Chapter 39 Familiarity Is The Mark Of Fate

Chapter 39 Familiarity Is The Mark Of Fate
🌋 Elias 🌋

When the last of the stag meat was gone, Liora stood, brushing her hands on her skirt. “You must be tired from the road,” she said kindly. “Come, dear. You and your companion can wash up before supper.”

Seraphina nodded, rising. “Thank you.”

I followed, though part of me wanted to stay—to see if the house would vanish the moment we entered. Or if the man named Robert would appear since we were now entering into the house.

But we stepped in, with no interruption.

Liora led us along a narrow passage that curved behind the main room. The walls glowed faintly, the light coming from small jars of fireflies hanging in woven nets. Their glow painted the path gold.

We reached a small wooden door. Liora opened it, revealing a simple room beyond.

“You can bathe here,” she said, gesturing toward a low basin already filled with water that shimmered faintly as though lit from beneath. “I’ll bring dinner in later. There are clothes and boots in the chest—take what you need.”

“Thank you,” Seraphina said softly.

Liora’s smile was gentle. “Rest well, travelers.”

Then she left, closing the door behind her.

Silence settled again.

For a long moment, neither of us moved.

The room was small—barely wide but enough for the two stools and a low bed tucked against the wall. Everything was there. Even, a folded set of clothes at the foot of the bed, two pairs of boots by the door, a towel hanging neatly beside the basin.

I stepped closer to the chest and opened it. My breath caught.

Inside were more clothes. Supplies. Bandages. Soap.

“How did she—?” I began.

“She didn’t,” Seraphina said quietly behind me. “This isn’t new.”

I turned. Oh yes! It wouldn't be. They seem to welcome all kinds of strangers in their home. So these clothes would have been worn by many.

Seraphina was standing near the basin, her reflection rippling faintly on the water’s surface. “We’ve been here before, Elias,” she said. “This is the same house. The same family. I feel like these people know us..but they didn't want to break it to us.”

Her voice softened. “The loop hasn’t ended yet.”

I shut the chest slowly. The sound echoed through the room, hollow and final.

For a moment, I just stared at the basin’s glowing surface. The light danced over her hands, over the lamp she’d placed beside her. It looked almost alive, pulsing faintly, as if reacting to the air around it.

I didn’t trust this place. But for the first time, I wasn’t sure if leaving it would make things better—or worse.

I sat down on the stool, Seraphina spoke again, quieter this time. “Elias… do you think they’re real?”

I looked up.

Her eyes were searching, afraid in a way I hadn’t seen before. I didn’t answer.

Because I didn’t know.

Why was she asking me? She had always been more knowledgeable in her own way…when dealing with things like this. So why was the question directed at me when instead I should be the one asking.

But the look in her eyes said something I've never seen before. She didn't seem to know about this.

By the time we were done washing, night had sunk deep into the village. The air outside was cooler now, brushed with a faint, perfumed scent of burning wood and herbs in the compound. I pulled on one of the shirts from the chest — it fit too perfectly, as though made for me — and stepped out with Seraphina.

The family was already waiting.

Garin, Liora, the old woman, and the two children sat cross-legged on woven mats on the floor, a large, low table placed between them. On it sat three wide clay bowls, filled to the brim — steaming rice, roasted meat, some kind of thick, glowing broth that shimmered faintly gold under the lantern light hung above.

It looked… too much. Too generous. Too deliberate. For one person.

Liora waved us closer. “Come,” she said cheerfully. “The night waits for no stomach.”

We joined them, crouching near the table. The smell was intoxicating. My stomach tightened instinctively, The elderly woman, who had been silent since we arrived, finally spoke, her tone calm but commanding.

“In this house,” she said, “we do not eat alone. Food binds. You must eat together — from the same plate.”

Seraphina blinked, startled. “Together?”

The woman nodded. “As Garin and Liora share theirs, and as I share with my grandchildren. You are a pair, are you not? The bond grows stronger when hearts and hands meet over a single meal.”

I looked around. Indeed, Garin and Liora had already leaned closer, their heads almost touching as they began to eat from the same bowl. The old woman pulled her two grandchildren to her side, laughing softly as she began to feed them from another.

Their union wasn't called for. Eating from the same plate doesn't mean the bond will last longer. This act seems uncalled for.

Seraphina looked uncertain for a heartbeat. Then she smiled faintly, as though deciding there was no harm in it. “It’s fine,” she whispered to me. “Just food, Elias. What’s the worst that could happen?”

I didn’t answer.

Because that question — in our lives — was always the one that came before disaster.

Still, I crouched beside her, my hands resting on my knees. The bowl before us steamed gently, the scent familiar to the ones I had always eaten back at my palace.

Liora smiled, watching us. “Eat before it grows cold,” she said. “The strength in food fades when left untouched.”

I hesitated.

She reached for the spoon, dipped it into the rice, and took a bite.

The moment she did, her face brightened. “This is— oh, this is incredible.” She turned to Liora, genuine delight in her eyes. “This tastes divine! You have a gift, truly.”

Liora’s expression softened with pride. “It is nothing special,” she said humbly. “Just herbs and a little magic.”

Magic.

That word again.

Seraphina took another spoonful, then another, and then nudged me gently with her elbow. “Eat,” she said, her tone half-pleading, half-mocking. “If you don’t, the bond fails — and our mission too.”

Mission. Bond.

It was absurd — but in her voice, it almost sounded like hope.

Reluctantly, I reached for the spoon. It was warm, slick with oil. I took a small bite, the food soft and heavy on my tongue.

And then I froze.

The taste.

It was the same. Exactly the same as the one we had eaten in Garin’s house before. Same texture. Same faint sweetness. Even the same lingering heat that numbed the tip of my tongue.

I swallowed slowly, setting the spoon down. “This is…”

Seraphina looked at me expectantly. “Good?”

“The same,” I muttered. “Exactly the same.”

Her smile faltered. “You mean—?”

“Yes.”

She looked down at the bowl, the laughter fading from her eyes. Around us, the family kept eating, their movements rhythmic, synchronized — too synchronized. The sound of their spoons against the clay bowls was almost musical, a steady beat that filled the space like a heartbeat.

Liora noticed our silence. “Is it not to your taste?” she asked kindly.

Seraphina quickly shook her head. “No, no — it’s wonderful,” she said, forcing a smile. “We just… were surprised. It’s familiar, somehow.”

The old woman looked up at that, her wrinkled face unreadable. “Familiarity is the mark of fate,” she said softly. “You walk roads already carved by your choices, child. The taste you know is the taste of what you left unfinished.”

The room fell quiet again,

Seraphina lowered her gaze, her hand tightening around the spoon. I could see her thinking — retracing, connecting, remembering. The air grew heavier, the glow from the lanterns dimming slightly.

I didn’t know whether to eat again or push the bowl away.

She glanced at me then, a faint tremor in her voice. “Elias… what if she’s right?”

“About what?”

“What if this place isn’t new at all?” Her voice dropped. “What if it’s what we never escaped?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to.

Because deep down, I was beginning to feel it too — the invisible hand that had placed us here, made us sit, made us eat. The repetition. The same faces. The same food. The same impossible warmth.

As though the world itself was folding over us, keeping us from moving forward.

The old woman’s voice broke the silence again, gentle but firm. “Eat, children,” she said. “It is rude to waste what binds the soul.”

And so, slowly, mechanically, I obeyed.

Seraphina ate beside me, her pace slower now, her earlier excitement replaced by something quieter — suspicion, perhaps, or dawning fear.

Garin’s laughter rolled through the room again, loud and unburdened. Liora fed the youngest child a piece of meat. The old woman hummed softly.

By the time the bowls were empty, I wasn’t sure if I was full or hollow.

Seraphina leaned back slightly, exhaling. “Maybe,” she murmured, “this isn’t such a bad place to get stuck in.”