The morning had started like any other in the Kuroz household. Matt had been preparing for his day, gathering tools for his work at the neighboring farm. The early sun streamed through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow over the simple wooden table where they shared their meals. From his position near the door, he watched as his son Zoh headed toward the door with unusual purpose in his young stride.
"Dear! Where's Zoh going?" Matt called to his wife, eyebrows raised in curiosity. He leaned against the doorframe, his muscular arms crossed over his broad chest. Though he now lived as a village smith and farmer, his bearing still held traces of his military past—the straight posture, the watchful eyes that missed nothing.
He's been so restless lately, Matt thought, watching his son. Growing up fast, wanting to explore the world beyond our little home.
Nina smiled from where she stood kneading dough in the kitchen, flour dusting her forearms and a smudge of it adorning her nose. The morning light caught in her auburn hair, making it glow like burnished copper.
"I gave him permission to go out and make friends," she replied, her voice carrying the melodic quality that had first captivated Matt years ago. She punched down the dough with practiced hands. "He needs children his own age to play with, not just sword training with his father."
"Friends, eh?" Matt chuckled, watching Zoh's small figure disappear down the village path. "Our little warrior is becoming sociable now?"
Good for him, Matt thought with fatherly pride. A boy needs more than just his parents' company. The village children are good kids—they'll welcome him if he gives them a chance.
Matt approached his wife from behind, wiping his hands on a cloth before wrapping his strong arms around her waist and pulling her close. He breathed in her familiar scent—a mixture of fresh bread, herbs, and something uniquely Nina that had comforted him through countless dark nights.
With a playful growl in her ear, he said, "Ah, okay. So I can eat you now, because we're just the two of us at home." His hands tightened affectionately around her waist, drawing her even closer against him.
Nina blushed furiously, flour dusting her cheeks as she half-heartedly pushed at his chest. "Dear! Stop it!" she protested, though her eyes danced with pleasure at his attention. "What if Zoh comes back and sees us?"
Matt pressed a kiss to the sensitive spot just below her ear, delighting in the slight shiver that ran through her body. "He's grown up now," he replied with a mischievous grin that took years off his weathered face, "and he'll learn about this when he's older. Here we go!"
With a swift movement that spoke of years of martial training, Matt swept Nina up into his arms, dough-covered hands and all. She squealed in surprise, then dissolved into laughter as he carried her toward their bedroom.
"Matt Kuroz, you put me down this instant! My bread will be ruined!"
"The bread can wait," he replied, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "I've been waiting to have you to myself all week."
Their tender moment of intimacy brought a welcome respite from the daily responsibilities of village life—a rare moment for just the two of them. Later, as they lay tangled in their bedsheets, Matt's fingers traced lazy patterns on Nina's bare shoulder.
"I should go soon," he murmured reluctantly. "Farmer Jens is expecting me to help with that fence."
Nina propped herself up on one elbow, her hair falling in a curtain around her face. "Must you? You work so hard already."
Matt smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "We help our neighbors, and they help us. That's how we've built our life here." His eyes grew momentarily distant. "It's different from my old life. Better."
Nina knew he referred to his years as a soldier—years he rarely spoke of but that had left their mark on him in scars both visible and hidden. She leaned down to kiss him softly. "Go then, help Jens. But come home to us before dark."
"Always," Matt promised, his voice solemn. "I will always come home to you and Zoh."
A couple of hours later, Nina sat at the table finishing her midday meal, her brow furrowed in concern. The bread she had eventually finished baking sat cooling on the windowsill, its aroma filling the small house. She glanced out the window toward the village center, where she had expected Zoh to return from long ago.
He should have been back by now, she thought, a mother's worry beginning to gnaw at her. He's never missed a meal before.
"Wait, where is Zoh?" she asked aloud, her voice tinged with worry, though there was no one to hear her concern. She rose from the table and went to the open door, scanning the village path for any sign of her son's distinctive dark hair and eager gait.
The village of Mish was peaceful in the midday sun. Chickens pecked in dusty yards, women chatted as they hung laundry to dry on lines stretched between cottages, and the distant sound of the blacksmith's hammer created a familiar rhythm. But there was no sign of Zoh.
Nina chewed her lower lip, debating whether to go looking for him herself. Matt would be home soon for his own midday meal before returning to Jens's farm. Perhaps he could check on their wandering son.
As if summoned by her thoughts, Matt appeared around the bend in the path, his stride purposeful. Nina felt a rush of relief at the sight of him—her husband had always been her rock, steady and dependable.
"Dear, can you find him?" she called as soon as he was within earshot. "He's lost again."
Matt wiped his hands on a cloth and nodded, his expression shifting from relaxed to alert in an instant. "Okay, dear!" he called back, his tone reassuring though his eyes had already begun scanning the surroundings.
The boy's probably just lost track of time, he thought as he changed direction and headed toward the village center. Playing with the miller's sons or watching the blacksmith at work.
He stepped outside, shielding his eyes against the midday sun as he surveyed the village. Mish was small—finding a boy shouldn't take long. As Matt walked through the familiar paths, greeting neighbors and glancing down alleyways, his initial nonchalance began to fade.
"Have you seen my son?" he asked the baker, who was arranging fresh loaves in his window display.
"Young Zoh? Not since early morning," the man replied with a shrug. "He was heading toward the stream with some other boys, I think."
Matt thanked him and continued his search, his pace quickening slightly. The stream was a popular play area for village children, but also held its own dangers for the unwary. Though Zoh was a strong swimmer for his age, Matt couldn't help but worry.
"Where is that kid—" he muttered, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice as he reached the stream and found it deserted. Not just of Zoh, but of all children, which was unusual for such a pleasant day.
The words died in his throat as his trained eye caught movement at the village's edge—movement too organized, too purposeful to be villagers going about their business. A chill ran down Matt's spine as he recognized the gleam of armor and the banner of Turer, the hostile kingdom that had long threatened their borders.
No. Not here. Not now. Matt's military instincts surged to the surface, dormant but never forgotten.