Chapter Text
Munir is eight years old.
He lives in a small and round stone house, along with his parents, Magda and Lazlo. Their house is tucked away in a small corner of the town of Moonbrook. A firbolg town that lies deep in the Silverbark Forest and has been magically cloaked from outsiders.
It’s a cool spring evening, with a slight cloying humidity from the rains early in the day. The air within the small home was filled with the scent of roasted meat and vegetables as dinner time approached.
Munir was a slight boy. His frame was small and wiry. Knowing dinner was near he hurriedly ran to the sink in the tiny kitchen, washing his hands and face to scrub any dirt off of his grey skin. He quickly brushed his long brown hair out of his face, tucking it behind his elongated ears, before straightening up any wrinkles in his simple green tunic. He knew his father would be upset if he didn’t look presentable a meal time.
Afterward he moved over to the counter where his mother was plating up their meal. She had the same grey skin as him and the same brown hair, though worn shorter. She also had gleaming amber eyes, which Munir was told he also had. Today she was wearing a pale tunic and mauve skirt, over which she had draped an apron so as to not stain them.
She opened a drawer and pulled out a handful of silverware and handed it to Munir without a word. He took the implements from her and dashed over to the small wooden dining table and quickly laid out the cutlery for himself, his mother, and most importantly his father.
Magda followed shortly behind, placing plates in each spot. Tonight’s dinner consisted of a honey-glazed roast pork and a blend of parsnips and potatoes that had been rubbed with butter and roast as well. The smell of the meal was hearty, earthy, and faintly burnt. As pair finished setting the table, heavy footsteps approached from the adjoining room.
Stepping in to the room was a tall firbolg man with stark white skin and long black hair, hair that grew like Munir’s. He shot Magda and Munir a leery look from his steely blue eyes and let out a “hmph”. He slicked back his hair and adjusted his red silken robes. Striding over to the dining table, he took his seat, and glowered at the other two. Taking their cue, Magda and Munir joined Lazlo for their family dinner.
The trio ate in silence. The vegetables were dry, but the butter made them palatable. Likewise the pork had been burnt and carried the taste of coal, mingled with the sweetness of the honey.
Lazlo spoke up in a terse voice, saying something in a tongue Munir didn’t understand. His mother seemed to though, as she looked up at the man with a weariness in her eyes. She said something flatly in the same strange tongue. While Munir didn’t know the words, every time his parents used them they got tired and angry. Lazlo’s eyes narrowed on the woman and he said something else, harshly. Magda responded again, more firmly this time. This back and forth of strange words continued, each phrase becoming louder and harsher.
An unknowable anxiety began to well up in Munir and his eyes started to mist over. Unsure what his parents were saying but feeling the tension and the anger. He stood up from his spot, and quickly grabbed his dishes. His parents paid him no mind as he claimed their dishes as well, they were lost in their argument.
He carried the stack over to their small sink. He scraped the scraps in to the small bin that would be used for compost, before pulling over a small step stool so he could reach the sink itself. Quickly and quietly he began scrubbing the dishes and the cutlery, getting them perfectly spotless before drying them with an old ragged towel. He had to climb fully on to the counter to stow the plates back in the cupboard.
As his parents continued to argue, oblivious to him, Munir climbed back down to the floor. He moved as quickly as he could around the kitchen, slipping passed the door in to the living area. He darted across the small room and through the door on the other side, passing in to his modest bedroom.
The room was tiny and had a bare wooden floor. Munir had a small basket where he kept his clean clothes, and a little bed with an old patchwork blanket. He crawled under his covers, staring out the single window in the room. He started through his watering eyes at the moon that was just peaking through the clouds now. He could still hear his parents anger-filled clamor coming from the other room.
He tried to ignore the sound and to simply sleep, but the din was all he could focus on. Their voices grew louder and more intense. Then he heard footsteps, rapidly moving from the kitchen to the living area. The steps grew louder as they got closer, finally stopping outside his room. His parents voices were unavoidable now. What emotion their strange words carried washed over Munir, filling him with dread. Just when he thought the sound would burst through his door they were cut off. The yelling was stopped by a sharp slapping sound and a yelp in his mother’s voice.
It was quiet for only a moment before the noise returned. The footsteps began again, this time moving away from Munir’s room. The became fainter and fainter until there was a loud slamming sound, that Munir recognized as their front door. He heard his father shout one more time in that odd tongue, then all was quiet.
Footsteps came once more, the heavy steps of Lazlo unaccompanied by Magda’s lighter steps this time. Munir heard the door to his room open slowly, and in walked his father.
The tall man stared daggers down at the boy.
He finally spoke words that Munir could understand. “That useless woman is gone now.” His deep voice was icy. “That means you’re going to have to pick up some slack around here, boy. Got it?”
Munir looked up at his father with his teary eyes, and nodded in affirmation.
“Good.” His father huffed, before striding out of the room.
Munir lay there in his bed, staring up at the moon. He was confused and tired and sad. He didn’t understand why his parents fought or why his mother left, only that she had. And now he was alone with his father.
Sleep came to Munir quickly, emotionally exhausted as he was. Within the shifting darkness of his dreaming mind their came a gentle light, like moonlight. There came a voice then, a mans voice. Unlike his father’s it was soft and kind. He couldn’t place the words but nonetheless they caused a sense of ease to fill him.
In dreams at least, he could be safe.