Winter had always been unkind in the valley. The snow fell relentlessly, burying fields and roads alike, turning the modest lives of farming families into daily tests of endurance. For the household of Elina and Apollo, it was the hardest winter yet. Food was scarce, warmth even scarcer, and hope was a currency none could afford to waste. And in the thick of it all, two new mouths had joined the fray.
Hades could not, for the life of him, understand why his family kept growing.
The twins—Lucian and Laila—had arrived like a storm he hadn't been warned about. Their cries echoed through the small home at all hours. Their endless hunger drained what little reserves the family had left. Worst of all, they had somehow stolen something precious from him: his place.
His room, once a private refuge, had been surrendered to younger siblings. His chores had doubled. His mother's affection—her stories, her soothing hand on his brow when he had nightmares—was now funneled toward the infants who stared with unnerving intensity, as if they saw more than babies should.
He'd named them "leeches" in his thoughts. Sometimes, he said it out loud when no one was around.
The resentment festered.
Whenever it was his turn to feed the twins, he took his revenge in spoonfuls—stealing bites from their bowls before they could reach the babies' mouths. Creamy root soup, grain mash, even the rare sweetness of berry puree. It wasn't fair, he told himself. He was older. He needed more.
But Lucian and Laila were not ordinary infants.
Lucian always noticed. He could feel the shift in intention, the wrongness of Hades' actions. The moment a spoon was lifted but not directed toward Laila, he would cry—loud, wild, and pitiful—drawing Elina like a magnet. Every time, it worked. Every time, Hades backed off, gritting his teeth in silence.
Elina and Apollo had begun to suspect Hades' attitude, though they never caught him red-handed. What puzzled them most was that the twins never cried without reason. Not for attention, not for toys or tantrums. Only when something was truly wrong.
And so, their cries carried weight.
Then came the day when everything unraveled.
It was late afternoon. A brittle wind howled outside, pushing through cracks in the wooden cottage, bringing in a chill that bit at skin and spirit alike. The family cow had shown signs of frostbite, and Elina and Apollo had gone out together—rare during winter—to tend to her. The elder children were left in charge.
Rena had taken Trion and Tista to fetch firewood, leaving Hades alone with the twins.
Lucian and Laila were hungrier than usual, caught in the throes of a sudden growth spurt. Their tummies rumbled painfully as Hades entered the room with a plate of warm soup.
They watched him closely, the way animals might watch a predator.
Hades sat down and immediately shoveled a spoonful of the rich, creamy soup into his mouth. The warmth spread across his tongue, and for a moment, he forgot his irritation. Then he looked down and saw their wide, waiting eyes.
"Oh, cry all you want, leeches," he sneered. "No one's coming to save you today."
His voice dripped with venom. Lucian understood every word. Laila understood the meaning.
He took another spoonful, this time slower, savoring the stolen comfort.
Lucian's stomach growled painfully, and a heat began to build behind his ribs. He could feel Laila's magic flicker beside him—thin, silvery strands of lunar mana curling uselessly in the air like mist. They had magic, yes. But what use was it now?
A third spoonful rose to Hades' mouth.
Laila's fury boiled over, loud and vicious in her mind. "You thief. You filthy, smug little coward!" she raged inwardly. "You steal from babies. From your own blood!"
Lucian reached for the spoon, though his tiny hands could barely move. Magic coiled in his gut, raw and wild. He didn't think. He didn't plan.
He simply acted.
A violent burst of Solar mana shot from his core, invisible to the untrained eye but real as any flame. It surged toward the spoon—already in Hades' mouth—and slammed it deeper than intended.
Hades gasped, eyes wide. The spoon lodged in his throat.
He choked.
He thrashed.
Then he vomited violently onto the floor, the soup mixing with bile in a disgusting mess. The bowl clattered to the floor, spilling what little remained.
The twins' cries rang out in full force.
Moments later, Elina and Apollo burst through the door, faces pale with cold and panic. They froze at the sight before them—Lucian and Laila wailing, soup spilled across the floor, and Hades on all fours, coughing up his stolen meal.
"What happened here?!" Elina gasped, rushing to the twins.
Apollo's expression darkened. "Hades...?"
"I—I didn't mean to—" Hades stammered.
But the truth was all over his face, and all over the floor.
"I am very disappointed in you," Elina said, her voice cold. "From now on, I will feed Lucian and Laila myself."
"But Mom—"
"No but!" Apollo roared. "You'll take her shifts in the stable. Let's see how warm and full you feel after mucking out the hay stalls in the snow."
"And take their next meal from his portion," Elina added. "Let him understand the price of greed."
Lucian didn't catch every word, but he understood enough. The anger. The punishment. The justice.
As Hades cried and pleaded, the twins cried louder—this time not out of hunger, but in triumph. Apollo and Elina ignored Hades' tears as they carried the twins to the kitchen.
That night, Lucian and Laila were fed a second, fuller bowl of soup, followed by warm milk and extra blankets. Hades, silent and pale, was sent to the stable with nothing but bread crust and a sour look.
Another month passed.
Hades became quieter. He no longer protested when it was his turn for chores. He rarely looked at the twins. Whether from guilt or shame, he kept his distance.
And Lucian and Laila? They grew stronger.
They said their first words—simple and soft, like magic incantations in baby form. "Mommy." "Daddy." "Warm." "More."
The house rejoiced.
Even Trion beamed with pride, holding Laila's hand as she babbled. Rena wept and hugged Lucian, declaring him the smartest baby in the world.
As the snow began to melt, patches of green peeked through the thawing earth. Spring had finally come.
On the morning of their first birthday, the family gathered around a small cake baked with the last of the winter flour and sweetened with preserved fruit. Candles flickered gently as Elina whispered a blessing in the old tongue.
Lucian and Laila didn't need magic to understand the emotion around them—love, relief, and hope. Their first year had been marked by hardship, yes—but it ended with unity, growth, and the faint glimmer of something new.
The storm was behind them, and something brighter waited ahead.