children.

It should have made him happy.

It didn't.

Not one bit.

The last piece of fish dropped into the pot. That was it.

Everything was gone.

Bron couldn't stand it anymore.

He wiped his hands on his tunic, muttered something about needing air, and walked away before he said or did something that would shame his father.

___________________________________________________________________
By the time Bron stopped walking, he was near the outskirts of Greywick, just a few feet from the path that led to the river.

He wanted to scream.

To punch something.

To cry.

But he was fifteen now. A man.

And men didn't complain when things didn't go their way.

Men didn't throw tantrums when they were angry and tired and starving.

Still…

That didn't mean he had to be happy about it.

"Bron?"

He stiffened at the voice behind him.

Turning, he saw something unexpected—his mother, Maria, standing a few feet away, watching him with quiet concern.

"Is everything okay?" she asked gently.

"I'm fine," he lied, voice stiff and clipped.

She sighed. "Don't lie to me, Bron. I know my son."

She walked closer, her soft hands folded in front of her. "Why aren't you happy? You did a great thing today. Your father is so proud—"

"If he's so proud, why'd he give all our food away?" Bron snapped, his voice rising before he could stop it.

Regret hit him instantly.

His mother looked taken aback, blinking in surprise.

"Bron…"

But now that he'd started, he couldn't stop.

"Every night, we go hungry! Every single night, it's mushroom and nettle soup. That's all we eat, and we work harder than anyone!

"Father always tells me that as men, we have to give everything we do our strength, our effort—but what's the point? Barely anyone else in this village even tries! They just accept it, like it's normal!"

His hands curled into fists.

"I fish in the river every day. I help around the village. I do everything I can. But no one does the same for us. It's always Father leading the way, like the rest of them can't think for themselves!"

He let out a shaky breath, looking toward the village, where laughter still rang through the air.

"And for once, just once, all of our hard work finally paid off. We could've had food to store. Do you even remember the last time we had extra food, Mother? I don't!"

His voice broke slightly at the end, and it shamed him.

Maria's face softened as she reached up, cupping his cheek with her cool hand.

"Oh, my sweet boy," she whispered. "You've grown so much… but in moments like this, I remember just how much you still have to learn."

His face burned, both with frustration and embarrassment.

But he didn't pull away.

Instead, he leaned into her touch, because no matter how angry he was, he had always found comfort in his mother's hands.

She sighed, her thumb stroking his cheekbone before pulling away.

"Bron, your father… even though no one actually says it, he's the village chief."

She glanced back toward Greywick, where his father stood, laughing with the other men.

"No one here moves without his permission. The others rely on him to make decisions, to keep them safe. They look up to him."

She smiled softly, eyes distant with memory.

"When we first came here, your father had a plan. He wanted to make something of himself. He wanted Greywick to be just a stop before we moved onto greater things. But every time we were ready to leave, something happened. A plague. A goblin attack. A drought."

She exhaled.

"Through it all, your father helped. He led. He stayed."

Bron stayed silent, listening.

"And when you were born, the whole village came together to help us. I was sick after your birth—so sick I couldn't even take care of you. Isolde bathed you. Gwendolyn fed you. Wulfric helped your father build our first home."

She turned back to him, eyes filled with gentle understanding.

"These people are our family, Bron. We don't survive alone. They helped us when they didn't have to. The least we can do is share what we have with them."

Bron swallowed, his anger faltering.

He didn't like it. He didn't want to accept it.

But he understood it.

"…But this doesn't fix anything," he muttered. "We'll still go to bed hungry, just… a little less than usual."

His mother smiled.

"But now, people have hope," she said.

"Those fish weren't just food. They were proof that we can keep going. That we can survive this. That no matter what happens, we will always have each other."

Bron exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck.

"…I think I get it."

Maria chuckled, then, with surprising strength, she pulled him into a hug.

"Good. Now, come back with me, my silly little man."

She pulled away, grinning.

"Your brother is currently telling everyone how you, Corrin, and he had to fight off an entire pack of goblins for those fish. I am very curious to hear how you killed seven of them with only your fishing pole."