Chapter 16 - Boundaries

Chapter 16 - Boundaries

I n a flash, tomorrow arrived.

I sat motionless at my small desk, staring at the scarred grain of the wooden tabletop, with my journal open beside my forearms. I took a slow, deep breath, pulling air into my chest until my lungs were full, then exhaling.

My body was still aching from what Lyra had done to me, but after a good night's sleep, the pain had subsided. My right palm hovered a hair's breadth above the surface as I closed my eyes, concentrated on the faint, rhythmic pulse in my chest, and attempted a wordless cast.

Verdant Touch.

My palm emitted a faint, pale green glow that softly illuminated the dark timber. The dry, dead grain softened, swelled, and split exactly where my thumb rested. A delicate emerald leaf emerged from the sapwood, revealing its tiny veins in real time.

Day after day, I practiced in secret, constantly juggling my affinity for Fire and Geo.

Wood magic, as far as I could deduce, was merely a sub-affinity of Geo—a form of magic that allowed me to manipulate plant matter. That explained why I could perform Wood spells despite having only Fire and Geo affinities. If Wood were truly an independent affinity, the mana cost should have been significantly higher. Instead, Verdant Touch consumed mana at a rate comparable to my other Geo spell, Pebble.

That was enough to make me suspect that the affinity system was more interconnected than Source of Power initially implied.

Or maybe I'm wrong, and wood is its own distinct affinity, and I was just lucky enough to have it.

I maintained my core connection, sending a slow stream of mana through my veins, eventually ending at the tips of my palm and into the wood. I counted my heartbeats from the moment the glow appeared. When my temples started throbbing with that familiar, hollow light-headedness, I stopped the flow.

I'd been doing this exact test for over a month now. And gradually, unequivocally, the baseline became... Surprisingly different this time.

"T-thirty-two seconds...?" I muttered, wiping a thin sheen of cold sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. "D-did it just increase by two seconds?"

I looked down at the green leaf that had bloomed from the table's wooden surface. I sat there for a long time, hovering my hand over it.

Wither.

Within seconds, the leaf crumbled into dust, taking a small chunk of the wood with it.

Huh. Fascinating.

I went to my journal and started a new page. As I began to write, I took the coal pencil from its resting place on a wooden mug on the table.

---

Mana Training Log #115

Verdant Touch lasted for 32 seconds. This demonstrates that my mana was increasing, but which factor? Is it my growing age? Or is it due to my constant practice? Or something else? Or maybe both? I have SO many questions.

---

I hummed softly as I leaned back in my chair, tapping the dull end of the pencil against my chin while rereading my entry. Satisfied, I closed the journal and returned the pencil to its mug. I turned my head toward my one bookshelf, my gaze fixed on the leather-bound spine of the Source of Power, a book I intended to decipher further.

I slid off my seat and took two steps forward. As my fingers reached out, just inches from the shelf...

BAM!

The bedroom door slammed against the wall with a thunderous slam, sending my heart racing into my throat. I instinctively turned to my right, and there stood Lyra in the doorway.

"You wuss! Papa said he wants to show us something in the study room!"

She appeared completely miserable. Her entire body was stiff, and her golden eyes glared at me with a mix of embarrassment and resentment. Her left arm, however, drew my attention right away—dark, raised welts protruded from her sleeve. Red, angry slaps that could only have come from the solid wooden handle of a hard stick or a metal pole.

So, Mom didn't hold back yesterday.

I exhaled. I expected to feel a rush of petty satisfaction seeing her bruised after what she did to me, but all I felt was a dull discomfort.

"Quick! Stop being so slow!" she snapped, though her voice lacked its usual booming confidence.

"O-okay, coming!" I called back, quickly pulling my hand away from the bookshelf. Leaving the book behind, I stepped past her into the hallway, keeping a safe distance as I followed her down to the study room.

The study room was small, bathed in the crisp, golden light of the morning sun pouring through a singular window. Thorskil stood at the far end of the room, wearing a plain cotton apron over his trousers. He looked vastly different from the stressed, guilt-ridden man who had sat on the edge of my bed last night. Today, he wore a bright, welcoming smile.

After I closed the door, Lyra and I took our seats at the large wooden table in the center—the two of us sitting on our chairs, though the air between us felt thick and a bit uncomfortable.

"So! How is everyone feeling today?" Thorskil asked cheerfully, folding his hands together.

"I'm okay..." I murmured, casting a sideways glance at my sister.

"Eh," Lyra grunted, slouching in her chair with her arms tightly crossed, trying her best to hide her bruised forearm from view.

Positioned right beside Thorskil was a small wooden trolley covered in a clean white cloth. Smiling broadly, he took hold of the corner and pulled it back with a flourish, revealing two wooden plates covered by woven mesh covers. Almost instantly, the rich, buttery aroma of warm, sweet spices and baked carrots drifted into the air.

"Who wants a slice of Papa's special carrot cake, hm?" he beamed.

Lyra’s nose twitched instantly, her barbarian appetite betraying her stoic facade as her golden eyes widened. "C-carrot cake...?" she mumbled, quickly wiping a stray corner of drool from her lip.

"Yes indeed," Thorskil nodded, his tone gentle yet deliberate. "I am going to give you two a brief lecture today. At the end of the lesson, there will be a very short quiz. And once that's finished..." He gestured warmly toward the treats. "You two will be rewarded with fresh carrot cake!"

I stared at the cake through the mesh cover—the top was heavily glazed with a sweet, orange jelly-like sheen, with rich cream piped neatly along the sides.

A lecture, a quiz, and a sweet reward, I thought, leaning back in my chair as I observed my father. He's... trying to mediate. He's using food and structured lessons to reset the atmosphere after yesterday's disaster.

It was a surprisingly wholesome, albeit slightly naive approach to family conflict. But looking at the genuine effort on Thorskil's face, and seeing the guarded look in Lyra's eyes, I leaned forward on the table.

Whatever he's about to teach us... let's hear it.

"Just listen carefully to my lecture, and do a quiz. After that, carrot cake. Do you two accept the terms?" he asked, grabbing a stick of white chalk as he pointed at the slate board mounted behind him.

"Yes!" Lyra blurted out, leaning forward and slamming both palms onto the surface of the table.

Her movement exposed the dark, ugly welts left by Mom's broom handle from last afternoon. Thorskil froze mid-motion, his smile faltering as his eyes landed on the bruised skin. Lyra seemed to catch the shift immediately; she snatched her arms back, crossing them tightly against her chest to hide the marks.

"Yes," she muttered again, but this time, her voice dropped into a small murmur.

I caught the whole exchange from the corner of my eye. I sighed. Her ears perked slightly, and she spun her head sharply toward me, glaring daggers with her golden eyes. I snapped my head back to the front, staring blankly at the wall.

Thorskil cleared his throat, subtly shaking off the brief wave of guilt, and turned his rose-colored eyes toward me. "How about you, Kyro?"

I looked at him, letting a deliberate beat of silence stretch out as my practical mind processed the situation. "We still haven't eaten breakfast," I pointed out smoothly. "Is Mother actually alright with us having dessert first?"

"Kyro..." Lyra leaned toward me, her teeth grinding together as she hissed under her breath. "Shut up!"

Thorskil let out a warm chuckle that rattled softly in his chest. "Let's just keep this as a small secret between the two of you and me, alright? I don't think Mama Reyna would appreciate the idea of sweets before a proper meal." He gave us a conspiratorial wink.

Ah... okay, I thought, the smell of warm sugar and baked carrots completely winning over my logic.

"I mean... fair enough. I accept the conditions," I nodded.

"Good," Thorskil smiled, his posture brightening as he turned back to the slate.

With a practiced flick of his wrist, the chalk screeched softly against the dark board as he began writing in large, elegant strokes of Kladis —the native human script.

I settled back into my chair, resting my chin in my hand as I watched the letters form. Whatever boundary or lesson my father was planning to drill into us today, he had successfully bought our undivided attention. Thorskil turned toward the slate board, the white chalk held firmly in his thick, calloused fingers. With a deliberate motion that carried the solemn mind of a man trying to mend his fractured family, he wrote a single, bold word across the center.

STRENGTH

He stepped back, wiping a trace of white dust onto his apron.

Lyra stared at the word, her golden eyes wide. I stared at it too, my mind instantly picking apart its definitions.

"What's the first thing that comes to mind when you hear that word?" Dad asked softly, turning to face us.

Lyra's hand shot into the air with aggressive enthusiasm. "Being strong!"

Thorskil offered a warm, encouraging smile. "Good. That's one answer." He pointed toward her before turning his gaze to me. "What else?"

I rested my chin against my palm, staring at the slate. "Physical capability. Endurance. The capacity to withstand or exert a force that would normally injure, overwhelm, or break someone."

Dad blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the precision in my vocabulary. "Well... yes. Exactly."

Lyra side-eyed me, her nose crinkling in a look that plainly read ' nerd' .

Dad chuckled softly, turning back toward the board. "Those are both correct. Strength can mean many things." He raised the chalk and drew a heavy line beneath the word. "But there is something deeply important I need both of you to understand today."

His demeanor shifted; his smile turned serious.

"Having strength does not give you the right to use it to control someone else."

Beside me, Lyra’s shoulders stiffened. I glanced sideways at her; her lips were pressed into a tight line, her golden eyes fixed unblinkingly on the board.

"Being stronger than another person doesn't make their choices yours to dictate," Dad continued, his deep voice resonating off the small wooden walls. Beneath the first word, he wrote in clear, bold letters:

STRENGTH ≠ AUTHORITY

I raised an eyebrow. This is very concise... nice.

"Papa," Lyra muttered, her voice small, laced with genuine confusion. "What does that mean?"

"It means..." Thorskil paused, searching for words simple enough to pierce through a child's fiercely stubborn nature. "It means that just because you can force someone to do something, it doesn't mean you should ."

Lyra frowned, her brows knitting together. "But what if they need to do it? What if it's good for them?"

"Then you ask them."

"What if they say no?"

"Well, if that's the case, you accept their answer, Lyra. And you must respect it."

Lyra’s brow furrowed deeper, her hands balling into small fists atop the table. "But what if they're just being lazy?!"

Dad's rose-colored eyes briefly flicked toward me, a memory of yesterday's fight. I immediately looked down at the grain of the table.

"Then you can encourage them," Dad said gently. "You can explain why you think it's important. You can invite them to stand beside you and train. But if they refuse..." He looked directly into Lyra's eyes. "...you leave them alone."

Lyra's fingers curled tighter against the dark wood, her chest heaving slightly as her barbarian pride wrestled with his words. "But..."

Thorskil crouched down beside her chair, bringing his lean frame level with her small eyes. "Lyra." His voice wasn't harsh, nor was it scolding. It carried a tender warmth that somehow forced her to quiet down and listen. "You wanted to make your brother stronger yesterday, didn't you?"

She hesitated, her lip trembling slightly as her gaze dropped. "...Yes."

"I know you did. I believe you," Dad said softly, his expression melting with deep empathy. "But wanting something good for someone does not make a cruel way of getting it right."

Silence settled over the study room. I watched from the corner of my eye as Lyra's head slowly drooped slightly more, the fiery hostility completely draining out of her posture.

Thorskil stood up again, pulling the focus back to the board. "Imagine if I decided today that I wanted you to learn how to bake."

Lyra looked up, her face twisting with horror. "Why?!"

A sudden, sharp snort escaped my nose, and I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing aloud.

Thorskil smiled warmly. "Exactly. You'd probably hate every second of it."

"Yes!"

"And what if I forced you to stand in the kitchen and bake for six straight hours?"

"I'd run away!"

"And what if I grabbed you by the arm and dragged you right back?"

Lyra's jaw tightened, her golden eyes flashing with instinctual defiance. "I'd fight you!"

"Exactly," Thorskil said, tapping the chalk against his palm. "Even if I genuinely believed baking was the best thing for your future, forcing you into it wouldn't make me a good father or a good teacher. It would only make you hate me. It would only make you afraid of your own home."

Lyra fell dead silent, her shoulders sinking as the logic struck her right in the chest.

Thorskil looked between the two of us, his expression lingering on each of our faces. "That is the lesson I need you both to carry." He turned back to the slate and wrote firmly beneath the last line:

STRENGTH MUST HAVE CONTROL.

"Being strong isn't just about how much force you can throw around," he said, gently tapping a finger against his chest. "Real strength is knowing when to use that power..." He shifted his finger, tapping the side of his temple. "...and having the discipline to know when to hold it back."

Lyra stared at the sentence on the slate, her mouth slightly open. Beside her, I found myself sitting up straighter, my mind processing the profound weight behind his simple words.

"That applies to both of you," Papa added.

My eyebrows shot up. Both of us?

He turned his gaze toward me. "Kyro."

"Yes, Dad?"

"About... Yesterday. You were hurt, terrified, bleeding, and you were angry. You had every right to feel all of those things. But you also spoke to me in a way that cut... deep."

I lowered my gaze, the memory of my harsh, bitter words returning to sting my pride. "I know."

"You called me an idiot. You told me I was failing you."

"...Yes."

Lyra sharply turned toward me. "Y-you called Papa an idiot?"

Papa smiled faintly, a gentle, forgiving warmth in his eyes. "I am not going to punish you for being angry when you were hurt, Kyro. But I need you to understand something, too." He walked over and crouched beside my chair, leaning his forearms on the edge of the table.

"Being in pain does not give you permission to use your words as weapons to tear down the people who love you."

I swallowed hard, nodding slowly.

"Your anger is allowed, Kyro," Thorskil whispered, placing a massive, warm hand over mine. "It is valid. But you are still responsible for what you do with it."

I nodded.

Thorskil stood and returned to the front of the room. "So..." He drew a clean horizontal line beneath the rules. "What do we do when someone tells us to stop?"

"We stop," I answered immediately.

Thorskil smiled. "Correct." He looked down at Lyra. "And what do we do when we're angry?"

Lyra hesitated, her small voice trailing off. "...Talk?"

"Good. And if talking doesn't work?"

"Walk away?"

"Exactly." He set the chalk down on the wooden ledge. "And if someone hurts you?"

"Tell an adult," I replied smoothly.

Dad nodded with approval. "Good."

Suddenly, Lyra raised her hand, her movements far more timid than before. Thorskil looked surprised, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, Lyra?"

"What if... what if someone attacks you first?" she asked softly, her barbarian blood seeking a clear line in the sand.

I thought about the question, and I could see Papa considering it carefully, too.

"Then you protect yourself," Papa answered firmly.

Lyra’s eyes brightened slightly, a spark of her usual spirit returning.

"But..." Dad added quickly, his voice dropping an octave, "...you do not chase them down once the threat is gone. You do not use self-defense as an excuse to inflict cruelty."

Her face fell slightly, but she nodded in understanding. "Okay..."

"Defending yourself and hurting someone out of malice are two very different things," Thorskil said. He turned back to the slate one last time, writing four words:

ASK. LISTEN. RESPECT. STOP.

He pointed to each word in sequence. "These are the rules of this house. Remember that."

He folded his arms over his chest, his gaze resting heavily on my sister.

"Lyra, you are strong. You are stronger than almost any child your age, and as you grow, you will likely become stronger than most adults. And that strength is a gift," Thorskil said softly, catching her eyes. "It is nothing to be ashamed of. You do not need to make yourself weaker."

Lyra looked up, her golden eyes widening slightly.

"You simply need to learn how to master it," Thorskil said, his tone dripping with pride. "Because someday, Lyra, you are going to be strong enough to shield people who can't stand on their own. And when that day comes, I need to know that my daughter isn't someone who hurts others just because nobody can stop her."

Lyra stared down at her lap, her fingers twisting the fabric of her shirt. "...I didn't mean to really hurt Kyro," she whispered.

"I know you didn't, sweetheart," Thorskil said gently. He reached out and rested his palm over her head, his large fingers lightly ruffling her hair. "But power without control hurts the people closest to you, whether you mean to or not."

Lyra swallowed against a lump in her throat, her lower lip trembling. "...I'm sorry, Kyro."

She wasn't looking directly at me—her face was buried against her chest out of sheer embarrassment and guilt—but I felt her words. The barbarian girl had actually apologized.

I stared at her, the last lingering shards of my resentment from yesterday melting away. I sighed. "I-it's fine, Lyra."

Dad didn't force her to make a grand display of it and simply nodded warmly. Then, he turned his rose-colored eyes back to me. "And Kyro."

"Yes?"

"You have a responsibility here, too."

I straightened my back, giving him my full attention.

Thorskil pointed a finger toward my chest. "You are going to grow powerful as you get older. Maybe not in the way your sister does, but physical strength isn't the only kind of power in this world." His eyes briefly flicked toward the hallway, toward the bookshelf where my private studies lay. "Your mind, your magic, your ability to read people and situations... those are weapons too, Kyro."

I remained quiet, letting his assessment sink in.

"And when you inevitably become smarter or more skilled than those around you, I need you to remember today," he said, offering me a tender smile. "Never use your mind to make someone feel small or useless, okay?"

I held his gaze, feeling the trust he was placing in my maturity. "I won't, Dad."

"Good... good."

Dad clapped his hands together with a loud CLAP that made both of us jump in our seats.

"Now!" The sudden, dramatic shift in his face was almost comical. "Time for the quiz!"

Lyra immediately perked up, her sad mood vanishing in an instant. "And then carrot cake?!"

"Assuming you pass!"

"I'M GOING TO PASS!" she roared, slamming her fist onto the table.

I stared at her, deadpan. "You haven't even seen a single question yet."

"I'll pass anyway, you wuss!"

Thorskil threw his head back and laughed—a booming, hearty sound that filled every corner of the sunlit room. "That's the confidence I like to see!" He grabbed the chalk again with a flourish. "Question one!"

He wrote quickly across the board:

'If someone refuses to train with you, what should you do?'

Both of our hands shot into the air. Dad looked between us, a proud grin on his face.

"Yes, Lyra?"

She puffed out her cheeks, straining her brain. "...Ask them one more time, really nicely?"

Thorskil raised an eyebrow.

Lyra let out a dramatic sigh. "...And if they still say no, you leave them alone."

"Correct!" Dad declared, drawing a massive, sweeping checkmark beside the question.

Lyra grinned triumphantly, her cheeks flushing with pride. I couldn't help the warm smile that broke across my own face as I watched her.

Reyna was watching us the entire time, and the door was slightly open without our knowledge. The scene brought warmth to her chest.

"Huh... Maybe I should teach them both from time to time in the study room. It might make their bond stronger..."

[End]