The day before the Harvest Festival, Millhaven buzzed with final preparations. Astrid woke to the smell of baking bread and the sound of her father cursing downstairs.
She descended to find Garrick wrestling with a massive pot of stew, clearly intended for tomorrow's feast. The kitchen was a disaster—flour everywhere, vegetables half-chopped, and her father looking distinctly out of his element.
"Need help?" Astrid asked, trying not to laugh.
"Your mother always made this look easy," Garrick muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead. "How hard can cooking for fifty people be?"
"Apparently very hard." Astrid moved to salvage the vegetables. "Why didn't you just buy something from the tavern?"
"Pride. Stupidity. Take your pick." Garrick stepped back, surrendering the kitchen. "Your mother's recipe is in that book. The one with the red cover. If you can decipher her handwriting, you're a better person than me."
Astrid found the recipe book—worn leather, pages stained with years of use. Her mother's handwriting was neat but cramped, annotations filling the margins. *Add more salt than it says*, one note read. *Garrick doesn't know what proper seasoning is*.
Something tightened in Astrid's chest. These small remnants of her mother—her humor, her voice preserved in ink—they were precious. Painful.
"She wrote that about me, didn't she?" Garrick asked softly, reading over Astrid's shoulder.
"Yeah." Astrid smiled despite the ache. "She wasn't wrong."
They cooked together in comfortable silence, falling into an easy rhythm. Garrick might be hopeless with recipes, but he could chop vegetables with the precision of someone who'd spent years field-dressing game. Astrid followed her mother's instructions, adjusting seasonings by instinct.
By midday, the stew was simmering perfectly, and the kitchen smelled incredible.
"Not bad," Garrick said, sampling a spoonful. "Your mother would approve."
A knock at the door interrupted them. Garrick answered it to find Lyra Ashford practically vibrating with excitement.
"Astrid! You have to come see what Kaelen's doing. It's amazing and terrifying and Mother says he's going to hurt himself but he won't stop and—"
"Breathe," Astrid said, grabbing her jacket. "What's he doing?"
"Practicing his demonstration magic. In the forest. There's ice everywhere, and he made this giant—just come see!"
Astrid glanced at her father, who waved her off. "Go. Make sure the boy doesn't freeze himself solid. I'll finish here."
---
Lyra led Astrid at a near-run through the village and into the birch forest behind the Ashford estate. Even before they reached the clearing, Astrid could feel the temperature drop. Frost coated the tree bark despite it being midday.
Then she saw it.
The clearing had been transformed into a winter wonderland. Crystalline structures rose from the ground—some tall as trees, others delicate as spun glass. They weren't quite ice, weren't quite solid. They shimmered with inner light, refracting the autumn sun into rainbow patterns.
And in the center stood Kaelen, hands outstretched, eyes closed in concentration. Blue-white energy swirled around him, responding to movements so subtle Astrid almost missed them. As she watched, another crystal formation rose from the earth, growing like some impossible frozen plant.
"He's been at it for hours," Lyra whispered. "Won't take a break. Won't eat. Father's proud but Mother's worried sick."
Astrid could see why. Sweat dripped down Kaelen's face despite the cold. His breathing was labored. The energy around him flickered occasionally, unstable.
"Kaelen," Astrid called out. "That's enough."
His eyes snapped open—and for a moment, they glowed pure silver. The crystals pulsed in response, their light intensifying. Then Kaelen blinked and the glow faded. The energy dissipated. He swayed on his feet.
Astrid caught him before he fell, supporting his weight. He was freezing to the touch, his skin pale, lips tinged blue.
"Idiot," she muttered, half-carrying him to a fallen log. "You're going to kill yourself showing off."
"Not showing off," Kaelen managed, his voice hoarse. "Preparing. Tomorrow, I need to demonstrate seventh-tier manifestation. This barely qualifies as sixth."
"Your father can lower his expectations for one day."
"You don't understand." Kaelen's jaw tightened. "This demonstration—it's not just for the village. Master Aldric invited observers from the Academy. Important people. If I fail—"
"You won't fail. You never fail." Astrid pulled off her jacket and wrapped it around his shoulders. "But you will collapse from exhaustion if you keep this up. When's the last time you ate?"
Kaelen didn't answer, which was answer enough.
"Lyra, go get your brother some food. And water. Lots of water." Astrid waited until the girl had sprinted off before turning back to Kaelen. "What's really going on? This isn't just about impressing Academy observers."
Kaelen was quiet for a long moment, staring at the crystal formations surrounding them. "Do you know what seventh-tier manifestation means?"
"Fancy magic that most mages don't achieve until they're twenty?"
"It means perfect control. Perfect understanding of Aetheric flow. It means..." He took a shaky breath. "It means I'm ready for what comes next."
"The Academy?"
"Among other things." Kaelen's voice dropped lower. "My family has certain... expectations. Responsibilities that go beyond just magical education. If I can demonstrate seventh-tier control tomorrow, it proves I'm capable of handling those responsibilities."
Astrid thought about what Lyra had said—about bloodlines and duty and legacies. About the weight Kaelen carried that he never talked about. "And if you can't?"
"Then I've failed before I've even begun."
"That's bullshit." Astrid's voice was sharp. "One demonstration doesn't define your entire future. You're thirteen years old, Kaelen. You shouldn't have to be perfect right now."
"But I do." Kaelen finally looked at her, and the exhaustion in his eyes went deeper than physical tiredness. "You don't know what's at stake. What my family—what I—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter. Tomorrow, I perform. I succeed. That's all there is to it."
"No." Astrid grabbed his freezing hands in hers, trying to warm them. "That's not all there is to it. You matter, Kaelen. Not your magic, not your family name, not what you can do for other people. You. The person who stays up too late reading dusty research journals. Who makes terrible jokes when he thinks no one's listening. Who pretends he doesn't care but shows up every single time I do something stupid and dangerous."
Kaelen stared at their joined hands. "Astrid—"
"I'm not done." She squeezed tighter. "Tomorrow, you're going to go out there and do amazing magic because that's what you do. You're going to impress everyone because you're genuinely impressive. But even if you somehow fail—which you won't—you'll still be the same person. The same Kaelen who's been my best friend since we were kids. And that's enough. You're enough. Magic or no magic. Perfect performance or not."
Something cracked in Kaelen's carefully controlled expression. For a moment, he looked young—vulnerable in a way Astrid rarely saw. "How do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Make everything seem simple. Like all the complicated parts don't matter."
"Because they don't. Not really." Astrid felt heat creeping up her neck but didn't let go of his hands. "People make things complicated because they're scared. Scared of failing, scared of not measuring up, scared of just... being themselves. But you don't have to be scared. Not with me."
Kaelen's gaze intensified, those pale blue eyes searching her face. "And you? Are you scared?"
"Terrified," Astrid admitted. "All the time. Scared I'll never be strong enough. Scared I'll fail the Guild exam. Scared I'll spend my whole life trying to prove I'm not broken and never succeed." She forced herself to hold his gaze. "But I keep going anyway. Because what's the alternative? Give up? Let fear win?"
"No." Kaelen's voice was barely a whisper. "Never give up. That's very you."
They sat in silence, hands still joined, surrounded by impossible crystal formations that caught and scattered the afternoon light. The moment stretched, fragile and precious.
Then Lyra came crashing back through the underbrush, arms full of food and a water skin, and the spell broke.
"Mother sent enough to feed an army," Lyra announced, dumping her burden onto the log. "Also, she says if you don't come home and rest properly, she's going to freeze you herself. Which is ironic, considering."
Kaelen actually smiled—small, but genuine. "Tell Mother I'll be there soon."
"Tell her yourself. I'm not your messenger service." Lyra plopped down beside them, examining the crystals with open admiration. "These are beautiful, by the way. Much better than this morning. The ones you made before dawn were kind of lumpy."
"Lumpy," Kaelen repeated flatly.
"Artistically speaking." Lyra grinned, unrepentant. "But these are perfect. You're definitely ready for tomorrow."
While Kaelen ate, Lyra chatted about the festival preparations, about Senna's increasingly elaborate decorations, about how Marcus had accidentally dropped an entire table on the mayor's foot. Normal, silly village gossip that seemed to ease some of the tension from Kaelen's shoulders.
Astrid watched him, noting how color slowly returned to his face, how his hands stopped shaking. She thought about what he'd said—about responsibilities and expectations and things at stake she didn't understand.
What was Kaelen hiding? What was his family hiding?
And why did she get the feeling that whatever it was, it was going to change everything?
---
That evening, Astrid helped her father transport the stew to the village square, where it would be kept warm overnight for tomorrow's feast. The square had been completely transformed—garlands strung between buildings, lanterns ready to be lit, the demonstration platform polished and waiting.
"Tomorrow's going to be quite the event," Garrick observed, surveying the preparations. "Young Kaelen's demonstration. The feast. Dancing. The whole village celebrating."
"You sound skeptical."
"Just... thoughtful." Garrick secured the stew pot over a carefully banked fire. "There's energy in the air. Something building. Can you feel it?"
Astrid paused, trying to sense what her father meant. But of course, she couldn't feel anything. No Aether, no magical currents, nothing. Just autumn wind and wood smoke and the ordinary sounds of village life.
"No," she said quietly. "I can't feel anything."
Garrick's expression softened. "I didn't mean magic, little flame. I meant change. The kind you don't need Aether sense to feel. Kaelen's leaving for the Academy in spring. You might be going to Veridian for training. The world's shifting, and tomorrow feels like... a threshold. The last moment before everything transforms."
"You're being poetic. That's unlike you."
"Your mother was the poetic one. Maybe I'm channeling her spirit." Garrick smiled sadly. "She loved the Harvest Festival. Always said it was when summer's warmth met winter's promise, and anything could happen in that liminal space."
Astrid thought about Kaelen's crystal formations, about the way his eyes had glowed silver for just a moment, about the secrets and expectations and responsibilities none of them talked about openly.
"Maybe she was right," Astrid said softly. "Maybe tomorrow, anything could happen."
They walked home through the cooling evening, and Astrid tried not to think about thresholds and transformations and the uncomfortable feeling that her father was right—that something was building, something significant, and tomorrow would mark the moment everything changed.
Above them, the first stars appeared in the darkening sky, distant and indifferent to the small dramas playing out below. And somewhere beyond the village, beyond the Silverpeaks, beyond the world Astrid knew, ancient seals continued to weaken.
The Calamity was coming.
But tonight, Astrid was just a girl preparing for a festival, trying not to think too hard about the boy with silver-glowing eyes and the future that felt suddenly, terrifyingly close.