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"You need to stay focused on your duties." The giant's voice bellowed across the chamber, a warning wrapped in a scowl. "Dreaming will get you nowhere."
With a guttural hum, Barrett acknowledged his stepfather's words and watched as the giant retreated once more, each step a cacophony of creaks and groans from the ancient floorboards.
"I will find my way," Barrett mouthed silently, his hands persisting in their endless task. But within him, a flame flickered—a defiant hope that refused to be snuffed out by the suffocating clutches of his stepfather's kingdom.
As the day waned and shadows stretched across the hall with grasping fingers, Barrett clenched the ring once more. The soft glow cast by the setting sun kissed the stone, bathing Barrett in a light that spoke of promises yet to be fulfilled.
In the privacy of the fading light, Barrett allowed himself the smallest of laughter, a sound that should have been joyous but was instead weighted with sorrow.
The sound was a quiet thing, barely disturbing the silence, but it was a declaration of sorts. A vow that, though he was bound by fate and blood, Barrett would not be held captive forever.
And so, with night descending like a curtain on another day's toils, Barrett dreamed yet again of salvation. Of a hero from afar who would climb to the clouds and release him from this gilded cage.
CHAPTER
THREE
Jackson's worn out boots clicked against the cobblestone of the market square as he navigated his way through the bustling crowd of one of the Midwest's many farmer's markets. Each step was heavy, the weight of his burden apparent with every movement as he looked to do the unthinkable - sell a farm pet in hopes the buyer treated it well.
Every step could have brought him one step closer to relief. Instead, only dread filled his heart as he stared off at the market's already bustling commerce center.
The sweet scent of freshly baked pastries wafted through the air, mingling with the earthy smell of livestock and the salty tang of something he didn't want to identify in the distance. A few more steps, and he would be in the thick of it with no turning back.
A cacophony of voices filled Jackson's ears, a mix of vendors calling out their wares and people haggling over prices. The gentle jingling of coins exchanged hands, mingled with the rustling of fabric and paper as people browsed through stalls laden with colorful fruits and vegetables, freshly baked breads and pastries, handcrafted trinkets, and livestock on display.
The smell of different spices assaulted his nose at every turn—garlic from the produce stand down the lane, fish from the nearby dock where boats unloaded their catches for sale. Despite the chaos around him, there was an underlying rhythm to it all–a beat that pulsed in time with the town's heartbeat.
The sun peeked from behind dark storm clouds, casting long shadows as if daring them to play hide and seek with its warmth. Winter was still holding on, keeping each day as cold as the last. He'd already felt a few snowflakes kiss his cheeks earlier in the week and knew winter would not soon relinquish her icy grip.
Every year, it seemed like another struggle for survival—for both him and his crops. But this year would be different, he thought, stuffing down any fears or doubts about their future.
He spotted a woman with dark brown hair and clothes more mud-covered than not, haggling with a fruit vendor over what looked to be a very mealy apple. He couldn't blame her for wanting to take the price down.
The market was a hive of activity the further into it he went, with people haggling over produce, animals lowing and mooing, children laughing, and vendors calling out their wares.
With his weathered boots digging into the ground, Jackson led his plump pig, Mavis, along the path that wound towards the stalls.
The animal huffed apprehensively, sensing a change coming.
"Easy, girl," Jackson coaxed. "It's for the best."
He pushed through the crowd toward an old farmer he recognized from one of his regular visits to this market. The man had seemed trustworthy enough before when they'd talked about mutual interests in crops and farming techniques. It stood to reason he’d take Mavis and just let her be used for breeding and not meat.
As Jackson approached him now, he saw that familiar face light up in recognition before turning serious once he realized what Jackson sought–a deal for more than just conversation this time around.
The farmer held a middle-aged woman's hand, who appeared afraid of the bustling market. She clung onto her husband's arm as if afraid to let go during all the noise and commotion around them. Her eyes darted between her spouse and Jackson, wondering what business could bring these two men together on such a busy day at the market.
Jackson tethered Mavis to a post outside a stall and approached a neighboring farmer. "Tom, how goes it?" he greeted.
"Better than you, I would imagine. Can't imagine why you haven't converted that old land of yours to meat livestock—or at least, dairy."
"That is a bit of why I'm here." He cast a glance back at the hefty pink sow he'd known since she was born.
A pang in his chest nearly stopped him, but Mavis was the best shot they had at getting some funds for the week.
"I'd like to sell you Mavis - providing you don't use her as anything other than a breeding sow.”
Tom scratched at his graying beard, his eyes moving from Jackson to where Mavis was tied up outside the stall.
