The village of Aethel was hidden deep in a valley, surrounded by old, misty mountains. For hundreds of years, only women lived there.

Their lives followed the seasons and the moon. They worked together in gardens, and the sound of their laughter filled the valley. Their homes were made of clay with grass roofs, decorated with flowers. Girls played in fields of colorful flowers, their happy sounds mixing with the pounding of grain.

In Aethel, there were no men. This was normal for them, something that had been for so long. They had their own way for babies to be born, a special and secret way that everyone respected. Once every hundred years, something called the ‘Elcarim’ happened. It wasn't a normal birth.

This Elcarim was important, a way for their village to keep going. The boy was special, a temporary protector of their future.

This hundred-year time had come again. Lyra, a kind and strong woman, had been the one that gave birth.

But this Elcarim was different. Instead of one baby crying, there were two!

Lyra had given birth to twin boys.

The women were shocked and amazed. Twins had never happened before.

They knelt down, quietly praying and wondering about this double event. The air smelled of herbs and new life. This was the Elcarim, but times two, a sign they didn't understand.

The two babies lay wrapped in soft cloths, their little hands tight, their faces red. The women looked at them with awe. This was a double miracle, or maybe a puzzle. Soon, they saw the differences between the twins. The younger one had darker skin and cried loudly. He didn't move much but seemed strong. His dark eyes were already open, looking around. They named him Noal, a name that sounded strong.

The other twin was smaller and looked weak. His cries were soft and sad, as if being born was hard for him. His skin was very light, and his eyes stayed closed. They named him Healnor , .

The chief woman in the village, Elara, who was very wise, came to Lyra, who looked tired but happy. "Lyra," she said quietly, "two sons. The Mother has given us so much. But…" Her face looked worried.

Lyra looked at her two sons, loving them deeply. "They are both my children, Elara. Both gifts. They need to be loved and cared for equally. They are Aethel's future."

Elara frowned. "Lyra, you know the way. The Elcarim… he is the one. One is chosen to… to make sure we continue."

Everyone knew what she meant, the old rule was harsh compared to the gentle scene of a mother with her babies.

Lyra’s eyes showed anger. "My sons will grow up with love. They will not just be used. They are alive and deserve happiness."

Elara sighed, feeling the weight of the past. "Lyra, your mother's heart speaks strongly. But our ways… they are what keep us alive. They have for so long."

Then, Elara spoke a sad but firm decision. "The Mother needs balance. The one must be pure, not sharing life with another. The rule… it is clear."

Before the next full moon, the old law of Aethel was followed. Lyra, the mother of the two special boys, was taken to the quiet woods outside the village. There, watched by the elders, the tradition demanded its sad end.

Her life, after giving them the Elcarim, was given back to the earth, a sacrifice for their all-female world to continue.

The cries of her baby sons, now without a mother, echoed through the village, a sad sound mixed with the leaves, a strong reminder of the cruel price of their survival. The future of Noal and Healnor, the twin Elcarim, was now dark and uncertain.

Chapter 2: Strong and Weak

Ten years had spun by in the secluded valley of Aethel. The twin boys, Noal and Healnor, were no longer wailing infants but sturdy young lads, their presence a constant, yet separate, element within the village’s rhythm. The initial awe and uncertainty surrounding their birth had settled into a carefully maintained distance. They grew up aware of their unique status, a distinction that set them apart from the girls their age.

While the young girls of Aethel played their own games – weaving flower crowns, enacting ancient stories, their laughter echoing freely – Noal and Healnor were often observed more than included.

They played their own rough-and-tumble games a short distance away, their wrestling and mock battles watched from afar by designated ‘baby sitters’ – older women tasked with their care and, more importantly, their observation.

Interaction with the girls was gently but firmly discouraged, a subtle yet constant reminder of their distinct future roles.

One sunny afternoon, as they were chasing each other through a patch of tall grass, Healnor suddenly tripped over a gnarled root, his thin frame hitting the ground with a thud. A sharp cry escaped his lips, and tears welled in his pale eyes. He clutched his knee, his face contorted in pain.

Noal, who had been a few steps ahead, immediately turned back, his brow furrowed with concern. He knelt beside his brother. "Healnor! What happened? Let me see."

Healnor continued to sob, his voice thick with tears. "My leg… it hurts, Noal! It really hurts!"

Noal gently tried to examine his brother's knee. "Big brother," he said, his voice firm but not unkind, "it's just a scrape. See? Not much blood. It will be alright. No need to cry so much."

Healnor flinched away, his eyes wide with fear. "But it does hurt! You don't understand, Noal. Pain… it's awful."

A thoughtful expression crossed Noal’s face. He sat back on his heels, looking at his twin. "I don't think so, Healnor. Pain… it tells you something is wrong, yes. But it also shows you are strong enough to feel it, to overcome it. It makes you tougher."

Healnor sniffled, still holding his knee. "But I don't want to be tough if it means feeling this."

Noal shook his head slightly. "But you are tough, Healnor. You just don't see it yet. You always think so much, you are clever. That's a different kind of strength."

Healnor remained unconvinced, his lower lip trembling. Seeing his brother’s continued distress, Noal sighed and then, in a surprising move, turned his back to Healnor. "Come on," he said. "Get on my back. I'll carry you."

Healnor looked up, his tear-filled eyes widening in disbelief. "No, you can't! I'm… I'm very heavy. And I'm your big brother. I should be the one carrying you. Shouldn't I?"

Noal chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Are you sure about that, big brother? I think I'm taller than you now." He crouched lower.

"Besides, your leg hurts. Just sit. Let me help you."

Healnor hesitated for a moment, a flicker of his usual thoughtful nature returning despite the pain. "But… you'll get tired."

"Nah," Noal said confidently, flexing his young muscles. "I'm strong. You're lighter than a sack of grain. Now, hop on."

With a little struggle, Healnor clambered onto Noal’s back, his arms looping around his brother’s neck. Noal stood up easily, Healnor surprisingly light on his back. They walked slowly back towards the edge of the playing field, Noal’s steady steps a contrast to Healnor’s earlier stumble.

"See?" Noal said, his voice slightly muffled by Healnor leaning against his neck. "Not so bad, is it?"

Healnor leaned his head on Noal's shoulder, a small, shaky smile finally appearing on his face. "Thank you, Noal."

"Any time, big brother," Noal replied, a hint of affection in his tone.

The scene shifted. In the central meeting hut, bathed in the soft glow of late afternoon sun,

the designated baby sitter, an older woman named Mara, was reporting to Chief Elara. Her voice was calm and measured as she recounted the events of the boys' afternoon.

"Healnor tripped, Chief Elara. A minor fall, a scraped knee. But he cried… quite intensely."

Elara listened, her gaze steady. "And Noal?" she prompted.

"Noal helped him up. He was… dismissive of the pain, suggesting Healnor was being overly sensitive.

Then he carried Healnor back." Mara paused, her eyes thoughtful. "The younger one is physically stronger, Chief Elara. It is becoming increasingly evident."

A deep line etched itself between Elara’s brows. She sat in silence for a moment, her gaze distant. "So," she finally said, her voice low, "this is how it unfolds." A faint, almost imperceptible evil smirk came on her face .

Chapter 2 ends

Chapter 3 , Brother bond

They reached their dwelling, a structure that felt less like a home filled with familial warmth and more like a designated house. It stood slightly apart from the cluster of smaller homes in the heart of Aethel, a large, somewhat imposing building of dark stone and heavy timber.

Its size was disproportionate to the two young boys who resided within, a silent testament to their unique and significant status within the village. The interior was spacious and sparsely decorated.

High ceilings echoed with the slightest sound, and the few pieces of furniture – sturdy wooden tables, benches, and sleeping platforms – felt more functional than comforting.

There were no personal touches, no small trinkets or family portraits to soften the austere atmosphere. Instead of parents or siblings, their daily care fell to a rotating roster of older women from the village, the ‘caretakers,’ who ensured their needs were met but maintained a respectful distance, their interactions often formal and task-oriented.

Noal helped Healnor through the heavy wooden door and into the echoing stillness of the main hall. Without a word, they made their way towards the back of the house, their footsteps surprisingly soft on the stone floor.

A faint mist hung in the air, carrying the earthy scent of minerals. Here, nestled against the base of a rocky outcrop, was a natural hot spring. Steam curled upwards, dissipating into the cool air, creating a small, tranquil haven. Large, smooth stones surrounded the pool, warmed by the geothermal heat.

Noal gently helped Healnor to sit down on one of the larger, sun-warmed stones near the edge of the spring, careful with his injured knee. "Wait here," he said quietly and disappeared into the surrounding foliage.

He returned moments later, his hands filled with a collection of broad, green leaves and vibrant blue flowers. Kneeling beside Healnor, he carefully crushed the herbs between his fingers, releasing a pungent, earthy aroma.

"This will help," Noal said, gently applying the poultice to Healnor's scraped knee. His touch was surprisingly tender despite his earlier stoicism about the pain. Healnor winced slightly as the crushed leaves made contact with his skin, but he didn't pull away, watching Noal’s focused movements.

As Noal finished bandaging his knee with a strip of soft cloth he had brought, Healnor looked at him, his earlier tears now dried, leaving faint tracks on his pale cheeks. "Thank you, Noal."

Noal met his gaze, his dark eyes earnest. "We'll always take care of each other, Healnor. Always."

Healnor reached out and took Noal’s hand, his grip surprisingly firm. "Yes. We will. No matter what happens, we'll face it together, won't we?"

Noal squeezed his brother’s hand. "Together, we can handle anything. You with your clever mind, and me…" He flexed his arm playfully. "Well, you know."

A small smile touched Healnor’s lips. The warmth of the spring, the soothing scent of the herbs, and the unwavering presence of his brother created a small pocket of comfort in their unusual lives.

As dusk began to settle over the valley, casting long shadows across the stone floor of their house, the twins prepared for sleep.

Their sleeping arrangements were as unique as their birth – a single, wide bed covered with thick woolen blankets. They lay side-by-side, the silence of the large room amplifying the sound of their breathing.

Healnor, still feeling the lingering ache in his knee and the subtle unease of their isolated existence, instinctively moved closer to Noal. He curled onto his side, his small body pressing against his brother’s. Noal, who usually maintained a more reserved demeanor, felt a moment of surprise at the closeness. Then, a soft smile touched his lips. He gently reached out and placed a protective hand on Healnor’s back, the warmth of his touch a silent promise in the quiet darkness.

Their shared breath mingled in the stillness, a fragile echo of the unbreakable bond between the strong and the weak, the younger and the elder, the two unique souls in the village of women.