Chapter 1
The din of the interstate stirred Maxwell in his bed. A constancy of Ephesian society, the far-off hum of out-of-date cars and the New Rail droned on, emitting a ringing tone akin to distant church bells at times. Maxwell sat up and donned his coat, an ancient, tattered piece with a certain nostalgic gleam, before emerging into the clouded day. His father had already begun working the fields.
"Maxwell," his father cried from away, "Get Winslow and hurry out here! I'd like to show you something."
Maxwell hurried to the stables and freed his horse, ascending onto the bare back and guiding him towards his father's voice, meeting him on a distant trail. "What is it, father?"
In his winter clothes, his father seemed troubled. "Come, son. Let me show you." The two rode across their lands, rolling over hills with a coordinated grace and synchronicity, before arriving atop a cliff overlooking Ephesia. A swarm of military ships buzzed over the skyscrapers and into the countryside.
Maxwell looked on. "I don't understand," he said. "We signed a treaty. They said they wouldn't invade our homes."
"They are, Max. They're expanding their reach into our village. There's no use in fighting back." He sighed. "Perhaps it's our time to fade away like others before us."
"No, it's not, father! I won't accept this! Tomorrow, I'm going to the Arbiters to demand new treaty terms!"
"Max, you're too young. For Lord's sake, you're only eleven. They'll never take you seriously."
Atop his horse, Maxwell looked on. He knew his father was correct.
"Come, Max. We need to prepare for Avalynn's birthday."
The two rode back to the family cottage. Creaking open the door, they found Maxwell's mother had titillated a flame from the lantern on the wooden table. She set out the crumbling china and silverware before stepping towards her eldest child and embracing him.
"Oh, Max. Your sister is going to be so excited." She released her son. "I only wish we had more to offer her. There's something special about Avalynn."
His mother, in her quiet and detached nature, bustled about the tiny home and tweaked the positioning of the antiques. Maxwell wondered. His mother had been a feral child, a beast. She had lived alone in the wild for nearly ten years. Many of the symptoms and signs of excessive separation had faded during integration into their small community; reading and teaching by Max and his father had eased the linguistics barrier. Despite this, her reticent personality, persistent stutter, and emotional distance had become a permanent albatross for which there was no cure. From the small furnace, she withdrew a small chocolate cake and placed it on the table.
"I-I'll go get Avalynn," his mother said, shakily descending the stairs.
Maxwell's father turned to him. "Son, your mother has put a lot of effort into your sister's party. Please don't let our talk ruin this. You know how she feels about Avalynn."
His father sat at his spot at the table, turning his back to his son. Maxwell spoke up.
"Father, what do you really think of Mother?"
Without turning, his father sunk into his crippled seat. "Max, your mother is a rara avis. She's... different. Not in a bad or good way, just in her own way. She's special."
"Why doesn't Avalynn speak?"
Silence.
"Your sister is an anomaly, a rare occurrence. She's special as well."
More silence. His father spoke again.
"Your mother was alone for most of her young life. It changed her. According to her own account, she witnessed things in the wild that altered her perception of the world. Distance is a dangerous thing, Maxwell."
At that moment, Avalynn and her mother arrived at the top of the stairs.
The three eldest spoke in unison. "Happy birthday, Avalynn!"
Max's sister, two years his junior, stared into his eyes and smiled. The two sat across from each other as their mother cut the cake, Avalynn's piercing blue eyes never wavering.
Perhaps its early in your story, but I am left wondering, who they are, where they are, and why they are. I am wanting some background. Your language is cluttered and confusing. But, I like your story. I want to know more. Watch repetitive words, and unnecessary adjectives. e,g, "ringing tone" could be left simply as "Ringing", nostalgic gleam could read, emitting a certain nostalgia. Ascending onto the bare back, why not climbing onto the bare back? Were the "military ships" aircraft of watercraft. You get the idea. The story is intriguing. I'd like to read more.