CHAPTER 17: HOME SWEET HOME

The house was modest, built from weathered brick, standing humbly amidst a vast stretch of lush, green grass. Around it, rows of identical homes spanned into the distance, their simplicity marked by small wooden fences that kept wandering animals within their bounds. Nearby, figures dressed in wide-brimmed hats worked diligently under the bright sun, tending the earth with quiet purpose. The scent of freshly tilled soil lingered in the air as they planted crops. At the edge of a tranquil lake, a few cast their fishing lines, patiently waiting for the fish to bite. But this house, this one, held something different, a workshop.

Before we crossed the threshold, the unmistakable clang of steel striking steel rang through the air. It sounded almost like a battle being fought just beyond the walls. Outside, tucked away behind the house, stood a small, cluttered workshop, where chaos unfolded in full view. A man, his long black hair tied neatly at the nape of his neck, stood over an anvil, a thin stream of smoke curling from his pipe. His hands, calloused and steady, moved with practiced precision, hammering a sword into shape. The metal glowed red-hot from the flames that surrounded it. So immersed in his craft, he seemed unaware of our presence.

We stepped inside, and I was immediately reminded of the small cottage I had grown up in. The scent of freshly cut wood filled the air, and the simple, sturdy furniture hummed with a warmth that felt familiar, as though the house itself had been waiting for us to return.

"Uncle's making a sword again," Novalie said, crossing her arms with the solemnity of someone who had uncovered a great secret. "Aunt, I think Uncle's actually a tall dwarf. He's always doing what dwarves do."

The woman gasped, feigning shock. "I think you've uncovered the truth, my dear. He's an undercover dwarf!" she said with a conspiratorial gleam in her eye. "Maybe one dwarf is the legs, the other the arms and face. It's the perfect disguise."

Novalie's eyes widened in mock horror, completely caught up in the fun of the idea. "That explains everything!" she gasped, as if she had just solved the greatest mystery of our time.

"He better not start digging for gemstones in my backyard," the woman chuckled, her laughter warm and inviting as she waved her hand dismissively. "Let me make you something to eat." She moved toward the small kitchen, her presence softening the room as the warm glow from the hearth cast gentle shadows on her face.

After a while, the woman returned with food, the rich, savory aroma filling the air and making my stomach growl in anticipation. The man, who had been working tirelessly all afternoon, entered the house with a wide grin. "I could smell this from the workshop," he said, his voice a deep rumble, before settling into his seat with ease. "How are you doing kids?" The words came out with a certain easy familiarity, but the edge of amusement in his voice betrayed the underlying tone. "It's been a while, Novalie. Just when we thought we might actually have enough food to stretch a little longer, here you are, as always, ready to finish it off. And with company this time, no less."

Novalie, sitting quietly, pouted and avoided eye contact. "Aunt forced us to come, Uncle," she muttered, as though the words were weighed down by something heavy.

The woman, her presence calm and steady, smiled warmly and raised a hand. "Let's say grace before we eat." Her voice was soft, soothing, familiar, as she bowed her head, murmuring a prayer under her breath. When she finished, she raised her head with a smile. "Let's dig in."

The first bite hit me like a wave of nostalgia. The flavors were so familiar, so comforting, it was as though I were sitting at my own mother's table again. The taste was exactly like the meals she used to make, rich, warm, and full of love. A lump formed in my throat, and before I could stop it, tears began to slip down my cheeks.

Novalie gave me a curious look. "Why are you crying, Tiny?"

The man chuckled. "Is my wife's cooking really that bad?"

I quickly wiped my face and shook my head. "No," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "I just... remembered something."

After dinner, the room fell into a comfortable silence as the last plates were cleared. Outside, the sky had darkened, stars beginning to dot the heavens. The woman sighed as she wiped her hands on a dish towel.

"Oh! I'm late!" Novalie suddenly exclaimed, jumping to her feet. Without so much as a glance back, she darted out of the house, leaving me behind.

The man raised an eyebrow. "Look at that, left her relative behind," he said with a chuckle. But the woman's gaze softened, and she pinched him on the knee beneath the table.

"Poor child," she murmured, her voice tinged with sorrow. "She can't even stay outside and play because of Anastasia." Her eyes distant, she shook her head, as if weighed by an unspoken worry. The man sighed too, a deep and heavy sound, as if he carried some unseen burden.

"Why does Novalie call you Tiny?" the woman asked, breaking the silence.

I hesitated for a moment. "That's my name," I said quietly.

"A nickname, I see," the man said, his voice casual but his eyes sharp with curiosity. "Tiny? Why Tiny, though? You're not so short. Or does it have something to do with down there?" He winked playfully before chuckling. "Don't worry, kid. You're still growing."

The woman rolled her eyes with a fond sigh. "Right, Tiny," she said, her tone softening to something more maternal. "Since you don't have a place to stay, you can stay with us."

The man froze, staring at her in shock. For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. Then, with a grin, he nodded. "From now on, your name will be Jack," he declared, his voice carrying an unexpected weight. "It's a name that's always been in my heart... our late son's name."

The woman smiled, her eyes gleaming with something I couldn't quite place. The warmth of the gesture made my chest tighten, but for the first time in a long while, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe...maybe this wasn't so bad.

And just like that, I had a new family. Nothing would ever replace my real mother, but these people, this man and woman, they felt right. The new name they had given me felt different, not just like a word, but like a promise. A fresh start. They seemed like better parents than Titus ever had been, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I had a roof over my head. It was better than a cave. Better than nothing.

"Pretty cool, Goose kid," the man said, pointing at Xanthe's bird with a warm grin. Then, his gaze shifted to the battle axe at my side. His eyes widened in awe as he approached it, his hands careful. "Where did you get this, kid?"

I shrugged, unsure of what to answer. "I don't remember," I said softly, my voice distant, as though the memory had slipped away like sand through my fingers.

The man didn't seem to hear me. He was too absorbed in the weapon, turning it over in his hands, inspecting it with awe. "I've never seen anything like it," he murmured, his voice full of wonder. "Magnificent," he whispered, running his fingers over the intricate carvings and sharp edges.

"What's it made of?, I've never seen such a material in my life," he asked, his voice low with fascination.

"I don't remember," I repeated, my words feeling more like a lie than the truth. But I couldn't bring myself to care. Novalie was right. This man is a dwarf, I thought.

From that moment, the name "Tiny" faded. It was replaced by something new, something that felt like it belonged to me and so, the legend of Jack the Colossal began.