Home greeted me with the scent of caraway and that special silence found only where you're truly awaited. Not theatrical silence, but real—when even the walls remember your voice.
I burst into the kitchen like an autumn wind. The door slammed so hard the old vase on the threshold wobbled. My chest heaved as if I'd just slain a dragon.
"Mom! Mom!" I shouted, breathless, as if the words were birds I'd held too long in the cage of my chest.
She stood at the stove, enveloped in a warm cloud of aromas—a mix of fresh bread, herbs, and something indefinably cozy. She turned, wiping her hands on her apron. Her face, usually calm as a lake's surface, clouded for a moment with worry.
"What happened?" she asked, and her voice took on that steely note mothers get when ready to shield their child from the world.
"You won't believe..." I froze, savoring the moment when good news is about to explode like fireworks. "Ser Leont de Mortvel himself praised me. He called me a real knight."
My mother's face transformed so quickly I barely caught the shift from horror to delight.
"You're my hero!" she beamed. "See, the strongest warrior in our kingdom has recognized your aspiration."
Then the inner skeptic in me stirred:
"Mom, but I'm scared... that my magic is too weak. I won't be able to become a knight, or rather—to be a castle defender."
Fear. Real fear, without frills. Not the showy fear from adventure novels, but everyday, gray fear of inadequacy.
"You'll manage! You can do it!" Mom's voice rang like a battle cry. "I believe in you, my little miracle!"
"Thank you for such warm words," I felt something straighten inside me. "I can do it. My ice and heart will grow stronger."
"Just practice," Mom smiled with special tenderness. "I think you have the most beautiful ice in the world!"
Ice. My element, my curse and blessing all at once. Cold as truth and fragile as hope.
"Alright, I'll try making a few more vases," I said.
"I'll get back to cooking," Mom returned to the pots, "and come see your vases."
So I was left alone with my magic, my doubts, and a strange feeling that life was just beginning. That ahead lay trials more serious than ice vases, and victories more meaningful than a mentor's praise.