The Moonrise Faire arrived on the first clear night after the spring equinox, as it had every year since anyone in Willowbrook could remember.
It wasn't a grand affair—no traveling circus, no noble delegations, no fireworks imported from the capital. Just the village turning inward and outward at the same time: lanterns hung in the birch trees along the green, long tables dragged from barns and set end-to-end, fiddles and hand drums tuned by firelight, children running wild until their parents gave up and let them.
The Twin Moons always rose full and bright on faire night—one silver coin, one warm gold medallion—hanging so low they seemed to rest on the treetops. Folklore said if you made a wish under them while holding hands with someone you loved, the wish had double weight. Most adults pretended not to believe it anymore. Most children still did.
Aiden believed in multipliers more than moon-magic, but he wasn't above hedging his bets.
He woke before dawn that day, slipped downstairs while his parents still slept, and started the pie.
Not just any pie.
He had planned this one for weeks.
The crust came first—short, flaky, butter-rich. He used the last of Baker Tomas's traded saffron threads, a pinch of cinnamon from the merchant's last visit, and moon-touched bean flour he'd ground himself the night before (the beans, when dried and milled, produced a fine white powder that smelled faintly of night-blooming jasmine).
Filling next: early rhubarb from the shady garden corner (already three weeks ahead thanks to Verdant Touch), sweetened with honey from Widow Marla's hives, thickened with a reduction of last autumn's blackberries he'd preserved in syrup. A lattice top—perfectly woven, edges crimped with the tiny fork his mother used only for special occasions.
He slid it into the brick oven his father had built years ago, banked the coals just right, and sat cross-legged on the hearthstones to wait.
The system pinged softly every few minutes.
[Baker Class Progress +2%]
[Skill Evolution: Precise Measurement (Lv. 4) → Flawless Ratios (Lv. 1)]
[Passive Trigger: Homesteader's Hand – Food prepared at home gains +20% flavor & preservation duration]
When the pie emerged ninety minutes later, its top was golden, the lattice edges dark and crisp, steam escaping in sweet, floral curls. It looked like something from a bard's exaggerated tale.
Aiden stared at it for a long moment.
Then—very carefully—he focused.
[Reward Multiplier Activated]
1 Moonrise Rhubarb-Blackberry Saffron Pie → 10 Moonrise Rhubarb-Blackberry Saffron Pies
Ten identical, perfect pies appeared on the kitchen table in two neat rows.
He exhaled.
Okay. Manageable.
He stored nine in inventory (now comfortably at 132/120 thanks to overflow perks), left one on the table under a clean cloth, and slipped outside to "help" with faire preparations before his mother woke up.
By mid-morning the green was alive.
Tables groaned under contributions: loaves studded with nuts, wheels of soft cheese, jars of pickles, smoked fish strung like garlands, bowls of early greens dressed in herb vinegar. Children chased each other with ribbons tied to sticks. The fiddler—Old Torv's grandson, home from apprentice work in the next valley—tested strings that sang like silver bells.
Aiden moved through it all like a helpful ghost.
He helped Mara string lanterns (Tailor passive making his knots impossibly neat).
He carried benches for Widow Marla (Omni-Tool perk letting him lift twice what a six-year-old should).
He taste-tested Tomas's new saffron rolls and gave solemn, honest feedback that made the baker beam.
Every small task ticked EXP.
Every compliment from an adult bumped my hidden reputation.
By dusk, the moons were rising—huge, impossibly close. Lanterns flickered to life. The first song started, slow and swaying.
The children's contests came before the dancing.
First up: the Whittle-Off.
Boys and girls under ten sat in a circle with blunt knives and blocks of soft pine. Goal: carve the most lifelike animal in fifteen minutes.
Aiden sat cross-legged like the rest, accepted his block from Garrick (who winked), and began.
He didn't try to win.
Not obviously.
He carved a chicken—simple lines, rounded body, tiny beak detail. But every stroke was guided by Apprentice Carpenter Lv. 8, Omni-Tool, and Quick Study. The wood parted like butter. Feathers emerged in delicate layers. The eyes were just two shallow divots, yet they seemed to blink.
When time was called, the judge—Marta—walked the circle.
She stopped at Aiden's chicken longest.
Picked it up. Turned on the lantern light.
"By the Moons," she muttered. "This looks ready to cluck."
First place ribbon went around his neck.
He accepted it with a shy grin and a "Thank you, ma'am."
Next: the Braid Race.
Girls (and a few brave boys) raced to braid the longest usable rope from the provided straw.
Aiden joined because Mara dragged him in.
He had never braided straw before.
He had Tailor Lv. 7 and Quick Study.
His fingers moved like they'd done it a thousand times.
The braid came out tight, even, with a four-strand herringbone pattern he improvised on instinct.
It was twice as long as anyone else's.
Second ribbon.
Mara hugged him so hard he nearly dropped it.
Last contest before supper: the Pie Judgment.
Adults only, but children could submit entries "with parental permission."
Elara had found the second pie on the table that morning. She'd stared at it, then at the nine identical cloths folded neatly in the pantry (Aiden had "forgotten" to store the extras perfectly), then carried one to the judging table without a word.
Ten pies sat in a row—village contributions, some lumpy, some beautiful, all made with love.
Aiden's was unmistakable.
The lattice gleamed. The scent alone drew people from across the green. When the first slice was cut, a soft collective sigh rose.
The filling shimmered—rhubarb tart against blackberry deep, saffron threading gold through every bite. The crust shattered into flakes that melted on the tongue.
Judge after judge tasted.
Eyes closed.
Shoulders relaxed.
One old farmer—Joren's cousin from upriver—actually teared up.
"Like eating summer itself," he whispered.
Unanimous first place.
A blue ribbon bigger than Aiden's hand.
And then the moment he hadn't quite prepared for: Elara stepping forward, accepting the ribbon on his behalf, and quietly pinning it to his tunic beside the others.
She didn't say anything.
She just looked at him—long, steady, full of things she hadn't put into the notebook yet.
Supper passed in laughter and music.
Dancing started.
Aiden danced with Mara (she stepped on his toes; he didn't mind), with Widow Marla (she smelled of lavender and told him stories of her girlhood), with his mother (she held him close and swayed slowly, like he was still small enough to carry).
When the moons reached zenith, couples and families drifted to the birch grove to make wishes.
Aiden found himself alone for a moment near the well.
He looked up.
Silver and gold light poured over him.
He closed his eyes.
Let me keep this, he thought. The village. The people. The small days. Let the multipliers never take that away.
A soft chime—almost tender.
[Moonrise Faire Milestone: Triple Victory + Anonymous Pie Submission]
[+12,000 EXP → 1,200,000 after multiplier]
[Baker Lv.1 → Lv.9]
[Overall Level: 42 → 58]
[New Passive Unlocked: Festival Heart – +30% morale & joy to all participants in events you help organize]
He opened his eyes.
Elara stood a few paces away, notebook in hand.
Not open. Just held.
She walked over.
Sat on the well curb beside him.
For a long minute neither spoke.
Then she opened the little book.
Turned it so he could see.
The list had grown:
• Read the entire primer at four and a half
• Make radishes ready three weeks early
• Produce glowing beans that taste like hope
• Fill the cellar without being seen
• Nine perfect eggs from seven hens
• Carve a chicken that looks alive
• Braid straw like a master weaver
• Bake a pie that makes grown men cry
She closed it again.
"Aiden," she said quietly.
He looked at her—really looked.
No fear. No anger. Just… wonder. And a mother's fierce, quiet love.
"I don't understand most of it," she continued. "And I don't need to. But I need you to know something."
She took his hand.
"You're still ours. No matter how many miracles you grow in the garden or hide in the cellar or bake into pies. You're still the boy who hates turnips and climbs too high and hugs like you mean forever."
Aiden's throat tightened.
He squeezed her hand back.
"I don't want to be anything else," he whispered.
She smiled—small, watery, bright.
"Then don't be. Just… maybe tell us next time before the whole village starts calling you Lirael's own apprentice?"
He laughed—shaky, relieved.
"I'll try."
They sat there until the music slowed and people began drifting home.
When they finally stood, Elara tucked the notebook into her apron pocket.
"Tomorrow," she said, "you're teaching me how you make that lattice so even."
Aiden grinned.
"Deal."
As they walked back toward the cottage—lanterns guttering low, moons beginning their descent—he felt the system hum once more.
Soft. Content.
Like it, too, approved of small promises made under moonlight.
[End of Chapter 4 – Book 1]
Chapter 5 will open a few weeks later: the first real surplus trade caravan visit since the multipliers began snowballing, Aiden quietly negotiating prices that benefit the entire village, the unlocking of Merchant Initiate through sheer helpful haggling, and Garrick's turn to have a private father-son talk about "being more than you seem without losing who you are."