Custodia

The village of Custodia bustles with the rhythm of early work
wooden plows rattling behind heavy oxen, vendors snapping open their market stalls, and stubborn hagglers being shooed away with practiced irritation. The general masses doing their best to avoid the statue of a women with a snake head built in the middle of the busy street.
From dirt roads to farm fields, everyone seems determined to start the day with purpose.

Everyone except one boy.

Corere tries his very best to do nothing.
He crouches behind a berry bush, holding his breath as an angry shadow stretches over him.

“CORERE!”

The roar tears through the morning like a cracked drum. A hand clamps down on his collar and yanks him straight through the bush, leaves and berries scattering everywhere. Corere grabs at her wrists, feet dragging in the dirt.

“Ahhh Mom, quit it! Look! The ground isn’t even good for tilling today, so there’s no point! I swear!”

He blurts out one of his all-too-familiar excuses, spoken with the confidence of someone who’s used them a hundred times before.

His mother narrows her eyes, then slowly releases his collar.

“Honestly, Corere, you always trying to duck out of your chores is starting to put strain on the other villagers!”

Her voice drops from fury to frustration, the kind that hits harder. She plants her hands on her hips, jaw tight. Footsteps thud across the dirt as another villager approaches, one of the men who’d been helping her till the field.

“The boy causing trouble again?”
He huffs the question, thick arms crossing over his chest as if they were boulders stacked with displeasure. His shirt is flecked with dry earth, his sunburned neck beaded with sweat. He looks at Corere like he’s a lazy weed among crops.

Corere’s mother mirrors the man’s stance with a weary sigh.

“He’s made half a dozen excuses today alone.”

Corere dusts crushed berry leaves off his shirt, refusing to meet either of their eyes.
The man scoffs at his sulking expression.

“You need to wake up, Corere. Winter’s only a few months off so we don’t have time for slackers.”

He steps past Corere’s mother and grabs Corere by the elbow, yanking him upright with more force than necessary. The moment Corere finds his balance, the man jabs a thick finger into his chest.

“This attitude’s gonna bite you later. Out there? No one’s gonna coddle you. You either sink or swim and right now, you’ve got a boulder tied to your foot.”

The man’s finger presses harder on the last word, making Corere wince. His eyes stay targeted towards the dirt floor, his hands clenching so hard they shake.

The man turns away with a grunt, his heavy footsteps thudding down the path. Corere flinches at each one until the sound finally fades.

His mother steps closer, no anger left in her expression. She gently lifts his chin and brushes dirt from his shirt and hair with her hand.

“Don’t listen to him, dear.”

She lets out a small sigh, then cups his cheek so he meets her eyes.

“When something truly matters, I know you’ll rise to it. You always do. Won’t you, my little star?”

Her voice is warm, like fresh pie cooling by the window, like dinners that make you forget the cold outside.

Corere’s eyes widen in surprise at how quickly that warmth replaces her scolding… but the moment doesn’t last. His gaze falls back to the ground.

“Right...”

The word slips out faintly, without shape or conviction, like a promise he isn’t sure he can keep.

Corere’s mother lets her hand fall from his cheek, her eyes still soft, still proud of him in a way he can’t quite understand. Just as she starts to turn away, a rough cough sneaks up her throat. She muffles it into her palm before Corere can react, brushing it off like a stray bit of dust.

“I’ll… be making dinner soon,” she says, clearing her voice. “Your favourite stew. So don’t be late, alright?”

She ruffles his hair and then presses a gentle kiss to his forehead, warm enough to chase off the sting of the man’s words. Without waiting for a response, she heads back toward the house with steady, practiced steps, careful not to waver.

Corere watches her go, the aftertaste of her reassurance sitting heavy in his chest. His fingers tighten into small fists. He didn’t want to admit it aloud, but… she was always there for him. Always believing in him, even when he didn’t deserve it.

He glances over at the idle plowing machine tethered to a large, bored-looking ox. The other villagers are too busy preparing crops to notice one missing hand...or one borrowed machine. No one would complain if the field was done by sunset.

‘’Just get it done quick,” he mutters to himself.

Despite the weight of reluctance, he moves toward the beast and grips its reins, the ox snorting as if unimpressed by his sudden work ethic. Corere ignores it, climbs onto the plow seat, and gives the reins a shaky tug. The machine lurches forward, digging into the dirt under a sky beginning to dim.

The plow carves through the dirt bit by bit, uneven lines following Corere’s unsteady steering. Sweat slips down his brow, more from nerves than effort as he tries to keep the ox moving straight. It’s going… okay? at least enough to brag about later, he thinks.

Then the machine jolts.

The right wheel sinks deep into a patch of soft mud, lodged like a boot sucked under swamp water. The ox slows, snorts, and stomps, clearly irritated by the sudden halt. Corere panics and hops down, tugging desperately at the wheel.

“Come on, just move...just a little! I’m almost done!”

He throws his shoulder against it, twisting and straining until the wheel gives a deep, wet slorp but refuses to budge. The ox grumbles louder. Corere, frustrated, yanks on the plow bar with all his strength.

The metal bar slips from his hands and swings back, smacking the ox square on the flank.

The reaction is instant.

The ox bellows, a deep, enraged roar bursting out of it as it rears back, snapping the harness straps with terrifying force. Corere skids backwards on his heels, landing on his back just in time to see the beast break free.

It bolts through the field, dragging scraps of broken harness, its hooves punching divots in the soil and picking up speed toward the village.

“WAIT NO! COME BACK!”
Corere’s voice cracks as he scrambles up and sprints after it.

The ox storms into the village square. Stalls topple. Baskets of fruit explode across the ground. A vendor jumps aside just in time as crates fly and a table splinter under the ox’s horns.

People scatter as it barrels through the market, horns low, crushing a rack of pottery into a field of shattered shards. A child trips only to be yanked away by a screaming parent just in time.

Corere pushes through the chaos, shouting apologies, voice shaking. The beast drags terror across the town like a lightning storm.

It finally skids to a halt only after a single man steps boldly into its path...

One hand extended.

The ox charges straight toward him.

At the last possible second, he sways his body to the side and plants his boots hard into the ground. He scoops his arm under the ox’s head and stops it dead in its tracks. With a grunt, he twists his body and drags the ox along with the twist of his body. The ox lets out a load wail as its massive body is turned over in the air and then comes crashing down hard onto the floor with the man on top of him, his entire weight crushing down onto the ox’s head and restraining it under him.

The crowd exhales.

A whisper catches on the air, spreading through the villagers.

“Lux… Lux Tenebris.”

Corere’s breath catches. Lux. He’d heard the name whispered before. A man trained in combat, protector of the village. The one sent to deal with wolves, boars, thieves… anything that threatened Custodia.

He wasn’t a noble knight. No shining armor. Just worn leather, a spear slung over his back, and eyes that looked like they hadn’t slept in days.

The village warrior.

Lux doesn’t look at anyone as he stands, tying the ox’s horns with practiced ease. Only when the beast is secured does he lift his gaze, and it lands directly on Corere.

Not furious.

Not disappointed.

Just… tired.

He jerks his head toward the wrecked plow.

‘’I assume you’re the culprit for this?’’

He sighs and grabs a rope from his leather belt holding multiple tools and wraps it around the ox’s neck

‘’there’s a reason kids aren’t allowed those things, listen to the rules next time or I won’t be so lax next time’’

Then he leads the ox away, leaving Corere alone with the shards of wood and the weight of every pair of eyes in the village.

Corere swallows hard.

Then he runs.

He bolts between houses and around the well, past drying laundry whipping in the wind. He wipes at his face, angry at the warm, stupid tears clinging to his cheeks. His thoughts twist in on themselves.

I ruin everything.

I can’t do anything right.

Everyone would be better off if I...

He cuts that thought short, squeezing his eyes shut until a ringing flows through his skull. He forces long, shaking breaths until he can stand straight. At the front door of his home, he wipes his face again and presses the shame deep into his stomach.

He pushes the door open.

Warm light greets him. A bubbling sound and a familiar smell drifting through the air like herbs, rich broth, slow-cooked meat. The scent hits him like a blanket wrapping around his shoulders.

His mother stands at the counter, stirring a pot. Just like she promised.

When she glances back, she gives him a small, tired smile. Not disappointed. Just… happy he’s home.

“Welcome back, Corere. Dinner’s almost ready.”

Corere nods, swallowing the emotion in his throat as though it’s part of the stew’s steam.

Then she covers her mouth and coughs. A dry, nagging hack at first and then deeper, longer, as if something is clawing at her from the inside. She steadies herself on the table, waits for it to pass, and forces a breath out through her nose.

Corere tenses, but she waves him off casually.

“Just the cold air today. Nothing worth fussing over.”

She turns back to the pot, humming softly as the stew continues to simmer… as if nothing at all is wrong.

Corere stands there, hesitating until the smell of home pushes everything else away.

For now.

When the stew is finished and served, it is eaten with slow spoonfuls and no conversation. The stew tastes exactly how Corere always remembers it: rich, warm, comforting but it sits heavy in his stomach, thick with guilt he can’t swallow away. His mother eats slowly, staring at the surface of her bowl as though reading something hidden in the broth.

The kitchen crackles softly from the fire. The clinking of their spoons seems too loud for how little either of them can say.

Corere opens his mouth just as his mother takes a breath to speak.

Both voices overlap.

“I’m sorr-”

“Corere, I-”

They stop, eyes meeting, awkward as if bumping into each other in their own thoughts. His mother huffs out a tired chuckle and gives him a small nod.

“You first.”

Corere grips his bowl tighter. His voice shakes at first, then rushes out too fast, like it’s afraid it won’t get another chance.

“I… I’m sorry. About today. About skipping out on chores and the… everything. I always mess things up and make things harder for everyone and...and that man was right. I don’t help. I just ruin things and if I don’t change, I’ll never be anything but a problem.”

He stops. The words drain out of him, leaving only his eyes wet, hopeful and begging without saying it. Waiting for his mother’s warmth to fix something broken inside him.

His mother sets her spoon down. Then the ladle in the pot. Carefully, slowly, like she knows she needs strength to hold her next words together.

She turns to him fully, her expression soft as sunlight on snow, tired but glowing all the same.

“Corere…we make mistakes so that we can grow from them. No matter how much of a burden you feel like, you have something that others struggle to do their whole life’’

She pauses with a small smile, her eyes half lidded. Her hand moves to cup Corere’s cheeks with a feather light touch.

“You care, even when you don’t know how to show it. That’s worth more than skill, more than strength.”

Her voice trembles. Just barely. like a flame fighting wind.

“Believe in yourself…”

Her hand quivers on his cheek

‘’my little star.”

The fire pops. The stew bubbles softly. And then...

Her hand slips from his face, her body lurching forward. The bowl clatters to the floor along with her body. Corere freezes, then scrambles to her side, her breath shallow, blood dripping from her nose onto the wooden floor.

His voice cracks the silence.

“Mom? Mom! Wake up!”

No answer.

Only the slow cooling of the stew and the trembling of her fingertips in his hands. Her eyes half open but glazed over as if something has taken over her...