4

The wheat fields swayed gently in the breeze, a golden ocean under the warm afternoon sun. Lael, his sweaty face creased with worry, was inspecting the stalks, his brow furrowed in concentration. He hadn't been himself since the incident with Eira’s wings, a silent guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders. He glanced towards the farmhouse, where Kuina was overseeing Eira’s training with a simple wooden staff. The girl moved with a hesitant grace, her attempts at swordsmanship still clumsy and awkward, but there was a newfound determination in her eyes as she got acquainted with the new weapon.

Lael sighed, running a hand through his thick, scarlet hair. The farm was thriving, the harvest promising to be bountiful, but the peace felt… fragile. He sensed a growing unease, a subtle shift in the energy of the land. It was a feeling he couldn’t quite place, a prickling sensation at the back of his neck that spoke of something unseen, something lurking just beneath the surface. He dismissed it as fatigue, the stress of recent events, but the feeling persisted. He noticed Julian, unusually quiet, sitting near the barn, meticulously sharpening a small wooden practice sword with a piece of sandpaper, his own brow furrowed in concentration. The boy hadn’t spoken much since… everything. Lael made a mental note to check on him later, to see if he was alright.

"What kind of psycho just rips someone's wings off..."

Julian muttered under his breath, inspecting the wooden sword. All the sanding he'd done to it had begun to make it dip on the sides like an actual dented blade.

Lael, despite the distance, caught the mumbled words. He paused his inspection of the wheat, his gaze hardening as he looked towards Julian. He hadn’t expected the boy to vocalize his thoughts, especially not with such bluntness. He hesitated for a moment, unsure how to respond. Kuina had insisted on keeping the exact details of the wing severance from Julian, believing it was too much for him to understand. But the boy was clearly troubled. He took a deep breath and started walking towards the barn, his heavy boots crunching on the dry earth.

Julian lifted his head, his eyes – unnaturally old for a five-year-old – meeting his father’s gaze. There was a weariness in them, a depth of understanding that shouldn’t be present in a child. He didn’t flinch, didn’t look away, but simply stared back with a quiet intensity that unsettled Lael. The boy’s small hands tightened around the worn wooden sword, his knuckles turning white. He looked… expectant, as if he knew his father was coming.

Lael offered a small, hesitant smile, attempting to lighten the mood. He reached down and picked up a sturdy twig from the ground, tapping it playfully against the flat of Julian’s wooden sword. It was a silent invitation, a gesture of connection. He didn't say a word, unsure if Julian would even respond, or if he was even capable of understanding the unspoken offer of a friendly spar. He waited, his gaze fixed on the boy, searching for any sign of reaction. The sun beat down on them, casting long shadows across the yard, the only sound the rustling of the wheat and the distant chirping of birds.

A flicker of surprise crossed Lael’s face as Julian lunged forward with unexpected speed and precision. The boy moved with a fluidity that belied his age, his small body surprisingly agile. It wasn't the clumsy, awkward flailing of a typical five-year-old; it was the practiced movement of someone who had spent years honing their skills. Lael easily deflected the blow with the twig, but the **** behind it was enough to make him stumble back a step. He couldn't help but grin, impressed by the boy’s unexpected prowess. It was… unsettling, to say the least. He hadn’t pushed Julian, hadn’t taught him anything, yet the boy seemed to instinctively know how to fight... much likely thanks to Kuina's tutelage in sword play.

"Does your momma know you're this skilled?"

Lael mused.

Julian didn’t respond to Lael’s question, his green eyes locked onto his father’s, unwavering and intense. He didn’t pause, didn’t break his stance, but continued his **** with a relentless flurry of strikes. Each blow, though delivered with a wooden sword, carried a weight and precision that was unnerving. Lael parried each attack with the twig, his movements becoming increasingly defensive as he struggled to keep up with the boy’s relentless energy. He realized with a growing sense of unease that this wasn’t just playful sparring; Julian was testing him, pushing him to his limits.

Lael, realizing he was being thoroughly outmatched by a five-year-old, finally relented. A subtle shift in the air signaled the activation of his magic. A faint blue aura enveloped his hand, and the twig in his grasp began to glow with an ethereal light. He didn’t want to hurt Julian, but he needed to demonstrate his strength, to show the boy that he wasn’t an easy opponent. He swung the glowing twig, not aiming for a direct hit, but creating a gust of wind that pushed Julian back a few feet, disrupting his attack. The **** of the wind ruffled Julian’s hair, but the boy didn’t falter, his gaze remaining fixed on his father, a strange, unreadable expression on his face.

"That was magic."

Julian said thoughtfully, focusing on his wooden sword and trying to copy his father's display of magic. It took a couple of moments before the air around his wooden sword changed, surging with a green glow of mana. He could hardly contain his excitement as he charged his father with renewed energy.

Lael’s eyes widened in disbelief as he watched a green glow envelop Julian’s wooden sword. He hadn’t expected the boy to be able to replicate his magic, let alone so quickly. It was impossible. Children didn’t possess that kind of control, that kind of innate power. Yet, there it was, undeniable and terrifying. The air crackled with energy as Julian charged, his small form radiating a potent aura that sent shivers of thrilling excitement down Lael’s spine. He instinctively raised his glowing twig, bracing for the impact with a wolfish grin crossing his lips.

The collision of twig and sword sent a shockwave through the air, a sharp, crackling bang that echoed across the wheat fields. The sound was jarring, unnatural, and it instantly caught Kuina’s attention. She stopped her sparring session with Eira, her blue eyes narrowing as she scanned the field, searching for the source of the disturbance. Her gaze landed on Lael and Julian, the sight of the glowing weapons and the intensity of their duel sending a wave of icy dread through her veins. She abandoned Eira mid-sentence, her lithe form moving with a speed that belied her mothering years.

Lost in the thrill of the duel, caught off guard by Julian’s raw power, Lael momentarily lost control. He channeled too much energy into his wind magic, intending to simply push Julian back, but the gust that erupted from his hand was far stronger than he anticipated. Julian was sent flying backwards, tumbling through the air before landing hard on the soft earth with a thud. The green glow around his sword dissipated instantly, leaving only the dull wood in his grasp. A gasp escaped Lael’s lips as he rushed towards his son, his heart pounding in his chest. He hadn't meant to hurt him, hadn't meant to use so much ****.

Kuina arrived at Julian’s side a split second before Lael, her movements a blur of controlled grace. She knelt beside the boy, her hands hovering over him as she quickly assessed his injuries. Her face was a mask of controlled fury, her blue eyes blazing with an intensity that made Lael hesitate in his approach. She didn’t yell, didn’t scream, but her silence was far more terrifying. She began to weave her own magic, a soothing green light emanating from her fingertips as she mended the boy’s bruised and aching body. She didn't look at Lael, didn't acknowledge his presence, her sole focus on her injured son. A low growl rumbled in her chest, a warning that promised retribution.

Kuina’s hands glowed brighter, focusing on Julian’s left arm. The bones knit themselves back together with visible speed, the swelling receding, the skin regaining its natural color. But even with her advanced healing magic, the break had been severe. While the bone was now whole, a faint tremor ran through Julian’s small frame as he tentatively moved his fingers. It was healed, yes, but not perfectly. There would be lingering pain, a stiffness that might remain for weeks.

With practiced efficiency, Kuina removed the silk scarf she wore around her neck, a vibrant azure that contrasted sharply with the earthy tones of the field. Her movements were swift and precise as she carefully positioned Julian’s arm, creating a makeshift sling to support the injured limb. The knot she tied was secure, but not too tight, ensuring it wouldn't impede circulation. Her touch was gentle, yet firm, radiating a quiet determination. She didn’t speak, her silence a heavy weight in the air, but her actions spoke volumes – a mother’s fierce protectiveness, a silent rebuke to Lael. Once the sling was secured, she finally met Lael’s gaze, her eyes like chips of ice.

"You've a quest to be accepting at the town guild yes? I suggest you do that."

Her tone left no room for argument. She needed her husband gone before she lost her cool and ripped him a new one with every blade in her arsenal.

Lael flinched under Kuina’s icy stare, the weight of her disapproval pressing down on him like a physical burden. He knew he had overstepped, had let his excitement get the better of him, and he braced himself for her wrath. But her dismissal, the curt instruction to leave for the town guild, was… unexpected. It was colder, more controlled than any outburst he’d anticipated. He swallowed hard, nodding slowly.

"Come then Eira, you'll join me this time."

Best he could do for his wife was take Eira off her hands whilst she got Julian all patched up and had time to cool down somewhat.

Eira, though still young, understood all too well the consequences of pissing off mom. She would know, the scars on her back proved it.

"Think, it'll take a week?"

She asked softly once next to her father. Slipping her small palm safely into his calloused covered hand.

"I think... that'd be best for you poppa.."

Eira whispered once out of earshot of her mom. Even with her newfound determination, a deep fear was still lit within her when it came to her mother's infuriatingly skilled swordplay and overall general weaponry proficiency.

Lael squeezed Eira’s hand reassuringly, his gaze softening as he looked down at his daughter with a **** smile.

"Eh... a week would be too soon..."

He sighed.

Lael turned and began walking towards the edge of the wheat fields, leading Eira along the well-worn path towards town. The air was thick with unspoken tension, the silence broken only by the rustling of the wheat stalks and the soft padding of their feet on the dirt path. As they walked, Lael glanced back at Kuina, who remained kneeling beside Julian, her figure a stoic sentinel against the backdrop of the golden fields. He offered a silent apology, a plea for understanding, but Kuina didn’t acknowledge him, her gaze fixed solely on their son...