It was a morning like any other at the inn. Saul had woken up early and followed his usual routine — cleaning, organizing, moving barrels, and sweeping the time-worn wooden floor.
As he worked, he noticed that the children were already gone.
No sounds came from their room, no footsteps in the corridors, no noise from the back of the kitchen.
They had left early, as they had been doing for quite some time now.
Then, for the first time in a long while, Saul found himself standing still, rag in hand, staring into the distance as memories of the past surfaced — the days when the house was livelier, his wife still alive, and the mornings when they had to call the children one, two, sometimes three times before they would wake.
He remembered Lacy's passing and the ache that still lingered whenever her face crossed his mind — the memories of their talks, their secrets.
Now, alone, all those secrets belonged only to him.
The responsibility for the inn and for the children's well-being rested solely on his shoulders — a man with no real trade, knowing only how to work hard, doing simple, backbreaking labor to keep everything running.
He thought about the children — how they now woke on their own and left before the sun had fully risen.
"When did all this start to change?" he wondered.
He couldn't answer. He only knew that, somehow, nothing felt the same anymore.
"I don't remember exactly when it began," he thought, "but it's been some time since I started noticing the changes. The children under my care — my own, Aron and Jenny, and Robert, my late Lacy's nephew — they're not the same anymore.
They've changed. And not just a little."
"Aron... he was always a quiet boy. Head down, accepting the life he was given — work, carry buckets, chop wood, tend the inn, and that's it.
But lately, he's been different. More alert, more cheerful. His eyes... they shine as if he's hiding some secret. Sometimes I don't know if I should feel proud of his well-being or worried that he'll do something wrong."
"Jenny, my little one. She used to barely leave the inn. She lived between her room and the kitchen, or tending the garden and fetching water from the well.
A homebody, calm and quiet.
Now she's always walking around with her brother and that other boy, as if her shyness had been replaced with some restless need to wander.
I hardly recognize her anymore.
There's something in her now... a confidence that didn't exist before."
"And Robert... he's the one who confuses me most.
He used to be lazy, disobedient — almost invisible.
Only did what he was told, and even then with half the effort. I had to call him, scold him, remind him again and again.
Now? He's another person.
Wakes early, works without being told, finishes tasks properly — like a grown man.
It's strange. Very strange."
"The three of them leave together almost every day. And every time they return... they're different.
They bring things back that they didn't take with them.
They think I don't notice — but I do.
The first time, they came back with new clothes. Said they 'found them'.
I doubt it. But it's been so long, and no one came to claim them, that I just let it go.
I don't believe they stole them either. Three children couldn't overpower travelers. Especially my children."
"But something in them has changed.
In these past months, they've grown so much.
My Jenny... she's different now. Almost a young woman.
It's strange, because we live with so little — just enough to not starve — yet somehow, she's thriving."
"Aron, my son, only eleven years old, already reaches my shoulder.
His arms are firm, his hands rough, like those of a squire who wields a sword, not a boy who only carries wood and water.
I don't understand. Maybe it's the blood of his mother — maybe she had some strong ancestor.
Or maybe... something else entirely."
"And the other boy — the one they call Twig — even though he's still thin, he's growing fast too.
He doesn't look like a child who eats so little.
There's something strange about them all... something I can't explain."
Alone again, and worried about these changes, Saul forced his thoughts aside and returned to his work.
He grabbed the bucket and rag once more and continued cleaning as if nothing had happened.
There was no use dwelling on what couldn't be changed.
Things change — that's how things should be.
And thinking too much about it doesn't fill the belly, earn coin, or warm a tired body at night.
With a weary sigh, Saul went back to his routine, letting his thoughts drift away.
Later that day, when he saw the children again — their faces, their expressions, their new ways of acting — the same thoughts returned.
Something about them was off. Not just their bodies, but their eyes — as if they'd lived years in just a few months.
As if they knew something he didn't.
As if something was coming.
But there was no time for reflection. The guests called out; voices filled the hall; food had to be served, and mugs refilled.
There were barrels to move and tables to clean.
And so, pushing his thoughts to the back of his mind, Saul went back to what he did best — work.
While he worked, he began to notice something else.
His son Aron, and the boy Twig, weren't just helping — they were good at it.
They served the guests efficiently, sometimes bringing drinks before being called, anticipating who would ask for another mug of ale.
It wasn't luck or coincidence.
They simply knew.
Saul frowned, pretending to wipe the counter while he watched them from a distance.
"Strange… very peculiar," he muttered under his breath, cleaning the same spot for the third time.
He had never seen them act like that before.
The more he watched, the more one thing stood out.
Twig — that same lazy, inattentive boy who used to forget every task — was now completely different.
While serving the tables, he listened.
Not just to listen — he paid attention.
The boy's eyes followed every conversation, especially the ones about the realm — wars, nobles, rumors about the king, or any news from the road.
Saul observed him from afar, rubbing his chin.
"Too sharp for a boy his age," he thought.
When night came and the guests had retired to their rooms, Saul finally let the boys rest as well.
Exhausted, he watched as the three of them climbed the stairs to their room.
But before they vanished from sight, something caught his attention.
He heard Aron and Twig talking softly in the corridor.
Twig spoke with excitement, gesturing animatedly as he walked.
He was telling Aron that the king — once held prisoner by a rebellious noble — had finally been rescued by a knight.
Aron's eyes widened.
"A knight rescuing the king himself?" he repeated, amazed.
Then he smiled, eyes bright with admiration.
"One day, I want to be like that," he said. "A knight strong enough to save a king."
Saul stood silently for a while, listening as their voices faded down the hallway.
He wasn't sure whether to smile… or to worry.
"Forget it, I'm too tired" He thought.