CRUCIBLE OF SHADOWS

The scent of roasted meat and simmering herbs greeted Kairos Wilder as he stepped inside the house. The warmth within wrapped around him like a familiar embrace, chasing away the lingering cold from the outside world. This place, though modest, carried the remnants of something long lost—a fragile sense of belonging, fleeting yet undeniable.

As he stepped further in, Mysa turned to look at him. Her eyes, so much like Myra's, gleamed with amusement as she took in his appearance. He still wore the white robe from work, its pristine fabric an odd contrast to the rest of the humble home.

Mysa scoffed, placing her hands on her hips. "Kairos, why in the Abyss are you dressed like that? You look like a wandering priest."

Myra, already inside, grinned. "Yeah, Kairos, it doesn't suit you."

Kairos simply met their teasing with his usual calm. "It was given to me."

Mysa shook her head. "Given or not, you look ridiculous." She gestured toward the back of the house. "Go take a bath. You reek of sweat and hard labor."

Kairos didn't argue. He made his way toward the washroom, his footsteps light against the wooden floor. Myra followed behind, her voice carrying after him. "I'll get the water ready. Honestly, if I wasn't here, you'd probably just go to bed like that."

He let her fuss over him. It was strange, how natural it felt—this familiarity, this casual concern. Myra had always been this way. Even after all these years, she still treated him the same.

As he stepped into the bath, the warmth of the water seeped into his skin, washing away the dirt and exhaustion. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself exist in the quiet.

Just for a little while.

When he returned, Mysa handed him a fresh set of clothes—a black tunic and dark trousers. "These should fit you better than that ghostly robe."

Kairos took them without complaint and changed into them. The fabric was soft, carrying the faint scent of home. A simple thing, yet grounding.

Dinner was set when he emerged, the table filled with steaming plates of roasted meat, vegetables, and warm bread. The three of them sat together, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows across their faces. The meal was modest, yet the air carried a warmth beyond the food itself.

Mysa watched Kairos carefully as he ate. "So," she finally asked, "how's your work at the castle?"

Kairos swallowed his bite before responding. "The same as always."

Mysa raised an eyebrow. "And what does that mean?"

Kairos placed his cup down. "It means that I clean. I observe. I endure."

His tone was even, emotionless. Myra, however, frowned slightly.

Mysa sighed, resting her chin on her hand. "You deserve better."

Kairos gave a small, unreadable smile. "Deserving something does not make it so."

Mysa opened her mouth as if to argue but then fell silent. There was no changing his mind. There never was.

A heavy quiet settled between them, but Myra was quick to lift it. "Kairos," she said suddenly, her eyes bright with a childish excitement. "Tell us a story like you used to."

Mysa perked up. "Yes, it's been too long since I've heard one of your tales."

Kairos looked between them, his fingers tracing the rim of his cup. A story.

His gaze drifted toward the candle on the table, the flame flickering, fragile yet persistent. Then, he spoke.

**"Rain fell in steady sheets, washing the blood from the streets of Black Hollow. The stench of rot and iron lingered in the air, mixing with the damp earth. Lior sat on the temple steps, his tattered cloak clinging to his thin frame. His hands, calloused and worn, gripped the crude wooden bowl in his lap. Inside, a few copper coins clinked together—a beggar's fortune.

A nobleman passed by, his robes untouched by mud, his boots polished to a mirror's shine. He barely spared Lior a glance. A servant boy followed close behind, grumbling as he carried a basket overflowing with fresh bread and ripe fruit.

Lior watched them go, his stomach twisting. Hunger gnawed at his insides, a familiar ache, but he did not move, did not beg. He had long since learned that pride was a luxury only the rich could afford.

From the shadows, an old man approached, his eyes sharp despite his hunched posture. "You sit here every day," the elder noted, crouching beside Lior. "Waiting, suffering. Yet you never complain. Tell me, do you consider yourself happy?"

Lior exhaled slowly. "Happiness?" he murmured. "What a strange thing to ask a boy like me."

The old man chuckled. "Perhaps. But I have seen nobles drown in gold, yet despair at the slightest misfortune. And I have seen beggars like you endure misery with a calm heart. So, tell me, what is happiness to you?"

Lior tilted his head back, feeling the cold rain slide down his face. "There was a time," he began, "when I had more than this. A home, a family, a place where I belonged. But war came, and it took everything from me. I wandered, starving, beaten, cursing the world for its cruelty. But one day, I stopped struggling. The hunger, the cold, the loneliness—they did not vanish, but I learned to live with them."

The old man nodded. "You accepted your suffering."

Lior gave a small, weary smile. "Not just that. I saw a man weep because he lost his fortune gambling. I saw a widow throw herself into the river because she could not bear her grief. And yet, here I sit, with nothing, and I am still breathing. Does that not make me fortunate?"

The elder studied him for a long moment, then laughed—a deep, knowing sound. "You have the wisdom of a man twice your age, boy." He patted Lior's shoulder and stood. "Remember this: happiness is not measured by what you gain, but by what you can endure without breaking."

Lior watched him disappear into the rain.

A noble's misery was the loss of wealth. A widow's misery was the loss of love. A beggar's misery was the loss of warmth and food.

In the end, happiness was not a gift given by the heavens. It was simply the degree of misery a person had come to accept, ignore, or tolerate."**

Mysa and Myra sat in silence, their expressions unreadable. The candle between them flickered, its glow casting soft shadows across Kairos's face.

"That's…" Myra hesitated, her brows furrowing. "That was a strange story."

Mysa, however, was thoughtful. "Is that what you think Kairos? Is happiness the degree of misery a person has come to accept, ignore or tolerate?"

Kairos said nothing, merely offering a small, knowing smile.

Later that night, the house was quiet. The world outside was still, wrapped in the embrace of the night.

Myra lay awake in her bed, staring at the ceiling. She was still thinking about Kairos's story.

She slipped out of bed, her feet barely making a sound as she walked toward his room. The door was slightly ajar. Peeking inside, she found him sitting on the edge of his bed, staring out the window.

His golden eyes, sharp and calculating by day, were now distant, haunted.

The room was dimly lit, the flickering candle casting long shadows across the wooden walls. Kairos sat on the edge of his bed, his eyes distant, lost in the depths of the past. The weight of old scars pressed down on him like an unshakable shroud. The silence was suffocating.

Soft footsteps approached. A faint scent of lavender drifted through the air.

"Kairos," Myra's voice was gentle, almost hesitant. She stood at the doorway, her figure outlined by the moonlight. "You still can't sleep, can you?"

He did not respond.

She stepped closer, her presence warm amidst the night's cold. She sat beside him, her gaze searching his face. "You're still haunted by it, aren't you? Your past."

A long pause. Then, a slow, measured breath.

"Some wounds do not heal, Myra." His voice was quiet, yet it carried the weight of countless nights spent in solitude, of memories that refused to fade.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and unspoken. Myra lowered her head, her hands clenching into fists. Finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you… do you want me to stay?"

A single nod. Small, almost imperceptible.

She shifted closer, resting her head against his shoulder. Her warmth seeped through the cold barriers he had built around himself. "You don't have to carry everything alone, you know."

Kairos closed his eyes.

The past still lingered. The ghosts of his suffering had not vanished. But in this moment, they felt just a little further away.

And, for the first time in a long while, sleep found him.