CHAPTER 22: The GOOSE THAT LAID GOLDEN EGGS

I remember the day Novalie shared her story, the sorrow in her voice laced with a guilt she should have never carried.

She told me how her mother had died bringing her into the world, and how her father, drowning in grief, sought comfort at the bottom of a bottle and in the arms of countless women. Then he met her. Anastasia. A woman who, for a fleeting moment, seemed like salvation. They married, had twin daughters, and for a time, it looked like a second chance at happiness.

But fairy tales are just that, fairy tales.

The moment Anastasia bore her own children, the warmth she once feigned for Novalie turned to ice. She wasn't a stepdaughter anymore. She was a burden. A lingering shadow of the woman Anastasia could never replace. Novalie became a servant in her own home, mistaking cruelty for love, obedience for belonging.

Then came the silence. Her visits grew fewer and farther between, until one day, I realized an entire year had passed.

Ice gave way to rushing streams, green crept back into the fields, and livestock roamed with renewed vigor. The lake swelled, fish darting beneath its shimmering surface, and the villagers turned the earth with hopeful hands. It was the season of new beginnings.

But something felt wrong.

Xanthe's, no, my phoenix, was dying.

The once-blazing phoenix feathers dulled to ashen gray, like the last strands of color in an old man's hair. The fire that once danced along its wings faded, until all that remained was cold, lifeless dust. Its cry was not the proud call of a creature reborn, but a brittle whisper, a final breath before the end.

Then, one morning, I found something strange.

Five golden eggs.

Unlike ordinary eggs, these were massive, metallic, as if forged from the very heart of the sun itself. Weeks turned to months, and instead of hatching, the eggs multiplied. Five became ten. Ten became fifteen. Fifteen became twenty. Yet nothing stirred within them. No heartbeat. No warmth. Nothing.

Even my father, a skilled blacksmith, tried forging a weapon from one. He melted steel, sharpened blades, brought every tool he had against them. But the eggs remained unyielding, unbreakable.

Useless.

Then, I thought of Novalie.

I loaded five eggs into a wheelbarrow, each one as heavy as it looked, and made my way to her home, thinking, at the very least, they'd make good decorations.

When I knocked, fate played its cruel trick.

Anastasia opened the door.

The second she saw me, her face twisted in disgust. "Stray," she spat. "What do you want?"

I forced a smile. "Is Novalie home? I brought her a gift."

Her gaze flickered to the wheelbarrow, and just like that, her entire demeanor shifted.

Her lips curled into something that was meant to be a smile but felt more like a viper baring its fangs. "What was your name again? Oh, right. Jackie." Her voice turned saccharine, her eyes gleaming with a hunger I knew too well, the kind that saw wealth, not worth. "Are those…taming beast eggs? Where did you get them?"

Bingo.

She thought they were valuable. She had no idea they were as useful as a rock in a fight.

I sighed. "Look, I just want to see Novalie."

"Of course," she purred, stepping aside.

Inside, the house was grand, far better than anything in the village. Polished floors, golden chandeliers, and walls lined with ornate carvings. But even here, cracks bled through the perfection. A shattered window. A fraying curtain. A home that tried too hard to be something it wasn't.

Before I could take another step, two small figures darted toward me.

"Big brother Jack!"

The twins.

They clung to my legs, giggling as they jumped up and down. They had grown. Their faces were fuller, their eyes brighter. I ruffled their hair, offering them a smile before Anastasia led me further inside.

Then, I saw her.

Novalie.

She was hunched over a basin, scrubbing a mountain of clothes, her hands raw from the effort. It didn't take a genius to know they weren't all hers.

"Novalie, dear," Anastasia cooed, her voice dripping with false kindness. "Look who's come to visit. Don't worry about the washing, I'll do it."

Novalie froze.

Not because she believed her stepmother's words, but because she didn't.

Slowly, she turned, eyes widening as she met mine.

"Hey, Jack," she said, smiling.

I nodded. "Hey, Novalie. You okay?"

She wiped her hands on her skirt. "I'm fine. You finally visited." A pause. "What brings you here?"

I gestured to the wheelbarrow. "The phoenix laid these eggs, and I figured I'd give you some. They won't hatch, they won't crack, and they're basically useless, but…they might make good decorations."

Her eyes lit up with excitement as she tried to lift one, only to fail spectacularly.

I chuckled. "Yeah, they're heavier than they look."

She grinned. "Thanks, Jack. I'll give some to the twins and keep a few in my room."

That smile, it was worth the trip.

A few days passed before another knock echoed through our home.

This time, it was Novalie's father, Lincoln.

He stood in the doorway, a massive smoked haunch of meat in one hand and a bottle of liquor in the other.

"Hey, Logan, thought we should talk," he said. He lifted the bottle, shaking it slightly. "Brought along some smoked animal flesh and a bottle that burns the chest."

My father, who could resist everything except free alcohol, immediately started drooling.

"Your house is my house, Lin—I mean, Mr. Aragón," he said, rubbing his hands together like a happy fly.

Mom and I sat at the table as the two men poured themselves drinks, their laughter filling the room.

Then Lincoln leaned in, voice dropping to a near whisper.

"I heard your phoenix laid eggs, kid." He took a slow sip, watching me. "But those ain't just any eggs."

I frowned. "Yeah, they're weird. Won't hatch, won't break. Completely useless."

Lincoln chuckled, shaking his head. "No, boy. Each one is 100% pure gold."

Silence.

The bottle in my father's hand slipped, spilling its contents.

I blinked. "Come again?"

Lincoln smirked.

"You gave my daughter a fortune."

And just like that, my heart slammed against my ribs.