"...Verdant Touch!"
I spoke the words, my voice trembling with anticipation, standing in the middle of the study room.
A soft glow sparked at my fingertips, right there on the wooden floor, a tiny flower bloomed. Delicate. Green. Real.
My eyes widened.
"I DID IT!" I shouted, nearly tripping over myself from excitement.
"I finally did it! I did magic!" I yelled excitedly, then I grabbed the book and opened it.
And then... the room tilted. My legs wobbled. My head felt like it was filled with feathers and fog.
W-what...?
I barely had time to realize it before-thud!-I collapsed face-first onto the floorboards.
All my mana... gone. That tiny flower had drained everything out of me.
Seriously? That's all I've got?
That's... so lame...
But even as the edges of my vision blurred, a sleepy smile tugged at my lips.
It had taken me nearly a year of effort, study, and practice, but I had finally cast my first spell.
I was five years old now, and on the very first day of my birth month, I had made something magical bloom.
As I drifted into unconsciousness, I heard the creak of the door. My mother's footsteps. Her voice, gentle, concerned, calling my name.
"Kyro?"
It faded into a blur... And then I fell asleep, still smiling.
***
I woke up in my room.
The ceiling was familiar, but the space felt just a little bigger than before. Right.. Dad had made a few adjustments recently. Said something about "my little boy growing up" and expanded the room a bit, even if it was still humble. Guess he realized I'm no longer the waddling baby who couldn't walk straight without tipping over.
I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand and blinked at the daylight streaming through the window. The sun was out in full force, it was bright and warm, the fields outside stretched gold and ripe as wheat swaying gently in the wind.
Then it hit me.
The flower. I actually conjured a spell yesterday.
A grin crept across my face. I clenched my tiny fist and pumped it into the air.
"Yes!"
I whispered, a small fist-pump of victory. A real spell. An actual, working magic!
My eyes drifted toward the familiar brown book resting in the corner.
Source of Power.
I scrambled over and grabbed it, flipping to the section I had saved for after I cast my first spell. Now that I had succeeded, I could finally read the next chapter with pride. A reward to myself.
I skimmed the title.
"Mana Reserves and Limitations"
Interesting.
I leaned back against my bed frame and read:
> "A spellcaster's mana reserve is a finite pool of energy, much like a muscle. It is naturally small in early childhood, but grows over time with age and maturity. However, the details on increasing mana capacity are still a subject of ongoing research."
I paused.
"Ongoing research, huh...?" I muttered, tapping the page with my finger.
So mana reserves grow as you age, but there's no solid consensus on whether you can train them?
That felt... suspiciously vague.
I squinted at the page again. One paragraph looked like it had been scratched or torn, the text near the bottom cut off mid-sentence. The page was brittle and faded, likely damaged from age or poor storage.
Figures. I sighed.
"Seems like one of those areas where someone needs to step up and do the work," I muttered.
I looked down at my small hands, flexed my fingers, then pressed one against my chest where I imagined my mana would be.
"If it is like a muscle, maybe using it more helps it grow... Probably.."
That was how it worked in anime. The protagonist overuses their powers, burns out, collapses dramatically, then wakes up stronger. It's cliche as hell. A rinse-and-repeat cycle of growth through exhaustion. Might not be scientific, but hey, it made good arcs.
Start small. Use it. Recover. Repeat. Micro workouts for my mana.
With a grin of quiet determination, I flipped the page and slid off the bed, cradling the book in my arm.
Yeah. More research is clearly needed.
But then, my nose smelled something... delicious. Coming from down stairs.
Ooo, they must be cooking!
I stretched and headed downstairs, still reading as I walked.
"Look who's our little mage!" Reyna sang, appearing from around the corner with the speed of a loving missile. She scooped me up like a feather.
"Oouf—!"
"Oh, Kyyy! You've grown up so fast!" she said, twisting left and right, hugging me tightly enough to crack ribs. "I don't want you to leave Mama so soon!"
My limbs flailed like noodles in a pot.
They gave me a nickname now. Mom calls me Ky from time to time.
But Dad still calls me Kyro.
"Uwaa—uwaa—ahh!"
"Reyy! Kyro might pass out again if you do that." Thorskil called from the kitchen, casually decorating a cake with carved fruit. He didn't even look back-just knew.
"Oh, right. Sorry, Ky." Reyna laughed and set me down with a kiss on the forehead. "I'm just so proud of you!"
"Aw, thanks, Mom." I smiled as I smoothed out my shirt.
The house smelled of celebration-roasted nuts, sugared berries, spiced bread. The table was cluttered with trays and bowls.
I'm finally five years old.
Birth Month. A whole month just for me.
I loved this time.
***
Weeks passed.
Each day, after my chores and meals, I locked myself in my room, armed with nothing but sheer will and the faint glow of potential.
It started with the simplest.
"Grow."
Mana rippled through my veins. The flower pot before me twitched, then bloomed, soft petals unfolding like a yawn at dawn.
"Wither."
The petals curled in, turned brown. The stem hardened, then snapped in two.
It took hours to get it right. Sometimes it worked. Most times... it didn't. When it failed, the flower exploded into pollen or simply refused to react, as if mocking me with its stillness.
But I didn't stop.
Soon, I ventured into the other elements. Basic starter spells from the "Source of Power" book.
"Gale."
A puff of air flicked my bangs.
"Flicker."
A spark flared from my fingertips and fizzled out before it even reached the candle.
"Drip."
Moisture gathered from the air and formed a single droplet. Sometimes it missed the bowl.
"Pebble."
A tiny clump of soil rose and crumbled like wet sugar.
Small things. Pathetic, maybe. But I was casting them.
And that meant I was learning.
Still, each spell came with a price.
After three casts in a row, my head would throb. After five, my vision blurred. And after seven... I'd either pass out or vomit. Once, I blacked out completely and woke up with dried blood under my nose and my fingers spasming like they were possessed.
As another week goes by, I had enough of saying the spells everytime.
One afternoon...
"Bloom—Bloom!" I shouted for the fifth time that afternoon.
Mana surged. A flower bloomed on the pot, briefly, before shivering apart into ash.
I collapsed onto the floor, my forehead hitting the cool wooden boards with a dull thud. My breath came in shallow gasps, my limbs trembling from the effort. I could feel it, my mana. It was growing. Slowly, steadily. Just like a muscle. Push it hard enough, and it responds.
But something about all this still bothered me.
"Why..." I groaned, voice raw, "why does it have to be out loud? Why do I need to say it at all?"
I winced as I swallowed. My throat felt like sandpaper. "I swear, if I say 'bloom' one more time, I'm gonna start coughing petals..."
I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling, sweat clinging to my brow, my chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.
My thoughts drifted back to something the mage once said during healing me-something I hadn't really understood back then.
"Still no. It's one thing to say the words, kid. It's another thing entirely to mean them." He'd tapped the side of his temple with two fingers. "Intent matters. Especially when you're telling reality what to do."
Intent matters...
I stared at the ceiling blankly, that phrase echoing in my skull like a quiet bell.
Magic wasn't about just shouting and hand waving. It wasn't the word bloom that made a flower grow. It was what I wanted to happen when I said it.
The word was a guide.
A training wheel.
A... crutch.
What if I didn't need the word?
What if I had the intention, but instead of shouting it out, I focused all that effort internally?
Saying it out loud helped form the image in my mind, it gave shape to the mana, but what if I could skip the word and just focus directly on the shape itself?
Visualize the spell.
Let the mana follow the image.
Shape the outcome directly.
Isn't that more efficient?
I sat up slowly, breathing steady now, a sudden stillness washing over me.
I focused on that memory, my intent.
The shape.
The flow.
The purpose.
No words. Just will.
My hand twitched.
The flowerpot beside me trembled.
A single sprout shot from the soil, no command, no sound.
Just... will.
I opened my eyes slowly. A perfect, tiny blue petal swayed at the top of the stem.
My jaw hung open.
"...I did it."
I sat up, slowly, feeling a chill crawl up my spine-not from fear, but from the realization.
I just cast magic... without saying a word.
***
It's been another week since I learned wordless magic.
The morning sun broke through the clouds like golden spears, casting long rays over the quiet fields of Ytval. Dew still clung to the grass, glistening like a thousand little stars.
Every morning after I wake up, I tend to practice my magic for a while before moving to my day. Each day, I could feel my mana reserves are increasing, minor, but it's rising.
Clack!
Clack-clack!
Wooden swords cracked against each other in rhythmic bursts.
Out by the training patch near the barn, Lyra danced around an older man's strikes, her bare feet skimming the dirt. The man's name was Saul. He was dressed in simple clothes: a faded tunic, rolled sleeves, and boots that had seen more battlefields than I ever would. He was one of the farm's guards, yes, but more than that, he was a Sword Saint.
Apparently.
He's been training Lyra for the past year or so.
"Too wide, Lyra!" Saul barked between strikes, his voice sharp but not unkind. "Smaller steps! You're not trying to impress the birds."
"I am trying to dodge you, old man!" Lyra grinned, ducking a high swing and pivoting around his flank.
Their wooden blades clashed again, echoing like drumbeats across the field.
I stood at a distance, watching. Arms crossed. Book still tucked under one arm.
Swordplay wasn't really my thing. Too physical. Too chaotic. I preferred precision, logic, structure. Still, my father thought it was important. Said it was about connections, reputation — "Making sure you have people who'll back you when it matters," or something like that. Which was why Saul had been brought in to teach me too.
Father himself? He didn't even bother training us. He just smiled, shrugged, and went off to help Mother plant crops and prune trees.
And yet... he was supposed to be a Sword God. A living legend, or so the whispers said. I'd never seen it. I only saw him with soil-stained hands and that gentle smile he always wore when Mother was near.
He was just... a dad. A family man.
Maybe that was all he wanted to be now.
My gaze drifted back to Lyra, her movements fluid and fearless. Saul swung low, but she spun inside his guard and tapped his ribs with the tip of her wooden blade.
"Point to me!" she declared.
Saul chuckled. "You're either improving fast, or I'm just getting old."
"Both," Lyra said cheekily, puffing out her chest.
I shook my head, smiling despite myself.
Swordplay wasn't my thing, sure. But Lyra made it look like... a dance.
Maybe, just maybe, I could try swinging a stick once or twice.
Maybe.
Clack—!
"L-Lyra, could you go easy on me—Wah!" I stumbled back as her wooden sword sliced through the air where my head had just been.
"How are you gonna get better if I keep treating you like a wuss?" Lyra snapped back, already pressing in with another quick strike.
Whap!
I barely managed to sidestep, heart pounding. My grip on the training sword was awkward, too tight, too stiff. Every time I thought I had a window to strike, she'd close it before I could lift my arms.
She was relentless. Fast. Her feet barely touched the ground, and her eyes were sharp with focus. Honestly, she was kind of terrifying.
Off to the side, Saul stood with his arms crossed, watching like a hawk. His expression unreadable, but I swore I saw the tiniest smirk tug at his lips.
"This... is not my thing," I muttered under my breath, trying to circle away.
"Less complaining, more swinging!" Lyra shouted, already lunging toward me again like a bolt of lightning.
Her strikes came faster than I could think. I staggered back, barely dodging each one, my training sword flailing in defense more than attack.
Off to the side, Saul stood with arms crossed, observing with that unreadable calm of his.
Then came the sound of footsteps crunching over soil.
Saul turned his head slightly and gave a respectful nod. "Ah, sir."
Thorskil approached, straw hat shading his eyes, cradling a pot of freshly planted seedlings. He looked every bit the humble farmer he chose to be.
"Oh, how's the training going?" my father asked with a smile.
"Pretty smooth," Saul replied, giving a slight bow before glancing back at the sparring match. "Your daughter has plenty of potential, sharp instincts, quick feet. She's definitely got your blood."
He paused, eyes flicking to me as I stumbled back again, barely avoiding a jab.
"Your son, though... well, he's still finding his footing. But he's four years younger than Lyra, so it's understandable."
Thorskil chuckled warmly. "Thank you again, Saul, for taking the time."
Saul straightened up. "No, no, sir — the pleasure's mine!"
Meanwhile, I sidestepped another blur of a swing and skidded in the dirt.
D-Damn, you're fast! I thought, sweat dripping from my chin.
Then, a thought slithered into my mind. My lips curled.
Backing off from her next strike, I bent down, palm brushing the soil.
Lyra blinked, slowing for just a second. She dashed in, blade raised.
And squelch—
She tripped.
Her momentum sent her tumbling face-first into the dirt. Her Aura shimmered faintly at the point of impact, a soft burst of light cushioning the fall.
"OW—!" she groaned, face half-buried. She blinked, then glanced down at her feet, now sunken in a small patch of suddenly muddy earth.
I stepped forward, shadow stretching over her.
And with all the flair I could muster, I pointed my wooden sword down at her like a conquering general.
"HAH! I WIN!"
For a beat, silence. Then her fingers curled around the tip of my sword.
"...What are you—?"
YANK! She pulled my sword-dragging me along with it.
"W-Whoa—!"
BAM!
Her fist collided with my gut, knocking the air clean out of my lungs.
I wheezed, trying to recover, but she was already on top of me, mud flying as she pulled her foot free and started pummeling me with righteous fury.
"OW—OW—STOP! THIS IS ABUSE! AH—!"
"I'LL SHOW YOU WHO WINS, YOU LITTLE CHEATER!"
From the sidelines, Saul and Thorskil looked over just in time to see their training session devolve into chaos.
"Lyra!" Saul shouted, rushing in. "He yields!"
Thorskil sighed, shaking his head as he gently dropped the pot and stepped forward too. "Just like her mother..."
***
The sting hadn't quite faded yet.
I winced as a cold cloth dabbed gently against my cheek. My face still pulsed from Lyra's... passionate response to losing.
Thorskil sat beside me, one knee up, calm as always. He was focused, his hands were gentle despite years of rough labor.
From across the house, Reyna's voice cut through the walls like a thunderclap.
"Lyra Samsworth! What on Earth were you thinking?! Beating your little brother like that? You're grounded for a week! And no snacks after dinner!"
"I was holding back!" Lyra shouted from the other room. "He cheated with mud magic!"
"That is not an excuse to turn your brother into a punching dummy!"
Thorskil chuckled under his breath. "Sounds like she's getting the full lecture."
"Good..." I muttered, holding the cold cloth to my bruised cheek. "She deserves it..."
"Oh, come now. You did bait her," he said, raising a brow. "I saw that smug smile of yours when she hit the dirt."
I grinned sheepishly. "I was just... being creative."
"Mhm." He dabbed once more and set the cloth in the water bowl. "That wasn't bad, though. Using mana like that, in the middle of a spar. Caught her off guard."
I blinked. "... You're not mad?"
He leaned back, thoughtful. "Not mad. Surprised, sure. It's not every day a five-year-old figures out how to manipulate the soil mid-fight."
I puffed my chest just a little. "So... I did good?"
Thorskil gave me a look-half proud, half amused.
"You used your surroundings. You thought outside the box. That's what good fighters do." He smirked. "Even if it did end with your face being restructured by your sister."
"'Restructured,' huh...?" I mumbled. "That's a fancy word for pummeled."
He laughed softly. "Next time, maybe run a little faster after you win."
"I thought I'd earned a dramatic victory moment!"
"And that moment cost you a front row seat to her right hook."
We both laughed. It hurt to laugh, but I didn't mind.
Then his voice lowered, more serious this time.
"Kyro. You've got something special. I can see it. Just... promise me you'll be careful with magic, alright? Don't push yourself too hard just to prove something."
I paused. Then nodded.
"Got it, Dad."
Thorskil ruffled my hair with a calloused hand. "Good. Now rest up. You'll need your energy if Lyra comes for a rematch."
I nodded. Just as he turned to leave, the door creaked open.
Lyra peeked inside.
Her arms were crossed behind her back, eyes darting everywhere except at me. She hovered by the doorframe, shifting her weight from one foot to the other like the floor was suddenly very interesting.
Thorskil smirked knowingly. "I'll... go check on your mother," he said, making a strategic retreat.
As the door clicked shut behind him, silence settled like fog.
Lyra cleared her throat. "Soooo..."
I looked up from the cloth, already smirking. "Here to finish the job?"
She frowned. "No! I mean... maybe... No! I came to say..." She huffed. "Ugh, this is stupid."
I raised an eyebrow. "You, struggling to say something? Now that's rare."
She glared at me, then sighed.
"Okay, look — I'm sorry for turning you into mashed potatoes," she muttered, barely above a whisper. "It's just—! You were being all smug with your 'ha-ha I win' face, and I tripped, and it was embarrassing, and you cheated."
I blinked. "Is this your version of an apology?"
"I said I'm sorry!" she snapped, face flushing red. "Don't make me take it back!"
I grinned. "Apology accepted, oh mighty warrior who lost to a mud puddle."
She groaned. "Ugh. I should've hit you harder."
I laughed, and she finally walked over, plopping beside me with a thud.
"You really used magic for that?" she asked, tilting her head.
"Yup," I said proudly, puffing my chest just a little. "Figured if I couldn't beat you with speed or strength, I'd use my brain. Though, it may not look like it, it was pretty draining."
Lyra shot me a sideways glance, eyes narrowing, but then a little smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
"You gotta teach me that."
"What? Magic?"
"YES!" she practically bounced in place. Her golden eyes sparkled like they'd caught fire. "I wanna be the strongest! The strongest human—no, the strongest being in the world! I'm gonna surpass Father!"
I blinked. That was... ambitious.
"That's... quite a dream," I said, trying to sound supportive instead of mildly terrified. "Anyway, learning magic isn't as easy as you think. It took me months just to make anything happen. And when I actually learned how to do it — I passed out like, twenty times before I even got a flower to bloom."
She grinned, undeterred. "Pshh — I'm your older sister. Bet I could do it in a week."
I held back a snort. Yeah, right. You can't even read yet.
"Okay, sure," I said instead, with the most neutral tone I could muster. "Totally. You'll be conjuring fireballs by next Tuesday."
She didn't catch the sarcasm. "Exactly!" she said proudly, hands on her hips. "And then I'll make a flaming sword and duel Father and win and become a legend."
I raised an eyebrow. "Right after you learn how to hold a book the right way up?"
That got her. "Hey! I can read! I just... don't like to."
"Uh-huh."
"Reading's boring! I'd rather swing swords and punch stuff. That's real learning."
"Well, I'd rather not get punched in the face every day. That's also real learning."
She laughed, nudging me with her shoulder. "Alright, smart guy. Teach me then."
I looked at her, then at my still-sore cheek from earlier. "On one condition."
"What?"
"No punching me during the lesson."
She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Ugh, fine. No punching. But if I get bored, I might trip you into the mud."
I gave her a tired look. "Somehow, I feel like this is the start of a very painful teaching career."
Despite everything, I couldn't help smiling.
Maybe teaching her magic wouldn't be so bad... as long as I survived it.
***
The next day arrived in a blink — sunlight pouring through the windows, roosters screaming like they were being hunted, and the distant clatter of farm tools already echoing outside. Another peaceful morning on the Samsworth farm... except for the quiet war about to begin in the house.
Education.
Since I turned four, my mother had taken it upon herself to homeschool us. And despite her muscle appearance; biceps that could lift a barrel with one hand and carry a sack of potatoes with the other, she was surprisingly sharp when it came to books and knowledge.
Although... For her body, she has a pretty slim waist and big melons. Curvey, just the right spots. If she weren't my mother, I would absolutely have a crush on her.
Right now, she stood at the front of our modest little study room, chalk in one hand, tapping it thoughtfully against her chin as she faced the blackboard. She wore her usual apron, smudged slightly from breakfast duty, and her golden hair was tied up into a messy bun, already showing signs of battle fatigue from wrangling two restless kids into sitting still.
"Alright," Reyna said with a smile that had far too much energy for this early in the day. "Today, we're doing arithmetic, again. Because certain people," she glanced meaningfully at Lyra, "think subtraction is a kind of sword move."
"It sounds like one!" Lyra protested, slumping back in her seat beside me with a groan.
"Subtraction: A deadly move that removes one enemy from the battlefield," I said dramatically, mimicking a sword swing. That earned me a giggle from Lyra and a sharp look from Mom.
I sat up straighter.
We were seated at a sturdy wooden table, our books open in front of us-handwritten, passed down through generations, with some pages more faded than others. My mother had even scribbled personal notes and corrections in the margins, which I found kind of charming... and occasionally frustrating when I couldn't read her handwriting.
I peeked at Lyra's page. She was drawing a sword fight between the numbers five and two, complete with stick figure casualties. She noticed me looking and grinned.
"Focus, both of you," Reyna said, tapping the chalk against the board. "Now, what's five minus two?"
"Three," I answered instantly.
"Two warriors lost to a sneak attack," Lyra added helpfully.
Mom sighed but smiled, shaking her head. "At least you're both... engaged."
There was something comforting about these moments; learning in a home filled with laughter, being taught by someone who cared more about our understanding than strict formality. My mother's strength wasn't just in her arms. It was in her patience, her ability to shift from axe-swinging barbarian to calm, clear teacher like flipping a switch.
I liked math. Numbers made sense. Unlike people, they followed rules. Cause and effect. Logic. If only everything else in the world was as straightforward. I persued chemistry thanks to math.
"Okay, next one," Reyna said, writing a new equation on the board. "Eight minus four?"
Before I could answer, Lyra blurted, "Depends! Is four retreating, or being defeated?"
I groaned, burying my face in my book.
It was going to be a long lesson.
But I didn't really mind.
After a few more lessons filled with chalk dust, exaggerated sighs from Lyra, and Reyna's patient explanations, the lesson finally came to a pause. Our mother stood, stretching her arms overhead with a faint pop of her shoulders before clapping her hands once.
"Alright," she said, with the kind of relief that only a parent-turned-teacher could muster. "Assignments are on the board. You've both got an hour. Don't make me come check on you every five minutes."
Lyra groaned. "Can't we take a break?"
"You've already taken three," Reyna replied without missing a beat as she walked toward the door. "Now, I have potatoes to scrub and laundry to beat into submission. I expect both of your pages to be full when I return."
With that, she vanished downstairs, her footsteps echoing along the wooden stairs, followed by the sounds of clattering dishes and humming — always humming. Somehow, Mom could be halfway through an upper-body workout while also preparing lunch and singing a lullaby from the northern highlands. Multitasking incarnate.
I leaned back in my chair, glancing over at Lyra.
She was hunched forward like a soldier in a trench, her pencil jammed upright into the table, one leg bouncing rapidly. Her sky-blue brows were furrowed, her lips slightly parted in intense concentration as she stared at the problem in front of her like it had personally insulted her.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Her finger was drumming against the table in rapid rhythm as if the math might answer her out of sheer intimidation.
I'd already finished my assignment a few minutes ago.
Lyra, meanwhile, was visibly struggling.
Poor creature. I sighed.
"You know," I said casually, resting my chin in my hand, "you're supposed to write your answers on the paper. Not stab the desk."
She glared at me, but her cheeks puffed slightly — embarrassed. "I was thinking."
"Is that what that sound was? I thought a woodpecker got inside."
Her pencil wobbled in place as she pulled it free from the paper, frustration clouding her face. With a sigh, she rolled her eyes.
"I'm just... not good with numbers, alright?"
I hummed thoughtfully. "Want help?"
She hesitated, her lips tightening. I could see the pride in her eyes, clashing with the quiet practicality that often showed up when it was just us.
"...Fine," she muttered, almost too low to hear.
I scooted over beside her, doing my best not to grin. Lyra could throw a hay bale across the yard without breaking a sweat, but math? Math was her mortal enemy. Still, for all her tough talk and wild energy, she never let pride get in the way when it came to family. She always asked for help when it truly mattered.
I leaned over to take a look.
"Okay, so..." I tapped the page lightly. "You're not actually subtracting here. You're just placing the numbers side by side, like you're trying to make them sit next to each other at a fancy dinner table."
She blinked, then tilted her head. "Wait, what?"
"You see this part?" I pointed. "Instead of taking one number away from the other, you're kind of... pairing them up. Like you're hoping they become best friends instead of canceling each other out."
Lyra stared at the paper, frowning at it like it had betrayed her.
"Ohhh," she said slowly, scratching her head. "So that's why it looked wrong... I wasn't taking anything away."
"Yup. Let me show you a trick that might help."
I took her pencil and gently wrote down a new example. Then, I talked her through the steps, breaking it down the way I wished someone had done for me in school, simple, patient, and with plenty of room for mistakes. To my surprise, Lyra actually followed along. Her eyes didn't wander. She wasn't making faces or complaining. She was listening. Really listening.
"...That makes more sense," she mumbled after a moment, her brow smoothing. "I think I get it now."
A small warmth bloomed in my chest.
Helping her with something I was good at, it felt strange, but in a good way.
Besides, it was kind of funny seeing someone who could easily slam you to the ground get tripped up by simple subtraction.
A few minutes later, Mom came back to check on us.
By then, I had already returned to my book, flipping through its pages while stealing occasional glances at Lyra. She was hunched over her paper, pencil gripped tightly in one hand, her brows furrowed in deep concentration. A small smile tugged at her lips, and her tongue peeked out slightly at the corner — her usual thinking face.
It was... honestly kind of adorable.
She didn't even notice Mom entering the room. Her entire world was that sheet of paper, those numbers, and getting it right.
Mom stopped a few steps away, her arms crossed loosely, a faint smile on her lips as she watched us. I looked up when I heard her footsteps, but Lyra didn't so much as flinch.
"So," Mom said softly, strolling over, "how are you two doing?"
Her voice was gentle and teasing, the kind of tone she used when she was pleasantly surprised.
Lyra jolted upright with a tiny gasp, clearly caught off guard. Her pencil flew from her fingers and rolled off the table.
"I—I wasn't slacking!" she blurted, cheeks pink with embarrassment.
I snorted, doing a poor job of hiding my grin. "No one said you were."
Mom chuckled, bending down to grab the runaway pencil. "Relax, sweetheart. You looked more focused than a hawk watching a mouse."
"I was trying," Lyra huffed, taking the pencil back. "I think I got it all right."
"Oh?" Reyna said, curiosity piqued. "Mind if I take a look?"
Lyra handed over the paper with something resembling pride. Her chin lifted slightly. "Check it out. I think I even did that long one without counting on my fingers."
Reyna took the paper, scanned it once, and blinked. Then blinked again.
Then she cleared her throat.
"Well," she began diplomatically, "you definitely wrote numbers. Very nice formation. Great... spacing."
I peeked over, and my heart sank a little. Every single answer was wrong. Not even "close but not quite" — I mean wildly off.
Reyna gave a sympathetic wince. "Sweetheart... two plus six isn't twenty-six."
Lyra's face slowly contorted, her hopeful expression crumbling into something akin to betrayal. "But... but Kyro said—!"
"Hey now," I raised my hands, "I said add the top and bottom. You added the digits together like some kind of math soup!"
She groaned and dropped her head to the table with a soft bonk. "I tried so hard..."
I felt a little bad. Okay, more than a little.
She really had been trying.
I reached over and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, it's alright. You're getting better. You'll get it next time."
There was a pause.
Then her body shifted.
Her hand shot up like a blur and snatched my wrist.
My instincts went wild, sensing the immediate danger too late.
Before I could finish the thought, she twisted her body and yeeted me sideways with the grace of a seasoned wrestler.
"YOU'RE the reason I got it wrong!" she yelled.
"WHAA—!"
I flew out the open window with a startled squawk.
"AHHHH!"
Miraculously, Thorskil happened to be walking past below with a basket of tools. He looked up just in time and caught me mid-air like a sack of potatoes.
"Whoa there, champ," he said calmly.
"Oof—" I let out the moment he caught me, I looked to him, "D-dad!"
His gaze was focused at me, he wondered what happened, then he followed the direction I fell — the open window.
He chuckled, then he turned to me. "Rough study session?"
"I don't want to talk about it," I mumbled into his shoulder.
"LYRAA!"
Back inside, Mom yelled Lyra's name.
***
The next morning, peace was a lie.
The sun had barely peeked over the horizon when I rolled out of bed and found Lyra already sitting cross-legged in the hallway like some kind of golden-eyed gremlin.
"Teach me magic," she said, eyes wide and hopeful.
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and sighed. "No."
She didn't argue. She just vanished.
Which was more worrying.
At breakfast, while I was chewing on a piece of salted meat, she leaned over the table, hands clasped like she was praying.
"Teach me magic?"
"No," I said, without missing a bite.
Later, while I was in the outhouse, mid-business (taking a dump), the door creaked slightly.
"Kyro," came a voice far too close for comfort, "will you—"
"LYRA!" I screamed. "GET OUT!"
"I just wanted to ask!"
"THIS ISN'T THE TIME OR THE PLACE!"
She left with a soft, "Fine," like I was the weird one.
By mid-morning, I thought I'd finally earned a moment of silence in the study room, curled up with my book, Source of Power.
But then..
The window creaked open, and a familiar yellow-eyed face slowly rose into view like some climbing jungle cat.
"Teach me magic?"
I slammed the book shut. "NO!"
She blinked, then dropped back out of view.
And then... it happened.
I was outside, carrying a heavy sack of fried seeds to the pig trough, finally enjoying the breeze and pretending I lived in a world without little sisters.
I took a few steps forward when suddenly..
"KYRO!"
"GYA—!"
She exploded out of a nearby berry bush like a squirrel on fire, nearly causing me to drop the sack.
"Teach me magic?"
And that was it.
I'd reached my limit.
"Lyra, I said NO! God, are you deaf or just dense?!" I gritted my teeth, she pause but I wasn't done yet.
"You keep pestering me like some annoying fly, thinking if you bug me enough I'll just give in! Newsflash: It's not for idiots who can't even subtract properly! You're impulsive, you don't think, and you treat everything like it's a game because you've never had to deal with real consequences!"
His breath would probably catch after that last line, but the damage is already done — especially the "idiots who can't even subtract" bit.
She flinched, eyes wide, her mouth slightly open.
And then her lip quivered.
Ah, shit... I thought, bracing myself for an impending beat down, but something happened — one I least expected.
She cried.
Tears welled up, fat and immediate. She tried to blink them away, sniffled once, then twice. Her fists clenched.
"I hate you!" she screamed, her voice cracking. "I don't need magic anyway! I can be strong without it!"
She spun on her heel, leapt clean over the pigpen fence like a wild deer, and ran down the path without looking back.
I reached out instinctively. "Lyra!"
But she was already gone.
I stood there in silence, sack of seeds dangling from my shoulder, the distant sound of her footsteps growing fainter with each heartbeat.
Later, after I'd finished my chores, I sat by the window again, book in hand but mind completely adrift. No matter how many pages I turned, Lyra's tearful face hovered behind every line. Guilt churned in my stomach like a bad stew.
She was just a kid. A stubborn, noisy, bush-leaping maniac of a kid — but still a kid.
I sighed and closed the book.
"I'm heading out," I told Mom.
She peeked up from her weaving loom and smiled. "Alright. Have fun, don't go too far!"
***
The afternoon sun hung lazily overhead as I walked the path toward the village, hoping maybe Lyra had gone to cool off with her usual friends on the grassy hill south of town.
Sure enough, I found a small group of children gathered there. They looked uneasy, casting glances toward the dense tree line in the distance. The moment they saw me, they stiffened like they'd been caught doing something illegal.
"Hey," I said cautiously, "have any of you seen Lyra?"
They hesitated.
Then one of the girls, small and pale, mumbled under her breath, "She went into the forest... just down that way..."
I froze. My blood ran cold.
"What?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.
Another kid — freckles, choppy hair —nodded quickly, his eyes wide. "She said she wanted to prove she could be strong without magic. She... she took a sword."
I blinked. "What sword?"
That's when a scrawny boy with a bowl cut and a sheepish grin slowly raised his hand like he was in class. "Uh... my dad's sword. It was in the weapon rack. She asked to borrow it and, well..."
He trailed off.
I narrowed my eyes. "And you let her?!"
"She said she'd punch me if I didn't!" he blurted out, shrinking under my glare. "I panicked! Have you seen her arms?!"
I groaned, stepped forward, and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. "You gave her a real weapon because she threatened you?!"
"I didn't know what to do! She's terrifying!"
I released him with a frustrated sigh, dragging my hands down my face. "Of all the reckless, thick-headed — ugh!"
She really meant it. She really wanted to prove she didn't need magic.
She really was going to get herself hurt.
I turned to the rest of the kids, eyes wide with urgency. "Listen, go find Saul. Or my dad. Or anyone, I don't care who. Just tell them what happened. Tell them Lyra's gone into the southern forest with a sword!"
The kids hesitated for a second before nodding, then scattered like a kicked anthill.
I didn't wait.
Without another word, I turned and bolted down the path, sprinting straight toward the forest.
Trees blurred past me. My lungs burned. My legs ached. But I didn't stop.
"Hold on, Lyra," I muttered, heart pounding like a war drum. "Please don't be stupid. Please be okay..."
[End]