Chapter 7 - Trip with Dad

Chapter 7 - Trip with Dad

I t had been a full day since Damian healed my fractured arm. Dad told me about him, he was an exceptionally great mage, and a friend of him. Thanks to his mystical intervention, I was fully recovered now, with no lingering stiffness or phantom aches.

Thank god..

I sat in the comforting vibe of the study room, watching the late morning sunlight spill through the small window, painting the aged parchment pages of my open book of Source of Power.

"So..." I stared down at my unblemished palm. "You just pour mana into it, huh?"

He had stated that he poured his own mana directly into my arm to force the bone to knit back together.

I could still vividly remember the sensation. The tingling warmth circulating beneath the skin. I knew that distinct feeling now. If magic was simply a matter of moving that internal energy, then maybe I could replicate it on my own terms.

I stretched my right arm forward, locking my elbow, and steadied my breathing. Gathering as much confidence as a four-year-old child could muster, raised toward the wooden desk and began to recite the spell.

"Ignite the spark.."

I tried to replicate the feeling of mana—what Damian's mana felt like.

I took a deep breath, and exhaled.

"FIREBALL!"

I closed my eyes, trying to feel the exact same feeling.

"Rghh..!"

I felt a slight tingle coming from my chest, then moving fast towards my finger tips.

Frrgh

I opened my eyes, and there was a small spark forming on my opened palm. I gasped.

BAM!

The heavy wooden door slammed open with a thunderous kick. I jolted so violently that my center of gravity shifted, nearly tumbling out of the oversized chair. A cold bead of sweat immediately trailed down on my temple.

"L-lyra?"

Standing defiantly in the doorway was my older sister. Her arms were tightly crossed over her chest, she wore a cute blue dress, brows furrowed, and her long, sky blue hair caught the ambient sunlight.

"Father is calling you downstairs," she snapped, "hurry up."

Without waiting for a single word of acknowledgement, she spun on her heel and marched away, her footsteps echoing loudly down the hallway.

I let out a long, ragged sigh, my shoulders sagging in complete defeat.

"I hate kids." I whispered.

Still muttering complaints to myself, I closed the leather bound book and carefully back onto the shelf. I brushed the lingering dust from my tiny, grey shirt, squared my shoulders and headed down the staircase.

Waiting patiently at the foot of the steps was my father. The bright morning light caught his short blue hair, illuminating the calm rose-colored eyes. He looked up, his gaze locking onto me as I descended.

"Do you want to go outside with Papa?" he asked, and his rich voice was gentle. "I have to go to the village's marketplace to buy some equipment for our new barn."

I froze in place.

Outside...?

Although it had been four years since I had gotten here, the mere idea of entering the crowd of total strangers had made me slightly nauseated. I had gotten memories of my old life back, and they were quite unpleasant.

But I parted my lips in order to decline this offer, when Lyra's voice suddenly cut off whatever words I was about to say.

"Kyro is such a wuss," she said, stepping out of the view. "I will go with you instead!" She raised her hand proudly, volunteering for this mission.

Before Thorskil and I could say something, a loud bang was heard coming from the kitchen.

Reyna marched out into the living space, her canvas apron heavily dusted with white flour. She held a massive wooden ladle gripped tightly in her powerful hand, holding it less like a cooking utensil and more like a defensive club.

"No you are not, young lady!" she barked, her green eyes flashing.

Lyra flinched, taking an unconscious step backward. I curled my lips into a small smirk, feeling thoroughly vindicated by her immediate misfortune

Thorskil moved gently between them, placing a calm hand firmly on Reyna's shoulder to de-escalate the tension.

"It is alright, Rey," his voice low. "I can bring Lyra along with us."

Reyna frowned, a shadow of uncertainty clouding her eyes. "But Thors, Lyra is strictly grounded. Aren't we supposed to be actively punishing her? She nearly got Kyro killed yesterday. What happens if she carelessly hurt him again while you are out in the village?"

Thorskil chuckled softly, using his free hand to brush a stray lock of blue hair behind his ear. "She still isn't allowed to eat any sweets for the rest of the week, remember? Besides, the kids have me protecting them. Absolutely nothing is going to happen."

"I..." Reyna began, clearly prepared to mount a counter-argument. But the moment her eyes met his calm roze-tinted gaze, her rigid resistance completely melted away.

She sighed.

"Fine. Please be careful out there with the young'ins."

"I always am." Thorskil smiled, leaning down to press a gentle kiss against her lips.

The display of unabashed parental affection caused both Lyra and me to let out a simultaneous groan.

"Ugh," Lyra muttered, visibly recoiling in disgust. She then moved by the stairs, and grabbed my arm, pulling me down as we reached to the front door. I did not get to say anything, and even if I tried, I couldn't—it felt like there was a lump in my throat.

We turned again, and they were actively kissing.

I winced alongside her, but my discomfort was rooted in a different reason. My sister's disgust was merely a typical sibling cringe, but for me, the sight triggered a memory. I remembered my loneliness of my past life on Earth. I remembered the silence of a household fractured by divorce, the absence of affection and the bitter environment where love never seemed to touch anyone.

And yet, here I was now, trapped in a new body with new parents who held each other without a shred of shame, loving each other openly and genuinely.

My father and mother used to be like that, a long time ago. A bitter ache bloomed in my chest.

I quickly looked away from them.

"Papa, let's just go already!" Lyra yelled.

***

We travelled on the outer pathway of Ytval Village, the secluded farming village that served as our home. This village was deeply secluded in a secure region near the kingdom's borders, far away from any metropolitan centers.

This entire village had a very strong and tall wooden wall that encircled the entire farmland. There were three major entry and exit gates of this defensive wall. These entry and exit gates were situated at the three cardinal points—north, east, and south—that is, the north gate, the east gate, and the south gate. Guards patrolled the walls on a regular basis so that no roaming bandits and monsters ever harmed the vital farmland.

Next to the west side of Ytval, there was a dark forest. According to the local rumors, the more one went into the forest, the wetter it became.

What in the world was I thinking?

I stared blankly at the horse's black mane.

I could have easily just declined the entire trip. Argh! It's too late for regrets now, I am already out here in the open.

I was sitting at the very front end of the saddle and feeling every movement made by the heavy body of the horse under me. Lyra was riding at the very back end and humming to herself in a cheery tone, evidently happy that she had finally gotten her chance to escape from her house arrest.

"Thanks Papa," she said cheerfully, hugging him tighter by his broad waist.

He didn't say anything with words; rather a gentle smile appeared at the corners of his lips. I, on the other hand, was completely silent. I put one hand and clutched hard the heavy wrap that I had draped over my head and face, which I had purposely arranged in such a manner as to look like a hood.

The soft beat of the horse's hooves on the hard dirt trail melded easily with the bird songs and the sound of the wind blowing through the high trees. On the surface, the surroundings were utterly tranquil.

Yet there was some faint disturbance in the surrounding air that pulled on Thorskil's well-trained senses. His nose twitched slightly, picking up the faint scent that hung precariously in the breeze. It was so faint, yet to a former warrior as himself, it was unmistakable.

Fear. The pure, unalloyed scent of fear came from the air around Thorskil.

Thorskil's frown deepened and his eyes lowered to look down into the face of the small child sitting right in front of him.

Kyro.

The boy sat perfectly still at the top of the saddle, his body rigid and his tiny hands clenching the reins into little trembling fists, although he held them wrong. His head was encased in the thick material, hiding his face completely from view except for his big and alert eyes.

He appeared very tiny, much more so than he usually did.

"Kyro?"

I jumped in my seat when I heard my name. "Y-yeah?"

"You alright?" Thorskil asked calmly and evenly, without a hint of judgment in his tone. Only protective concern emanated from him.

Silence fell heavily. I did not turn around and kept looking downward into nothingness.

"I am completely alright," I said hastily, "It is just… it is very sunny today, and dusty as well. I just did not want to sneeze by accident while we were traveling."

Thorskil made a low hum deep in his throat, not agreeing with my lie, but not exposing me as well. He let the silence breathe, allowing its comfortable rhythm of the horse's movements fill the gap between us emotionally.

Finally, he broke the spell in a whisper, lowering his voice to a confidential tone. "You know… there is a very specific smell about fear, Kyro. It lingers much more than dust does. It is even crazier than raw onions."

My body flinched slightly as I lowered my head even more.

Thorskil moved slightly forward, and his sheer mass blocked me from view. "It is perfectly fine to be afraid. The world outside your safe walls can easily seem enormous. It will seem loud. It can easily get to be too much for one person to handle at once. I know that feeling very well."

The tight grip I had on my cloth wrapping loosened slightly.

"When I was younger, just crossing the city gates used to make me absolutely freeze up," Thorskil admitted, his voice laced with a self-deprecating humor. "It didn't matter how tall I was compared to my fellow men, and it didn't matter how heavy the steel sword was hanging off my back. Fear does not care about your physical might, Kyro. It just wants you to run away."

He stretched out his hand and put it onto my shoulder, his big rough fingers touching my small frame. "But you don't have to go through this alone. I am right behind you. You have Lyra too, even if she is just a little bit of chaos in a dress right now."

"I heard that!" Lyra snapped back indignantly, but I could hear the laughter in her voice.

However, no verbal reply was forthcoming. Under the comforting pressure of his enormous hand, though, I gained the confidence necessary to pull away the piece of fabric just enough so that I could see my surroundings properly.

Miles upon miles of lush green wheat were visible beyond the end of the dirt road, not yet matured for harvesting season but dancing in the rays of the sun that made the field sparkle. A couple of local farmers stood by a split rail fence, their conversation light and breezy with the breeze.

A few moments later, we've reached the border walls of the village. Massive logs of wood stretched for miles. And the post had three guards guarding the entrance, they each have swords strapped within their waist.

Thorskil raised his right hand in greetin. "Good morning, lads."

"Good morning, Master Thorskil!" replied one of the guards, as they stood firm.

And I witnessed this whole interaction with total silence. The genuine warmth in the guard's smile and the casual, unspoken trust in his neighborly tone felt completely foreign to my cynical worldview.

Soon, we have officially left the village.

Next, Lyra tilted her head and narrowed her yellow eyes. "Is Kyro really afraid?" she asked with complete honesty of a child.

Not even letting him reply to that, she moved way too close on the horse in order to look at my covered face. "What are you afraid of? There is literally nothing to be afraid of here."

I didn't say anything. It was pointless. She couldn't possibly understand any kind of trauma of a ruined adult life anyway.

"Such an absolute wuss," she mumbled, moving back to her position in the saddle.

"Lyra," Thorskil replied, his rich voice changing immediately, becoming firmly gentle. "Don't talk to your little brother that way."

"But Papa..."

"No buts, little girl." The volume of his voice did not change, but his voice contained an unshakable gravity that did not need raising in order to make his point. "That is your brother. Your job in life is to watch his back, not stab him in the back."

Lyra squirmed uneasily behind him, muttering her grievances beneath her breath. "But Papa, he's just so strange! All the time you and Mama would tell me stories about how much I cried when I was a baby! But Kyro? He only cried one time, then the next day he never cried again! He always just sits there and stares at us. He always is completely silent. And now he's just being himself again, he won't even say a single word to us."

She pointed an accusing finger over Thorskil's shoulder, leaning forward to make her point.

"Lyra." Thorskil's voice turned remarkably sharp, the softness completely evaporating from his delivery.

She pouted heavily, slouching back into the seat while muttering something entirely incomprehensible.

I didn't move a single muscle, nor did I speak.

I kept my head lowered steeply and looked down at the leather of the saddle. The fabric was still sticking on my skin, moist from my fast-paced breathing, but the cloth became terribly cold on my face the instant that particular word escaped her lips.

Weird. That word again.

That wasn't shocking because she was just a child and would always speak her mind before thinking about what she was saying, but that didn't make it any less true. It didn't help to feel like there was a smooth stone lodged somewhere in my heart because of the things that she had told me.

She was completely right.

I had the memory of crying, not as an infant here, but I knew what it was like to feel the need for tears, not in this life but in my previous life on Earth. I could recall being locked up in my gray bedroom, hiding in the bathrooms, and having to walk down hallway after hallway in a crowded school that seemed to be full of people who never looked at me. I always used to cry in complete silence back then. I never wanted people to look at me; I never wanted their eyes to follow me and my mistakes. I never wanted their judgment, whether voiced or not. There was always cruelty coming from society, even when they said nothing.

My mind involuntarily drifted back to the high school reunion.

My small hands clutched the saddle even more tightly, digging into the leather that was stretched against my fingers. I did not turn to look at my sister. I did not want Lyra to see the emotion that had taken over my face, and I could not stop myself from showing my true emotions.

He is in character again… I repeated the words in my head.

What did that even mean? Did that really mean everything there was to me in this world? My role? An obscure part to act? Perhaps I was just pretending. Pretending to be an ordinary child. Pretending to fit into this gorgeous family. In my thoughts, however, I was not brave. I was not strong. And most importantly, I did not feel like a child with a bright future ahead of him.

I felt borrowed, a vulnerable soul stuffed carelessly into a body that was not mine.

But yet, the physical feeling pierced through the chaos of my thoughts. There Thorskil's hand was lying quietly on my shoulder. It was really warm. He did not take his hand off of me even after Lyra's outburst, nor did he change his position in any way. He did not say a single word to me either, making the road silent.

[End]