25 - Body Ache

As a baby, Valrion often took up to four naps daily, each lasting about three hours. By the time he turned one, this had reduced to one or two naps, usually around two hours each—one before lunch and one after. This pattern continued until the present moment, but the one thing that never changed was his need for about ten hours of uninterrupted nighttime sleep. It was this consistent habit that ensured he woke up refreshed and ready for the day, even as his daily routines shifted with age.

Over the years, people had gifted him various wooden toys—carved animals with smooth edges, tiny wagons with rolling wheels, and even puzzles with pieces that fit together to form shapes. These trinkets, often considered treasures by children his age, held little appeal to him. His soul was too old, too aware, to find joy in such things. He would touch them occasionally, but only when boredom crept in so deeply that even sitting still felt unbearable.

The family never commented much on his disinterest. The most they said was that he seemed more interested in mastering his fire abilities than playing with toys, an explanation that suited him just fine.

Since he learned to walk, Valrion used his extra hours to help around the house. At the well, he often stood beside Fina, carefully rinsing vegetables under her watchful eye, though he always wished he could chop them too. On other days, he helped Octavia fetch firewood or carry baskets of dried clothes from the line. In the front garden, he often worked alongside Sergius, hauling bundles of weeds or fetching tools when needed.

His contributions, though small, were met with warm smiles and words of appreciation. They gave him a sense of purpose, especially during periods when the Handbook was unchanging.

Recalling the childhood memory, Valrion had once believed the room on the second floor—where a basket of fangs had fallen and hit his head as a baby—was an important and mysterious chamber. To his surprise, it turned out to be nothing more than a storage room. He had helped the maids tidy up dried herbs or reorganize dusty shelves there. There had never been secrets shared about the place, unlike the intriguing murmurs about the Liberators that sometimes reached his ears.

Occasionally, he would come across oddly shaped fangs or peculiar bundles of dried grass. Fina and Octavia would laugh, explaining that these were ingredients for remedies, saving them from spending extra money at the apothecary. The explanation was concise and reasonable, and Valrion didn’t think much of it. Not everything had to carry a deeper meaning.

When Valrion woke up in the afternoon after his first archery lesson, he wandered to the side yard where he had practiced with anticipation. His steps slowed as he noticed the space was empty. The target bag and wooden post, which had stood there just that morning, were gone, leaving no trace of their existence. He stared at the barren yard, disappointment rising in his chest. He had hoped there might be another session later in the day, something to look forward to.

“Valrion.” His mother’s voice broke the stillness from behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see her walking to him with a broad smile. “What are you doing out here?”

“Nothing,” he replied quickly.

“Is that so?” She followed his gaze to where the target bag had once stood, chuckling like she knew the truth. “Octavia told me about your wish to move back to the bedroom. You can start tonight.”

His eyes brightened, and a smile spread across his face. “Really?”

She nodded. “Really.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Mama,” he added, realizing that he should be kinder.

She laughed lightly. “You’re welcome. Now, don’t stay out here too long. Let’s go inside.”

Valrion had no choice but to follow her. While it wasn’t as chill as the morning, the warmth he got from sitting by the hearth was far more appealing. There wasn’t much to do here, anyway.

For the rest of the afternoon, Valrion lingered in the dining room, where Fina had prepared ginger tea and biscuits. This familiar routine during the colder months was one he enjoyed. He nibbled on one biscuit after another, his ears tuned in to the lively chatter of the women. They shared tales about neighbors and acquaintances—predictable stories of repeated human mistakes. Though Valrion didn’t say a word, their energetic voices and occasional bursts of laughter made even the dullest topics worth hearing.

As the evening settled, the family gathered for dinner. Valrion’s father sat at the end of the table next to his mother, his distant presence unchanged. The hearty aroma of carrot soup and venison filled the room, causing Valrion’s stomach to grumble louder. Valrion eased himself into his seat, surprised by the ache that flared in his upper body.

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Sergius caught his eye and gave him a subtle smile as if saying, You’re doing well. His father, thankfully, didn’t spare him a glance.

Focused on the bowl of soup that Fina had served, Valrion grimaced as his sore hands struggled to grip the spoon. He hastily masked the discomfort, lowering his gaze to avoid drawing attention. As usual, the conversation centered on Fina’s cooking, with everyone praising her skills and discussing ideas for tomorrow’s breakfast.

Undoubtedly, this discomfort was caused by the morning’s activity. He had forgotten how a mortal body needed time to adapt to exertion, and from what he knew, the sensation would at least be doubled the next day.

The following morning, it did occur.

Valrion woke up feeling as though his entire body had been pricked by a thousand needles. When he tried to roll over, a sharp jolt of pain froze him in place. The soreness had crept into his legs and lower back, making even the smallest movement a challenge. His mother stood by the fireplace, sorting through the trinkets placed on top of the mantel. Noticing him, she set her work aside and approached his cradle.

“Good morning. You don’t look fine. Are you okay?” she asked, standing beside him. Valrion stretched his limbs, wincing as the stiffness in his body grew worse with each passing second.

[Level: 5]

[EXP: 10/145]

[Health: 272/297]

[Mana: 31/31]

“It hurts,” he murmured. There was also [Status: Wounded] in the image—something he hadn’t seen in years. How long would this last? Three days? Four?

“What hurts?”

“This.” He pointed toward his left shoulder, even though it was more than that. His mother should have understood by now.

Carefully, she moved him to the changing table and stepped out of the room. Moments later, she returned with the familiar basin of water, a folded cloth, and a small jar of ointment. After cleaning him up, she opened the lid of the jar, ready to tend to his needs.

Valrion tapped her hand lightly. “Let me do it myself.”

“Huh? What?”

“I do it myself,” he insisted.

She frowned. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes.” His response was firm. After a moment’s hesitation, she offered him the jar.

He scooped a small amount of the cool ointment with his forefinger and spread it over his left shoulder. The balm felt smooth under his touch as he made sure to cover every spot that required it. Taking another portion, he applied it to his other arm with the same deliberate care. His mother stood nearby, her gaze filled with both pride and concern.

Perhaps there were other three-year-olds who were just as independent, but he wouldn’t blame her for feeling a bit sad. Her little boy was growing up quickly, after all. Maybe he should ask her to stop bathing him next time, but this might not do much since she would still stay nearby, ready to assist if needed.

“Done?” his mother asked when he stopped getting more of the ointments.

“Done,” he said.

“Okay. Wait here, all right? I’ll put back the ointments,” his mother said. As soon as he nodded, his mother left. It took her longer to return since she was carrying a basin of water and cloths.

His morning routine unfolded as usual. After ensuring he was clean and ready, his mother led him downstairs. Most mornings, the scent of cinnamon spread through the first floor, but his attention was taken by how the kitchen looked different now. His cradle and Octavia’s bed had been replaced by shelves that were supposed to be there three years ago. With Octavia, Fina, and Sergius bustling around carrying goods from the backyard, Valrion didn’t need to ask what they were doing.

“How are you feeling, Valrion?” Sergius greeted him with a warm smile.

“I’m fine—”

“His body is sore from yesterday’s practice,” his mother interjected. “I just applied some ointment for him.”

“Oh,” Sergius said, laughing. “Do you want to rest today, or do you still want to practice later?”

“I want to practice,” Valrion decided without a hitch. It might have been preferable to take a break, but he didn’t feel like it. At the very least, a half-an-hour session wouldn’t kill him. It wasn’t as though he had much else to do.

“You’re a miracle baby,” Sergius joked, laughing at his own words.

Throughout the winter, Valrion practiced archery with Sergius for one hour every morning without fail. While his mother initially watched, her interest gradually faded as the weeks passed. She had other responsibilities, and Valrion didn’t mind that. Sergius’ guidance was enough to keep him focused and motivated. Slowly but surely, his aim sharpened, and his strength increased.

By spring, Valrion’s progress was evident to see. He could hit the target more often than not, and the discomfort that crawled in his body every so often had gone completely. Once awkward and cumbersome, the bow now felt more natural in his grip. Even Sergius acknowledged his improvement, sometimes uttering promises like, I could hunt with you soon! Though they were just empty words.

The new season brought vibrant changes to the land. The snow-covered yards turned lush with sprouting greenery, and the days stretched longer with golden light. One evening before dinner, as the last rays of sunlight cast warm hues across the kitchen, his mother approached him while he quietly watched the maids chop some fish.

“Valrion,” his mother began. “Do you want to come to the market with me tomorrow?”

His eyes widened. Did he hear it right?

“Let’s go together to the market tomorrow,” his mother repeated, snickering.

“Really?” he asked.

“Really,” his mother affirmed.

“Of course, Mama,” he said.

His mother laughed harder at his reaction, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Good. You’ll need to wake up early.”

“I will,” Valrion noted, already imagining the sights and sounds of the market—a world beyond the confines of the house he had wanted to see.