Time flowed smoothly for Jiran. Weeks and months passed by. His strength and flexibility improved rapidly with no signs of reaching a plateau. Every spare moment not spent running errands or with Samris, he found himself in the library.

His blissful routine was interrupted by the start of Densoon. Massive quantities of Density flooded the air, pressing down on the continent like waves from an ocean crash on a beach.

The people of the Empire of Finlest hunkered down to weather the storm. Preserved goods were used, as growing during the season was impossible. Hunting became a death sentence only done by the truly desperate.

For new parents the season was a time of great suffering. As challenging as this time was for adults, a child's first Densoon was a matter of life or death. Either the child's body adapted to the massive flows of Density and survived, or it did not.

It was impossible to test before the season if a child could handle the Densoons. Many parents chose to give birth shortly before the season, not wishing to get attached to a child for an entire year that may not survive.

As deadly and difficult as the season was, life flourished. Forests would spring from hard ground in a week's time, dry land would form lakes, and animals would grow to become dangerous beasts. These beasts would be harvested to feed their ecosystems or the economy of the Empire.

Jiran was reading peacefully in the library when a knock reminded him of lunch. Eating had become far more exciting lately, for the rapidly growing boy.

Two hundred and eighty seven days Jiran had eaten Tier Five meals.

The first hundred days there had been no changes to his injury, nothing perceptible at any rate. Jiran felt fortunate that Samris's patience held through such an extended period of stagnation.

The next hundred days there had been changes only perceptible to Jiran. The memories of his life as Brandon started as a trickle, then morphed into a flood. For a time he had felt like each day was ten as he lived one in the manor yet experienced nine from Earth.

The last eighty days Jiran had been able to poke and prod the memories of his past life without pain. He spent countless hours cataloging his memories, writing them in a mix of English, Spanish, and Japanese hoping that would be secure enough if anyone found his journals. He wanted to preserve the knowledge from his memories, as the ideas and information were far more advanced than anything he found in Samris's library.

Very recently Jiran felt close to being fully healed. The Density he absorbed from food was finally being split almost evenly between his wound and his body, massively increasing his strength, speed, and endurance.

Yet still Samris had forbidden Jiran from controlling his mana. His insistence was frustrating yet reassuring. Perhaps a normal child would have rebelled against the constraint calling it unfair or mean. To Jiran, having someone who cared about him, protected him, and supported him was far too valuable to risk disappointment due to his own impatience.

Samris had been so optimistic about Jiran’s upcoming full recovery that he had even hired an instructor. They would be arriving sometime in the next month. Jiran hoped one of the things he learned from this tutor was how they traveled during the Densoon.

Letting out a sigh of impatience, Jiran closed the book he was reading and left the library for the kitchen. His meal was fantastic, as always. Even Samris occasionally praised Sharaal's skills.

Jiran still knew almost nothing about his enigmatic benefactor. The man was private to the degree of a recluse. He would spend days and sometimes weeks without speaking to anyone.

Samris never missed their morning exercise, which was always silent save for the grunts of exertion. In the evenings when the man was feeling social, the two would sit in Samris's study and talk about what Jiran was currently reading.

A month of absorbing just half the mana I'm consuming and I'm almost ready to Tier up. That's crazy, almost three hundred days of the best meals in town, if I wasn't injured I could have been Tier four by now!

Jiran finished eating and picked up the daily mail to be delivered to town. As usual there were several letters from Samris to various people. Everything else on his deliveries list would be picked up in town and brought back to the manor.

Jiran headed outside through the kitchen exit since it was closest to his current location and closest to the cart storage. He pulled the straps of the sturdiest cart over his shoulders and set off down the street.

Density raged above him in the heavens as he walked towards his first destination. Undulating clouds roiled about in the skies like a massive pit of snakes. Jiran became dizzy if he stared for too long, so he usually ignored them.

About halfway to his first destination one of the clouds split apart like an explosion had detonated inside it. Without a pause Jiran sat down on the ground with his legs crossed in front of himself and waited.

A few seconds later the wave of Density slammed into him, he withstood the barrage of wild energies. It was much harder to claim than normal Density from the air. Breathing in deeply he absorbed as much as he could while fighting the press of sudden weight on his shoulders.

Simultaneously Jiran focused on his skin, primarily the Density bombarding it. Since that Density had the audacity to touch him, he would make it his own. He pictured pulling it in through his pores with some mild success.

The wave soon passed and Jiran once more continued his short journey, this time with a light smile on his face. He was close to success, he had read about the Tier Two technique several weeks ago, apparently it was easiest to learn during Densoon as usually feeling Density on your skin was a challenge.

Samris had spoken at length about the skill, how many didn't bother mastering it since it was far easier to just eat high Density foods or drinks. For Jiran it was just one more way to understand Density and its properties. So he continued trying different ways to convince the Density to submit every chance he had.

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Jiran soon arrived at the sole smithery in Feylon. The building was of decent construction compared to many of the other buildings in town. Made from thick logs only found deeper in the forest. Packed between the logs was a hardened plaster that gave the building its sturdy appearance.

The smithy only had three walls, leaving a large open entrance. This allowed larger equipment like wagons to be worked on without having to take them apart.

The smithy was completely empty, as usual, during Densoon season. All the work had been taken underground. Jiran headed down the stone steps in the back of the building. He pushed through the growing heat and emerged from the stairs into a small room with three huge men working.

The first man swung his hammer into what looked like a bent shovel head, another slowly pumped at the bellows providing air to the furnace. The third stood near the man with the hammer, his hands were outstretched towards the misshapen metal, eyes closed in concentration.

Jiran waited patiently for one of them to stop, interrupting their work never crossed his mind. It didn't take long for the burly man pumping the bellows to head his way with a sneer. A tattoo of the Church of the Voice clearly visible on his neck.

The man held out his hand without a word, used to the treatment from the voicers, Jiran simply handed him the letter from Samris then continued to wait while closely observing the man casting at the metal. Hoping to glean some insight into whatever he was doing.

The voicer read over the letter then walked to a nearby stone table, he picked up a cloth-wrapped object about 40 centimeters long. No thicker than Jiran's arm. It looked suspiciously like a sword. With a mental shrug, since it was none of his business, Jiran took the proffered item and headed back up the stairs.

Back outside, Jiran moved to one of the several new buildings in town. Jiran stepped inside the seamstress’s shop. Her family had moved to Feylon shortly after the town gained its name. The newly constructed building looked elegant compared to the other buildings on the street.

Jiran mentally prepared himself for the coming storm.

"Jiran my dear boy! Welcome back welcome back," shouted a rotund woman in her mid-years.

"Have you changed Lord Samris's mind about that dreadful uniform yet? Mother knows that design is completely outdated. Why, not three moons past I made a uniform for Mr. Fancell's staff that puts yours to shame. Surely Lord Samsel wouldn't stand by and let his constituents outstrip his staff in fashion?"

"I can't say what My Lord's plans are in regards to our uniforms Ms. Sharel. Perhaps today's letter will reveal his plans?" Saying so, Jiran handed the letter to the meddling woman.

With a tsk she snatched the letter and quickly read through it. A smile bloomed on her lips as she looked back at Jiran.

"It seems our esteemed lord has indeed decided to update your uniform. Now come along while I measure you Jiran."

She gave him no chance to escape, grabbing his wrist and dragging him into the back of the store where she shoved him onto a wooden block. His height now matching hers she made circles around him measuring every centimeter of his body. Jiran did his best to block out the humming sounds she made as she worked her way around him.

"Look at how much you've grown Jiran, why it's been not a single season and these old rags of yours barely fit. Just what are they feeding you, hmm?"

Jiran barely managed to school his expression before he rolled his eyes. As if you're not the very woman who designed and made these 'rags' I'm wearing! Is she even capable of opening her mouth without trying to sell you something with a backhanded compliment?

Clamping down on his disdain for the shameless saleswomen, Jiran stoically Stood through the gentle abuse until she was satisfied. As annoying as he found the woman, at least she made quality clothes. Lucky for him another potential customer had entered the shop and Ms. Sharel pounced on them, leaving Jiran a chance to escape.

His final stop was Micah’s courier service. Arriving at the familiar structure he poked his head inside. Not seeing anyone, he dropped the last two letters from Samris into the outgoing box. Jiran then opened the shop door all the way and began loading the heavy cart with produce destined for the manor. Just as he was finishing up a familiar voice called out to him.

"Jiran!" Shouted Niya as she ran up to him panting.

"Hey Niya, is uncle back yet? How have you been?"

His cousin had barely grown in the last season, now several centimeters shorter than him and with significantly less weight to her.

She looked up at him scowling as if his growth spurt had been his fault.

"I've been terrible! How could I be good when you never come to play with me? No, father isn't back yet," she said with a worried expression. She raised a hand to her mouth, about to start chewing her nails in worry. Jiran seeing the raised arm as an opportunity dove for her midsection and planted his shoulder in her stomach then lifted with his legs and back muscles.

The older but smaller and skinnier girl had no chance as she found herself spinning through the air. Jiran laughed at the squawking sounds she made every time her weight came down on his shoulder as he spun her in circles. She kicked and punched at him with one arm while desperately hanging on to his head with the other.

Before either realized what was happening, a wave of Density crashed down on them from the sky. It slammed them into the ground in a heap. Being indestructible children, the minor distraction didn't stop their wrestling for a single second. They both scrambled to get the upper hand laughing all the while.

Jiran, not being one to go easy in a fight to the death, soon had Niya’s arms pinned behind her back. He viciously tickled the older girl while she squirmed about on the ground with tears leaking from her eyes.

Once he sensed Niya had expended her pent up anxiety, Jiran let her go and they both leaned against the wall of the shop to recover from their bout.

"You're such a bully," she pouted.

Jiran let out a laugh, "If I didn't bully you, then you would just go around beating everyone up without ever tasting the sweetness of defeat."

"Maybe," she said with a soft smile.

"I know Micah is fine so don't worry, okay? You didn't get to see him fight that Tier four last season, he shot lightning right through it when Skandor could barely scratch its hide. Not to mention the guards Lord Samris made him bring, and the guards that are even higher tier than Skandor he was supposed to hire in Femiir."

Niya sat in silence with Jiran thinking over his words for a minute before a much brighter smile lit up her face.

"Thanks Jiran, you're right he's probably out there having so much fun without us right now. Hey, before you go show me how you pinned my arms like that, there's a couple of idiots that have been begging for a mouth full of dirt lately."

With a conspiratorial gleam in his eyes Jiran walked her through several arm-bars and pins that she should be able to pull off without a ton of practice.

After letting Niya practice on him a couple times, Jiran spoke up. "Help me finish loading up these barrels so I'm not late getting these back to the manor."

Niya nodded happily and with the two working together the cart was soon fully loaded.

Jiran and Niya waved their goodbyes before he started the steady march home.