Arthur frowned as he looked at the massive pot of fish stew his sister had triumphantly placed in front of him.
It was green. Not a nice, leafy green or a fresh, garden green. No, this was the sickly, radioactive hue of a nearly dead slime monster. It bubbled with an ominous gurgle, and various fish parts—heads, tails, and unidentifiable chunks—bobbed on the surface like grotesque decorations.
"What in the thirteen rivers of the netherworld is this abomination?" Arthur muttered, poking the stew with a spoon as if it might jump out and attack.
He lifted the spoon, took one whiff, and recoiled so violently he accidentally flung the spoon across the room. It clattered to the floor near the firewood pile, steaming with betrayal.
"YUCK!" he cried, pushing the bowl away like it had offended his ancestors.
Liana, humming in the kitchen as she wiped her hands on her apron, didn't even turn around. She gave him a side glance, eyebrow raised.
"That's the only food that'll last us till tomorrow," she said nonchalantly. "So you better eat up."
Arthur crossed his arms. "I'll rather go hungry."
Liana smirked. "Or I could always shove it down your throat while you sleep."
He scowled, looking at the basket of fish by the door. The smell was already getting to him. He swore his nose hairs were dying.
"I'm starting to hate fish. Deeply. Passionately. With every fiber of my being."
Liana walked over and sat down at the table, still humming, as if serving culinary war crimes was a casual pastime.
"Why can't we just cook meat instead?" Arthur, he muttered.
"Because the last meat is going to the chief's house tomorrow," Liana replied, sipping her own bowl of stew with no visible disgust. Clearly, she had built up an immunity.
"Huh. Safe trip then," he said, already plotting his nap schedule for tomorrow.
"Oh, I'm not going."
Arthur blinked. "Wait. What? Don't tell me…"
Liana's grin stretched ear to ear. "Ding ding! Correct! I'm so proud to have such a smart brother. It's so easy to tell you things."
"Come on! For real?! I've been working my butt off hauling fish from the river for weeks, and now I have to climb the mountain edge to deliver meat to the chief's house"?
"Yup."
"That's so unfair. I'd rather be forced to eat the stew—"
"That," she said sweetly, lifting a ladle full of the green goo, "can be arranged."
"You're evil. I want new siblings."
Liana snorted. "You're lucky I'm the best you'll ever get. Now finish your stew before it congeals."
Arthur gagged at the word. "It's already congealed. It was born congealed."
Before Liana could shoot back another remark, a sharp knock echoed from the front door.
Their house, modest and made of warm brown wood, stood a little ways off the main road. A low stone fence surrounded it, enclosing a small patch of farmland where they grew onions, carrots, and a few stubborn tomatoes that refused to thrive. The house was close enough to the market to hear the morning chatter but far enough to enjoy peace.
Arthur looked up. "Are you expecting someone?"
Liana shook her head. "Nope. You get it."
"Why me? You're closer."
"And you've got two working legs, don't you? Move."
Grumbling, Aithur stood and shuffled to the door. He opened it to see a young boy, no older than ten, panting slightly as he stood barefoot on the porch.
"Good evening!" the boy chirped.
"Uh. Hey. What's up?"
The boy bowed slightly. "I have a message from the chief. He's requesting both of you to come see him right away. He said, It's very important."
Arthur blinked. "Both of us? Right now?"
"Yes, sir."
Liana appeared behind Aithur, holding a small piece of bread wrapped in cloth. She knelt down and handed it to the boy with a warm smile. "Here. You look like you ran all the way here. Eat this, and hurry home. The sun's already setting."
The boy beamed. "Thank you, Miss Liana!"
He bolted down the path, clutching the bread like it was a treasure.
Arthur stared after him, stunned. Then his face crumpled in betrayal.
"Wait a second. YOU HAD BREAD?!"
Liana arched an eyebrow. "And your point is?"
"You had bread, and you made me eat that...that...fish stew from the underworld?!"
She smacked him on the back of the head.
"OW!"
"You're seriously whining about bread right after hearing we got summoned by the chief for something important?"
"It's not the first time he's summoned us," Aithur grumbled. "Last time it was to ask if I could help fix his leaky roof."
"Maybe this time it'll be to replace your whiny attitude," she said, grabbing her cloak.
"I'm serious! That stew's going to haunt me in my dreams."
She gave him a deadpan stare. "I'll throw in the pot for free if you keep talking."
The two of them bickered the entire way through the village. The sun was sliding behind the hills, painting the sky with gold and lavender. Villagers were heading home, some waving as Aithur and Liana passed. The siblings reached the village center, where the chief's house stood on a small hill.
Unlike their home, the chief's residence was larger, sturdier, and decorated with old carvings of beasts and flowers. Smoke puffed from its chimney, and warm light glowed through the windows.
As they stepped inside, their conversation ground to a halt.
The chief sat at his usual seat, but beside him were four robed individuals. Their auras practically hummed in the air—cultivators.
The cultivators stood silently, eyes assessing them like prey.
Arthur froze. His stomach sank. He turned slowly to Liana.
"I should have listened to my senses," he muttered.
Liana gave him a look, but even she looked wary now.
Something was definitely going on.