Death: The Fall of Endsville

Chapter Seven: The Ice War

The soft light of dawn crept into the stone chamber, gently nudging Arthur from sleep. He blinked, groggy at first, but something caught his attention—a faint smell wafting through the air, warm, earthy, and a touch sweet. His senses sharpened, and he sat up, sniffing the air. Freshly baked bread? And chocolate? The rare, rich scent grew stronger by the second, and Arthur's mouth watered. It had been nearly a week since they've had fresh breakfast already prepared for them.

He turned toward Richard, who lay sprawled under his blanket, blissfully unaware. With a grin, Arthur leaned over and gave him a nudge. "Richard. Wake up! I smell breakfast."

Richard groaned, his face buried in his pillow, but then the scent seemed to hit him too. Slowly, he peeked out, blinking in sleepy confusion before his eyes went wide with realization.

"Is that... chocolate?" he asked, his voice filled with disbelief. Then, as if struck by a jolt of energy, he threw off the blanket and leapt out of bed, exclaiming, "CHOCOLATE!! YES!!" He shot a grin at Arthur, the kind of look that was rare these days—a gleeful, unguarded grin that made him look like a little kid again.

Arthur laughed, feeling a thrill of excitement himself. They dressed quickly, pulling on tunics and trousers, and followed the smell down the corridor. The stone walls, cold and rough under their fingers, couldn't dampen the warmth building in their chests. A breakfast like this was a rare treat, a piece of normalcy in the midst of their duties and responsibilities. But as they entered the small dining room, they were met with a sight that made them stop in their tracks.

At the head of the table, setting down a steaming loaf of golden, delicious-looking bread, was none other than Aunt Cindelle. She looked up, catching sight of them, and her face broke into a gentle, radiant smile. But it was the person beside her who left them truly speechless.

"Norr?" Richard's voice was barely a whisper, his gaze fixed on the man standing beside Cindelle, hands wrapped around a tray with two pewter mugs, filled to the brim with thick, hot chocolate. Norr was... standing. Not just standing but looking alive, his face flushed with warmth, the faintest glint of mischief in his eye. The last time they'd seen him, he'd been lying on the floor, blood pooling around him, his breaths shallow.

Norr caught their stunned expressions and let out a low chuckle, setting down the tray. "Now, now, don't look at me like that," he said, a familiar grin spreading across his face. "I told you all, I think I'll stay right here. I'm too stubborn to leave anytime soon."

Richard's gaze flickered over Norr, lingering on his midsection where the wound had been, but Norr shook his head with a reassuring smile. "Everything's fine, boys. I'm on the mend. Nothing to worry about."

Arthur swallowed, feeling a strange mix of relief and disbelief. It was surreal, seeing Norr there, looking so... well. It felt like a blessing, a small miracle he hadn't expected.

Cindelle approached them, her eyes warm with kindness. "Good morning, you two. We thought we'd surprise you with a special breakfast."

Arthur and Richard exchanged glances, still processing the scene. "You... you made this?" Arthur asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Every bit of it," Cindelle said, gesturing to the table. "Now, come and sit. There's plenty to go around."

The table was laid with a simple yet inviting spread. A large loaf of bread, crusty and dark, sat at the center, its rugged surface flecked with flour. The two pewter mugs of chocolate steamed gently, their rich aroma filling the room. Arthur and Richard, drawn by the warmth and comfort of the meal, took their seats, feeling a rare sense of home wash over them.

Norr grabbed a small knife and began slicing the loaf, each cut releasing a fresh burst of steam from the warm interior. He handed a thick slice to each of them, his eyes twinkling. "Careful, now—it's still hot. But trust me, you don't want to wait too long."