Five-year-old Elias Voss darted around the living room, his bare feet slapping against the floorboards, his wooden toy knife clutched tightly in one small hand.
He wore a faded t-shirt and shorts, his dark hair damp and sticking to his sweaty forehead as he "hunted" a monster—his imagination transforming the worn-out couch into the lair of a fearsome beast.
"Gotcha!" he shouted, lunging forward and stabbing the air with his knife, his small voice echoing in the quiet house.
Mara sat on the couch, her wiry frame hunched over an open wooden box, carefully pulling out a silver dagger and inspecting its edge with the sharp eyes of someone who had spent years learning what it took to survive.
The lamp on the side table flickered, casting shifting shadows along the walls. As she worked, her gaze flicked to Elias, and a small smile tugged at her lips as she watched him play.
"Careful, little man," she called, her voice warm but firm as she set the dagger down beside a stack of old, yellowed journals. "Don't go breaking anything. That couch has seen enough battles."
Elias giggled, spinning to face her, his toy knife raised triumphantly. "I'm hunting a werewolf, Mama!" he declared, his voice bright with excitement. "Like Pa! I'm gonna get it with silver!"
Mara chuckled, shaking her head as she reached for a polishing cloth. But behind the humor, there was something else—an undercurrent of unease. Her eyes flicked toward the door, where a thick salt line ran along the threshold, unbroken and precise.
"You're a fierce one," she said, her voice soft but edged with something Elias couldn't quite name. "But werewolves don't come inside—not with our silver wards. You keep that knife ready, though. Never know when you'll need it."
Elias nodded eagerly, puffing out his small chest with pride before turning back to the couch-monster. He lunged forward with a dramatic "Rawr!" but in his excitement, his foot skidded against the edge of the salt line.
The motion scattered the grains across the floor, breaking the once-solid barrier into a jagged, gaping wound.
He froze, his toy knife dropping to his side, his dark eyes going wide as he stared at the mess. His heartbeat thudded in his ears, drowning out the distant creak of the house settling.
Mara's head snapped up, her smile vanishing instantly. The journal in her lap slid to the floor with a heavy thud. "Elias, no!" she snapped, her voice sharper than the silver dagger beside her.
She was on her feet in an instant, crossing the space in two quick strides, her face pale as she knelt beside the broken line.
Elias flinched at her tone, his lip trembling as he shrank back, gripping the toy knife tighter. His eyes welled with tears, his voice small and breaking. "I didn't mean to, Mama," he whispered, his tiny frame curling inward. "I was just playin'… I'm sorry."
Mara exhaled sharply, closing her eyes for a brief moment. When she opened them again, the hardness in her face had softened, worry replacing anger.
She reached out, pulling him gently into her arms, feeling the small tremors in his shoulders.
"Oh, Elias," she murmured, her voice no longer sharp, but weary. "I know you didn't mean to, little man. I'm not mad—I just… I got scared. This line keeps us safe, you know? It's what keeps the bad things out."
Elias buried his face against her shoulder, his small hands clutching at the fabric of her shirt. "I'll be good, Mama," he said, voice thick with tears. "I'll fix it. I promise."
Mara hugged him tighter, her hand rubbing slow, soothing circles along his back, her breath steadying as she pulled herself together. "You're always good, Elias," she whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple. Then, after a moment, she pulled back, wiping the tears from his flushed cheeks with her thumb. "C'mon, let's fix it together, alright? You and me."
She reached for the small cloth bag on the table and pressed it into his little hands. "Pour it slow," she instructed, her voice steady, taking on the patience of a teacher. "Make it solid, like a wall. Nothing can get through if we do it right."
Elias nodded, swallowing hard as he focused on the task. His small hands trembled slightly as he tilted the bag, watching the salt spill in a careful stream, his brows furrowing in concentration.
Mara's larger hand guided his, ensuring the line was unbroken, strong once more.
"Like this?" he asked, glancing up at her with wide, tear-filled eyes, his voice still shaky but hopeful.
"Just like that," Mara said, her smile returning, this time warm with pride. She brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, her fingers gentle. "You're a natural, little man. We protect each other, alright? Always."
Elias nodded, his small chest swelling with pride. "Always, Mama," he repeated, his voice firmer now as he carefully finished the line, sealing the barrier once again.
But deep down, a flicker of unease stirred inside him.
Yesterday, he had killed a mouse in the pantry. It had surprised him, scurrying out from behind the flour sack, and without thinking, he had grabbed a heavy book and slammed it down.
At first, he had only felt a rush of triumph, a strange sense of power humming through his small limbs. But then something else had happened—his body had tingled, his senses sharpened, just for a moment. The splinter in his finger had stopped hurting.
And then it was gone.
He hadn't told Mara. He didn't know why, but something in him whispered that he shouldn't. That she might not see him the same way if she knew.
So he locked it away, deep inside, gripping his toy knife a little tighter as he hugged her once more. The salt line at the door was whole again, a silent promise between them.
A promise to keep the bad things out.
But Elias wasn't so sure the bad things were only on the outside.