3 - Home sweet home

Bellog arrived before what had once been one of the finest noble estates in Talantum. Calling it a mansion almost felt dishonest now. The walls still stood proud, decorated with elegant stone carvings and weathered statues, but weeds had claimed the gardens, ivy crawled across the outer walls, and cracked windows stared back like empty eyes. It looked less like a home and more like a monument to a family that had already died.

He let out a quiet sigh.

Rolling down the sleeve of his worn shirt, he carefully covered the dark bruises circling his wrists, the fresh marks left behind by the Skart shackles. The last thing he wanted was for his family to see them.

Pushing open the heavy front door, Bellog stepped inside.Darkness greeted him. Dust coated the picture frames, chandeliers, and expensive furniture that no servant remained to polish. Only the wooden floor had been cleaned recently, a lonely strip of care in a house slowly surrendering to neglect.

"I'm home," Bellog called.

"In the kitchen," came a woman's voice.

Following it, Bellog entered what had once been a grand kitchen built to feed noble banquets. Now only a single candle fought against the gloom.

Anna stood beside the table, awkwardly peeling potatoes. She wore what had once been an elegant noblewoman's dress, though it had been patched so many times that little of the original fabric remained. Despite the poverty surrounding her, she was breathtakingly beautiful. Her pale skin was flawless, untouched by years of labor, while her long hair, though tangled and hastily tied back, still framed a face that painters would have begged to immortalize. She looked like a woman born to be admired from balconies, not one struggling to prepare dinner with trembling hands.

Bellog smiled softly. "My darling Anna... you shouldn't have."

As if on cue, the knife slipped.

"Ow!" Anna hissed as the blade nicked her finger. Frustrated, she threw the half-peeled potato across the room, where it bounced against the cupboard.

"Then who should?" she snapped. "We don't have servants anymore."

Bellog hurried to her side, gently taking her injured hand into his own. The cut was small. He wrapped it with a cloth anyway.

"Just wait a little longer," he said quietly. "Everything will be like it was before."

Anna looked into his eyes. For a brief moment she wanted to believe him. Then reality returned.

She sighed. "Did you get the meat?"

Bellog's smile disappeared. "I... had some trouble finding work."

Before Anna could answer, the back door burst open, two boys hurried inside. Jeremy, sixteen, was tall and thin, already beginning to resemble the noblemen his family had once stood beside. His neatly parted brown hair tried to maintain an aristocratic appearance despite his patched clothes.

Behind him came twelve-year-old Jacob, round-faced and cheerful, his blond comb-over refusing to stay neatly in place no matter how often he pushed it back.

Their clothes had clearly once belonged to wealthy children. Now every patch told a story of another month survived.

Anna forced a smile. "Perfect timing children." She gestured toward the empty pot simmering over the fire. "Tonight we're having..." she paused dramatically, "...empty soup again."

She glanced at Bellog before adding with quiet sarcasm,

"Both of you should thank your father for all his hard work."

Bellog's shoulders sagged.

Each word landed like another stone on his back. It wasn't anger in Anna's voice that hurt him. It was exhaustion. The kind that came from too many hungry nights and too many promises that tomorrow would be better.

That damned rock...

Skart had stolen everything.

His career.

His pride.

And now it was slowly stealing his family.

Before the silence could become unbearable, Jeremy stepped forward with a grin.

"Don't worry, Mother." He reached behind his back with theatrical flair. "I brought something."

With a triumphant smile, he revealed a freshly killed pheasant, its colorful feathers still gleaming despite the dried blood around the arrow wound.

Jacob beamed with pride. "We're eating meat tonight!"

Anna's face lit up. She rushed over, embracing both boys before kissing each on the forehead.

"What would I ever do without my wonderful sons?"

Bellog did not smile. Instead, he snatched the bird from Jeremy's hands and carefully examined it. His eyes narrowed at the wound.

"How did you bring this down?" he asked quietly.

Jeremy hesitated. His silence answered enough.

Jacob, too young to understand the danger, happily spoke instead. "Jeremy shot it with his bow!" He puffed out his chest. "He's really good! He promised to teach me too."

Jacob looked up excitedly. "You'll come practice with us too, won't you, Dad?"

Bellog said nothing. His gaze remained fixed on the arrow wound. Slowly, he took both boys by the shoulders.

"Come." He led them from the kitchen into the great hall.

The enormous chamber echoed with memories. Portraits lined the walls from floor to ceiling. Every painting depicted another Caracass. Every one wore robes instead of armor. Every one held a staff instead of a sword. Ten generations of mages watched silently from gilded frames.

Bellog pointed toward them. "For ten generations..." he began, "...every member of this family has been a mage." His voice carried through the empty hall. "Our ancestors stood beside kings. They defended this kingdom when armies alone could not. They gave up wealth, comfort, even their lives to protect this nation."

He looked at his sons. "Do you remember the stories I told you? The battles they fought? The sacrifices they made? The impossible odds they overcame?"

Both boys lowered their heads. "Yes, Father."

Bellog nodded slowly. "Good." He led them back toward the kitchen.

As they passed the rubbish bin, Bellog lifted the pheasant. Without hesitation, he moved to throw it away.

"A mage," he said firmly, "earns his food through magic... or not at all."

"Bellog Balthasar Lumen Caracass!" Anna's voice thundered through the kitchen. The entire house seemed to freeze.

"If you throw away that bird..." She stepped toward him, her beautiful face hardening with a resolve none of them questioned. "...then when you come home tomorrow, this family won't be here anymore."

Silence swallowed the room. Even the boys understood…their mother never made empty threats.

Bellog remained motionless for several long seconds. Finally he lowered the bird. Without looking at his sons, he spoke quietly.

"Boys... go upstairs."

The two exchanged relieved glances. They had witnessed this argument before.

"Study the next chapter of your magic textbook." said Bellog.

"Yes, Father." They bowed respectfully before hurrying from the room, grateful to escape what was coming.

Only after their footsteps disappeared did Bellog turn toward Anna.

"So this is what you want them to learn from us?"

Anna walked over, taking the pheasant from his hands before beginning to pluck its feathers.

"What I want them to learn?" She laughed bitterly. "Certainly not magic."

Bellog's face hardened. "Don't you dare think our sons will become anything but mages. I won't allow it."

Anna stared at him for a long moment before lowering her eyes to the pheasant in her hands. With delicate fingers, clearly unused to preparing food, she plucked a feather from its breast. She looked almost disgusted by the task itself, yet she continued anyway. Another feather drifted to the floor.

"Then what?" she asked quietly, though there was steel beneath the softness. "Tell me, Bellog. What happens next? We can't keep living like this." She looked around the kitchen, at the empty cupboards, the cracked bowls, and the dying fire. "I will not live like this. And I won't let our boys live like this either."

Bellog clenched his jaw. Every word she spoke dug deeper than any spear ever had on the battlefield. He had faced charging cavalry without flinching, yet standing before his own wife left him feeling powerless.

"They are Caracasses," he said. "For ten generations this family has served the kingdom through magic. We stood beside kings. We defended this nation when others fled. That legacy doesn't simply end because the world has forgotten our worth."

Anna let out a tired laugh, one utterly devoid of humor.

"The world doesn't need mages anymore." She met his eyes. "Your family tree is finished... or it needs to become something else. Why can't the Caracasses be remembered for something new? Hunters. Craftsmen. Soldiers. Jacob already has the eye of an archer."

Bellog's fist slammed onto the table hard enough to rattle the bowls.

"No!" he barked. "Don't you ever decide their future for them. My sons will not throw away everything our ancestors built. They will become mages, both of them. I won't let our bloodline die with me."

Anna slowly shook her head. Another feather floated from the bird onto the floor.

"Your bloodline is starving, Bellog."

Silence settled between them.

Bellog turned away before she could see the pain on his face. He crossed the kitchen to an old cabinet and pulled open a drawer filled with dusty alchemical equipment left untouched since the fall of the mages. From the back he retrieved several small, empty crystal vials. He held them in his palm, turning them so the dim candlelight shimmered across the glass.

"Don't worry, my darling." He corked one of the vials with practiced fingers and slipped the others into his pocket. "I'll fix the world."