“Artien! Art-i-eeeeee-n!!”

Artien’s brow furrowed. She was following him again.

“Artien!”

He picked up his pace, hoping she’d give up. It was a hope unfulfilled. There was a loud crashing as she tore through the brush.

“There you are!” A young girl appeared in stained trousers and shirt. Two hands hit her hips as she began to pout and complain. She witnessed only the forests shadows before she started running again.

“Wait for me. Stop going so fast. Arti-eeen-“ She stopped suddenly, nearly crashing into his back.

Artien turned, giving her a glare as irritated as he felt. “Stop following me. It’s dangerous here.”

She stuck out her bottom lip, looking into his honey-colored eyes. “You’re out here!”

“I’m out here because I can protect myself. You,” he said, as he pushed a finger into her forehead,“ cannot.” 

“You’ll protect me.”

“I can’t protect us both. I’m not strong enough.”

She shook her head. “You’re really strong!”

Artien sighed. “Come, let’s go back to the village.” He turned to the village’s direction and walked just fast enough she could keep up. “Why do you always follow me, anyway?”

“It’s interesting!”

“What is?”

“All the stuff you do. I like watching you learnin’ about the plants and sunbath.”

He stopped and corrected her. “It’s not sunbathing. It’s, er, meditation!”

She scrunched up her face, the most cute of confusion. “Medertashun?”

“Med-i-ta-tion.”

“What’s it for?” She asked innocently.

Artien felt his defenses crumble. She was going to be a killer lady one day. To explain it to her properly would take too long. He ruffled his head as he thought of a way to explain aura-seeking as meditation to a 12-year-old.

“It’s like being completely silent. Even in your head. It calms the mind and heart. It’s healthy for you.”

“I like healthy stuffYou! Let’s go eat some at my home.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him ahead.

Artien allowed her to pull him along. There was no going against the little tyrant. “Your father’s not going to like you following me into the forest.”

“It’s okay. He thinks I’m going to your house. So if I bring you back, he can’t tell.” She giggled when she heard his stomach grumble. “Good thing too. You’re hungry.”

He knew a meal at her place, the Greenwood Inn, wasn’t free. One meal could be half a day’s labor, or a favor. Of course, labor was safe. Owing Mr. Greenwood a favor wasn’t. He was known to have asked others to venture into the surrounding wilds for rare ingredients, even though that person would never get a taste. Everyone knew how dangerous the forest was.

“Let’s get some carrots from my place. You guys were running low, right?”

“Daddy said so.”

Maybe this way there would be just labor.

“Clare, can you let go of my hand? I’ll follow you, I promise.”

“Why? Shy to hold a maiden’s fair hand?” She let go and clicked her tongue at him. “Fine! Be grown-up. You’re only three years older than me.” She then mumbled. “What makes you so grown up?”

The rest of the way was made in silence. They first came across the Astral farm, Artien’s home. George Astral toiled his morning in the fields when he stood up and saw them coming. He wiped his head and smiled at them.

“Thought you’d be up by now, but to be coming out of the forest after I told you not to.” George looked at the both of them up and down. “Looks fine. No dirt or injuries. Ornery Mr. Greenwood will never know. What brings you both here?”

Clare piped up in pitch, cute as can be. “We came by to get some carrots, then we’ll be eating at the inn.”

George’s eyes widened. “Oh? Is that so? You’ll be working off those carrots when you get back home Art.”

“Yes, sir.”

“In that case, grab a basket from your mom inside the house and come have a pick. There’s a few that need plucking.”

Clare chatted George up as Artien fetched the basket. As he opened the door, home-made bread fresh from the oven hit him. His stomach grumbled again. His mother, Anabelle, turned around and laughed at him.

“Should have known that was you! How a boy can eat so much and still remain so skinny… I’ve never seen it until we got you. Want to eat something?”

Artien shook his head. “I’m eating with Clare at her place.”

“Don’t go causing trouble for the Greenwoods. They’ve been the nicest people in the village to us.”

“I know, I know. I just need a basket for some carrots.”

“Well then, take this here and go.”

She handed him a basket and kissed his head. “May you be safe and come back sound.”

“Bye, Mom.”

He quickly escaped before the tears showed. He took the basket and jogged back outside to the carrots. George saw his look and remained silent.

“Pick the ones you like and be off. Return right after Mr. Greenwood is done with you.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Thank you, sir.”

Clare helped him pick half a dozen large carrots. This time, Artien led the way. He didn’t dare show his sorry face to Clare. She’d pick and nag until he blurted everything out. It was safer she remained ignorant.

He was back to normal by the time they reached the village. They passed a few houses where some scowled at him, but smiled gently at Clare. They were all neighbors and relatives of Anabelle in some way. Her family line had existed within the village for generations. It just so happened that Anabelle and George were a ‘bad example’ of marriage decisions and were treated as outcasts to be ignored.

On the other hand, the village Elder, Old Joe, was Anabelle’s grand father and leader of the village. He was looked up to by everyone. Nothing important happened without his say-so. Fortunately, the elder favored Annabelle. Whatever she did could be no wrong in his eyes. He had blessed the couple.

The reason she was out-casted? Because she had married an outsider. Artien’s father, George, was a retired soldier. What more, he came with a bit of fame. Sometimes he would get visited by travelers just to have a drink and hear a tale. This was frowned upon by the normally secluded villagers.

Artien came back to himself as he entered the front door of the Greenwood Inn. Several tables were already occupied by a few travelers. Mrs. Greenwood was in the process of taking orders and serving meals when she saw the duo arrive.

“Clare! Where have you been? Your father needs you in the back.” Mrs. Greenwood said hurriedly.

She wore a once-white apron over her simple dress. Her blonde hair was tied back to her nape while she worked.

“I haven’t eaten yet.”

“Then get some bread and milk and go about your chores! It’s going to be busy this week. We’re expecting important visitors.”

“Artien’s eating too. He brought carrots.”

“Alright, both of you go back and eat in the kitchen.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Artien and Clare both replied.

They entered the kitchen and met with Mr. Greenwood. The huge, burly, one-armed man looked up from his fresh chicken. He saw the basket of carrots and then looked at them. “Bread and milk’s on the table. Help yourselves. Artien, when you finish come see me.”

“Yes sir. Thank you.”

Artien and Clare sat at a simple wooden table. Artien put the carrots on the table, took half a loaf of bread and began eating. Clare sat across from him and took the other half, gazing at him while he ate.

Feeling awkward, Artien ate and drank quickly. He wiped his mouth and stood by Mr. Greenwood. Clare finished her meal and stopped at the kitchen door before exiting. She pointed at her dad and said, “Be nice to Artien, or I won’t forgive you!” Then she disappeared.

Oh innocent little Clare, Artien thought. Mr. Greenwood’s face darkened just a bit, before he turned it to Artien. “Stand straight. Let me see what I got to work with.”

Artien straightened his spine and stance.

“Hmm. Still scrawny. What’s this?” Mr. Greenwood reached out and grabbed his arm. “There’s some muscle here now. You’ve been working at it?”

“Yes. Back home on the farm. Cutting wood and the like.” This wasn’t entirely a lie. If the village knew he’d been hunting in the wilds, he’d bring trouble to his parents.

“Cutting wood, huh? Well, as it happens to be, we need some wood. Lots of it in the coming days. Go out back and starting chopping. Maybe it’d put a tan on that shiny white hide of yours. Uncanny, for a boy’s skin to be so clean.”

Artien nodded and took a back door in the kitchen outside. Behind the inn was where all the main work was done. The firewood for cooking and keeping the inn warm at night was the toughest job. There was a mound of logs to one side as well as a near-empty shack nearby. A large stump served as the chopping block. 

He first took up a large saw and cut one log into one foot sections. Then, he took a wheel section and lifted it onto the chopping block, where he began the long process of making wedge-shaped firewood. The work was hard and he soon built up a sweat. As he did so, he enjoyed the process of the work. He knew with each strike he was getting stronger.

He wouldn’t be able to hold a large sword like in his dreams, but a simple short sword at first would do. If any monsters like in his dreams were real, he’d want to be prepared. He’d asked his parents before if beast men were real. They had confirmed his fears, only to correct him.

Beast tribes did exist, but they were well-hidden and scarce. They were the same as humans, except with a few animalistic traits. They were often captured and sold into slavery. They were rich folks’ laborers and servants. Regular people like villagers would be unable to afford them.

He continued to swing the axe, his mind slowly going clear. He focused on the task. Soon, he was finished with one tree. He moved to another. He continued the firewood-making process until he realized he ran out of logs. He looked up, seeing the sun just above the tree line.

He went back inside and interrupted Mr. Greenwood stirring a giant pot adding carrots in. He looked at him in surprise. “You still here? It’s nearly mid-morning.”

“I finished the wood out back.”

“Did you now? Then go back home. I’m sure your pa’s got chores for you.”

“Thank you for the meal.” Artien disappeared out the back and around the outskirts of the village to avoid anyone.

Mr. Greenwood looked outside, shocked at the massive pile of firewood. “We’ll not need wood until next week.” He scratched his head. “He’s so scrawny...”

Artien arrived at home just in time to complete his chores by noon. He checked the single field for pests and varmints. He watered and fed the single cow and horse. He prepared tomorrow’s food for the animals, then brushed out the horse’s coat, mane, and tail. He then helped Anabelle with whatever she needed.

When he was done inside, he met George in a bare spot to the side of the field. This spot was behind the house, hidden from anyone’s immediate view. This was so they could practice without unwanted attention. Artien stood to the side as his father showed him a move.

“See this? Watch carefully.”

George stretched out his fist slowly, showing the correct form for a forward, full-body punch. With his shirt off, Artien could see each muscle move intricately. He could see the fine control his father had. This came from years of experience.

“Now, watch and listen to the full move.”

George walked up to a hay dummy in the form of an obscure human. He took form, then blasted out with speed. The dummy took a hit, the wooden pole it sat on shaking violently. A thrumming sound echoed and slowly died until the dummy came to a halt.

“Now, you repeat it.” George stepped back and let his son take over the dummy.

Artien remembered back to the way his father had moved. He remembered each move, each muscle. He slowly exerted the form. It was like a memory he called upon. His dreams had something like this. Something similar, but much more formidable.

He adjusted his stance, feeling that memory correct his posture. To get the full power, to obliterate anything before the fist. In front of him, any enemy that dared to stand, would be blasted to smithereens. There, a tiny energy. Much weaker then he remembered, but still there.

He gathered the energy, sending it to his fist to a point hovering over his knuckles. He pulled in his fist, then used the energy remaining inside the arm to shoot forward with a short whistle. Silence came as his fist stopped short of the dummy. Then, a resounding blast echoed throughout the village and surrounding wilds as the dummy splintered apart, hay falling in puffs, and the remains falling some twenty feet away.

Sheer pain shot up his arm, blanking out his mind. He fell to his knees and howled. He tried to call for help, gritting his teeth. Unaware that his parents were holding him and bringing him inside, he continued to howl a short while before passing out. His parents lay him on his bed in his small room as they worried.

“What’s wrong with him?!” Anabelle cried. She watched as her husband checked their son’s vitals and condition.

“Nothing’s wrong with him. He’s just injured the nerves and tissue in his arm.”

“What do you mean, nothing’s wrong with him? Is he going to be crippled?”

“I can mend him. We must have a talk with him when he wakes. He needs to know everything.”

Anabelle sat down on a small stool. “Why now?” Her face had become pale and ghostly.

George knelt before her, rubbing her hair. “He deserves to know. We can no longer hide it, either.”

“Is this about what happened?”

“Yes. That noise you heard – he made it.”

“Artien did?” She asked in disbelief.

“I saw him do it. He’s a magic warrior.”

“He made magic?”

“No, not made. More like he has magic. It came from within, much like a warrior’s energy attack.” George frowned. “This places us in a tough spot. We’ll tell him when he wakes.”

“But…”

“No buts. Let him rest. I’ll attend his arm while he sleeps. He won’t be able to use it for a few days.”

George pushed her out of the room. “Why don’t you decide on a special meal tomorrow night? It’s his birthday, isn’t it?”

“You’re right. I-I should think of something.”

George shut the door to the room, then faced Artien. “You, my boy, what shall we do with you…”