Eight Years Prior

“Awaken.”

Aidric Bauer shot up in his bed, fear gripping his chest like a vise. Blinding light throbbed in his vision and blurred the room, turning once normal objects into different colored blobs. Everything burned.

“Deep, even breaths. In...” Swiping the sweat from his forehead, he welcomed the refreshing spring air into his lungs. “And out. Just like Mom taught you.” The same hazy dream replayed in his mind. A disembodied voice, a flash of brilliant light, and a searing wave of heat. Thankfully, the tightness in the boy’s chest loosened with each breath. “That’s the third time this month.” The words softly tumbled out of his lips before he even realized someone stood in the doorway. 

“Are you okay, Ady?” Aidric tried his best to give a disarming smile through the spots still dancing in his eyes. Despite his obscured vision, the figure's identity was unmistakable.

“I’m fine, Mom.” She was the only one who still called Aidric by his nickname, after all. He took a deep breath. Then another. Finally, the bonfire in his chest subsided, and the light in his vision faded, leaving only the uncomfortable embers that he’d become used to at that point. “I didn’t wake you up yelling again, did I?” Ada raised an eyebrow, a smirk growing on her face as she gestured her head to the space behind him. Turning made the tightness in his chest return. Only this time, he knew why... and it was much more terrifying. Daylight poured through the wooden shutters nailed to a hole in the wall that passed for a window, tossing ribbons of light across the worn wooden floor of the room. The sound of a horse-drawn carriage stopping in front of the house was the final nail in the coffin, though. “Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh, is right. You promised Mr. Patel that you’d help him load goods for the capital city market today, remember? I should whip your butt and make you go spend the weekend with him in Inrora.” The sternness in her voice made Aidric wince. Her emerald green eyes cut through him, which just so happened to be the same ones that stared back at him when he looked in the mirror.

Aidric’s cheek stung as he recalled the only time his parents had hit him, yet that was all it took. ‘Never make empty promises or threats’ was a written rule in their house. The certainty of punishment that loomed over him was as sure as the setting sun at night, preventing Aidric from ever truly pushing the limits of his parent’s rules or wishes.

“Honestly, I’ve never met a ten-year-old that sleeps as much as you do. Not even your sister slept this much.” Ada said. Understanding the message got across from the look on her son’s face, she let out a deep sigh, her rugged shoulders drooping, and her stern expression turned into one of poorly hidden worry. “Do you want me to get Dr. Tillmane?”

Aidric pretended to rub the sleep from his eyes to avoid rolling them. ‘Doctor’ was more like ‘Village Elder who ate a lot of mushrooms in the forest only to find out they have medicinal properties.’ The man knew his craft. There was no doubt about that, but Doctor? Not quite.

“Dr. Tillmane’s as much a doctor as I am Magus Supreme.” This time, the curled lips and squinted eyes on his mother’s face told Aidric he’d undeniably struck a nerve. Just when she opened her mouth to hand him his backside for the second time that morning, a loud laugh tore through the small house as the front door swung wide open.  

“I'll pass the message along, Ira. Good luck in town today! Tell Arthur hello and we miss him.” A meaty thud sounded off the counter as Neal set whatever he was carrying down. He was the polar opposite of Aidric’s mother. The man had never been light-footed for a day in his life, to the point Ada had barred him from ever going hunting with her. Mr. Patel’s response was intelligible as his voice was muffled out by the cracking leads and the creaking of the carriage he sat on. Ada pursed her lips shut and tossed a look over her shoulder before turning her gaze back on Aidric. 

“Get dressed. You’ve still got a lot of chores to do.” Ada pulled the door closed behind her as she left the room, causing the worn-out hinges to scream in protest. Aidric let out a defeated sigh and swung his legs over the side of the bed. A frigid breeze, that a few years ago would have given him an icy chill, was now a refreshing gust against his skin as it whistled through the windows and loose boards. Regrettably, it also came with the aroma of fresh manure. Blech. First day of spring meant a two-day sprint for the rest of the village to get the fields prepped and ready for the first sow when Mr. Patel returned from Inrora.

Aidric hopped down from his bed, shuffled to the wooden dresser in the corner of the sparse room, and grabbed a set of work clothes that were as faded as the dresser itself. A pang of guilt hit his chest. He should have had these on hours ago, helping the merchant load his cart, instead, he’d slept a decent portion of the morning away. The only solace of the morning was that if the harvest did well, not a single soul could match that man in the market. By far, he was the best merchant on this side of the Seros River. Aidric thought of chasing the man down the packed dirt road to tell Mr. Patel to use whatever meager funds the boy would receive for his help during the winter on something the merchant would enjoy. Alas, Ira was likely too far for ‘Wind Whisper’ to work by now, and Aidric’s stamina wasn’t what it used to be.

With a sigh, Aidric put on his pants, grabbed a shirt, slid on his well-worn shoes, and walked over to the metal mirror next to the dresser. He recoiled and regretted even looking at himself. Somehow, he’d become even skinnier and paler since the last time he’d looked. A sickly yellow ring had made a home around the outside of his green eyes, and his once close-cut light brown hair had turned into a curled rat’s nest.

“Gods, do I look a wreck.”

As he pulled the worn, scratchy fabric of the shirt over his head, a sizzle and pop echoed from downstairs, followed by an uncommon, yet recognizable scent. Aidric’s mouth watered at just the thought of what was cooking on the iron stove.

“Bacon!” Neal hollered from the kitchen. Hell. Yes. Aidric threw open his bedroom door, and ran down the hallway, passing his parent’s room on the left… and the empty room on the right. The wood that made up their home wasn’t in the best condition, but it wasn’t the worst. Weathered splotches covered most of the walls and floorboards, some even visible on the supports for the A-frame roof, but they were sturdy enough to keep the place standing.

As Aidric approached the top of the stairs, his ears pricked up with the obvious object of their discussion. They only spoke in hushed tones when the topic of conversation revolved around their son. Aidric tiptoed to the top of the stairs, careful to avoid the squeaky floorboard at the center of the landing that had gotten him caught many times before, and ducked behind the banister on the opposite side.

“I’m just worried, Neal.” His mother said in a distressed tone. “It’s never been this bad before.” Ada’s sun kissed hand swiped a stray auburn hair behind her ear. The bags under her eyes had been getting darker the past few months, which she’d tried to hide from Aidric by dabbing charcoal from her forge around her eyes like makeup. Aidric found it funny what a different perspective could reveal.

Neal flipped the bacon over in the skillet, bringing more sizzles and pops, before placing it back on the cast-iron stove that crackled occasionally from the fire within. His rugged frame, tan skin, straight brown hair, and blue eyes made him look like the daydream that came to mind when others thought of farmers. Neal turned to give his wife a tender, reassuring smile.

“Darling, it’s nothing to worry about.” Neal dropped his gaze back to the stove, his voice quieter than before. “Besides, Aidric hasn’t exactly been a normal kid, has he?”

‘Okay, ow.’ Aidric thought. He knew that he’d been a bookworm for a lot of his life, but calling him weird hit the young boy in the gut a lot harder than he thought it would.

“I know, but what if it’s something serious? What if he really is sick like Madi-” Aidric pressed his palms over his ears, trying his best not to hear the rest of the sentence. Pretending like he wasn’t worried about ending up like his sister was hard enough on its own. Aidric didn’t need to add his mother being so worried that she was constantly on the verge of tears to that idea. Shoving that thought deep down to deal with at a later date, he threw on the most eager face he could and gave a firm step on the loose board. Both of the adult’s heads snapped to the stairs as the withered form of their son raced down, who pretended to have just come from his room.

“Good morning! It’s been months since we had bacon, right? Feels like it, anyway.” Aidric’s greeting seemed to have done the trick. Thankfully, unlike his own, their smiles were genuine. Aidric knew they put on a brave face for him some days, but not every day could be a good one. A flare of heat wracked itself inside the boy’s chest, causing him to wince and let out a guttural cough. The flair ups didn’t last for long, but the aching stich in his side told him they were getting worse. Just like that, his parent’s faces returned to the same worried expressions he’d seen at the top of the stairs. “What did Mr. Patel want you to tell me, Dad?” Aidric asked, in an attempt to change the subject. He was tired of seeing them constantly worried about their one remaining child. 

Yet, the expression didn’t fade, remaining on his father’s face as he patted Aidric on the shoulder. “He said he hopes you feel better soon.” Well... he was trying. His worsening condition hadn’t been for a lack of effort.

Aidric turned his gaze to the weapons hanging on the wall, opposite of the half kitchen, half dining room, in the middle of the house. He couldn’t stand to look at either of their defeated expressions anymore. Couldn’t stand to be another thing in life they were worried about. Sometimes, he wondered if they dreamed of a life where they had normal children. One where they wouldn’t have to bury both of their children.

The sound of a throat being cleared dragged Aidric’s attention back to his family. “Hopes you feel better so he can put you to work watering the first sow, that is.” Neal said. The smug look on the man’s face gave Aidric the impression that his father thought he’d salvaged the awkward conversation with that addition, but Aidric smiled regardless. 

“I’ll do my best.” Aidric said. His nose wrinkled and his vision slightly hazed over, not because of his illness, but because of the smoke billowing out of the pan. Just when he thought his day couldn’t get any worse...

“Ah, shit.” Neal said. The bacon had become charcoal, filling the house with smoke and the smell of a wasted, perfectly good breakfast. You’d think someone who’d spent four years in the Magus Infantry would have a better attention span than most, standing guard for hours on end. That award, though, would go to the woman who already had the flaming pan out the door and into the yard, towards her covered forge, which they’d set up a safe distance from the house. The woman once belonged to none other than the Magus Ranger Corps. About as elite of a unit you could get in with being a commoner.

The Magus Peacekeeper Authority, the all-encompassing branch that Infantry and Rangers fell into, was a total volunteer force that paid just enough to be enticing to those born without a silver spoon. ‘Peace and Prosperity’ was their tag line. Aidric turned his gaze back to the wall for a moment, noting the shiny bits and bobbles that sat on a tilted shelf above the weapons, hoping that, one day, he could join and earn notoriety, just like his parents. Both of them had been decorated for their peacekeeping service, but it was a poorly kept secret in their house that Ada’s extra sparkles chapped Neal’s backside a bit. Despite that, the sword and the bow, two polar opposite weapons, found solace under the same roof. 

“Well, there goes breakfast.” Neal stood still, a downward curl on his lips as he looked out the kitchen window. The crackle of a grease fire and the scent of a charred delicacy alerted everyone in the village to his sins. A defeated sigh came from the man as he turned from the window, meandering towards the pantry, dragging his feet dejectedly. “I’ll get the oatmeal.” His tan, calloused hand reached out and affectionately tousled the light brown curls on his son's head when he passed by. “Sorry, buddy.” 

Ada hollered as she fed the pigs their charred meal.

“Ady, want to go hunting?”