Toa shivered as a gust of icy air descended from the mountain peaks.
Attempting to fight the sudden chill, he painfully continued to break up the stiff, clay-filled soil at his feet. The wooden shaft of his trusty hoe shifted against rough calluses as he raised it skywards; his hands catching on the wooden handle as he swung down. With a sad sounding thwok, he shifted to his heels and pulled, a small sticky chunk wrenching out of the earth.
Stopping for a moment with a breathy sigh, Toa tucked the hoe under his arm to help support his leaning weight. With a grimace, he rubbed his clammy hands together under the rough hemp fibers of his too-thin shirt, his stomach burning hot against his stiff fingers. Catching his breath, mist rose from around his arms and formed a cloud in front of his face with each breath.
He stood in the middle of a half-tilled field that tipped dangerously off the mountain slopes. Above him, the snow-capped peaks loomed like icy knives and glistened sharply in the chilled sunlight. Turning his bored gaze downslope, he could see warm, oily smoke rising from the village of Aeriun. On the outskirts of town, he caught a glimpse of the cozy cabin that he shared with his father, its mixture of wooden and slate shingles peeking out over the log fence surrounding the outer village.
"Bet he's napping by the fire, stubborn old ox," he muttered, once again questioning why he was outside in the cold fall air.
Like every young man in the village in recent years, Toa had been given his own field to farm in the hills above the village after his awakening. Although it had always been standard practice to assign the newest adult male members of the community to areas on the periphery of the village, Toa considered the Council of Elders’ recent interest in the highlands to be an act of desperation.
Years of relative peace had seen the population of Aeriun swell, nearly outgrowing the support of the viable farmland surrounding the remote mountainous village. As it stood currently, only the most influential members of the village had the privilege of working fields just outside the wooden walls. Being closer to town meant not only warmer and richer soil, but also the inheritance of generations of farmers’ hard labor, clearing and softening the fields. Altogether, these advantages guaranteed double or even triple the crop yield for half the effort compared to what Toa’s alpine field was likely to produce.
Still, food had to come from somewhere. So, the decision was made to have youthful energy invested in clearing and improving the stony soils above Aeriun. Hopefully, in the future, those lands would become more viable and help ease the tightening belt of overpopulation. In the interest of fairness (or in Toa’s opinion, to keep people quiet) the Council of Elders had further declared that these young men could slowly move closer to the village depending on the performance of their harvest.
Considering his upward mobility for a moment, Toa again cursed his poor luck during his awakening and continued to mourn his chances at a ticket out of Aeriun’s dwindling prospects. Unlike his friend Kursh who awakened one morning effectively fireproof or his father with his unending stamina and brutish strength, Toa could not wrap his head around his newly hyper-sensitive eyes.
Awakening is the gift of magic. Rumor had it that even certain beasts and ancient trees deep in the wild could awaken given enough time or circumstance. Over the course of one’s life, mana from deep underground would saturate the body. Guided by the unconscious mind, it would settle within and fundamentally change the body. In humans, around the age of 15, that mana would begin to manifest, no longer capable of being fully absorbed by the body and leaking out as magic instead. The resulting naturally formed magic was often a reflection of a lifetime of unconscious desire, albeit with some random and environmental influences. Just wishing hard enough for a specific magical ability was not enough. Regardless of how much someone wanted to be able to fly, the body would always subconsciously prioritize immediate survival over flashy magics. Still, Toa’s eyes were supposed to be something he wanted, or at least unconsciously needed, right?
Toa had really hoped and expected for something more. The Elders would often tell stories to the village children during festivals or during the long dark winters. Heroic Knights would muster their muscles to explode with power and cleave their enemies apart with impossibly heavy weapons. Mysterious Mages would command fire and thunder from the sky as if they were an embodiment of the gods themselves. That was the kind of magic Toa desired, not whatever this was.
It could have been worse, he admitted to himself dourly. Poor Elder Kyle had turned green during his own awakening. The old man's grouchy candor was no doubt a result of decades of repetitious and poorly-received jokes. No wonder he held onto his power on the Elder Council with such vehemence. No one knew exactly why magic had settled in this form for Elder Kyle, and the man himself was tight-lipped and disapproved of speculation on the matter. People had more or less stopped guessing after several particularly outspoken young men got assigned especially rocky no-man's-lands post-awakening.
Regardless, for Toa, the fleeting hopes of a heroic tale for himself was fading away. As a child, he dreamed that his awakening would whisk him away from this boring life, breaking the unending cycle of till, sow, plant, and harvest that chained every farmer to the land. He imagined that on the day of his awakening, his power would overflow the drab vessel of village life, drawing the attention of the King's yearly census taker. He dreamed of taking his turn holding an evaluation orb to the applause and envy of his peers and elders, riding into the distance to be trained as a Knight or Mage. Years from now he could then return to Aeriun, a worldly and powerful man, visiting only to remind himself of the boring life he had escaped.
Reality had all but crushed that dream. Perhaps he had a small chance of being taken as a scout recruit. After all, his ability was almost certainly related to the magical cultivation of his senses. But it was hard to not be disappointed. Toa had really been counting on his awakening to change his prospects. The abilities received upon awakening strongly impacted both your status and future potential. Those with useful or rare abilities would often experience meteoric rises, personally recruited and trained by the King. Those with physical abilities like his father would find that physical cultivation and soldiering came to them far easier and would eventually become captains and commanders in the King’s Army or some settlement’s City Guards. Those whose abilities jump-started the mystic path to magedom were even rarer and were prized and esteemed by all. Meanwhile, abilities relating to the senses were generally supportive, helping one become a craftsperson, academic, or even criminal (never trust someone whose ability lets them see in the dark). Toa, on the other hand, didn’t have those big-city options and could likely only look forward to a slightly warmer, closer field to the village several years down the line.
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To his chagrin, his father had been ecstatic. Or, at least as ecstatic as his stony face ever let on.
"You don't know how lucky you have it here boy," he'd say, "A life grown steadily from the ground is better than the uncertainty of your grand dreams. You may not like it, but the world is bigger than you know, and glory, honor, and wealth often go to the ruthless."
Although he never said so, Toa knew that his father had been a Knight in the past. Why else would he have shown up in the dead of night, beaten and battered with a young babe in his arms over a decade ago? With a mysterious past and a mysterious mother who his father refuses to speak of to this day, what did he get upon his awakening? Fancy eyes that made him sick and dizzy.
Deep down Toa had secretly hoped that his mother was a noble and his father an officer in the King’s Army. Like one of the folktales, perhaps his father had been forced to flee in order to hide him from his mother’s powerful family. Then, someday, Toa would use his mighty powers to rise through the ranks and reunite his family. With such a background, his awakening would almost assuredly be unusual and potent. Although having a powerful combat or magical gift was uncommon, a gifted lineage dramatically increased those odds. Shouldn’t he have been set up for success? Wasn’t this result cheating him of his daydreams of greatness? This was not the start of a hero's journey that he had envisioned.
Another brisk slap of cold air broke Toa from his bitter musings. Looking behind him, he’d only managed to till a couple of feet of clumpy soil.
“Yup, a real heroic effort there. Unlimited potential my ass” he muttered under his breath.
Truly, if he hadn’t had a great reason, he’d never have subjected himself to this. Between the pace, chill, and simple fact that he had anticipated freedom from farming after his awakening, this truly was just self-imposed torture. In the end, it all came back to his newly improved eyes.
Although using his power always managed to agitate his stomach, Toa was determined to master the use of his budding magical eyes. For all he knew, maybe someday, he would be able to shoot lightning from them. As you age, the body’s capacity for mana increases, often improving or, in the rare instance, evolving a person’s magic. He refused to give up hope; he couldn’t prove his father right and end up trapped in Aeriun all his life as a farmer whose only mission in life was to inch closer to the village. At the very least, he wanted to someday use his power without falling, puking, or crumbling over from a massive migraine.
The only reason he was out here now was that his unpleasant practice had actually born fruit. He had discovered, quite by accident, that the soil is full of life! His vision had lurched forward, as it had taken to doing at random and often strategically embarrassing moments, and caused him to faceplant while fetching well water to heat for a bath. Groggy, wet, and clutching his head, the earth had expanded and then moved under his nose, as if mocking his sanity.
His curiosity piqued, he recomposed himself after a moment and focused downwards, willing his eyes to repeat the same feat. Countless tiny little creatures writhed back into existence, an endless display of bizarre and diverse shapes wigging about to a silent beat, uncaring to his fascinated gaze. They were so small that they were dwarfed by specs of dust. One particle of dust was the same size as dozens if not hundreds of the little creatures scurrying about! Wringing the water from his clothes, Toa had continued to investigate and found to his surprise that the richer the soil, the more of these tiny creatures could be found within it!
A thought came to him that had rekindled the fire in his heart: what if he could farm these creatures and enrich the dry, rocky soil of his barren field? If he could somehow create fertile soil, he'd be a hero! Perhaps just a local hero in a small farming village, but that was better than any of his other plans so far. Even if a chance for something more had been robbed from him during his awakening, he'd just have to take it step by step. Although it was risky to try experimenting on his post-awakening farm plot, what did he have to lose at this point anyway?
If he played it right, prestige and wealth were his for the taking! If not, it’s not as if the Elders could move him any further from the village. Influence and fortune could then reopen doors and possibilities he had thought closed to him. He just needed to figure out what these soil creatures ate...
Shit. They ate shit.
Food scraps too, but mostly shit. It was better not to remember exactly how he had learned that delectable fact. Cursing the world, he'd begged the elders to let him test his theories on his own plot. Doing so was not entirely unheard of, as many youths would have ideas or powers they wanted to flaunt within the bounds of their newfound freedom and responsibilities. Toa’s request, however, was destined to be received poorly.
"Why would anyone eat food grown in literal SHIT?!" Elder Kyle had screamed at him, the melon-headed man turning more red than green, "This is not even madness Toa, it's just plain nasty!"
Toa tried to explain, but it was of little use. It was entirely possible the Elder couldn’t even hear him over the din of his own trumpeting voice. Yelling turned to lecture as the old man slowly ran out of steam, explaining the duty he had to feed, rather than poison the village.
Despite the harsh words, Elder Kyle, tempered by the less explosive opinions of the other Elders, had reluctantly agreed after an extended period of groveling. However, Toa knew it was mostly out of deference for his father rather than due to his own charms. Since his arrival, his father had been a one-man farming machine. He did the work of a dozen men without so much as breaking a sweat. In the Elders’ eyes, his father's harvest alone would make up for his errant son's foul experiment. Besides, a large part of his task was really just to start the reclamation process of the area. As he’d already lost count of the number of rocks he’d dented his hoe on, he was already well on his way to that goal.
So here he was, tilling soil in the chill of the autumn weather. Despite his apparent eagerness, Toa refused to ransack the village latrines or Deer-Bison pens until they froze over. This meant that he'd have to turn the soil in preparation for his miracle manure before the ground froze, then spread it in the freezing cold. Truly the worst of both worlds.
So, he slaved away in the cold, the exertion from his work the only thing keeping the icy chill from burrowing into his bones. As the sun finally began to set, the already cold air turned frigid and forced Toa back down the mountainside towards the smokey lights of the village.
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Candlelight flickered from within as Toa threw the door open, scurrying in before gently closing the hewn door behind him. Warm air hit him like a wall, and he shivered in pleasure.
"Welcome back," his father rumbled.
Toa quickly picked out his father's massive form sprawled across his favorite chair by the fire. Trunk-like feet rested on a comparatively tiny wooden bench. His arms were loosely crossed, and his eyes appeared closed as if he was still asleep. Preserve jars and vegetables in various stages of cutting circled the man like a still-life hurricane. Apparently, his father had been pickling food for winter before taking a covert nap. That, or a chaotic god of turnips had descended.
"Been productive I see," Toa innocently prodded, definitely not considering his own afternoon activities.
"Hmpf, I've told you before boy, I'm no Elder Kyle. What you do with your own field is your own business," came the rough reply.
"You still think I'll fail though."
"Look," his father shifted in his seat, "I've already won this time boy. Should you fail, maybe you'll listen and rely on your old man for once. If you succeed, we'll all be a little richer and better fed. No need to be such a shitstain." His father's scowl tilted slightly upwards with his final words.
"... … ..." A pause lengthened between them.
"Yea, that was a good one, old man," Toa finally relented, snorting away his faux anger.
In truth, no amount of petty insults would break the bonds of their tiny family. Though time and respect had garnered them some friends and acquaintances, the fact that they were outsiders in Aeriun never really faded completely away. It always kept them one step away from something intangible in the collective heart of the other villagers. Toa was better received as he was raised here, but even he felt the invisible distance between himself and his peers from time to time. As far as Toa was concerned, it was just another great reason to someday leave Aeriun behind him. For better or worse, they were stuck together, possibly all the family either had in the world. Not that his father would go into details about his life and family before Aeruin.
"If you want any of this food though," His father gestured widely to the pickling disaster around him, "you'll need to help me out. You'll have to find time to till ice and steal turds on your own time."
This was going to be a long winter.