“If there ever comes a day where the Marked were to reappear, the whole of the world would clamor for their head.” Magus Supreme Likel Plinem

“We love you too, Ady.” Ada said, just as Aidric breached the threshold, and made his way down the short trail to the road at the front of the yard. His mother’s forge sat cold on the right-hand side of the trail, tools meticulously placed in her own specific order across the table, which sat opposite from the furnace itself. His parents had stacked split lumber close to the furnace, along with the anvil and a repurposed trough for quenching.

Aidric looked out at the rolling fields his family's plot sat on, surrounded by a thin patch of leafless trees and evergreens, surmising that his family’s yard seemed massive in comparison to what the other villagers had. ‘Military service has its benefits’. At least, that’s what his father would tell him. ‘We obey the Magus Collective, and they take care of us.’ He clicked his tongue at the unfairness that everyone else has to struggle just to eat. Their plot of land totaled to about ten-acres, including the pig pen and three-acre pasture the cows roamed in. Twice as large as everyone else’s. Not only that, their land was on the opposite side of the river, running more as shared farmland than individual plots.

“Service time gets you a nice piece of land and makes you the unofficial head of the village. Noted.” Aidric said. He continued farther down the path, his small strides taking him twenty steps along the patchy brown and green grass before he reached the road.

He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath of cool spring air. Days like these were perfect for grabbing a good book and curling up underneath the willow tree. Aidric could see how it would be weird, but sometimes, he’d grab one of the stories his mother used to tell to him and Madison, and read aloud beneath the tree. It provided him with a sense of connection, a pleasant thought that she may still have been able to hear his voice. Whether through the tree’s roots, or on the back of the wind, carried to her through Arcturus, as Dr. Tillmane believed.

Hands waving at him from across the calm river broke Aidric’s train of thought. The small, excited, jumping figure belonged to his only friend in town. Lauren’s shoulder-length red hair and pale skin gleamed in the sun like Neal’s polished steel sword. Aidric and Lauren were the same age, but she had always been taller than him, and he pretended it didn’t bother him. Lauren’s clothes were equally worn as his, with a few additional holes from her carefree nature. Lauren’s mother, a woman built like a log cabin with the same skin complexion, looked up from her weeding to pass Aidric a smile and a wave.

“Aidric! How’re you feeling!?” Lauren asked. Her question echoed off the mountains and resounded through the valley. Aidric grinned and cupped his hands around his mouth, chest burning, and peripherals turning blue as he sent a reply on the back of a gust of wind. ‘Wind Whisper’ was a simple tier-one, or beginner spell, but he found it to be useful in the countryside. He could tell it reached Lauren when her red hair billowed out around her head. Her face lit up, and she gave Aidric another excited bounce. “Good! Keep it that way! Are you excited for the spring festival?” To tell the truth, he had forgotten about it. The townsfolk referred to it as a festival, but it resembled more of a village get together with a potluck and a handful of visiting merchants from the capital. The small celebration marked the beginning of the harvest season, a tradition dating from Arcturus’s time on the throne.

Aidric cupped his hands again and cast the spell again. “Very. You have any coppers stashed away?”

There was a flurry of red hair as Lauren enthusiastically nodded her head. “I’ve got five! I’m gonna eat popcorn ‘till I explode!” Lauren’s mother chuckled, stood, and hurled her daughter up onto her massive shoulders, causing the young redhead to cheer with excited squeals and giggles. Priscilla’s gravel-dragged voice boomed from across the river. 

“Look who decided to wake up!” Priscilla’s voice had a mocking tone, but she always meant well. Her strong figure was just a cover for the soft heart underneath, one that would give anything to keep her family happy and safe. “Glad to see you out and about!” 

“Good morning, Mrs. Goldfield.” Aidric said, calling out over the river to give the heat in his chest a moment to cool. “Do you guys need any help?” At this, Priscilla grabbed Lauren, lifted the girl off her shoulders, and tossed her ten feet into the air, causing her daughter to let out a shriek.

“Nah, nothing Lauren and I can’t handle. We’ve just got to get this last row, then we’re done.” 

“How about your wife? Mrs. Claire need help in the bakery?” Priscilla set her daughter on the ground and gently nudged her back towards the weeds that the horse-pulled tiller had uprooted earlier in the morning. 

Priscilla’s smile faded and her jaw clenched as she looked back over at Aidric. The boy felt uneasy seeing the usually confident and carefree woman with a crease between her brow. “Nope. There’s nothing left to bake. Hopefully, Mr. Patel can nab some grain in the capital cause otherwise...” She spread her arms and gestured to the barren fields that had only just started to warm under the spring sun. “This is all we got.” Aidric bit his lip and nodded his head, which got him a somber goodbye wave from the six-foot-three woman. Her smile returned as she picked Lauren off the ground by the back of her shirt and set her a few paces farther down the row, kneeling in the spot her daughter had just been. 

Bread was a large staple of the village’s diet, since it was pretty much bread, soups and stews that they lived off of during the harsher months. That and whatever meat people were lucky to get from hunting. It wasn’t very nourishing, but it was better than going to bed with hunger pains. Aidric anxiously chewed his lip, tossing around the thought that there would be only scraps for everyone until they could pull up the harvest in three months.

Hunting was a good way to supplement for meals, but this early in the year, most animals that were out foraging were just as hungry as they were. Small game like Aidric and his mother caught that morning were a decent haul, but only for a week if they pushed themselves hard on rationing. Big game tended to bed in the denser parts of the forest a half day’s walk towards the capital, too far for a solo hunting trip. Why did they have to suffer?

Aidric’s hands clenched into fists. He needed some way to help, and somewhere to hatch a plan. Turning on his heel, he headed for the one spot that had ever offered him peace and quiet. He walked back down the trail in his yard, passed his home and later the grain storage shed on his way to the willow, the sound that came from the house explained the missing hare and brush cub that had hung out front. Pausing in front of the wooden building set on mushroom stilts for a moment, he examined the storage shed before he continued on his way towards the back of the property.

A sad reminder of happier days hit as Aidric reached the bottom of the hill. The trail, once blazed and marked by small footsteps to the willow, had almost disappeared. Only a thin strip of packed earth remained as a guide up to the tree. Yellowed grass and thin, sparse tree limbs passed by on his way to the top. Even now he could see its green leaves through empty branches on the first days of spring, where all the other plant life were struggling to make a comeback, the weeping willow flourished.

Aidric could almost hear his sister’s voice from their trips up to the tree. ‘Thrive in the face of adversary.’ He chuckled to himself, thinking of the saying Madison had always said incorrectly on purpose, and whispered his constant reply under his breath.

“It’s adversity, meathead.” Then, she would give her brother her go-to comeback of ‘Whatever, nerd.’ Aidric tried to blink away what had to be a trick of the light as two children ran past him up the hill. A smaller version of himself and... 

“Madi...” Her curly blonde hair bobbed as she ran up the slope, and the smell of her lilac shampoo drifted on the wind. They couldn’t be real.

“You’re just jealous that I’m Dad’s favorite!” Madison said, her voice resonating with self-assurance. They both knew that was true. Aidric stared as the younger version of himself had trouble keeping up with her pace. 

“Yeah, well, I’m Mom’s favorite!” Young Aidric shot back. Also, true. Leaves on the trees changed colors, fell off, and died before his eyes with the changing seasons. Between each step, their bodies grew and changed. 

“No. I’m begging you.” Aidric pleaded. Madison’s hair became longer and more tangled, and her run transformed into a labored gait.

“Come on, slowpoke!” The younger boy called out, now paces ahead of Madison. "This can’t be happening." Aidric squeezed his hands against the sides of his head, his heart thundered and chest tightened at the nightmare before him. Madison’s clothes became baggier and baggier, to where they looked as if they were going to fall from around her ragged frame.

“Please, Gods, make it stop.” Aidric threw his plea to someone, anyone, yet the nightmare continued. A few feet before she could make it to the tree, the vision shifted to their father holding Madison in his arms. Unbearable wails tore through Neal’s chest, a burden no parent should bear. Aidric’s knees shook, holding no strength as they buckled, sending him in a crumpled heap to the ground. Their mother sobbed uncontrollably as she held the younger version of himself, rocking back and forth on her knees.

With a blink, Madison was gone. Disturbed earth from a freshly dug grave was the only sign that she had ever been there at all. Flashing silhouettes of friends blurred in and out as they came to pay their respects to a life that had never even been given a chance to bloom, yet Neal’s figure didn’t move. His gaze was transfixed, unable to cope with the weight of burying his firstborn child. He had stayed up there for days. Just sitting.

The vision faded, and Aidric found himself kneeling where his father had been, in front of Madison’s grave. Tears he’d been unaware he was crying streamed down his face. Wiping them from his cheeks, he looked around the hill top that was protected in the green hanging leaves of the willow tree, and meticulously cared for by both of his parents. Aidric sniffled, picking up hints of wet bark emanating from the tree. Even in this beautiful place, he couldn’t escape the things he wanted to forget.