Even Half-Moons Smile

Book Two

Toa

In the small lakeside village nestled in a valley, towering trees swayed in the pre-dawn breeze. The crisp air carried the scent of dew-covered grass and the distant murmur of the lake's waters. Birds began their morning serenade, filling the air with chirps as the first rays of sunlight painted the sky.

Inside the cottage, Toa's body throbbed. The room smelled of damp wood and sickness. A lit candle on the scrubbed wooden table revealed patches of peeling paint. A cracked windowpane allowed a sliver of dawn to sneak through, but the room remained mostly dark. Toa's fingers gently explored his tender ribs, pain pulsing through his body, though lessening slightly with each passing moment. The wooden floor creaked under his shifting weight. In his right hand, he held a kitchen knife, its sharp edge gleaming in the dim light.

From his spot, he thought, 'There's no way I could miss from this distance.' His hardened gaze fell upon the snoring figure by the empty fireplace. His father, Virilis, lay sprawled there, reeking of stale alcohol, tobacco, and vomit. The acrid stench clawed at Toa's nose, making his stomach churn as the room's cold dampness seeped into his bones.

A sharp jolt of pain shot through Toa's arm, and the knife slipped from his grasp, falling to the floor with a thud. His heart pounded, breath quickening. His father's bloodshot eyes snapped open, glaring at him with tangible hatred.

"Planning something with that knife, boy?" Virilis asked, his voice cold and mocking. Toa didn't respond, knowing better. He kept his gaze fixed on his father, revealing nothing. Weakness meant ruthless attacks. Virilis began to sit up, meeting his son's challenge. Toa instinctively scooted back, creating distance.

"Coward," Virilis spat, his voice harsh and cruel, before slipping back into a drunken stupor. The tension in the room briefly abated.

Toa clenched his fist, knuckles turning white. Tears welled up. His father's cruel words echoed in his mind. He knew he could defeat his father—stronger, faster, more skilled—but the cost was too high. He would be kicked out, forced to leave his siblings to their father's mercy. The thought alone was repulsive.

From the other room, he heard barely muffled chuckling. The bedroom door was ajar, revealing the twisted face of his younger brother, Aiden. The son their mother had always favored. Aiden's sinister smirk and malicious joy fed on Toa's pain.

"Maybe next time he'll kill you," Aiden said clearly, his words dripping with malevolence, uncaring who might hear.

The wooden walls felt like a prison, the window offering only a sliver of the world outside. The lake, just beyond the village, lay shrouded in mist, its waters lapping against the shore muffled by the thick cottage walls.

The pain in his ribs was abating, but each breath was still a struggle. The air felt heavy, conspiring with the room to suffocate him. The rough-hewn floor scraped against his palms as he picked himself up.

Toa locked gazes with Aiden and saw a spark of fear ignite in his brother's eyes. The room vibrated with tension as a cruel smirk twisted Toa's lips. He crept toward Aiden, his footsteps light, nearly inaudible.

Aiden's sneer faded into panic. He stumbled back, eyes darting around the room for escape. In his haste, he stepped on their youngest sibling, Vir, who woke with a wail of pain. The cries cut through the room like a dagger.

Toa completed his task, petty as he knew it was, and turned to leave, grim satisfaction coursing through him. He knew that while Vir was frightened, he was safe and unharmed, along with the rest of his siblings. Their father, Virilis, was about to awaken, filled with rage, and Aiden would face the full brunt of his wrath. The man hated being woken after one of his binges almost as much as he hated the sound of a crying child.