Morning light spilled into the little farmhouse, gentle and patient, as if the sun itself had no desire to startle anyone awake. I lay on the small bed, fingers curling around the blanket, staring at the ceiling beams as I tried once again to summon mana.
"Flow through me," I whispered silently, eyes squeezed tight. I pictured the threads of energy twisting beneath my skin—silver, golden, faint blue—dancing like the fireflies Lila chased at dusk.
Nothing.
The world remained indifferent to my will. No spark, no pulse, no rhythm. Just my small chest rising and falling, and the quiet hum of Mother in the kitchen.
I sat up with a sigh and padded quietly toward the hearth, where Christina worked the dough for bread. Flour dusted her hands like snow in early sunlight, and for a moment, I considered telling her about my attempts. But even at four years old, I understood restraint. Secrets could protect you here. Knowledge and skill—those would protect me more than confession.
Lila, meanwhile, was already dressed in her patched but clean clothes, her hair tied back with a faded ribbon. "Xavier! Come on! We're going shopping today!" Her eyes sparkled, full of mischief and light. Ten years old, and yet already commanding a little empire of joy wherever she went.
I followed her obediently, small feet scuffing across the floor. Mother smiled at us both, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Lila's ear. "We'll be careful today. Stick close, both of you. And remember, only what we can afford."
I nodded solemnly. Savings were thin, every coin counted. I knew their value perfectly: ten copper coins made one silver, ten silver coins made one gold. Five silver could crush a farmer's week of labor. Yet here I was, still fascinated by the world and its small freedoms.
We walked along the dirt road leading to the market. The air smelled of fresh earth and baked bread, the sun warming the backs of our necks. Lila skipped ahead, occasionally glancing back to ensure I kept pace, though she clearly wished I could match her speed.
"Xavier," she said, tugging gently at my sleeve, "do you think Sera will like this?" She held up a piece of fabric she had picked from a stall, gold-threaded and soft.
I tilted my head, squinting at the gleam. "It's… shiny." I didn't know exactly what ten-year-olds looked for in fashion, but I could recognize appeal.
Lila scrunched her nose. "Too flushy. She'd hate it." She spun around dramatically, ignoring my hesitant nod.
Mother chuckled. "Perhaps something simpler, then. Let's see what fits her size."
The market was alive, full of people haggling, shouting, laughing. Colors exploded across the stalls—red and blue silks, baskets of fruit, herbs, and strange trinkets. I stayed close to Mother, absorbing the sights, memorizing the sounds. Even with all this, my mind circled back to mana and strength. Every coin spent reminded me that the world required preparation, and preparation required skill.
We bought clothes, small but neat, careful with our limited coins. Lila held a simple blue dress that Sera had refused, muttering about "making it my own." Mother exchanged coins for fabric, careful, precise. Everything felt ordinary, and yet… a small, rare contentment hummed beneath the edges of worry.
And then it happened.
Lila saw a cat. A stray, orange-furred and delicate, darting between the market stalls. "Xavier! Look! Come on!" she yelled, running after it with pure abandon. Mother, sighing with exasperation, told us to stay put for just a few minutes.
I hesitated, torn. Stay, as Mother said… or chase the small flame of curiosity that was my sister? Before I could decide, she was gone, a blur of laughter and ribbons. My small legs propelled me forward after her.
By the time I slowed, the market had shifted around me. Stalls blurred, voices melded into one, and I had no idea where Lila had gone. Panic rose, sharp and biting. I called her name, but only my own echo answered.
That's when I noticed it—a large building looming above the other rooftops. Its windows were high and dark, the door formidable, carved with intricate symbols. I froze, and my heart beat faster—not from fear, but from recognition.
The symbols were unmistakable. Writing. Even as a four-year-old, I understood the marks perfectly—not the language itself, perhaps, but the purpose of written instruction: a command, a declaration, a warning. These were glyphs infused with significance, perhaps even mana. Knowledge lay beyond these doors. Power. Secrets. I could not yet read their full meaning, but I could see the intention, and it called to me.
Curiosity burned in my chest. I wanted to reach out, to pull open the door, to absorb everything inside. And then a hand grabbed my shoulder.
I barely noticed the man until he was there. Towering, stern, polished boots clicking against the stone.
"What are you doing here?" His voice cut through the quiet morning. "Commoners aren't allowed in without payment—five copper, minimum!"
I froze, eyes wide, my small hands shaking. "I… I'm sorry, sir! I didn't—"
"Didn't what? Didn't obey? Didn't pay? Don't know what copper is?" He scowled, inspecting my four-year-old frame with disgust. "Of course you don't. Probably wouldn't know silver if it fell on your head, would you? Stupid child."
I tried to explain, my voice small but steady in my head. I know… I know what copper is. Ten copper is one silver…
"Bah! Knowledge of coins doesn't make up for lack of manners! Get out of my sight, pest!" He shook me lightly in frustration, enough to make me wobble. Passersby slowed to stare. Whispers rose like sparks.
Then—sharp, clear, and cutting through the murmurs—a voice rang out.
"What is going on here?"
I looked up, and there she stood. Golden hair cascading down her back, eyes bright and commanding, and an air of nobility that made people step aside. Even the guard paused mid-sentence.
"Grand… I mean—" I stopped, awed and nervous, my small chest heaving.
The girl advanced, gaze flicking from me to the guard. "Why are you yelling at a child?" Her voice was steady, yet with a sharpness that promised consequences. "This child has done nothing to merit your abuse."
The guard muttered under his breath, bristling with indignation. "She is a noble, you—"
"I am the one asking questions," the girl interrupted, lifting her chin. "Now, step aside."
The commotion drew more attention. Children paused in their play nearby. Merchants stopped selling. Mother's distant figure stiffened, noticing the unfolding scene.
I swallowed hard, small and trembling, but a spark of hope ignited. Maybe… maybe this world could still be kind. Maybe even for someone like me, small and common, caught between curiosity and punishment.
The guard's face twisted in irritation, but the girl's unwavering stance made him pause. Finally, with a grunt, he stepped back, muttering about "children and nobles" and "next time, five copper."
She knelt slightly, meeting my eyes. "Are you all right?" Her voice softened just enough to carry over the remaining whispers of the crowd.
I nodded. "I… I think so." My words were small, shaky, but honest.
"Good." She glanced briefly at the building behind her. "Curiosity is not a crime, but running into danger… well, that is something else entirely."
Something about her presence made the world feel lighter. Even with the embarrassment, even with the lingering fear, I felt… seen. Recognized. And perhaps, for the first time outside my family, safe.
She stood, brushing her dress lightly, and added, "Now, why don't you tell me your name, little one?"
"Xavier," I whispered. My voice steadier now.
"Xavier," she repeated, testing the sound on her tongue. "Very well. Stay close to me for now. Libraries are wonderful, but not every wonder is meant to be touched without guidance."
I looked back at the looming doors of the library, still standing dark and silent behind her. Inside waited knowledge, power, and perhaps a path to the strength I had promised myself I would gain. But for now… for now, I followed, small hands clenched in determination, and a heart pounding with curiosity and resolve.
Because no one would ever belittle me again. Not for being small. Not for being common. And certainly not for seeking what I needed most: the tools to protect those I loved.
And so, the day stretched onward, sunlight spilling over cobblestones, voices and laughter mingling in the market, and I, Xavier, four years old but with the mind and heart of a storm, took the first real step toward a world I intended to master.