I was startled awake by a sharp kick to the bed from Reece. “Rise and shine! The day's not waiting for you. If you want grub, you better be quick. We’ve got a busy day ahead—dozen barrels to fill and stack before ten bells. Trust me, you’ll need the fuel.”

He scowled down at me, irritation twisting his face. “Move it. I can’t have you slowing me down. I don’t even know why Da suggested this—might as well bring a bucket with no bottom. Huh, maybe we’ll find a use for you yet. Hurry up!”

Reece gave the bed one final kick and stormed out of the barn, his muttering trailing behind him like the tail of a storm. I blinked a few times, shaking off the lingering effects of sleep. Given everything that had happened, I should have felt like a wreck—disoriented, even terrified—but somehow, I felt good. It must have been the youth in this body, allowing me to spring back faster than I could ever hope to in my true age. Whatever doubts I had from the day before vanished as I tugged on my shoes and ran after Reece. If Ross had made breakfast, I wasn’t about to miss it.

The sun had just begun its slow ascent, casting the grassy fields in a warm, golden light. A faint chill hung in the air, though the sunlight was already burning it away, evaporating the last of the morning dew. The farmhouse, a sturdy two-story structure with weathered stone walls and a thatched roof, stood proud amidst the fields. Thin trails of white smoke curled up from the chimney, filling the air with the comforting scent of cooking meat and spices. I took in a deep breath. In that moment, everything felt right, secure even. It was the kind of morning that promised new beginnings.

I burst through the farmhouse door with the same energy the sun brought.

“Too late, Rags,” Reece barked from across the room. “Da already took the last of the bacon for his pouch. Might be some oats left… no, wait, Sophia took them for the horses. Looks like you're out of luck.”

Reece shot me a mocking grin as he stuffed rope into a canvas sack. I stood there, feeling as if the warmth of the morning had been sucked away. Disappointment settled over me like a cloud.

“Reece, stop teasing the boy,” Ross said, her voice carrying a hint of reprimand. She turned from the stove with a smile and handed me a small wooden bowl. “Kept some aside for you, love. A bit of bacon and sausage. I had to hide it from Reece’s Da—he’d have eaten this too and still gone for seconds.”

I smiled gratefully and sat near the hearth. “Thanks, Ross. I think yesterday took more out of me than I realized.”

Ross smiled warmly before turning back to her cleaning.

“We’ll see, Rags. Hurry up, though—I mean it this time. We’ve got more work than the two of us can handle. I’ll load the cart. Don’t make me come looking for you.”

I nodded, wolfing down the food with a single-minded focus. I wasn’t about to miss the day's work, even if Reece wasn’t exactly friendly. I wanted to know about what happened at Moss Side, but I thought I could handle a few day’s here, Jacob would be back soon, and hopefully with some answers. Finishing the meal quickly, I followed Reece outside, where Ged was finishing up strapping an old, weary-looking horse to a wooden cart filled with empty barrels.

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Ged gave Reece a stern look. “Finally decided to show up, have you, boy?”

Reece opened his mouth to protest, “Rags here sle—”

“No excuses, Reece. You know we’re behind. Take Lolly and clear that orchard. It’s the last of the harvest. You’d better fill those barrels.”

Reece shot me a glare but held his tongue. He climbed onto the wagon, taking the reins in hand, while I clambered up next to him..

“In the back, Rags. You heard Da—do as I say, and maybe we’ll get done before the sun sets.”

The ride was rough, the barrels bouncing with every rut in the road, knocking into me painfully. The wooden wheels clattered noisily, and the horse trudged forward, hooves heavy with the weight of its burden. I winced as the barrels shifted again, bruising my sides with each sharp turn. At some point, the monotonous clatter lulled me into a daze, but that was interrupted when Reece pulled the horse to a halt.

“Stay still,” Reece hissed back at me. “Arcana up ahead. Keep your mouth shut. No need to draw their attention.”

“Arcana?” I asked, confused. I had read about them in books back at Aerindell. They were the ministry that ruled this world. Their one gilding principle magic was evil. Something about it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

“Shut up, Rags. Not a word.”

Stolen story; please report.

We rolled to a stop, and a commanding voice rang out from up ahead. “Halt! What’s your business here?”

The barrels rattled as the wagon came to a sudden stop. I yelped in pain when one of them knocked into my elbow, but quickly bit back any further noise.

“Who’s in the back?” the voice demanded. “Hands where I can see them!”

“It’s just Rags,” Reece called out. “A beggar from the village. Helps us out now and then. We’re headed to the orchard—last of the harvest. My Da’s farm. We’re behind on collections.”

“Show yourself!” the voice commanded. “Now!”

I jumped down from the back of the wagon, rubbing my bruised elbow. Three men in black armor sat on horses in front of me. Their armor was unlike anything I had ever seen—so dark it seemed to absorb the light around it. Even in the full daylight, the black metal reflected nothing. It was as if I was staring into a void. Each breastplate bore an embossed symbol of a hand, palm forward, framed by an arch. Their faces were obscured beneath helmets, but the aura they projected was one of menace and authority.

Behind them, their spears rested on their saddles, sharp and gleaming. Their capes, black with gold trim, fluttered lightly in the wind.

Reece’s voice cut through the tension. “He’s just a beggar. Take him if you want—he’s not much use to us anyway.”

I felt a surge of anger well up in my chest. Why did he hate me so much? The smell of ash returned, faint but present, lingering like an unpleasant memory.

“I’m not a beggar,” I snapped, stepping forward. “And stop calling me Rags. My name is Rag—”

Before I could finish, Reece leapt down from the wagon and slammed his fist into the side of my head. The world spun, and I collapsed to the ground. The sweet, sticky smell hit me full force, and the taste of blood filled my mouth.

“I told you to keep quiet,” Reece muttered.

The Arcana didn’t even react. They spoke to Reece as though nothing had happened.

“Who’s your father, boy?”

“Jacob. He runs the farm just down the road. You can speak to him if you like.”

The Arcana exchanged a glance, then turned their horses in the direction of the farmhouse without another word. Reece climbed back onto the wagon, snapping the reins. “Get back in, Rags. You’re lucky they didn’t take you.”

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The ride to the orchard was quieter, but my anger simmered, by the time we arrived. I had believed that Reece was trying to protect me from the Arcana, or some miss guided attempt at heroics. My younger self wanted to lash out at him. But he was just a child to my older mind.

The orchard itself was a sight to behold. Sixteen apple trees stood in two neat rows, their branches heavy with the last of the season’s fruit. Some of the leaves had already turned yellow, signaling the approach of autumn. The air was crisp, and the sunlight cut through the rows, casting long shadows across the grass. Despite the beauty, something felt off. The faint smell of burnt wood lingered on the breeze, mixing with the sweetness of the apples. It was subtle, but there—enough to curl my nose in discomfort.

“Up the tree, Rags. Shake the branches. Knock down what’s left. I’ll handle the rest,” Reece ordered, his tone short and cold.

I climbed the nearest tree, scaling it with ease. The bark felt smooth against my hands, almost warm. I wrapped my arms around one of the larger branches and shook with all my might. Only a few apples fell.

“Put some effort into it, Rags!” Reece shouted. “Hell, you’re acting like it’s a newborn calf. Shake it!”

Frustration burned in my chest. I climbed higher, gripping the thickest branch I could reach. My hands tingle, a prickling sensation running up my arms. The smell of ash grew stronger, but this time, there was something else—a warmth, like a slow-burning fire. Without thinking, I shook the branch again, harder this time.

The tree trembled violently. Every apple on the branch fell at once, raining down like a storm. Two of them struck Reece square on the head, and I couldn’t help but smirk as he rubbed the growing welt.

“Like that?” I asked, feeling a surge of satisfaction.

Reece, rubbing his head, muttered under his breath. “That’ll do. Now help me load them.”

As I climbed down, I noticed something strange. My hands—black with soot. I glanced at the branch where I’d been gripping it. Two dark handprints were burned into the bark, as if I had scorched the wood with my touch. My head felt momentarily light, but the feeling passed.

I wiped my hands on my pants, but the strange, warm sensation lingered. Something was happening to me, and I didn’t fully understand it.

We worked in silence, gathering the apples and loading the barrels. Each time I shook a tree, the sensation grew stronger. The tendrils of energy I could feel now seemed to link everything—the trees, the apples, even myself. By the second-to-last tree, I had gained more control. The burn marks no longer appeared, but I felt drained, as if each shake took something out of me. By the end, my limbs were heavy with exhaustion, and my hands trembled with the effort.

“That’s enough, Rags,” Reece called from below. “We’ll leave the last tree for another day. This load will fill the barrels.”

As we loaded up the wagon, I felt lightheaded, drained from the effort. It wasn’t just physical exhaustion—it was something deeper. Whatever power I had tapped into, it had cost me.

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The ride back to the farmhouse was quieter still. Reece didn’t say a word, and I wasn’t about to start a conversation. It was clear he had it in for me. Children can be cruel, jealous even—I've seen it enough times. But I wasn’t about to let this boy treat me like a beggar. He might be bigger, and I might look younger than him now, but I had decades of life and experience under my belt.

As the wheels of the wagon clattered along, an idea sparked in my mind. How would a child, fresh and full of mischief, handle this? A grin began to spread across my face, slow and deliberate. Maybe it was time to remind Reece that youth isn’t always an advantage—and that I, for all appearances, was far from helpless