Ayla’s POV
My family is hiding something—I just know it. It’s not just a feeling; it’s in the way they act. My brother, who’s usually carefree and playful, sometimes gets this serious, almost guarded look, like he’s thinking about something he doesn’t want to share. My parents are even worse—they lower their voices or completely stop talking the moment I walk into a room.
It’s like they’ve all agreed to keep me out of some big, important secret, and I’m left piecing it together on my own. My brother always tries to distract me with fun—teaching me games or telling me bedtime stories that don’t always make sense. Sometimes I wonder if those stories are meant to confuse me on purpose, like a game within a game.
Seriously, why would a little girl my age be wandering through a forest alone, wearing a red cape, just to visit her grandma’s house? It makes no sense. Everyone knows the forests are dangerous teeming with Elves and wild creatures. Sure, Elves might not harm a little girl, but they’d definitely make her leave. And no responsible adult would ever send a child into such danger by herself, which makes the whole story seem ridiculous. It doesn’t add up—who even thinks that’s a good idea for a story? Still, I have to admit, the inconsistencies made it kind of funny. Like, why would bears live in a house? If they were Bearkin, it’d make sense, but nope—just regular bears, apparently.
Anyway, what I’m saying is, I know for a fact they’re hiding something from me. Every time they make me leave early, I sneak back to try to overhear what they’re saying, but it’s like they know I’m there—they always start talking in hushed tones the moment I get close.
A few times while watching my brother and father spar, I’ve caught myself wondering if my brother has eyes in the back of his head. One time, during tag, he was being super mean—he wouldn’t let me win no matter what. I decided I couldn’t let such injustice stand. So, while he was sparring with Dad, I grabbed a small rock. It wasn’t big enough to hurt him, but I threw it pretty hard, determined to make a point. To my amazement, he dodged it without even looking—or at least it seemed that way. It was like he knew it was coming before I even threw it, as if he had some kind of sixth sense. That only made me more convinced that his talent wasn’t just quick reflexes but something much cooler and more mysterious. Then again, he might’ve just been shifting to dodge Dad, and I got lucky... but honestly, I prefer my version of the story.
A week before he was supposed to go to school—which, to be clear, no one asked me if I was okay with—I wasn’t. My parents took me to my friend Courtney’s house. Her parents were bakers, and they were pretty awesome, always making sure I had some kind of treat whenever I came over. After we got there, I played with Courtney for a bit before pretending to realize I forgot something at my house that I wanted to show her.
Courtney’s dad walked me back to my house, and when we got there, I told him I’d just be a minute. I walked as quietly as I could to the door and tried to hear what was being said.
“Want to spar?” My brother’s voice came faintly through the door, and I thought I’d missed my chance. Without waiting, I opened the door, only to see the coolest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. My brother—or at least I think it was him, as his face was completely covered—was standing at the table with my parents. He was covered from head to toe in super-awesome-looking armor.
“That’s awesome, Jace! How come you never told me what your talent was before?” I yelled, then paused and looked at my dad. “That is Jace, right? Not some creepy person here to try and take over the world with their creepy-looking armor?” My dad just chuckled and nodded.
“Is this what you have been keeping secret from me all this time? Why would you keep this a secret?” I asked, hoping for some answers. “I know I’m young, but that doesn’t mean I can’t keep secrets!”
Jace’s POV
Listening to my sister’s impassioned speech—or as impassioned as a five-year-old can get—I thought long and hard about what to say. On one hand, I wanted to tell her everything and see the joy in her eyes as she learned the truth. On the other, I knew the responsibility that came with such knowledge, and I worried she might let something slip unintentionally.
The stakes felt enormous—balancing her happiness against the potential risks—making it one of the hardest decisions I’d faced yet. I wanted to tell her, but I also knew that sometimes, even when you’re an adult in a child’s body, things can slip out that you don’t mean to say. So, I did what any good ten-year-old son would do: I looked to my parents and let them decide. Knowing that my face was covered, I turned my head to my father, signaling that I trusted his decision.
“Well, Sprout, first you must understand that it’s not that we don’t trust you. In fact, we planned on telling you when your talent appeared. Most people don’t tell children what their talents are until after they’re 10 because we don’t want kids trying to force a talent—or worse, being saddened by the talent they get.” My father chose the diplomatic approach, explaining about gods and why we don’t tell children.
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Shortly after my dad’s explanation, my sister came bounding over, her eyes sparkling with excitement and her grin stretching so wide it was almost comical. Her energy radiated through the room, impossible to ignore, as if she might burst with enthusiasm at any moment. Practically bouncing with each step, she closed the distance between us and began poking me with rapid-fire jabs from her tiny fingers.
Her giggles bubbled up uncontrollably, filling the air with an infectious joy. It was as though she believed her persistent pokes might unlock some great secret—or maybe she just delighted in seeing me squirm. Whatever her goal, she was clearly enjoying herself to the fullest, and for a moment, I couldn’t help but smile at her antics.
“Sweetheart, how did you get back here?” Mom asked after she’d been poking me for a few minutes.
Ayla’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, biscuits!” she yelled before running out the door, my mother chuckling lightly the entire time.
“Well, Dad, how about that spar? I want to test my skill to see how much damage it can take!” I said, bouncing up and down slightly with excitement.
Looking like my sister, I ran out the door to the yard, my dad walking behind me. We went to the little sparring pit we had. Out of some strange feeling, I grabbed two bucklers instead of my usual one. As soon as I did, it just felt right to have a shield on each arm.
It felt as though my class was leading me toward a seamless synergy between my fighting style and its unique strengths. This realization gave me a surge of confidence, like I was finally uncovering a path designed just for me. Yet, it also presented a challenge, urging me to think creatively and push beyond basic techniques to explore the full potential of my class. This balance between confidence and challenge made every adjustment feel deliberate, every move purposeful.
With Arcane Armor absorbing damage and the shields providing added coverage when the armor faltered, I was well protected. The thought of how much power my fists could unleash—and the potential for future skills to amplify that strength—filled me with anticipation. Combined, these elements painted a picture of a fighting style built for resilience, versatility, and controlled power. It was a style that could make me a formidable force on any battlefield.
My dad gave me a curious look when I picked up the second shield, probably wondering why I’d even try using two at once. But as soon as I held them, everything just clicked. My increased strength made the lighter shields feel natural, giving me the freedom to move fluidly, striking the perfect balance between defense and offense. This new approach wasn’t just about covering myself; it transformed my entire fighting style. The added mobility let me respond faster, maintaining constant pressure while staying protected.
It felt like my class was steering me toward something greater a fighting style rooted in resilience and versatility. With one shield as a barrier and the other as a weapon, I could seamlessly block and strike, turning defense into a relentless counterattack. The idea of using shields this way complemented my growing endurance, encouraging adaptability and controlled aggression. Of course, it wasn’t perfect yet. I’d need to train hard and build even more stamina to make the most of this strategy.
With two shields and my new skill activated, I stood across from my father, determined to make him at least put forth some effort in the spar.
“Hahaa, I can see you’re eager, son, but never use a tool for real until you’ve tested it first. We’ll start at half speed—and go ahead and drop your shields off to the side. Interesting choice, by the way. We’ll test your skill until you’re somewhat comfortable with it.”
Over the next hour, we got to work. My father started with light jabs and hooks, testing my skill’s limits while throwing in the occasional word of encouragement. Each hit landed with a dull thud, reverberating through my shields as the shimmering Arcane Armor absorbed the impact. "Good, Jace," he said evenly, his voice steady as he evaluated my movements. "Keep your stance strong." I honed in on every motion, feeling the strain in my arms as I deflected each blow. The crunch of gravel beneath our feet and the rhythmic sound of his punches hitting my defenses became a grounding backdrop to the session.
As the minutes passed, his strikes grew sharper and more deliberate, challenging me to adapt with every movement. Each new level of intensity pushed me further, forcing adjustments in both strategy and stamina. The session became more than a test of my skill; it was a lesson in control, endurance, and precision. After about ten minutes, he increased the force slightly, following a standard I couldn’t quite grasp. Every ten minutes, his hits grew heavier until finally, my skill gave way. The Arcane Armor shattered with a sharp, resounding crack, sending a ripple of force through my body. I felt the sudden absence of its protective barrier, the faint shimmer around me fading instantly. The impact left my arms tingling, a reminder of the raw power behind his strikes, and the realization of my limits hit me just as hard as the blow.
Once the skill broke, he had me recast it and started at the level where it had broken. While it could take a blow at that level after being recast, the skill stopped the hit and then broke again.
“That’s a good skill. By the end, I was hitting with the force of someone who has a offensive oriented talent after they have had their second revelation." This comparison helped me gauge my progress, giving me a tangible benchmark to measure against. It also highlighted the challenges I might face in the future, reminding me of the gap between my current strength and the potential threats that lay ahead, which only fueled my determination to improve. "If you can manage the speeds at that level, you really won’t have many peers your age.”
After figuring out when the skill would break, he fought me just below that level—where the skill broke every few minutes, forcing me to recast mid-spar. All of this was done at half speed, of course. Once we had done that for an hour, my father finally said we could have an actual spar.
Grabbing my shields, I strapped them both on. I walked to my side of the pit, ready to try pushing my father further than I ever had before.