New Age

“Omori, Scar! Dinner is ready!” Their mother’s voice floated through the small, cozy house, sweet and warm like the smell of the stew simmering in the kitchen. The scent of roasted vegetables and seasoned meat filled the air, a comforting smell that made Omori’s stomach growl. From the hallway, Scar, his older brother by two years, poked his head out of their shared room, a mischievous grin already tugging at his lips. “First one to the table gets the biggest plate,” Scar declared, his tone carrying that competitive edge he always had. Omori’s eyes widened, his messy black hair bouncing as he scrambled off his bed. “No way you’re beating me to this!” he shot back, darting toward the door. Scar lunged forward, blocking him with an outstretched arm. The two of them shoved and elbowed playfully as they burst out of their room and down the wooden hallway, their bare feet thudding against the floorboards. “Move it, Omori!” Scar yelled, laughing as he tried to squeeze past his younger brother. “Not a chance!” Omori grinned, grabbing onto the doorway to swing himself forward. His smaller size gave him an edge—he ducked under Scar’s arm, darted ahead, and reached the kitchen first. “Ha! Winner!” Omori cheered, planting his hands on the edge of the table like a runner crossing the finish line. Scar skidded to a stop behind him, scowling dramatically. “You cheated! You pulled my shirt!” “No i didn’t!” Omori said, laughing so hard his shoulders shook. “You’re just slow!” Scar’s scowl deepened as he grabbed a wooden spoon from the counter and pointed it at Omori like a sword. “You’re a dirty cheater, and cheaters don’t get stew!” Omori ducked behind a chair, sticking his tongue out. “You wouldn’t dare!” “Scar! Omori!” their mother’s sharp voice cut through their playful shouting. “Enough!” Both boys froze instantly. She stood at the counter, ladling thick stew into bowls, her soft brown eyes narrowing at them. Her long black hair was tied back with a cloth, but a few strands framed her face. She looked tired but strong, a quiet authority in her posture that always commanded respect. “Scar,” she said firmly, “is this how you treat your little brother?” Scar lowered the spoon, his face flushing. “He cheated, Mama,” he muttered. “And Omori,” she added, turning her gaze on him. “Is this how you want to win? By pulling your brother’s shirt?” Omori shifted nervously on his feet, mumbling, “I just… wanted to win.” Their mother sighed, setting down the ladle. She crouched so she was eye level with them both, her voice softening. “You two are all you have in this world. Brothers fight, yes, but you must never let small things divide you. Someday, you’ll need each other more than you can imagine.” Scar and Omori exchanged glances, guilt softening their playful expressions. Omori rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry, Scar,” he mumbled. Scar grinned, punching his brother lightly on the shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. I forgive you.” Their mother smiled faintly, ruffling both their heads. “That’s better. Now, both of you, wash your hands and come sit. We’re waiting for your father before we eat.” The boys obeyed quickly, running to the wash basin by the door. Omori scrubbed his hands with the bar of soap, watching Scar splash water everywhere just to annoy him. “Stop making a mess!” Omori snapped, elbowing him. Scar smirked. “You sound like Mama already.” Omori rolled his eyes but secretly enjoyed these moments. Their life wasn’t perfect—they didn’t have much money, and their clothes were worn and patched, but their home was warm and Safe. They took their seats at the table, their bowls already set, steam curling from the stew. Omori’s stomach growled again, loud enough to make Scar snicker. “Shut up,” Scar whispered, kicking him under the table. Their mother shot them a look but didn’t scold them, her lips twitching like she was trying not to smile. She glanced toward the stairs, calling out, “Dear, dinner’s ready!” A deep voice rumbled from upstairs. “Coming!” Moments later, their father descended the creaky wooden staircase, his tall frame filling the room with quiet strength. His hair was streaked with gray at the temples, his hands rough from years of working in the fields. He wore a simple tunic and trousers, but the way he carried himself made him seem almost noble. “Smells amazing, as always,” he said warmly, kissing his wife on the cheek before taking his seat at the head of the table. “And what are these faces I see?” He raised an eyebrow at his sons, who sat stiffly, trying to look innocent. “They were racing to see who’d get the biggest plate,” their mother explained. Their father chuckled, shaking his head. “Ah, boys will be boys. Though I think I’ll take the biggest plate tonight.” Omori and Scar groaned in unison. "Papa?" both Mom and Dad began to laugh helplessly. Dinner began with soft laughter and the clinking of spoons against bowls. The stew was hearty and warm, filled with root vegetables, beans, and chunks of meat. Omori ate eagerly, listening to his father tell stories about the harvest and the village market. Scar chimed in with tales from school, exaggerating his stories to make Omori laugh. Omori countered with his own stories, and soon they were all laughing around the table, the warmth of family filling every corner of the room. “Omori,” his father said, turning to him, “did you help your mother today?” Omori nodded quickly. “I carried water from the well!” he said proudly. His mother smiled. “And he didn’t spill a single drop.” Scar snorted. “Only because I helped him carry it.” “You carried one bucket!” Omori shot back. “Still counts!” Scar grinned. Their father chuckled, his deep laugh filling the room. “Good. A man must learn to work hard, no matter how small the job is.” He reached over and patted Omori’s head. “I’m proud of you, son.” Omori’s chest swelled at the praise, his smile wide as he dug back into his stew. For a moment, everything was perfect. Then something happened. A low, distant sound echoed from outside—like the c***k of wood snapping, followed by a sharp terrifying scream. The family froze. “What was that?” Scar whispered, his spoon halfway to his mouth. Their father’s smile vanished. He pushed back his chair, his eyes narrowing as he moved toward the window. Another noise followed—this time closer, the screams grew bigger by time. The crackle of fire emanating. “Stay here,” he said firmly, his voice suddenly sharp. “Dear?” their mother said, rising to her feet. “Stay with the boys,” he ordered, already moving to grab his hunting bow by the door. The sound of running footsteps outside filled the air, mixed with cries of fear. A woman’s scream pierced the night. Omori felt his heart hammering in his chest. “Papa?” he whispered. His father glanced back at them, his expression grim. “Whatever happens, you stay quiet. Don’t open this door unless it’s me. Do you understand?” Scar nodded quickly, gripping Omori’s arm. Then the first explosion shook the ground. The house rattled as shouts erupted outside. The smell of smoke seeped through the windows, carried by the wind. Omori’s stomach churned with fear. “Get under the table,” their mother hissed, her voice trembling. Scar pulled Omori down just as a loud crash sounded from somewhere nearby. there were more screams. Horses matched in battle. The distant clash of metal can also be heard. “Are we under attack?” Omori whispered, his voice barely audible. Scar didn’t answer, his eyes wide. Their mother crouched beside them, holding them close. “Stay quiet,” she whispered. Outside, chaos erupted. Shouts turned to cries of agony. The glow of fire lit up the window. Omori clung to his brother’s arm, his heart pounding so hard it hurt. He didn’t understand—he couldn’t understand. Moments ago, they were laughing. Eating stew. Now…all he sees is chaos dressed in black. A shadow passed the window—then followed another, Someone pounded on the door. “Open up!” a rough voice barked. Their mother’s grip tightened on them both, her breath quickening. “Please,” she whispered under her breath. “Please go away.” But the pounding only grew louder.