Location: East-Fall Town Time: MorningA Quiet Beginning
East-Fall Town woke beneath a sheet of pale-gold sunlight. The air smelled faintly of river mist, wet cedar, and bakery smoke, a morning as gentle as a lullaby. In a small house near the northern hill, a new sound had joined the rhythm of the town—laughter, light and curious, belonging to a child who had changed two lives.
Eight months after his birth, Rose Markbell Brauch and her husband, Hogg, named their son Linley Brauch. Five and a half years later that tiny heartbeat had become a whirlwind of music and mischief.
The Koto Lesson
Inside the Brauch home, morning light drifted across polished wood and painted paper screens. The clear, tranquil sound of a koto—strings plucked with care—wove through the halls.Rose sat straight-backed, hair pinned, posture graceful even in ease. Each note shimmered like sunlight scattered across water.
Beside her, little Linley struggled to mimic the rhythm. His fingers stumbled; his tongue stuck out in concentration.
"Mommy, I want to play like you! When I grow up, I'll play for you every day!"
Rose's laugh was soft as a breeze through silk curtains.
"Then you'll have to practice every day, my little artist."
Linley puffed his cheeks.
"Every day? That's forever!"
"You'll thank me when forever becomes easy,"she said, adjusting his fingers until the next chord rang clear.
He didn't know his mother was a Grand Master of the instrument—one of only a few alive who could make strings speak. He only knew her music made the air shimmer, that when she played, the world felt safe.
The Inner Balance
Deep within Linley's soul, unseen threads glowed and pulsed.His own essence burned steady and golden; beside it, a smaller light—Harry Potter's—beat warm and brave, bound to him by a silver filament.Farther back, a darker spark coiled—Tom Riddle's fragment—sharp, calculating, restless.
Over five years the lights had learned an uneasy rhythm. Riddle's whisper still slithered through dreams, but Linley's will held firm. The boy's spirit had begun absorbing pieces of both extremes: courage from Potter, cunning from Riddle, and from himself a rare clarity—the instinct to see truth beneath appearances.
Etiquette and Patience
"Linley," Rose said, setting aside the koto, "music rests for now. It's time for etiquette practice."
The boy groaned, sliding dramatically off the mat.
"But, Mommy, it's so boring! Can't I skip it today?"
Rose arched one elegant brow—the expression that could silence entire gatherings.
"Boring things often keep you alive, my dear."
Linley crossed his arms, half-pouting.
"That sounds suspiciously like something Dad would say."
"Then your father is a wise man."She knelt so her eyes met his. "Listen, Linley. Not everyone gets the chance to learn these things. Your friends play in the mud while you learn to walk with dignity. Dignity protects you when strength cannot."
He frowned.
"Protect me? From what?"
"From fools with titles," she answered, rising gracefully. "Now—stand straight. Imagine a thread from the top of your head pulling you upward. Chin level. Eyes calm."
He obeyed, wobbling once before steadying.
"Good. Now walk."
Her voice carried rhythm; each word a drumbeat guiding his steps. Linley moved—small, deliberate paces on the lacquered floor.
"Again. Pride, not fear."
He tried once more, slower. His reflection trembled in the polished window.
"Better," Rose said. "Remember—posture speaks before your mouth does."
Linley muttered,
"But mouths are for talking."
"And talking," she countered, "is for conquering. Let's teach yours to win wars."
The Lesson of Words
They shifted to speech practice. Rose clasped her hands behind her back, watching as Linley recited greetings.
"Louder," she corrected. "Clarity is confidence."
"Yes ma'am," he grumbled.
"Good. Now balance your tone. Too soft, and people ignore you; too loud, and they shrink away. Control wins respect."
Linley blinked.
"So words are like music?"
That drew the faintest smile.
"Exactly. Every conversation is a duet—you must know when to lead and when to listen."
He squinted thoughtfully.
"Then you're the conductor of the whole world, Mommy."
Rose laughed, bright and sudden.
"Flattery won't shorten lessons, young sir."
"Worth a try," he mumbled.
For a moment, the house filled with nothing but the sound of their shared laughter and the distant chatter of birds.
Midday Warmth
By the time the clock chimed noon, both teacher and student were spent. Rose dismissed him with a rare smile.
"Lunch. You've earned it."
They found Hogg in the dining hall, dusted with sawdust and triumph from his morning carpentry. He grinned as he entered, boots heavy against the floorboards.
"Hah! Linley, my boy! Survived your mother's training again, did you?"
Rose's smile sharpened like the edge of a blade.
"Would you like to join the next session, dear?"
Hogg coughed into his fist.
"Er—no need. I graduate by association."
Linley burst out laughing; Rose sighed, though amusement tugged at her lips. The smell of roasted grain and herb stew filled the air as they sat together.
The Brauchs thrived on contrast—Rose's refinement, Hogg's rough humor, Linley's boundless curiosity. Like three notes of one melody, they clashed, resonated, and somehow stayed in tune.
Afternoon Studies
After lunch, the workshop quieted. Hogg rolled out a thick parchment map onto the study table. Dust motes danced in the sunlight.
"Come here, Linley. Time for geography and history."
Linley sighed dramatically but climbed onto the stool, curiosity already peeking through rebellion.
Hogg pointed at the parchment.
"Name our town, the nearest city, and our country."
Linley straightened like a miniature soldier.
"Town: East-Fall. Nearest city: Luminosity—where the Church of Light and the Pope live. We belong to the state of Kingdom Leo, under the Empire of Luciu, named after Emperor Lucius, the first conqueror."
Hogg's eyebrows rose.
"Not bad! And why is it called Kingdom Leo?"
Linley leaned forward, tracing the inked coastline.
"Because Emperor Lucius promised his cousin and general, Leo, that his family would rule these lands forever as kings. They've kept that vow for over three thousand years."
"And the state's importance?"
"It guards the Yunia Sea—'the Binding Ocean.' All trade passes through its ports. Without it, the empire would lose food, iron, gold—everything."
Hogg whistled softly.
"Sharp mind on this one. You listen better than most men twice your size."
Linley looked down, cheeks pink but eyes gleaming.
"You make it fun, Father."
"Learning should be," Hogg said, ruffling his son's hair. "The world's heavy enough without dull lessons."
They lingered over the map, drawing imaginary routes with sticks of charcoal. Linley imagined sailors crossing stormy seas, scholars mapping stars, heroes setting out from distant ports. Each name became a doorway to somewhere larger than East-Fall's horizon.
Outside, the afternoon bled slowly toward amber.
Evening Glow
When the lessons ended, Hogg lifted Linley effortlessly.
"Enough for today. Your mother's waiting for our walk."
Outside, the air smelled of cedar and bread again, but now dusk added its own spice—coolness tinged with wood smoke. The family walked side by side, Rose's hand resting lightly in Hogg's, Linley trotting ahead, his laughter scattering sparrows from the hedges.
Neighbors waved; the Brauchs waved back. Even those who rarely smiled found it easy when the boy passed by.
At the lane's end the world opened into rolling fields. The horizon burned orange fading to violet, clouds gilded by the dying sun. Linley stopped there, eyes wide, drinking it in.
Something inside him stirred.
For one heartbeat, the three souls within him aligned—the golden, the bright, the dark. A deep resonance hummed through his tiny frame. The air around his fingers shimmered, like heat above summer stone.
He didn't notice.
Rose did.
Her breath caught. The shimmer vanished as quickly as it came, leaving only the soft rustle of evening grass. She forced her smile back into place when Linley turned, waving.
"Don't wander too far!" she called.
"I'm not!" he shouted back, grinning.
Hogg chuckled.
"Told you he's got my energy."
"Your energy, perhaps," Rose said, eyes still on Linley, "but my precision. And maybe something else."
"Something else?"
"Just… intuition," she said, letting it drop.
They continued their walk, silhouettes framed against a crimson sky. Laughter echoed down the road, carried away by the wind that whispered through the fields.
Far above, the first stars blinked awake, and somewhere deep within Linley Brauch's soul, three lights pulsed once more—steady, intertwined, and waiting.