Eldrin’s family home stands as a peaceful and sturdy sanctuary, nestled among gently rolling hills and ancient trees of old. From the city road, the house blends effortlessly into the natural landscape, its gray stone walls with thick wooden beams that give it a sense of strength seeming to rise up from the earth itself. Thick ivy climbs the exterior, softening the edges of the dark slate roof, while tall ironwood and darkwood trees flank the path leading up to the entrance. The road is a simple dirt trail lined with wildflowers and grasses that sway in the breeze, creating a peaceful, timeless atmosphere.

  The home is solid and well-built, a testament to Eldruin’s care and attention to detail. The glass windows dot the fa?ade, with their soft, golden glow spilling onto the stone paths below. Ivy crawls up toward the eaves, intertwining with climbing roses that have taken root around the wooden front door. The front of the house opens to a small stone courtyard, where lush garden beds spill over with herbs, flowers, and vegetables.

  Beyond the courtyard, an orchard full of apple and pear trees stretches out, providing shade and shelter to the land. Their branches, heavy with fruit in season, rustle softly with the wind, and their fallen leaves blanket the earth in autumn. Close to the house, a vegetable garden flourishes under Eldrin’s wife’s careful touch, with rows of beans, carrots, tomatoes, and herbs filling the air with the fresh scents of earth and growth. Wooden framework covered in vines separates the kitchen garden from the rest of the courtyard, allowing for a private space where herbs hang to dry and wildflowers bloom in abundance.

  Behind the home, past the garden and orchard, lies the pond, nuzzled within a quiet grove of trees. Weir and oak trees enclose the water, their branches dipping into the pond’s surface. The grove offers shade and a sense of peace, the perfect retreat from the busy world of raising a family. The pond’s waters are still, save for the occasional ripple of fish or the splash of the children when they play during the summer months. Sunlight filters through the branches, casting everchanging shapes across the water and surrounding moss-covered rocks. Wildflowers grow abundantly here, and the scent of water and soft earth fills the air.

  Off to the side of the home is the stable, made from the same sturdy stone as the manor. Inside, Mille, can be seen rest most days. Her gentle nature making her a beloved part of the household. The children often spend time with her, braiding flowers into her mane or riding her along the nearby forest trails. Even the family dogs, Har and Bel, ever playful and alert, roam the grounds freely, chasing after the children or resting by the pond as they watch over the family, curious to the world around them.

  The training yard, just beyond the stable, is where Eldruin practices swordplay with the children, teaching them the art of combat in the same way he was once taught. The yard is simple but functional, with a wooden fence encircling it and practice weapons leaning against the posts.

  As Eldrin guided Millie toward the stable, the afternoon sun bathed the fields in a golden hue. His heart warmed as he spotted his three children racing toward him, their faces lit with joy and excitement. Their laughter filled the air, a sound that made him forget the weariness of his journey.

  “I knew you’d be home soon, Daddy! I just knew it!” Nora exclaimed, her bright eyes sparkling with the certainty only a ten-year-old could possess. She rushed to throw her arms around his waist, her auburn curls bouncing with each step.

  “Please,” scoffed Abbi, rolling her eyes. “You don’t even understand how time works, Nora. He could’ve been back hours ago, for all you know.” At sixteen, Abbi had mastered the art of being both protective and sarcastic toward her siblings, though her love for them was always evident beneath the surface.

  Before Eldrin could reply, Grayson, his only son, launched himself at his father with such force that it almost knocked him off his feet. The boy, though only eleven, was already towering like a young sapling, as tall as many grown men in the village and taller than his own mother. His lanky frame hinted at the giant he would one day become.

  “Easy there, champ!” Eldrin laughed, staggering slightly but pulling Grayson into a tight embrace. “Good to see you too, son. I missed you.” His voice softened as he wrapped one arm around Nora and Abbi as well, gathering all three of his children into a hug. The warmth of their little bodies pressed against him made every second away from them feel like a lifetime. Even when he left for only a few hours, the ache of missing them never ceased.

  The familiar smells of their hair, the way their heads rested against his chest—these were the moments Eldrin cherished most. Moments that made every battle, every hardship, worth enduring.

  “Where’s your mother, kids?” Eldrin asked, glancing toward the house. The noise of the children’s excitement should have drawn her out by now. His wife usually met him at the door, her apron dusted with flour or dirt from the garden, yet today there was no sign of her. His brow furrowed slightly, a spark of curiosity, maybe even concern, creeping into his thoughts.

  “She’s probably in the kitchen baking something for dinner,” Abbi shrugged, looking toward the front door. “She was making those pies you like earlier.”

  “Or she’s out in the garden,” Grayson added, always observant, his big imagination never far from reality. “She was picking herbs when we last saw her. Maybe she didn’t hear us.”

  Eldrin scanned the yard, his gaze sweeping the familiar landscape, but his wife was nowhere in sight. Her absence tugged at his heart. She had a way of being everywhere at once—tending the garden, wrangling the children, or preparing a feast. Still, he trusted she was exactly where she needed to be, handling whatever task lay before her with her usual grace and strength.

  “Alright,” Eldrin grinned, giving Millie a firm pat on the flank as he settled her into the stable. “Let’s go see what surprises your mother has in store for us today.”

  The children chattered eagerly as they made their way toward the house, their voices filling the air with the kind of noise that made Eldrin feel truly at home.

  As Eldrin entered the home, the giant wooden door groaned on its hinges, swinging open with a loud, aged creak. The cool breeze from outside followed him in, but even the warmth of the home did little to pierce the cold that clung to him inside. He removed his cloak and coat, both worn from the journey, and placed them on the wooden peg by the door. The peg, like him, had borne the weight of time, its edges worn smooth from countless years of use. For a moment, Eldrin stood still, his eyes drifting over the familiar room, but his thoughts were far away—back in the haze of battlefields and sleepless nights, where the promise of peace felt like a distant dream.

  He had wanted this once. Long ago, during the wars, he had yearned for a place like this—a sanctuary, a family, a home to anchor him in a world full of chaos. His younger self, full of hope and ambition, would have been proud of this moment, of this life. But that version of Eldrin was long gone, buried beneath the weight of too many battles fought and too many friends lost. He wasn’t angry or upset with his family or anyone else. No, it wasn’t their fault. It was just that life had worn him down, each passing year like an extra layer of armor he had to carry. Now, the home he had once dreamed of felt like just another battlefield—one without enemies, but one where the real fight was within himself.

  He stared into the main hall, its warmth and familiarity doing little to ease the tension in his chest. His heart, once stirred by the idea of belonging, now felt hollow, as if every part of him had been used up. It wasn’t that he didn’t love them—his wife, his children, this life. He did. But love wasn’t always enough to break through the numbness, the exhaustion that weighed on him like a fog he couldn’t escape. Eldrin wasn’t just tired. He was empty, a shadow of the man he used to be, haunted by memories that refused to fade.

  As he walked through the main hall, his boots echoed softly on the polished wooden floor. His eyes wandered over the family heirlooms and other cherished items: a large, ancient tapestry his wife had inherited from her family, reflecting her mixed heritage of both elvish and dwarven ancestry, portraits of ancestors gazing down from the walls, and handcrafted furniture that bore the marks of generations of care.

  The main hall was a place of warmth, filled with the scent of aged wood and faint traces of herbs from the kitchen. The high, vaulted ceiling with exposed wooden beams seemed to rise endlessly, drawing the eye upward, reminding him of ancient fortresses he once fought to protect. A massive stone hearth dominated one wall, offering heat and light, especially during the cold months. Its crackling fire was the pulse of the home, an unspoken promise of safety. The furniture was handcrafted from dark oak, rich in detail, with each piece telling a story of craftsmanship and tradition. Above, iron chandeliers hung from the beams, their flickering candlelight casting a soft, golden glow over the room, almost like the light of a distant memory.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Tucked into a cozy corner of the hall, a small study stood, cluttered with adventure maps and old, leather-bound books. Shelves lined the walls, sagging slightly under the weight of tomes filled with knowledge of distant lands, arcane secrets, and the stories of past heroes. On a sturdy oak desk lay scattered parchments—half-drawn maps of forgotten places, notes from long-ago travels, and unfulfilled quests that still called to Eldrin. It was a space that beckoned to the adventurer in him, even now, offering a glimpse of the world outside these walls, though part of him wondered if he would ever again have the strength to explore it.

  As Eldrin ventured further into the home, a scent reached him. It was familiar and comforting—a mix of earthiness, apples, cinnamon, and vanilla. His heart stirred slightly. "Is she making me a tart, a pie, or even a cake?" he mused, his weariness momentarily forgotten. His senses were overloaded as he followed the scent, his feet moving on instinct, drawn to the source of the warmth, but more importantly, to the smell of home.

  The kitchen, connected to the main hall, was both functional and beautiful. Copper pots, polished to a shine, hung from the rafters, reflecting the light from the nearby hearth. Shelves were lined with jars of preserved fruits, dried herbs, and spices, giving the room a rustic charm. A large cast iron pot hung over the fire, bubbling away with what must have been a stew, seasoned perfectly by his wife's skilled hands. The air was often filled with the scent of freshly baked bread or simmering stews, a testament to her culinary talents. The large wooden table in the dining room always had room for more, whether for family meals or for guests who occasionally stopped by. It was here that stories were shared, and moments of joy punctuated the quiet life they had built. The food came straight from their garden or the nearby woods, bringing the flavors of nature to their table. It was simple, yet abundant—a reflection of the life they led.

  Scanning the room, Eldrin’s eyes softened as they settled on his wife, busy at work in the kitchen. The rhythmic sound of her knife chopping through fresh apples filled the air, blending with the warmth of the crackling hearth. As true as the children had said, she was preparing dessert for him—not a pie as he had expected, but an apple cobbler. The scent of cinnamon and caramelized apples filled the air, and a faint smile tugged at his lips. Cobbler was his favorite, and somehow, she always knew just what he needed before he even realized it himself.

  "Hello, honey. How are you doing, love?" Eldrin asked, his voice soft yet tired, as if the weight of his day clung to him.

  His wife, Ylvara, turned around, wiping her hands on her apron. She was a rare beauty, a striking blend of both her elvish and dwarven heritage. Standing at the height of a dwarf, she carried the sturdy, grounded presence of her ancestors, but her youthful features and the graceful way she moved through the kitchen reflected her elvish descent. Her dark hair, which cascaded down her back in a single braid, shimmered in the dim candlelight, and her emerald-green eyes sparkled with a warmth that always made Eldrin feel at home. Though short in stature, her presence filled the room, and there was something about the way she smiled at him that eased the ache in his heart, if only for a moment.

  "I'm well, my love," she replied, her voice carrying the lilt of her elvish ancestors. “I thought you might need something sweet after such a long day.” Her smile was gentle but knowing, as if she could sense the battle raging inside him even when he didn’t speak of it. The lines of worry that often creased Eldrin’s brow seemed to soften in her presence, but deep down, she knew the cobbler would only soothe him for so long.

  As she returned to her work, stirring the mixture for the cobbler, Eldrin found himself staring at her longer than usual. He admired her ability to create a sense of peace in the home, even when his mind was far from peaceful. Despite the chaos in his heart, she had become his anchor, and though he had never quite found the words to tell her how much she meant to him, she always seemed to know.

  “Why don’t you kick off your boots and sit in your chair in the main hall while I finish up supper?” Ylvara’s voice was soft and nurturing, carrying a warmth that wrapped around Eldrin like a comforting blanket.

  Eldrin smiled, feeling a flicker of light in the dimness of his heart. He leaned in to give her a quick kiss, the kind that reminded him of better days before carrying his tired body to the massive chair in the main hall.

  “Alright, honey, let me know if you need anything,” Eldrin called out, his voice slightly more cheerful than he felt as he walked away from the kitchen.

  In the main hall he walked over to his chair, and slumped down into it. His buddy seemed to melt within the chair, the chair was a huge massive thing. It was a throne of sorts, crafted from dark wood and lined with furs, its deep seat welcoming him like an old friend. Each plush cushion felt like a small refuge from the world outside.

  As he slumped down into the chair, it enveloped him, the weight of the day pressing upon his shoulders. He stared off into nothingness, lost in a chasm of his own thoughts and insecurities. His mind drifted, a turbulent sea of memories and regrets. The laughter of comrades, brothers and sisters long gone echoed in his ears, reminders of the joy he once felt amidst the chaos of war. How could he pull himself out of this rut?

  Since the end of the war, Eldrin had spiraled down into a darkness that seemed inescapable. The battles might have ceased, but the scars ran deep. In his mind, every conflict morphed into a continuous cycle, a grim reminder that the scholars had merely renamed the wars instead of truly ending them—the Great War, the Second Great War, and so on. His time in the service had been the pinnacle of his existence, filled with purpose and camaraderie. Yet now, as he sat in his chair, he felt hollow, a shadow of the man he once was.

  The things he had once dreamed of—family, peace, a home—now felt like mirages, shimmering just out of reach. The very aspirations that had driven him to enlist now seemed to mock him, leaving him with a gnawing sense of inadequacy. What was the point of striving for greatness when the pursuit only led to more disappointment?

  That’s why he had decided to study at the Grande Arcanum, to delve into the mysteries of magic and earn the title of mage or scholar. He sought knowledge, hoping it would fill the void left by lost comrades and shattered friendships. But now he questioned if this relentless pursuit was just a distraction, a way to avoid confronting the turmoil brewing within his own mind. The losses he had suffered haunted him, the faces of friends taken too soon replaying like a cruel reel in his head.

  Death on the battlefield was easier to cope with than the betrayal of trust; the friends who had turned their backs, the laughter that had faded into silence. Each memory felt like poison, slowly eating away at him day by day, the pain intertwining with his very essence. Eldrin closed his eyes, trying to block out the thoughts that threatened to consume him, but the whispers of the past crept back in, filling the empty spaces with reminders of what he had lost.

  In the stillness of the main hall, surrounded by the comforting presence of his wife and the warmth of the hearth, he found a small flicker of hope—a promise that perhaps, with time, he could learn to navigate this darkness.

  As Eldrin settled into the familiar embrace of his chair, a sudden flashback invaded his thoughts. He was transported to a time long before the weight of the world pressed down on him, back to a bustling marketplace where the air was thick with the scent of spices and the chatter of vendors.

  “Eldrin, what is wrong with you? What could possible be on your mind today and have you distracted?” Garin had exclaimed, his eyes gleaming with curiosity as they navigated through the throng of people.

  Eldrin took a deep breath, steeling himself before speaking. “Garin, I can’t. My mother…she’s sick. The healers think it’s something like the Shadow Blight—it’s spreading, and I don’t know how much time she has left.”

  Garin paused, his brow furrowing, but there was no sympathy in his gaze. Garin shook his head dismissively. “I don’t have time for this, Eldrin. You need to get your priorities straight. I can’t afford distractions right now. The work has to come first.”

  A bitter taste filled Eldrin's mouth at Garin’s callousness. He had always known his friend to be dedicated, but this was beyond what he had expected. The hurtful truth sank in; Garin’s ambition eclipsed their friendship.

  Eldrin stood there, feeling the weight of disappointment and anger pressing down on him, but instead of reacting with anger, he made a quiet decision.

  Without waiting for a response, Eldrin turned away, walking into the crowd, leaving Garin standing alone amidst the bustling market. That moment marked the end of their friendship, a choice made not out of rage, but out of a profound sense of loss—both for his mother and for the bond he thought they shared.

  Now, as he sat in the main hall, the memory resurfaced, igniting that old pain anew. In the stillness, surrounded by the comforting presence of his wife and the warmth of the hearth, he found a small flicker of hope—a promise that perhaps, with time, he could learn to navigate this darkness.

  Eldrin suddenly remembered the tome he had picked up at the Silver Stallion: The Garden of Gold: Alchemy and Herbology Secrets for the Home Cook and Gardener, by Wellson Oakheart from The Grove of the Green Bark.

  "Ah, by the divines, I almost forgot!" Eldrin exclaimed, jolting upright from his chair. His earlier weariness vanished as excitement coursed through him. He rushed to his coat, hanging by the door, and reached into its hidden compartment. As his fingers closed around the book, a wave of knowledge and curiosity surged through him.

  This is perfect, he thought, eager to share it with Ylvara. In his haste, Eldrin turned quickly to head toward the kitchen, but his foot caught the edge of his heavy chair, and pain shot through his toes like an electric current.

  "By the maker, that hurts!" he groaned, his voice louder than intended. He clutched the book to his chest, hopping slightly to relieve the sting.

  From the kitchen, Ylvara’s concerned voice echoed back. "What happened, Eldrin? What did you do?"

  Grimacing, he muttered, "Stubbed my toes on the damn chair." His irritation was clear, but the green glow coming from the tome quickly stole Ylvara's attention.

  "What’s that in your hand?" Ylvara asked, her tone shifting from worry to curiosity. She wiped her hands on her apron and stepped out from behind the counter, eyeing the glowing tome in his grasp. "Is that a tome? It’s glowing... with an arcane light."

  Eldrin, despite his pain, felt a flicker of pride as he held the book up for her to see. "This was on the shelf at the Silver Stallion. Gomar let me have it; said it was left behind by a patron, probably someone passing through. I thought of you immediately. Since you love to cook, garden, and experiment with herbs, I figured it might be something you’d enjoy."

  Ylvara’s eyes softened, her intrigue piqued. It wasn’t often Eldrin brought something home just for her, especially something like this. She stepped closer, her fingers gently brushing the edge of the tome, the green glow reflecting in her eyes.

  "You really thought of me?" she asked, a smile tugging at her lips.

  "Of course, love," Eldrin said, his heart warming. He handed her the tome, watching as she turned it over in her hands, her expression one of wonder and delight. For a moment, the weight of his struggles faded, replaced by the simple joy of bringing happiness to the one person who had stood by him through it all.

  Ylvara opened the book, her fingers grazing the delicate pages. "Well, I’ll have to try something from here for supper tomorrow. Maybe something with herbs from the garden." She looked up at Eldrin, her eyes filled with gratitude.

  The soft glow of the hearth flickered around them, and in this quiet moment, Eldrin found peace in their shared connection—brief though it may be, it was a small light amid the darkness of his lingering memories.