20 - Blooming Seasons

Two weeks into the fourth month, Octavia returned home with the same dress and satchel she had worn when she left. Aside from a small cut under her left eye, she didn’t look any different. Valrion didn’t hear the story behind the injury, but the woman seemed fine, acting bubbly as usual. She pinched both of his cheeks the moment she greeted him in the kitchen and called Sergius an idiot whenever she felt like it.

On the last evening of the month, the family assembled in the backyard to burn items they no longer needed. As before, Fina chanted words of reverence toward the divine source, and everyone followed by closing their eyes in silent prayer. Given that the ritual was meant to symbolize letting go of material possessions, it made sense for it to take place on the final day of each month.

All of Valrion’s quests had stalled, but he didn’t mind since he had made significant progress in other areas of his life. By the fifth month, he had learned to summon fire in the hearth with precision, burning only the firewood and leaving the surrounding area untouched. Shaping the flames felt like an achievable next step. His lower central teeth had also grown a little.

He had also learned to roll over in his cradle, though getting back was a challenge. His head and torso often misaligned as he shifted his weight onto his arm, which twisted uncomfortably beneath him. Unable to fix the position on his own, he would resort to wailing intentionally until someone came to his aid. Each time, he was tempted to give up, but the unmatched joy of flipping over on his own kept him going.

In the middle of the sixth month, his father celebrated his thirty-first birthday, followed two days later by Sergius’s thirtieth. Fina baked cakes for both: rosewater for his father and cardamom for Sergius. It should have been time for him to start eating solid food, and the idea of starting with cake sounded thrilling, but there was no sign it would happen.

Usually, he would have sulked, silently cursing his inability to join the feast while ignoring the lively atmosphere in the dining room. Instead, he focused on the hearth on the night of Sergius’s birthday. Feeding the flames, he watched as they surged and filled the space. Nobody else seemed to notice, but the blast might have spilled out if not for the hearth’s sturdy frame. It was the largest fire he had ever summoned.

The effort cost him only three mana points. He wasn’t sure whether to feel satisfied by the improvement or amused that his frustration over missing out on cake had triggered it. To his surprise and delight, his mother sat him on the rug a few days later and spoonfed him a bowl of barley soup for dinner. She still fed him naturally from time to time but began incorporating soups, mashed vegetables, and seasonal fruits into his meals.

Entering the seventh month, he crawled for the first time. It happened one afternoon when his mother, Octavia, and Fina were in the kitchen, discussing plans to order new dresses for the colder seasons. He had been lying on a rug with a pillow borrowed from the nearby bed propped under his head. Rolling onto his stomach, he began scooting forward, managing to pull himself a few inches before tumbling back down.

He could have been compared to a writhing snake, yet all three women clapped and cheered. When he defeated ten higher-ranked heavenly soldiers in one-on-one battles as a teenager, the most anyone did was offer a flat, “Good job.” Comparisons were never good, but the more time he spent in Eru, the more he realized that human excitement was more endearing than annoying.

From that point on, his mother and the maids took every opportunity to teach him how to walk. They would applaud whenever he managed to stand for several seconds, even if he was holding onto the kitchen table for support. In no time, he was able to take a few steps forward when they were holding his hands and guiding him.

During the eighth and ninth months, his mother, Octavia, and Fina celebrated their birthdays with similar dried fruit cakes. It was then that their ages became known: thirty, twenty-one, and thirty-eight. His mother’s appearance had always suggested she might be older than his father, closer to Fina’s age.

While happy for them, he was equally pleased with his own progress. His mana consumption had decreased significantly, and his control over fire improved. The flames in the hearth now grew to twice their usual size with only two mana points. On occasion, he could summon a massive blaze, like the one on Sergius’s birthday, using just three.

One morning at the end of the tenth month, he balanced himself next to the kitchen bed, watching his mother sit on the rug as she examined the dresses she had just bought at the market. Taking a deep breath, he gathered his courage and, with a wobbly shift of weight, marched forward. He managed to move a few inches before toppling over, his knees crashing against his mother’s.

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“Ma-ma—” he groaned, startling even himself. He had meant to say, “It hurts!” but he called for his mother instead. As his mother rolled him over, he braced himself for any exaggerated reaction, knowing that a baby’s first word was a huge moment.

“Octavia! Fina!” his mother screamed, scooping him up and running toward the maids wiping the table in the backyard. “He walked by himself, and he—he said ‘mama’!”

His mother was tearing up, and Fina joined her. Octavia patted his mother’s shoulder, and he swore he deserved congratulations more than anyone else around. Honestly, he felt like crying himself, having come so far from his banishment to this stage in his life.

“But why is his development so normal? I thought he would be running around by six months!” Fina exclaimed. Valrion couldn’t tell if her tone carried excitement, praise, or sarcasm.

Within the next few weeks, Valrion considered himself able to walk despite some falls along the way. His mother had never left his side during this time, except when she had to be in her study to work on taxes or write letters. It was a room he had never been allowed to enter, but he understood why—his mother likely didn’t want him making a mess or accidentally burning any important papers.

More of his teeth had come in, creating a bright, tiny grin that never failed to charm everyone around him. He had said “mama” and “papa” on many occasions. He even managed to respond to Octavia’s “bye” whenever she bade him good night after tucking him into bed.

“Valrion should only use your fire power at the hearth, okay?” his mother started saying more often as the year drew to a close. She wasn’t the only one.

He had never burned anything outside of the hearth, but recognizing his growing awareness of the world around him, his family seemed to agree it was time to set firm boundaries for his elemental power. They emphasized the hearth as the safest and most appropriate place for him to practice. The reminder became a steady part of their routine, delivered consistently like a prayer to ensure he understood its importance.

The days seemed to slip by quickly, each one marked by his small but meaningful milestones. With the changing seasons, the air began to grow colder, and by the thirteenth day of the year’s final month, he turned one year old.

Around eight in the evening, everyone gathered in the dining room. His mother held him in front of the table, and his gaze was locked on the deep brown cake at the center, topped with chopped roasted nuts. They sang him a happy birthday song while clapping. The most surprising part was that his father also went along with it, looking somewhat awkward since he didn’t crack a smile.

“Happy birthday, my son,” his mother whispered, kissing his cheek once the song ended. She sat down, placing him on her lap. Everyone else took their seats, except for Fina, who cut into the cake.

“The birthday boy has the first slice. Congratulations,” Fina said, handing a tiny slice containing everything: the frosting in the middle of two layers and outside and a sprinkle of nut outside the slice.

Valrion’s mother grabbed a slice, tore off a tiny piece, and brought it to his mouth. It was no bigger than her thumb, but Valrion understood why she wanted to be cautious.

In one swift motion, he swallowed it, savoring the sweetness as his tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth. The texture of the cake was slightly rough, and he could immediately tell that ground hazelnuts had been mixed throughout. Besides the nutty flavor, there was also a strong taste of honey and cloves.

This was the first time he had eaten something not given by his mother. He proudly declared it the happiest day of his mortal life.

“Mama,” he muttered, reaching for her wrist that held the cake. His mother laughed, understanding his request, and continued feeding him. Octavia and Sergius smiled at the sight before Fina served them the cake.

From there on, the momentum kept building up.

In the following months, he gained the strength to climb onto the bed in the kitchen. His walking became steadier, and he only fell when attempting to run. He also learned more complicated words, like “come” and “stop”, which he often used to call the maids or scold them when they fussed over his face too much.

Before long, he celebrated two more birthdays in the kitchen. Being three years old, he no longer needed to be held like a baby, so he climbed onto the dining room chair himself and stood by the table, staring at what appeared to be a spiced apple cake. Thin slices of the fruit were arranged horizontally on top, coated with a thick layer of honey and dusted with cinnamon. It was better than last year’s cake, and the best part was that he was allowed two large slices.

“Fina should open a bakery,” Valrion’s father said. It must be his way of praising the cake.

“You’re not the first to suggest that, Sir. I should’ve thought of it before letting people around me steal all my money,” Fina replied, drawing chuckles from everyone in the dining room. Valrion’s father simply scoffed and finished the last bite of cake in his hand. The universal truth that good food brought people together held true once again.

Soon enough, the party was over, but the scent of cinnamon still lingered in the air. Valrion sat cross-legged on the rug, waiting as Octavia, Fina, and Sergius finished arranging the cleaned dishes in the dining room.

He still needed someone to carry him to his cradle, so he threw himself back onto the rug, thinking how it was time to put his cradle back in the bedroom upstairs. Tomorrow, he could try asking his mother with his limited vocabulary. Perhaps “mama,” “sleep,” and “up” would get the message across. He hadn’t accidentally burned anything in almost three years, so they should trust him by now.

“Hey, Valrion.” Sergius stepped out of the dining room, his hands hidden behind his back. Octavia and Fina followed but stopped at the doorway as Sergius knelt in front of Valrion.

Valrion sat up. “Yes?”

“We have another gift for you,” Sergius said.

Valrion’s eyes widened as Sergius revealed what he had been hiding: a bow, a dozen arrows, and a pair of gloves—each perfectly sized for him.