I hadn’t seen my brother in over a year, not until his unarmored back crashed violently through the garden door, his airborne body flying out from the manor proper.

Bastion’s grunt was loud and frustrated as he hit the ground and worked himself up to his own two legs. His hand was still on his sword; the fact that he’d managed to keep a hold on it, without dropping the weapon or nicking himself with it, despite taking a tumble like he had was something I found impressive.

Bastion glanced to my father. A small, apologetic smirk was on his face. “Father,” he acknowledged the suddenly solemnly exasperated looking patriarch of the family, before glancing to the shattered wood of the entryway his body had cracked asunder, “sorry about the door.”

“I can fix it,” our father said simply. “It’s good to see you, son.”

“Ah yeah, you too, dad,” Bastion said as he brought himself to his full height and rolled his shoulders, “I’ll try to keep the damage from here on out to a minimum, but you know mother—”

Just as Bastion was starting to explain the situation, a wild animal with a flowing mane of crimson burst through the destroyed doorway that my brother had just sailed through.

She was swiftness and elegantly efficient brutality personified. I only ever saw--or rather, barely saw--her move like this against my brother. Against no one else I knew did she unleash her power in this way, certainly not with me. Bastion was so amazing that she apparently didn’t feel the need to keep the training gloves on with him.

I could barely track the red-headed monster’s movements; her sheer speed burnt the air with the scent of a passion-charged aura.

This was my mother’s movement skill then.

Bastion exhaled deeply and, as mother approached in all her excited fury, he winked at me.

“Earthbound parry,” he announced the name of his skill out loud, likely for my benefit.

Swords clanged--real weapons, made of metal and death, not of wood and study. My mother was only momentarily visible as her weapon slipped off of Bastion’s at the moment of their impact. Our mother was clearly the fleeter of foot out of the two, but my brother's large, athletic shoulders seemed to draw strength from his firm footing and he twisted her airborne body away from any direction of cut that could strike him true.

If my mother was a violent beast, barely visible to the naked eye, then Bastion was an unmoving boulder. I saw the first contact of their swords, barely grasped the next by keeping my eyes anchored to Bastion’s less fast-moving sword, and could only hear the third strike as glimpsing it was beyond me.

“Fortress!” Bastion shouted at the second strike; his almost immoveable looking footing gave way and he slid back against a thunderous crash as mother put her entire weight into a sideward swing of her weapon.

As soon as he’d announced his skill, however, I watched as Bastion's feet sunk into the stone pathway of the garden, as if he’d grown much heavier. His sliding backwards slowed to nothing, his boots leaving deep gouges in the garden path.

“Hrmph!” my brother exhaled in a very obvious effort, following the third clanging of swords, as he connected his boot against the blur that was his opponent as she sought to press the advantage of her previous strike.

My mother tumbled and somersaulted backwards to fall into a ready, animalistic crouch; her recovery appeared entirely supernaturally graceful—and even much more agile than Bastion’s earlier one had been when he’d similarly been sent airborne.

There was a massive, menacing smile on the woman’s face as she settled onto the ground comfortably.

Pure focus and determination filled her gazed as she stared up at her firstborn. She grasped both hands onto her longsword and leveled it towards the ground, off to her left side.

My mother’s blade began to shimmer, to twist and ripple the space around it as if it was burning something in reality itself, but I felt no tangible increase in heat. There was a pressure, however, and I suddenly felt my chest tighten as that thickening of the air reached my lungs and skin from where mother stood and encased me like a very hot-feeling, contrastingly cold sweat.

My mother took one step forward and every part of her body flexed. Her muscled, curved quads appeared as if they’d burst at any moment, and my heart began to beat violently as if sensing an oncoming disaster.

“Dad,” I gasped.

I felt my father’s hand fall on my shoulders.

“Mom wait… Oh shit,” Bastion muttered as he took in the sight before him and, as if making a quick decision out of necessity, brought his sword over his left shoulder.

“She’s got that look in her eyes, eh?” my father muttered, a small smile, that I simply couldn’t currently turn my head to see on his face, was still noticeable in his tone.

My brother’s eyes steeled, and I felt a sense of resignation billow from him. A faint green sheen began to flitter off of his physique; in contrast to mother’s billowing red-flaked aura, his aura was barely visible but building nonetheless as if it was bristling deeply within his stoically standing form and waiting to be released, only slightly leaking out as he concentrated it.

The sound of an explosion shook and rocketed through the air as my mother’s step turned her into what I could only describe as a force of nature. To my eyes, she simply disappeared. Perhaps Bastion could track her where I couldn't; I sincerely hoped he could. Mother wouldn’t attack him with something she didn’t think her son could handle, right?

I felt my father’s firm, comforting hand bristle on my shoulder and watched him raise his other fingers into the air.

A few hurried words that sounded elegant and esoteric, but strangely comforting—like a mix between a silent forrest breeze and, somehow, the sound of a mountaintop snowstorm—left my dad’s lips. An earring, affixed on his left ear, wrapped in what appeared to be tiny roots with an aquamarine stone in their middle, began to glow lightly in the sunlight against his skin.

“Air funnel!” he shouted after completing the magical incantation.

The sky was clear. Only a few, fluffy balls of white filled the stretching blue, and, yet, I suddenly felt as if I were standing on the edge of a buffeting rainstorm--sans the rain.

The loud, stone-cracking reverberation of my mother’s crashing step was soon drowned out by the deafening summoning of an abrupt cyclone of spinning, blunt-feeling winds bursting down from the clouds themselves.

There was a feminine grunt of surprise and annoyance from the epicenter of my father’s spell, as the blast of air slammed into the pathway between where my mother had been initially and where Bastion now stood.

Then it was over. The winds dissipated as soon as they’d come; my father flicked his wrist to the side casually, and his spell faded obediently off to rustle through the many surrounding trees—as if the massive, summoned gale force winds had only been a gentle breeze all along.

“I guess I got carried away,” my mother said as she slowly rose to her knees and then feet, right where my father’s spell had landed.

She didn’t seem mad at all, despite being hit by something that had seemed to me to have all the force of a hurricane.

Her red hair was a frazzled mess, but her clothes and body appeared relatively unscathed. She glanced to my father. “Sorry, honey. I wasn’t thinking. I could’ve really messed up your garden and the house.” Her eyes glanced to the huge crater she'd left from where her final attack had started. "I guess I sort of did, huh?" Then she smiled at my father sweetly, "but it could be worse."

“Phew,” Bastion exhaled and dropped his sword arm down to his side and looked to me. “That was close, huh, kid?”

If I were being honest, I really had no idea about at least half of what happened, but I was sure of two things: Bastion and my mother were still amazing, and that everything that had just taken place was really awesome and terrifying. Could I ever be that strong? Surely not?

“Uh, yeah?” I replied to my brother.

Bastion sheathed his sword and shook his head. “Well, mom, that was fun.”

“Mhm,” mother said as she sheathed her own, longer weapon. “You’ve gotten a little more relaxed with your skills. Getting used to the new style?”

“Something like that; mostly just growing into the new tier. You know how it is, always an adjustment when you break through,” Bastion replied with a smile on his face. “I think I could’ve caught you there.”

My mom returned the smile, but there was a hungry bite to her next words. “There’s an empty field a mile or two from here, if you really think that."

My father patted me on the shoulder and walked to his wife.

“Maybe after everyone gets settled in,” he said and put a hand to my mother’s cheek and swept some of her free-flowing hair out of her face.

Mother turned her gaze, a bit of lingering fierceness still mixing with her usual bubbly cheer. “Don’t like when I look wild anymore?”

Father’s expression shifted as if to say it wasn’t the time for her tone. “Help me pick up the door?”

Mother’s eyes only grew more fierce as she reached past my father’s own hand and touched his own face, to line up a slow kiss on his left cheek. “Right away, dear.”

I could’ve sworn I saw a bit of reddening set in on dad’s skin in that moment, but his visage remained otherwise composed--for the most part.

My mother brushed past father and, making the largest of the heavy, oaken door fragments look like it weighed little more than a small knick-knack, hefted up what she’d damaged and brought it over to the frame it’d been busted off of.

“Thank you,” dad said as he walked to where mother now stood.

My father trailed a hand along the door; his eyes examined the damage and seemed to be refamiliarizing themselves with the make of the craftsmanship.

A few simple words in druidic left my father’s mouth and a pulse of sap-scented mana left his fingerpads and flowed into the door. Soon, there was a groan of creaking wood, as new growths burst from the otherwise dead wood along the edge of the door’s damage. The sprouts grew, lengthening and twisting together until they’d filled the missing pieces of the door back out, but the newly repaired segments were admittedly bare and lacking the designs of the rest of the door—instead being plain wood.

“It’ll work for now,” father told mother, as the woman set the door back on its damaged hinges and then used her fingers to push the fallen nails back in to restore the restored object to its proper position.

“Practically good as new,” Bastion said from behind the two. "Mostly."

“I liked the door’s design,” mother mused a bit sadly.

“You broke it; don’t complain,” Father scolded her.

“But my wonderful husband will fix it for me, won’t he?” mother said and grabbed dad’s arm, pushing herself up against him.

“I’ll bring my carving tools out here later and make it match,” father promised.

Mother nuzzled her thick hair against her husband’s arm.

“They never change do they?” Bastion looked to me.

“I guess not,” I replied.

Father and mother had been the same ever since I could remember. Dad might not show it, and might be a lot less affectionate towards his wife than she was to him, but he always looked slightly embarrassed and moved by her flirting tone—yet he rarely outright scolded her about it or asked her to stop unless there was something pressing to do like fixing the door. I was pretty sure he loved it. In fact, I’d never heard him scold my mom about nearly anything other than her destructive tendencies and lack of foresight—he never, ever attacked her personality directly.

Bastion smiled at me and spread his arms. “Well?”

I smiled back and, as I sat down the basket my father had handed me, jumped into my brother’s arms. He hoisted me onto his broad shoulders and suddenly, it was like he’d never been gone at all.

“I can’t believe you’re almost twelve already,” he said. “I remember you being born like it was yesterday. You’re getting big, I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to hold you on my shoulders like this.”

My brother had said the last part with a good-hearted laugh, but it had made me feel a little sad all the same. I liked sitting on his shoulders and I knew he was plenty strong enough to manage it no matter how much I weighed.

A lot of things seemed to be changing lately. I'd been doubting myself a lot more and... now my brother was saying other things would be changing as I got older too.

"I like doing this,” I said.

“Huh? Well, you still have a small bit before you’re too old,” he said. “I don’t think it’ll bother you anymore by then.” Bastion then turned his attention towards our parents and began walking towards them. “So, guys, what are we eating for lunch?”

My dad looked to the two of us with a small, proud smile. “Dinner is your and your mother’s favorite. Lunch will be lighter. We have some pheasant breast leftover that I’ve got Lila garnishing with some odds and ends from the garden. ”

“I caught a pair of gruff boars this morning and picked a few black quail from their branches,” mother replied.

“It was a long ride, I’m looking forward to you guys’ cooking again,” he said to our father. “And I bet you have something extra special planned for tomorrow?”

“That’s a surprise for then,” father answered.

“Sure, but you can tell me once me and Pery get done catching up, yeah?” Bastion asked.

“I’m not so sure you wouldn’t ruin the surprise,” father retorted, causing my mother to snicker. “It’s the same reason I wouldn’t have told your mother if she wasn’t the one who hunted for us.” That one caused mom to almost growl.

“Bah,” Bastion said, seeming to match my mother’s wavelength in response. “We’re not that bad.”

“Yes, yes you are,” my father replied calmly. “Though there are a few things I want to talk to you about later.”

“Everything alright?” Bastion asked.

“Everythings fine,” my dad assured him. “Just want to clear up what we wrote each other about.”

“Ah, that. Yeah, sure, whenever we get the chance,” Bastion replied.

“Pery can show you to your room for now,” Father offered.

“Fine by me,” Bastion said and looked up to me. “Same one as ever, yeah, kid?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “They always keep it ready for you.”

“I know,” my brother smiled and looked to my parents appreciatively. “Well, let’s go then. My bags are out front with Windtide. If she didn’t get startled off when mom all but ambushed me earlier.”

Windtide was my brother’s horse. A gift from his lord and now father-in-law. She was a beautiful battle-mare, from a mana-blooded line. She was larger than a mundane-stock steed and stronger than any normal stallion. I was somewhat excited to the see the magnificent horse again.

“You should’ve been prepared,” mother taunted him.

“You didn’t hit me with your first strike, did you?” Bastion asked as he brushed past the woman into the house. “I’ll come catch up with you guys more once we get my bags up there.”

“That reminds me,” I heard my father say to my mother as we began to walk away. “You did go through the house to get out here. What else did you two break before you got to my door?”

“Well… maybe your table,” I heard my mom admit.

“I bet Windtide didn’t run away,” I said to my brother as we walked through the house, my eyes noticing a few knocked over pots and a table that’d been cleaved cleanly in two. “Dad is gonna be mad about that one.”

“If it had just been me who’d done it? Sure, but mom cut that one up, her style is a lot more violent than my new one,” Bastion said.

“Dad said you had a surprise for me?” I asked.

“Well yeah, I was going to give you the sword mother gave me when I was eight—” Bastion remarked absentmindedly, but cut himself off hallway through his word, “hey, you weren’t supposed to know that.”

“You told me,” I said. “I just asked.”

“Bah,” he made the same sound he’d made with dad a moment or two earlier. “Guess the old man was right. I can’t keep surprises to myself.”

“I don’t have a real sword, though,” I tried to make my brother feel a bit better about his slip but was smiling inwardly. I had known what I was doing after all. “I can’t wait to see it.”

“Nice try, kid,” Bastion replied. “You don’t get to see it until tomorrow. That does remind me, though, you’re getting closer to the competent level with your sword, yeah? That’s impressive.”

“But you did it a lot earlier,” I said.

“I’ve never rubbed that in your face, have I?” Bastion asked. “A few years is nothing when you’re as young as you are. Most talented swordsmen don’t see the competent level until they’re adults, but I guess having mom around really helped us out, huh? That woman is a monster with the blade.”

“You looked scared when she was getting ready to hit you before dad stopped her,” I remarked.

Bastion scoffed good heartedly as we exited out the front of the manor door, which was thankfully intact. My brother sat me down in front of a gorgeous, silver-haired steed whose eyes were a deep purple. “I talk a big game to ruffle mom's feathers, but the only one defintily capable of stopping our mother in that moment was dad--and even he might have trouble if she were that close and not focused on me.” My brother walked past me and grabbed the bridle of Windtide and began to lead her over to the open-front stable that opened off to the side of the main courtyard of our family home. “Let’s get her settled before we take the bags off her.”

“So you would’ve lost if she went all out?” I asked.

“You never know if I’d get really lucky,” Bastion replied, “but probably. It’s hard to beat someone who spent the first half of your life teaching you every move you knew up until that point. I’ve picked up a few tricks since joining the Host of the Stone, but… she’s at least a tier higher than me in her style and—honestly—I’d say hers is the stronger of the two in direct combat.”

“But you’re a journeyman in both hers and yours!” I said as Bastion began to situate Windtide in her pen. “And why did you switch styles if yours is weaker?”

“You have a lot of faith in me, kid,” Bastion said, but I could see the slight, self-contented smile on his face as I praised him. “I’m actually an expert tier in my own now, though, and I’m pretty sure she’s nearing the master tier. If she hadn’t retired out here with dad… well, she’d probably already be there.”

“Okay,” I admitted, “but you didn’t answer my question, though.”

“Oh? Yeah, the thing about styles. That was just an off the cuff remark, but, let’s see… Styles are made when someone forges their own path with the blade. The System recognizes you and grants you a named style when you create something unique; you can teach that to other people a lot quicker than you taught yourself too," Bastion explained. "Maybe it’s wrong to say her style is strictly better than mine, but it’s definitely far more designed for single combat. That woman’s methods were made purely for putting down things stronger and faster than her before they can use their strength and speed. Mine is for protecting allies and those behind me. It’s for working in a team."

"So they both have their uses, right?" I inquired.

"It mostly suits the life I’ve chosen for myself better, and just me in general. I love testing my mettle against others, sure, but you’ve seen the look mom gets in her eyes when she fights, right? It’s ecstasy. If I’m just having fun when I spar, then she’s reveling prematurely in her own personal afterlife when she crosses swords with someone who can keep up with her.”

“It sounds like your style isn’t worse, though, just that mom is really strong,” I observed as Bastion began hefting his two bags onto his bristling shoulders, without so much as breaking a sweat.

“She’s strong and skilled,” Bastion remarked, “I mostly fight monsters too weak for me to get anything out of absorbing their cores nowadays, or other warriors. I can sharpen my proficiency score against the latter, but I don’t get any attribute boosts out of slaying either of them. Mother, though? She wasn’t the sort of swordswomen that you usually sent after bandits or that you deployed in a platoon," Bastion explained. "She’s told you her stories about her and dad, I’m sure. She was an adventurer with the guild and a highly ranked one. She only got her knighthood after she retired from adventuring and married dad; it opened that door since he’s from the low nobility, not that she probably couldn’t have managed hurdling that barrier on her own if she’d had any interest in an official position before she’d started a family. Anyway, she’s absorbed hundreds of monster cores. Far more than me. When she gets serious, I’m simply outclassed by her raw speed, agility, and power.”

“I’ve never absorbed any monster cores either?” I told Bastion as we entered the manor and began climbing the leftmost, winding staircase of the main foyer. “Am I going to be weak if I don’t start soon?”

“Not really,” Bastion said. “Your attribute scores only reflect how strong you are compared to someone of your race and age. Even if you absorbed some cores, you still wouldn’t get the full strength out of them until you’d grown into your build. Not that you wouldn’t be stronger than the average adult if you managed to reach the competent level in brawn, or something.” I walked up to the door to Bastion’s room and opened it for him since his hands were full, each one hefting one of his massive bags. “Besides it's good to have a good base in your proficiencies before you start relying on your brawn or dexterity, even having too high of an endurance could lead you to not cutting out unneeded movements; don’t want to get lazy and forget the value of technique,” my brother explained as he entered his room and placed his bags down on his bed. “Ah, hey, the rooms just like I remembered it.”

“It always is,” I commented. “I told you earlier.”

“It’s still nice to have somewhere to come back to and to appreciate it out loud when you do. I have two homes now, one here and one with Samantha, but you can never have too many places where people smile when they see you and you can smile back at them,” Bastion explained the reasoning for the contented, nostalgic grin that was back on his face.

The room was pretty sparce, despite his reaction to it. A bed. A trunk. An armoire filled with his old clothes, or at least the ones he hadn’t taken with him when he’d moved out.

My eyes, however, were drifting to the biggest of the two bags he’d sat down on the bed.

“Eh?” Bastion made the noise and turned to me with curiosity. “Looking for your sword? You’re not getting it early. The weapon a warrior gets when they’re twelve is a milestone; might be bad luck or something if you don’t wait.”

“It’s not that,” I said a bit annoyed. “Is you armor in there too?”

Bastion nodded. “Oh, I see. I’ve never actually put it on when I visit, have I? Hey, tell you what, I’ll show you how to put it on.”

“Really?” I asked.

I could feel the excitement growing in my chest. I’d seen mother don her armor before, when she’d gone out with dad to deal with the local monsters, but mother didn’t carry herself quite like a knight and she certainly didn’t wear a full coat of plates since she preferred to stay agile. Bastion was a real knight in shinning armor. I bet he'd look so cool if he were all suited up.

“Sure, kid,” Bastion said and stepped beside me to untie and flip over the flap of his oversized backpack. My brother withdrew a sword-sized bundle of wrapped cloth and laid it to the side, shooting me a momentary look that warned me against trying to sneak a peek at my present before it was time. He then started removing pieces of silvered metal plates. “Usually I stop at just the cuirass and pauldrons if I'm by myself, but I bet you want to see what the full set looks like. I’d need a squire to help me get the whole thing on in a timely manner. Think you can handle that role for today?”

“Yeah!” I replied without missing a beat.

Bastion laughed. “Alright. Mom and dad can wait for a minute. They’re probably fixing the furniture that mother broke anyway. Let’s start from the bottom up.”

I listened carefully as Bastion instructed me how to buckle the straps and interconnect the plates of his gear. We started with the sabatons, the armor that protected his feet, and then moved up his legs as we went. Occasionally, Bastion would correct me and tell me to position a piece in a different way than I’d interpreted from his instructions. Thanks to my born trait, I’d never exactly forget the words that left his mouth and could replay exactly what he’d said as I worked, but—as my father had been quick to point out to me once—knowledge did not equal skill or muscle memory. I’d never performed the duty of armoring a knight and so the process was slow and clunky.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

By the time we’d finished, my mother was watching as I gazed up at my big brother with admiration in my eyes. He was the exact, spitting picture of a knight. He had my mother’s beautiful, strong features, with just the slightest touch of my father’s angularity, along with sporting dad’s blonde hair completely, albeit cut very short on the sides, rather than having my mixture of our two parent’s color.

The man’s armor was somewhat elegantly boxy, the chest a series of thick and tapered down interconnecting plates rather than a rounder cuirass. His leg armor kept the straight-edged design that folded to follow his musculature. His pauldrons were large enough to provide some protection to his neck and traps, but I knew he had a high enough brawn score to easily bear the weight. Engraved onto the largest chest-plate was an abstracted ring of stone, the symbol of his order.

Somehow, Bastion looked even more stalwart and professional in his war gear than he always did. If I didn’t know he had a tendency, inherited from my mother, to be a bit scatterbrained and ditsy then I’d never have guessed he wasn’t every bit the calculating and tactical warrior—then again, maybe he also was just that, considering how poised and carefully he’d deflected and directed my mother’s vicious assault earlier. If my family had taught me anything then it was that people could be more than one thing.

“What’s it made of?” I asked, dumbstruck by the sight.

“It’s mostly steel, but there’s a bit of elf-silver blended in to provide some magic resistantance—not a lot though, I could barely afford the little I got,” Bastion admitted.

“Is it that expensive?” I asked.

My mother took the opportunity to interject herself with a tsk, apparently having come up into the doorway behind us. “Not if you’re an adventurer. Local knights don’t make nearly as much as an adamantine rank.”

“Mother,” Bastion said with a bit of a diplomatic tone, “that’s only true for the best of them. Most of them do alright but make much less than even a novice knight’s retainer.”

Mother crossed her arms coly as she leaned against the door frame. “What’s the point in basing your expectations off being in the bottom rung?” She then turned her attention to me. “You want to be an adventurer don’t you, Pery? A strong one?"

“Well…” I trailed my voice. “I’m not even competent tier with my sword yet.”

Mother was hard to argue with. She clearly wanted me to follow her path, even if she was technically a knight now. Father was more balanced when it came to the topic of my future, he encouraged me to follow my heart; both of them, however, seemed to have fairly high expectations for me.

“You’ll get there in a year or two, probably less,” my mother said and seemed to completely miss my conflicted tone.

I did want to be an adventurer--and a mage. And I couldn’t just give up on my swordsmanship now that I’d tried so hard with it.

“Okay,” I said a bit torn in multiple directions.

Bastion shot me an empathetic gaze, before looking back to my mother. “He could learn a lot as a squire too.”

A squire? My heart shot back up. Could I be? That’d mean I’d be in training to be more like my brother, but how would I still practice magic?

“He’d also miss out on a lot of real-world experience and have a hard time building his foundations with cores,” my mother said.

“Not if he was with someone who looked out for him; besides, squires get sent to deal with the local, low-level threats,” Bastion replied. “There’s plenty of room for them to build their attributes up to at least the journeyman tier if they’re not lazy.”

My mother smiled, her previously combative face suddenly seeming approving. “I see.” She then turned her attention to the bundle of cloth on the bed. “Is that Mytharis? I haven’t seen that in ages.”

Mytharis? Was the sword Bastion was planning to give me his old, named blade? I remembered him using it when I was younger. How could I deserve something like that.

"Mytharis? You mean you're going to give me that?” I asked.

“Well, it helped me to push past the lower levels—” Bastion caught himself as he further spoiled the surprise. “Mother…”

Mom chuckled. “It won’t hurt anything if we give it to him just a little early.”

Bastion put a hand behind his head. “Well, I won’t say I hadn’t thought of it.”

“Absolutely not,” a male voice cut into the conversation. “He only has to wait a few hours before tomorrow. We’ve waited this long, let’s practice some restraint and discipline as the adults here.”

My father’s stern face appeared beside my mother.

“Yeah, dad, I guess,” Bastion changed his tune, though it was clear he somewhat sided with mom.

“Restraint,” my mother cooed the word back at my father. “Haven’t I taught you that you don’t always have to have that, honey?”

My father’s lower lip twitched. Like he was trying to hide a smirk again. “Celis.”

“You’ve always been such a worry-wart,” my mother continued, laying on a sweet tone. “What’s some old superstition really going to do?”

“Superstition and beliefs have power,” my father replied a bit less assertively than before, but still in a firm tone.

“I really don’t mind waiting,” I said to the assembled group of adults.

I also really didn’t want to ruin a good thing.

“Awe, Pery, you’re too sweet,” my mother said with a loving smile. “I was trying to be on your side.”

“Um, sorry, mom,” I said.

My mother chuckled at that. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“Excuse me, Magister Borncrest and Lady Borncrest,” a formally intoned, but comfortable sounding woman's voice interrupted the light-hearted squabble between my parents. “Lunch is ready.”

My father glanced to our maid, Amelie, with a look of gratitude. I looked to her too. She was a woman of average height, with short blue-black hair, but she had a very sweet and pretty face that just made me feel happy and calm in general. She’d been my wetnurse and had always helped to take care of me; she was something like a second mother to me, if I were being honest. Behind her diminutive leg, there stood a little girl that looked very much like her. I smiled at her daughter--and my best friend, other than Bastion, of course--Rosaria.

The girl smiled back.

“Well, let’s get to it,” mother said and instantly turned to walk to the dining room.

“Food,” Bastion said with excitement and clapped his hands together.

My brother began to follow our mother, who was also quickly turning to hurry towards a potential meal.

“You’re still in your armor,” I said.

“I’m pretty used to it,” Bastion raised a hand to waive away the concern; he was already out of the room.

My father looked to me. “Let’s just go join them, then?”

And so we ate together, our family reunited now that Bastion was back. It was nice and reminded me of my earliest memories before my brother had left to venture out on his own.

Dinner was even better, with mom and Bastion ravenously devouring their favorite meal, it having been carefully prepared by Amelie and my father.

For a while, everything finally felt like it had used to and for a bit I felt like things weren’t changing too fast for me to keep up.

After lunch, Bastion had even taken me outside during the midday and corrected some of my misunderstandings about the first-form of the fiend-hunter style. Much like father, he was much better at explaining things than our mom was. Or rather, maybe it was more accurate to say he believed in taking more time to explain them out loud that our mother did; mom had a tendency to believe words and explanations were best expressed through action and repetition.

I’d then gone on to train with Rosaria in the woods. I’d snuck my mother’s practice swords out with me, just like I’d done nearly every day in the past few years.

Across from me stood a blue-black haired girl of eleven years. In her hand Rosaria held the sword my mother usually used during training.

I went on the attack first.

“Aha!” I exhaled as I swung my blade in a sideways sweep toward Rosaria.

“Strike redirection,” Rosaria calmly spoke.

Her blade met mine. I just barely managed to keep a hold of my sword and to shuffle off to the side following her well-timed parry.

“Direct execution!” I shouted, as I did my best to imitate mother’s movements.

Thanks to my born trait, I could see mother performing the move a thousand times over in my mind’s eye, like afterimages overlapping my own smaller body. My own blade shot forward towards Rosaria’s chest. However, I couldn’t properly replicate something that I couldn’t place in my mother’s movements; something that I felt went beyond my mere lack of aura.

“Disarming parry,” Rosaria spoke the name of the third form as my blade hit hers.

My fellow eleven-year old’s arm spun in an arc, gaining leverage against my frontal assault and sent my blade veering off to the side.

I managed to keep my weapon in my hand, once more, but I was definitely now off balance.

She came at me then. She was more violent in her movements than I was, but somehow much calmer all the same.

We exchanged blows, again and again, until we were both panting.

“Direct execution,” Rosaria said aloud, as I’d missed a diagonal slash I'd sent against her thanks to a quick, fractional backstep she'd performed beautifully.

Her blade touched my chest. There was no pain. She’d been gentle and yet slipped past my defenses all the same.

“Darn,” I said and stood up straight. “You win again.”

We were both covered in sweat.

“Yeah…” Rosaria said.

I blinked. There was something different in her tone today.

“You alright?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she repeated.

“Well, okay,” I said.

“Hey, Pery?” she asked.

“Yes?” I asked.

“You’ll be twelve tomorrow,” she said.

“I know? Why do you sound sad, Rosaria?” I asked.

“Well, your big brother came all this way for your party…” Rosaria said.

What was she getting at? Bastion had come because he’d found the time and wasn’t deployed currently.

“He’s not stationed in the borderlands anymore, but you didn’t tell me why you’re upset? I don’t understand,” I admitted.

Rosaria shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

That was all that we said. The girl had been a little down for the rest of the day, but she refused to tell me why. I went to bed a bit confused by it, but the day had mostly been good.

Dinner, the next day, however, was nowhere near as peaceful as it had been the night before. The table was set with a banquet, more or less. This time the main meal was my favorite food, black-horn stag backstrap, with a brown-berry and sugar sauce.

“So, what do you think?” Bastion asked me, continuing the conversation that had half of the table riled up.

My mother was pouting, her hand on her cheek.

My father looked somewhat like he’d been dreading having this conversation, clearly a bit annoyed by mom’s show of her displeasure.

Bastion had offered to take me into his household, as a squire, and to possibly even secure me a place in Duke Vembrandt’s service once I’d reached fifteen.

“I don’t know,” I replied.

“He can learn everything he needs with me,” Mother said. “When he’s older he can join the guild and make his own way. He needs to decide for himself who he wants to be, not be groomed into it.”

“Your circumstances were a little different, Celis. You didn’t have all the options or resources that our sons do,” my father said. “We had this same conversation when Bastion came of age.”

“And what about the magic he’s so good at? You always say he has potential. Why waste that by being a knight?” my mother challenged, her cheek coming off her palm momentarily as she became a bit more heated. “What is Bastion going to teach him of magic?”

Bastion crossed his arms, respectfully observing the squabble between our parents, but not yet deigning to speak.

“He’s been learning druidry very well, but I feel as if his talents would be perfect for more arcane magics. His innate trait makes him practically born to learn magical theory and memorize incantations and theory,” father answered. “Frankly, I think he’d be better served learning from the towers in Highmount.”

The towers? My father had mentioned them to me before. Highmount held four towers of magical study and was second in the kingdom only to the University of Arcaneum in the floating citadel-capitol of Heavenfall.

“Hmph,” mother replied.

“You can’t keep our children stuck here forever,” my father said, “you already learned that once.”

“I think we should let him choose,” Bastion finally said and turned his attention to me. “Pery, I’ve already talked it over with Samantha and the Grandmaster of my order. Samantha is happy to have you; honestly I think she wants a practice run at having a kid around,” the man smiled a bit at that, “and the grandmaster is more than happy to accept such a talented youth,” Bastion then indicted his head towards our dad. “Father also tells me that with a letter of recommendation from him you’ll have a good shot at being accepted into the towers on a trial basis.”

“And what if I want to be an adventurer?” I asked.

Mother’s red eyebrows perked up at that comment.

“Well…” Bastion paused.

“The towers allow leaves of absences in your classes for guild work, if that was what you wished.; it’s an arrangement they have with the guild since it contributes so much to the local economy and helps keep the peace,” father answered and then nodded to me and then my mother. “Bastion, would he have time to do that as your squire?”

Bastion cradled his chin in thought. “You wouldn’t be able to take any jobs that would reflect badly on the Host, but I could probably pass it off as training. You’d still have to fulfil your duties as a squire as well, however. As well as training on the days you’re not working on a contract and before or after your classes at the towers. It’s a lot to have on your plate at your age.”

“He can feel it out when he arrives in Highmount,” father said, “ and get comfortable in his new environment and his studies, before he decides if he wants to join the Adventurer’s Guild.”

“Should’ve led with that,” Mother said, seemingly in a better mood as she brought her fork to her mouth and began to chew the last piece of backstrap on her wooden plate. “As long as he knows he has a choice.”

“I just wanted to hear Bastion’s take on Pery joining the guild and what Pery had to say about all this,” father explained. “Pery, you can think about it over dinner and let us know your decision; like your mother said: it's your choice. But for now... should we move on to the gifts?”

“No!” a small voice brought the atmosphere of the room back to a higher pitch.

Everyone’s eyes shot to Rosario, as she clutched the tablecloth in her hands. Tears were in her eyes.

“Rosaria…” Amelie said her daughters name in a concerned, quiet tone.

“I don’t want Pery to go!” Rosaria shouted. “He’s my best friend! We were going to be adventurers together?”

“Hm?” my mother mused and raised her gaze from her nearly fully consumed food to settle on the little girl.

I glanced to the girl. I hadn’t even thought of what Rosaria might think of me leaving. I’d been so concerned with myself once I'd heard everything the adults had to say. What could she be thinking? She would turn twelve a few weeks after me. Now that I thought about it, what future did she have to look forward to? Hadn’t we talked about exploring the world together when we were older? From her perspective, I guess it might look like I was abandoning her and that dream. I hadn’t been trying to though… I’d just been caught up in all the options my family was presenting me with.

Father looked to Amelie.

The woman leaned towards her daughter. “Pery is twelve now, he needs to start preparing for his future, Rosaria.”

“But… we were going to be adventurers,” Rosaria repeated herself and a dual stream of tears began to roll down her cheeks; I'd never seen that much emotion from my friend, not ever.

“Being an adventure is dangerous,” my father said to the girl softly and with empathy.

Rosaria, usually mild mannered and sweet, closed her eyes shut, as if gather everything up inside herself, and then met my father’s gaze strongly.

“I can do it if Pery can!” she shouted. “He taught me how to fight!”

My father’s face grew uncharacteristically surprised at that statement.

My mother just smiled. “I knew it.”

“Have you trained her, Celis?” my father asked, giving a worried glance to Amelie.

“Not one bit,” my mother admitted and shrugged, “but around when I started training Pery, she started holding herself differently. Hard to see it when she’s usually so shy, but there’s something there.”

My face reddened. It was true. I’d taught Rosaria everything mother had taught me. We’d kept it a secret for exactly one reason…

“That’s not possible,” Amelie said. “I told her she couldn’t train in the sword when Lady Borncrest offered.” The maid turned her eyes to her daughter. “Your father died because of a guild contract. There’s no reason for you to go into something like that. Magister Borncrest promised he’d find you a good match when you come of age and—”

Rosaria bunched up the tablecloth in her hands. “I don’t want to just be a wife.”

I felt a pang in my heart. Amelie was mad at her because of me. Everyone was looking at Rosaria now. As she cried, also because of me.

“Um, she wanted to learn,” I said slowly.

Amelie lowered her gaze; I’d never seen her that upset with me; worse, there was sadness in her eyes. “That wasn’t your decision, young master.”

“Just how good is she?” Bastion asked with curiosity in his voice, though he kept his voice lower out of respect for Amelie.

“She’s better than him,” my mother commented, not explaining how she knew or what she saw in Rosaria that could reveal that to her.

Hearing that hurt me a little, but it might’ve been true. Rosaria and I were pretty close, but… then again, I’d learned from mother, a near-master at the sword, whereas Rosaria had only had me as a teacher and, yet, she’d always kept up with me.

“I see,” Bastion mused, his voice trailing in thought.

Nor did my father question my mother’s statement; he had always shown a complete trust in her instincts and appraisals of others when it came to the sword.

Silence hung in the air for a moment.

“Amelie, if that’s true, your daughter has a talent,” my father said slowly.

Amelie didn’t reply for a long while. “I don’t want her to be hurt.”

“…”

“Miss Amelie?” I asked.

The widowed maid looked at me, her face calmed somewhat by my apologetic tone. “Yes?”

“Could Rosaria please come with me? My big brother is really strong and I promise I’ll always protect her. She’s my best friend,” I pleaded.

Rosaria’s eyes looked at me in surprise. She sniffled once as her eyes met mine.

Amelie exhaled heavily. I also didn't think I’d ever seen her sigh like that; she was usually such a calm, nurturing woman.

“That would be a burden on Sir Bastion,” the maid replied. “He can’t be expected to house and train a child that isn’t his relation.”

I hadn’t even thought of that. I had just wanted to make Rosaria feel better. Maybe it’d been a selfish of me to offer. I definitely had no right to make the decision for Bastion. Nevertheless, I looked to my brother then with pleading eyes.

Bastion tilted his head and me and then nodded as if he’d made a decision.

“Actually, miss, it wouldn’t,” Bastion offered, “I don’t mean to presume to decide for you, but if she’s actually that skilled then my order would be wrong to not take in such a talent. Only, however, if she had your blessing and if she wanted that.”

“I—” Amelie paused. She looked between the people at the table. Her daughter, who was looking at her with tear-filled eyes, but now with a gaze of heartbreak turned to hope. My father, whose face remained as neutral as he could manage. My mother, who looked on with a pointed interest. And myself, whose every expression just wanted his friend to be able to follow her dreams--our dreams. Ultimately, though, the maid looked down to her daughter. “Is this what you want?”

Rosaria looked at her mother and then to me. I forced a smile on my face towards her. She spared a glance at my mother, who just peered at her inquisitively as if excited to see what decision she’d make. When she looked at Bastion, the man just smiled at her as if she was his own little sister.

“I want to go with Pery and his brother,” Rosaria said. “I don’t want to make you sad, mother, but I really want to go.”

Amelie's upset expression drifted into a soft face that bore as much past sadness as it did a mother’s kindness. “You’ll be twelve soon. I guess this is your only real chance to start training at the same time as everyone else… you do have your father’s eyes and that look in them... his look. I shouldn’t be surprised they’re also looking to the same things as his did.”

“So can she go?” I asked.

“Pery,” my father scolded me.

“Can I?” Rosaria asked her mother, as if she were a bit scared Amelie would change her tune abruptly—even if that wasn’t something that her mother generally did.

“Is it really all right, Sir Bastion?” Amelie asked my brother.

“We’ll protect her and we'll teach her to protect herself as well,” my brother said; his face was solemn and serious as he made the promise; his usual carefree manner was suppressed by the strength of conviction in his words.

“She can visit me?” Amelie asked.

“I’ll make sure she comes here with myself and Pery as often as we can,” Bastion promised.

Amelie blinked. Her own eyes were wet now, just like her daughter's.

“You have to promise to be careful,” the maid said to Rosaria.

“I will, mom,” Rosaria promised.

“Okay then,” Amelie said, giving in.

“Really?” Rosaria asked, her voice cracking in surprise.

“I can’t treat you like a little girl who can’t make her own decisions forever,” Amelie said, “but you are still my little songbird.”

The nickname was something she called Rosaria seldomly, but always with great affection. Other than being quite good with the sword, the quiet girl possessed a beautiful voice—as if her usual reserved nature was a product of her saving the power of her words for when she sang. It was a talent she shared with Amelie, who would often sing the two of us to sleep whenever we all assembled to sleep around the family hearth on especially cold, winter nights or on feast days.

“Thank you, mom,” Rosaria said. “I didn’t mean to make you upset about father.”

“You just reminded me of him,” Amelie said as she touched her daughter’s cheek softly. “It’s not a bad sadness right now.”

“Miss Amelie?” I spoke up with a tone of respect; this time, my father didn’t cut me off. “I’m sorry too.”

Amelie drew her hand back from Rosaria’s cheek and shook her head at me. “I know you didn’t mean to, young master.”

“Well, that was dramatic,” my mother said with a sweet smile on her face; it wasn’t so much sarcastic as it was diffusing.

Amelie chuckled a bit, some of the nostalgic loss fading from her eyes. “Yes, my lady, I guess it was.”

I knew that Amelie and my mother were very good friends, despite their very different personalities. Mother always seemed to know exactly what to say to the other woman to get her to smile.

“It’s really all right,” my father said to Amelie, then looked to me momentarily with a gaze that was contemplative. I figured I might be hearing about all this later.

“It all worked out in the end,” Bastion said, before addressing the maid’s daughter directly. “I promise you’ll find my household to be a place of safety and opportunity, young miss, but I will be strict when it comes to teaching you the sword and the bearing of a member of the Host.” Bastion turned his gaze to me. “That goes for both of you. You won’t get many breaks with all that you’re planning to do, Pery. I won’t create half-baked knights, or swordsmen if either of you choose to not go down my own path when your fifteenth birthdays come.”

“I understand,” I nodded to Bastion, trying my best to make it appear solemn and serious.

“Right!” Rosaria said when my brother’s gaze returned to her.

Bastion’s face softened at our responses. “Samantha will love both of you.”

I’d never met my brother’s wife. As the daughter of the Duke, she didn’t often leave Highmount. However, Bastion always had the softest and most enthralled look on his face when he spoke of her; I figured that she just had to be an amazing woman. I just hoped she wouldn’t be mad that her husband would be bringing home two children and not just one.

“Weren’t we going to move on to giving Pery his presents?” Amelie suddenly interjected. “I fear I may have derailed his day.”

“As long as you’re alright now, Amelie?” my father said to the woman.

“I’m really fine,” the maid replied.

“Let’s give him the sword first,” my mother said.

“My gift will take some time for him to get through, so I think that would be best,” my father agreed.

“Right,” Bastion said and stood. “I’ll go get it from my room.”

“And while you’re doing that,” my mother walked to a nearby cupboard and opened it, before withdrawing a small wooden box, “I’ll be the first to give my little man a present.”

“I’ll begin to clear the table,” Amelie stood and said.

“I’ll help you in a moment,” my father said, clearly very interested in watching me open my mother’s gift.

My mother walked to me and presented the small wooden jewelry box.

“What is it?” I asked as I took it in my hand.

“That’s a dumb question,” my mother said with a carefree, happy tone, “just open it and find out. It’s yours now.”

I guess she was right. My mother’s words didn’t hurt me too badly; I was used to their blunt quality. She didn’t mean anything by it and she did look very happy to hand the box over.

I opened the jewelry box, only to be met with the sight of a silver ring set with a swirling red stone.

“It looks amazing,” I said, not really knowing what exactly I was looking at.

“It’s a crystalized eye from the first and only dragon me and your father ever slew,” my mother said. “That fight ended our adventuring days, but it was the most exhilarating battle of my life. It’s worth a small fortune, so sell it if you ever get in a bind, okay? Oh, it’ll also help you learn fire magic or something like that,” my mother waived her hand as she explained that as if it had no interest to her, “ask your father.”

I reached out and grabbed the ring from the box. I could feel a heat from it.

“Put it on, son,” my father urged me, before he coughed strongly once.

I looked at my father with some concern in my eyes, before he held up a hand to say he was okay. My mother’s gaze shot to him as well.

“I’m alright,” he promised. “It’s just one of those days.”

I knew the fight my mother was talking about. Most of her and dad’s party had died in their fabled battle to protect Highmount from Angoralix, the red dragon. Mother had broken nearly every bone in her body and dad… well, dad had never fully recovered.

In his gratitude, Duke Vembrandt had offered my father a role as a local magister, a title traditionally held by scholars and mages and one that was akin to a mix between a fief-holding authority and a judge; meanwhile, my mother had been given an honorary knighthood. Then they’d had Bastion and, after a long few years, me.

I was conflicted about my thoughts on the story. Neither my father or my mother could put into words how vicious the battle with Angoralix had been, but they tried. My father used it as a talking point to explain a man’s duty to protect the world around him, whereas my mother held it up as the defining climax to her career as an adventurer and a lesson on the importance of raw strength.

I loved hearing their stories of when they were younger, but the ending of this one had left my father somewhat crippled. He also aways spoke of it with a bit of sadness; not for himself, but for the friends of many years he had lost that day. I’d asked mom about it once and all she’d said was that they’d had good lives and good deaths.

My attention in this moment, however, was on the ring—now that my father had confirmed he was okay, and come out of his coughing fit. I slipped it on my hand, finding it to fit my right index finger well enough, and felt a surge of warming energy pass up my body. The power settled in my soulcore, mixing with my mana, before the sensation of anything being out of the ordinary faded away.

“Thank you, mom and dad. I know this must mean a lot to you two,” I said.

“Well, it was nice trophy, but I can’t use it or anything. Still, that’s your first enchanted item, now do your best to earn it, yeah?” my mother told me.

“I will,” I answered.

I didn’t know any fire magic, but I wasn’t against learning it; I was mostly just curious about the magics I hadn’t been exposed to yet. Dad didn’t use fire. He knew druidry and had some shamanistic magics he’d never taught me. Something about me not being ready to make deals with spirits or elementals. His druidic magics allowed him to control nature, along with animals, and to shapeshift. He could also control the wind to a shocking degree, but that didn’t come from the druidry.

Just as I was thanking my parents, Bastion came back to the dining hall. He was carrying the same sword-shaped bundle of cloth that he’d scolded me for looking at the other day.

“Here we go,” he said and handed me the bundle. “Pointy end is this way, so grab it from the bottom side so you can unsheathe it easily.”

This was the present I was most excited for. A real sword all my own and one my brother himself had used in his youth. Maybe it would help me to reach the competent tier in swordsmanship and beyond, just like he had.

I excitedly and reverently began to unwrap the blade. It was sheathed within a dark, blue leather scabbard. I didn’t waste much time in pulling it out. My first sight of the blue-steel blade had my heart racing. It was a hand and a half sword, but it was perfect for me and the metal of the weapon gleamed brilliantly in the dying sunlight from the nearby arched, wood-framed windows. As I finished unwrapping the blade, I caught side of the shining, circular jewel that was set in its cross guard; the gem had the luster of a ruby and the color of an emerald.

“It’s amazing,” I said to my parents and brother.

I knew Mytharis’ story. It was the weapon my mother’s best friend had once held; she'd been an elven woman who had died in the fight with the same dragon whose eye I now wore on my finger. She’d been the agile type, but had preferred to wield a small buckler, unlike my mother, so she’d preferred a smaller blade as well. The woman had fought side by side with my mother on the frontlines of their party, until she’d died taking the majority of the blow that had permanently wounded my father.

“Seelie saved my life while holding that blade; she split the majority of the dragon’s fire down the middle with it but wasn’t quick enough to get it entirely diverted around us,” my father said. “I thank her every day for what she did and the family she’s allowed me to have. I hope it protects you as she used it to protect me and our friends.”

With the way he talked of her, my father very well could of offered prayers to the woman if she'd been a human and had he been an especially religious man. It was common practice to revere the deceased and to worship those of them that had lived glorious or meaningful lives. The saints were the honored dead that the faith of many recognized, but many families had patrons of their own. Particularly, I knew that Seelie’s bones and ashes were buried under the foundations of our house to provide us her protection, despite her being an elf; that had been my mother’s doing, though, since the elf had possessed no family to speak of and considered my mother the closest thing to a sister that she had.

“It’s a good weapon. Seelie would be happy that you boys have been putting it to good use,” Mother said. “If you grow out of it, or want something bigger, I expect you to pass it down to someone worthy.”

“I understand, mom,” I said and then addressed my brother. “Thank you, Bastion.”

“You’re welcome, kid. It helped me get a grip on using aura before I could really produce my own. I’d still be using It if I didn’t prefer a slightly shorter blade and a shield,” Bastion explained. “The jewel there stores up a little bit of you strength whenever your holding it. The stronger your aura gets the faster it can gather up whatever extra you’ve got leaking out of you. Whenever you need to cut a little bit harder, just imagine the blade releasing all that power from the handle and it’ll come in handy.”

“Really? How much can it do that?” I asked.

“Well, it’s all about how high your physical attributes are,” Bastion explained. “For you it’ll probably take about a month to charge it up for one use and that’s only if you’re training with it ever day.”

“Oh, so it’s more like a special thing to use?” I asked.

“Don’t look so glum, kid. It gets a lot handier the stronger you get. Every time you raise all your physical attributes up by one level, it’ll cut that time in half,” Bastion explained. “You’ve got to work for things in life.”

“So, I do need cores,” I said.

“Let’s focus on getting your swordsmanship to competent first, if we stumble on any monsters before that then we can talk,” Bastion said. “You can’t get the most out of a level two attribute until you’ve gotten yourself a matching proficiency.”

“I understand,” I promised. “I just want to be strong like you guys.”

“You will be,” Bastion said. “You’re already plenty strong.”

“I really love the sword,” I said.

“Good,” Bastion said.

“Don’t go breaking it,” mother said.

I laughed. “I won’t.”

I looked to Rosaria then, noticing that she was starring at the blade with wide eyes.

“Do you want to hold it?” I asked her.

“Yes!” she said and the acted as if she had surprised herself with her enthusiastic answer. “Really? Can I?”

“Yeah, really,” I said, just happy to see my friend wasn’t upset anymore.

Rosaria wiped the remaining tears from her face and then reached for the sword, before stopping and looking at her tear-soaked hands. “Um, sorry.”

The little girl quickly looked for something to wipe her hands on.

“You can use the cloth it came in,” I offered.

“Right,” Rosaria said and did just that, removing the tears and snot from her hands, looking somewhat embarrassed as she did so.

“Here you go,” I said and re-offered Mytharis to her.

Rosaria took my birthday gift into her hand with something approaching reverence. For a little while, the girl just stared at it. “It’s so simple, but pretty.”

I cocked my head to the side and looked at the blade as she explained her take on it. She had a point. Mytharis was a simple blade, but it just looked nice. Sturdy and unadorned, save for the green jewel in its cross-guard; as it was, there was a certain elegance and quality to the weapon.

I looked to the dragon-eye ring on my finger. The white-gold band that the enchanted stone, once a dragon’s eye, sat on had a number of elven runes on it. I hadn’t really looked at them too strongly, but dad had taught me how to read the script about a year ago, saying it would come in handy if I ever decided to pursue magic further.

‘Flame’ one rune read.

‘King’s’ I puzzled out the next rune.

‘Eye’ the third rune proclaimed.

‘Made’ the fourth and second to last said.

‘Man’s’ the final rune declared.

What could that possibly mean? The runes hummed with something magical. I could feel that much, but I also didn’t have the knowledge necessary to really understand any of it. Probably something to do with the helping someone learn fire magic that my mother had mentioned? Red dragons were good at using flame-attuned mana; everyone knew that. I wasn't all that surprised that a magic item made from one's body could help with that too.

Regardless, the ring had a certain attractive quality to it, just like Mytharis, though they held a very different mood about them.

Maybe all magic items had that sort of attractive gleam to them?

“I’ll get you a sword of your own when we get back to the order house, Rosaria,” Bastion promised my friend, drawing my attention back to them.

Rosaria moved her focus from my new sword and up to my brother with surprise. “Thank you very much, sir.”

Bastion nodded. “Of course.”

“It’s a really nice sword, Pery. Thank you too,” she said to me as the biggest smile overtook her red-eyed face, seeming to mean like she was thanking me for more than just letting her hold the blade.

My dad raised himself from the table and came to stand behind me, resting a hand on my shoulder. “I think it’s my turn to give you a gift, Pery. Are you ready?”

I turned to my dad as Rosaria handed me my sword back gently.

“Ready for what, dad?” I asked him.

“Let’s go to my study,” he said.

What could my dad be meaning to give me? One of his books? Regardless, I was excited. I was never allowed in dad’s study unless he was present. He said there were things within it that child should not know, especially one that could memorialize anything he saw permanently in his memory.

“Alright,” I said. “Is my present there?”

“That’s right, it is. Come along then, son; you can bring your sword,” he said.