Anthony watched his brother for another few moments.
Johnny hadn't moved.
He was still sprawled out on the hillside where he'd collapsed, one arm stretched awkwardly across the grass, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.
"...Lazy asshole."
Satisfied that he was at least still breathing, Talen looked away.
The morning breeze rolled gently across the hill, carrying with it the scent of wildflowers and fresh earth. In the distance, beyond the patchwork of fields surrounding the village, movement caught his eye.
Too far away to make out clearly.
All he could see were dark shapes cresting a distant ridge, moving at an unhurried pace. Riders, maybe. Wagons. There might have been half a dozen figures.
At this distance, it was impossible to tell.
Anthony watched for another second before shrugging to himself. The thought came and went just as quickly.
Whatever they were, they weren't his problem. Not today.
He settled back into the grass, opening Magebreaker's Fundamentals once more.
His crude thread of mana gathered between his hands with far less effort than before, drifting lazily through the air like a ribbon suspended beneath calm water. It wasn't particularly elegant, but it held.
Every so often his eyes drifted between the glowing strand and the diagrams sketched across the page, comparing what he saw to what the book described.
Most of it still read like nonsense, but... a little less nonsense than yesterday.
Time slipped by unnoticed, the sun climbed higher overhead. Anthony glanced over again. Johnny hadn't moved.
His brow furrowed. "...Dude."
No response.
He waited another moment. Still nothing.
"...Johnny."
Silence.
Anthony sighed, pushed himself to his feet, and wandered over. He nudged Johnny lightly with the toe of his boot.
Nothing.
"...Don't make me do this." Another few seconds passed. With absolutely no sympathy whatsoever, Anthony raised his hand...
...and smacked him across the cheek.
In less than a heartbeat, Johnny curled onto his side, clutching his cheek. He let out a pained groan before slowly rolling back over, glaring up at Talen.
Pure betrayal stared back at him.
"...I told you not to fucking do that, you asshole."
Anthony shrugged without an ounce of remorse. "Well, you didn't wanna wake up."
He offered a hand to pull him to his feet.
"C'mon. I'm starving, my buzz's gone, and it's being replaced by one hell of a headache." He rubbed at his temple dramatically. "I need the greasiest food this world has to offer before this hangover finishes me off."
Johnny accepted the hand, still glaring. "You had, what, three swigs?"
"And? You threw up after three swigs."
...
"Shut up."
The walk back to town was much the same as always.
The winding path had become familiar over the past few months, and there was something comforting about retracing it day after day.
As they reached the outskirts, however, something felt... different.
At first glance, the village looked unchanged. The same cottages, the same weathered fences, the same dirt roads weaving between homes.
But the people were missing.
The streets weren't empty, just... quieter than usual.
From this far out it was difficult to tell why. Their home sat near the edge of the village, and whatever had drawn everyone's attention seemed to be farther in.
Anthony glanced toward the town center.
"...Pretty quiet today."
Johnny visibly shuddered.
"Ugh, don't say that."
Anthony raised an eyebrow.
"Seriously, man. I used to work hospital security. You never say the Q word."
"The... Q word?"
"You don't say it's quiet. Ever."
Anthony frowned. "...Why?"
Johnny pointed toward the village.
"Because the universe hears you and immediately decides you've had enough peace for one day."
"Alright, Captain Superstition, save it. I'm too hungry for your fuckery. Let's get home before I start eating the suspicious mushrooms by the trail."
The two continued down the winding road, the silence becoming more noticeable with each step.
Normally the village would have been alive by now.
Children darting between houses, merchants calling from their stalls, the rhythmic clang of the blacksmith's hammer carrying through the streets.
Today...
Almost nothing.
The sounds were still there, but distant, muffled, as though the village itself had shifted somewhere farther away.
A knot formed in Johnny's stomach. Anthony, meanwhile, walked on without a care in the world.
"If some horror movie bullshit starts happening," Johnny muttered, "I'm throwing you at it first."
Anthony looked over.
"...Why me?"
"Because you're the expendable one."
"The expendable one?"
"You got more mana. You'll probably survive."
Anthony nodded thoughtfully.
"...That's actually a fair point."
Finally, the boys reached their home.
Several wooden carvings their father had made rested beside the front door, exactly where they always had.
They were simple, almost featureless figures carved in the shape of robed people. Cloaks draped over their bodies, staves rested in their hands, and only the noses protruded from otherwise smooth faces, the eyes hollowed into dark recesses.
The backs of each carving bore a series of carefully etched runes.
According to their father, they were meant to bring luck and protection to the home. Whether they actually worked...Neither of the boys had any idea.
Johnny pushed open the door, the house was empty.
Nora's note still rested on the table exactly where they'd left it that morning, and the breakfast bowls remained stacked in the sink, waiting to be washed.
"I guess Nora hasn't made it back from the market yet," Johnny said.
Anthony groaned dramatically. "Fuuuuuck... there goes lunch."
He slowly turned his head toward Johnny.
Johnny narrowed his eyes.
"...What the fuck are you looking at?"
"You still remember how to cook, right?"
Johnny looked offended.
"Dude, I got reincarnated—not brain damage." He snorted. "Of course I remember how to cook."
"Any chance you can throw together some struggle food with whatever we've got lying around?"
Johnny grinned.
"Oh, ye of little faith."
The two stepped outside and made their way to the root cellar beside the house.
Johnny lifted the weathered wooden hatch, and together they descended the short flight of steps into the narrow underground room. The wood groaned beneath their feet as the hatch swung shut overhead.
The temperature dropped almost immediately. Cool, dry air filled the cellar, preserving the food stored within.
Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling. Clay jars filled with brined and fermented vegetables sat beside crocks sealed with cloth. Strings of dried herbs hung from hooks inside a small cupboard, releasing an earthy, fragrant aroma the moment Johnny pulled the door open.
Toward the back, strips of smoked and salted meat hung from wooden beams overhead.
It wasn't exactly a well-stocked pantry, just enough to get by. Anthony looked around, thoroughly unimpressed.
"There is absolutely no way any of this becomes food."
Johnny ignored him and began searching. He lifted the cloth from one clay crock.
Lard. Mostly empty, but enough remained to coat a pan.
The next container felt heavier. He peered inside.
Rice, about half a jar.
His eyes wandered across the rest of the cellar.
A basket rested in the corner several onions, a handful of tomatoes, and a few sturdy greens that had somehow managed to stay fresh.
Slowly...A grin spread across his face.
"Oh..."
Anthony immediately noticed it.
"...Why are you smiling?"
Johnny picked up the jar of rice.
"I think I've got something."
Back in the kitchen, Johnny knelt before the wood stove and coaxed the dying coals back to life. Soon a steady fire crackled beneath an iron pan.
He scooped a generous spoonful of lard into it, watching as the solid white fat slowly surrendered to the heat, becoming a shimmering pool that filled the room with a rich, savory aroma.
Beside it, another pan of water came to a boil.
Four tomatoes, each marked with a small X across the skin, peaked through the bubbling surface.
Anthony watched with folded arms. "...Why'd you cut them?"
"You'll see."
Before long, diced onions hit the hot lard with a loud hiss.
Johnny stirred them patiently until they softened, then laid strips of salted meat into the pan.
The sizzle grew louder.
Even after rinsing away as much salt as he could, seasoning would have been pointless. Instead, he scattered a handful of dried herbs into the pan, letting the fragrant oils bloom in the rendered fat.
While the meat browned, he returned to the tomatoes. The skins had begun curling away where he'd scored them.
He plunged them briefly into cool water before slipping the skins free with ease.
"They're your problem now."
He dropped the peeled tomatoes into a stone mortar and handed Anthony the pestle.
"Turn that into a paste."
"...Seriously?"
"Congratulations. You've been promoted to kitchen assistant."
Anthony muttered something under his breath but got to work, the rhythmic thunk... thunk... thunk of stone against stone filling the kitchen.
Meanwhile, Johnny pressed a thumb into one of the strips of meat. The indentation slowly sprang back.
A satisfied smile crossed his face.
"Perfect."
He removed the meat from the pan and set it aside to rest.
Next came the rice.
He coated the bottom of a pot with the remaining lard before pouring in the grains, stirring them until they took on the faintest hint of color, water followed, then the lid.
By the time he checked on Anthony's work, the tomatoes had become a thin, rustic sauce.
Johnny added a pinch of salt and crumbled a handful of dried herbs into the mixture before tasting it.
He frowned.
"...Something's missing."
Without another word, he set the spoon down and disappeared outside. Anthony stared after him.
He understood modern cooking, recipes, measurements, ovens with temperatures printed neatly on a dial.
This...This was different.
Johnny wasn't following instructions, he was improvising.
A minute later, the door opened again.
Johnny stepped inside carrying a handful of small green leaves he'd picked from somewhere around the house.
Anthony raised an eyebrow.
"...You're just grabbing random plants now?"
"They're not random."
"You say that with an alarming amount of confidence."
Johnny ignored him, finely crushing the leaves into the tomato mixture before stirring again.
He tasted it. Then his eyes lit up.
"There it is."
The sauce went into the rice.
As he folded everything together, the last of the moisture cooked away, each grain becoming coated in a glossy red sheen while the aroma of herbs, tomatoes, and roasted meat slowly filled the little kitchen.
Anthony's stomach growled so loudly that even he looked embarrassed.
Johnny didn't bother looking up.
"I know."
Johnny divided the rice between two plates before laying thick slices of the rested meat alongside each serving. Two cups of water soon followed, and the boys settled into their chairs.
Anthony wasted no time, he cut into the meat first.
The knife slid through with almost no resistance, revealing a warm pink center.
He stared. "...No fucking way."
He lifted the piece to his mouth.
The meat was tender, the herbs subtle, and the smoky salt that had once threatened to overpower everything had mellowed into something rich and savory.
His eyes widened.
"...Oh, fuck yeah."
Johnny grinned. "Told you."
Anthony scooped up a forkful of the rice.
The tomato had melted into every grain, the fresh herbs brightening the rich flavor of the meat.
He pointed his fork at Johnny. "...This is some black magic shit man."
Johnny snorted.
Just as the two leaned in for another bite—The front door swung open.
Nora stepped inside, relief washed over her face the moment she saw the boys.
"There you are." Then her eyes drifted to the table.
She blinked. "...Did..." Her gaze lingered on the plates for a brief moment before she looked back at the boys.
"...Would you two come outside for just a moment, please?"
Anthony looked down at his lunch, then slowly back at Nora, then back to his lunch.
Finally, he looked toward Johnny, the betrayal in his eyes was almost painful.
Johnny sighed.
"...Yeah."
Outside, a carriage waited in front of the house.
It was unlike any either of them had seen before.
Dark polished wood framed in silver.
Its wheels gleamed despite the dirt road, and the pair of horses pulling it looked more like war beasts than work animals. Thick-necked and broad-chested, every movement spoke of restrained power.
Anthony frowned.
"...Those things look like they'd bark instead of neigh." He whispered to Johnny.
Standing atop the carriage, the coachman noticed the boys and climbed down with practiced ease.
He walked to the side, grasped the polished handle, and opened the carriage door.
A man stepped out.
The man was impeccably dressed by this world's standards. Anthony assumed it was fashion.
He looked ridiculous.
Like someone had spent three hours in a character creator and somehow managed to make every clothing choice worse than the last.
A broad cavalier hat rested atop his head, though instead of the traditional feather, a long emerald ribbon had been pinned to its side. It fluttered gently in the breeze as he adjusted his coat and turned his attention toward the boys.
"Talen and Riven Caelum, by royal order of Her Majesty, Queen Felicia Van Celestine, you are to attend the Royal Aureline Academy."