How could they do this? Waving to their starving neighbors, knowing they had a solution to their problems? A burst of heat prickled Aidric’s face as the edges of his vision crinkled with the same warm light from that morning. Was the shed forbidden because it was unsafe, or because they didn’t want their children to know they were just like the villains in their stories?

Aidric’s footfalls sound of the sturdy floorboards as he marched over to the closest bag and heaved it onto his shoulder, the weight of the grain making him teeter on unsteady footing, before it slipped from his hands. Even if he managed to situate the bag to where he could hold on, he’d be much too slow to escape unnoticed. His brow wrinkled and nostrils flared with anger. Using the emotion rising inside of him, and channeled it into his magic, which lifted two of the bags towards him. His torso churned and ached at the energy passing through it to keep them afloat, the same blue and purple swirling in his vision again. 

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Aidric steeled himself. It was now or never. Swinging open the left door to the shed, he propelled himself off the deck and into the grass, his boney knees protesting the sudden impact as he kneeled down below the swaying blades. The bags glided down into the grass behind him as he turned back to the storage, and conjured a steady breeze, aimed at the still open door. A shooting pain ran through his abdomen, and the steady breeze fashioned itself into a powerful gust, which slammed the door closed.

Aidric’s heart froze for what felt like several beats as he turned his head towards his home, but he couldn’t see any movement or hear the sounds of hurried footsteps coming from the house. Aidric wiped his brow once again, trying to quiet his rapid heart. Perfect execution. Turning again, he pressed on through the grass towards the center of the village, fighting the giddiness rising in him. Gods, he might actually pull this off!

“Aidric!” So close. Neal’s voice echoed through the yard and sent a shiver up his misbehaving son’s spine. Kicking himself into over drive, Aidric stood tall and ran as fast as his legs would carry him. The bags floated behind as he reached the edge of the property, that started a strip of forest between their home and the middle of town.

“Aidric, stop!” His father’s voice boomed loud enough to catch Priscilla’s and Lauren’s attention from across the river. When Aidric turned his head, he saw both of them rapidly rising to their feet and turning towards the Bauer’s home. Priscilla scooped her daughter up in her arms and moved towards town. Turning his attention back to where he was going, Aidric burst through the brush and into the woods with a high-pitched holler at his back, giving him a push.

“Go, Aidric, go!” Lauren gave Aidric a fresh burst of energy, making him run as fast as he could without spells. Twigs snapped and wet leaves shifted underfoot as he tore through the dense softwood. Muscle memory kicked in as he ducked and dodged through the now overgrown trails he and Madison paved together. Even if his father ran down the main road, this route still cut three minutes off your time to make it in to town by ignoring the angle of the river. Madison, and occasionally Aidric, would run through these woods to get away from their mother’s study sessions to play with Lauren, until Ana finally found them. 

Aidric’s heart thundered in his chest and searing pain rippled across his right shoulder from the overuse of magic, rupturing blood vessels as the toll on his body starts to show. A branch caught him on the cheek. The icy sting of air told that he’d have another wound to take care of. Sweat poured down his forehead, a familiar sting hitting his eyes as the village came into view.

The Goldfield’s Bakery sat only four-hundred feet away, right across from the little hovel that passed for an inn and a bar. Aidric slowed as he feels his legs grow as heavy as stones, forcing him to grunt in an effort to keep going. ‘Come on legs, move!’ Ignoring the screaming in his chest, Aidric cast ‘Propel’. A red tinge joined the two others, spinning around the outside of his vision before settling in a complete circle. A grin spread on his lips when the spell signaled it was ready.

The next time his foot hit the ground, he was across the open field like a shot from a bow, bewildered faces flashing past as the mad dash sent him and the grain crashing straight through the front door of the bakery.

‘Man, I love augmentation spells.’ Aidric thought. So simple, yet practical.

Hearing the commotion that nearly knocked the door off its hinges, a petite framed five-foot-two woman with an apron as red as her hair, which was stained in flour as white as her skin, and deep blue eyes that stared frantically at the child heaving for breath, bruised and bleeding on the floor.

“Aidric, what’re you doing?! Are you alright?!” Worry and unease tinged her normally soft voice. The woman rounded the corner of the counter, the scale which sat upon it rattling with each step. She produced a handkerchief from one of her apron pockets and kneeled beside the boy, delicately dabbing the slow trickle of blood from his cheek.  

“Mrs. Clare,” Aidric said, as he huffed and gasped for breath while the constant ache in his chest turned into an inferno. Releasing the spells he’d used, the bags of grain fell with a solid thud to the shop’s floor, the scale sounding as if it had jumped from the counter with excitement. “How much bread can you make with this?” Claire’s ocean blue eyes concentrated on the two burlap sacks, pressing her bent frame glasses back to the bridge of her nose and widened as she did the calculations in her head.

“Enough for slightly more than a hundred... where did you get this from?” Claire asked. Aidric’s sheepish grin between gritted teeth told her all she needed to know. “Please, tell me you didn’t... what will your father say?” 

“Nothing, preferably,” Aidric said, rising to his feet before a stinging spark down his legs nearly dropped him to his knees. “But I think he’ll say a lot.” Just as Claire’s response had. She knew his parents had this squirreled away. If Claire knew, how many others were aware of this little hoard? “Why?” Aidric asked. A puzzled look spread across Claire’s face, her left eyebrow raising higher than the other.

“Why what?”

“Why didn’t you do anything? Say something? You knew my parents had this. Why?” Claire hesitated, gaze darting between Aidric and the bags of grain. Her attention darted around the room as she looked through the windows to the people murmuring outside, shooting pointed gazes at the bakery and the near empty shelves containing the last bits of bread that had gone stale a week ago. 

“It’s not that simple, Aidric. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” Claire said. The throbbing through Aidric’s body waned, allowing him to regain his footing and his breath. Only then did he notice the steady sound of hoofs beating the packed dirt road in to town. Aidric took a shaky step forward and searched for the truth in Claire’s eyes.

“Help me understand. Please!” Claire’s gaze fell to the floor as the sound of hoofs come to a halt twenty feet away, at the center of town.

“It’s just the way things are for us, and it’s naïve to think they’ll change.” Aidric felt his heart break for the baker, unsure of which was sadder - her expression or her genuine belief in what she said.

“Aidric Bauer! Get out here, now!” Neal’s voice barreled through the shop’s closed window shudders so loudly, it was as if there wasn’t even a wall between them. Both Claire and Aidric flinched at the power behind his words, filled with rage and malice. Aidric pinched his eyes closed and ignored the thundering of his heart in his ears. ‘Has to happen sometime, I guess.’ Aidric put on the bravest face he could, and headed for the door.

“Claire, keep the grain. Please. If you won’t do it for me, do it for Lauren.” Aidric didn’t wait for a response as he opened the door, and boy, what a sight it was. Neal sat on horseback. The aura surrounding him exuded authority, as the rest of those in town gathered behind him, onlooking from a safe distance. Neal’s brow knit together tighter than silk as he glared at the scrawny frame exiting the bakery. 

“Your mother and I do our best…” Neal’s voice shook with anger and his lips curled down, exposing teeth clenched so hard it’s a surprised they didn’t crack. “To raise you into a decent person, and this is what you do?! Steal at only ten-years old?!” Neal sat back in the saddle, so his gaze... appeared like he was staring at a criminal. “In the Infantry, we’d take your hands.” Silence fell over the town as even the wind dared not to speak.

Movement on the road behind the horse-riding Infantryman, showed Priscilla holding Lauren, frantically running down the road after Ada. They were still a minute away. His mother’s protests were barely discernible. “That would be too harsh for someone so young, though, wouldn’t it?” Neal’s words made everyone in the area let out the collective breath they were holding in.

Never before had Aidric been afraid of his father. Not even after his drunken rants and ramblings coming home from the inn late at night. However, Neal’s eyes no longer reflected the man who raised him. All that remained was an Infantry Sergeant.

“You know the punishment for theft.” Neal said. Aidric’s breath caught in his throat. He vaguely recalled. It had only happened once before when a poor beggar stole a mug from the inn to scoop drinking water from the river. Neal hopped down from his horse and moved towards the statue of a long dead God in the center of town. “For the value and quantity of the items stolen…” The soldier pulled a long, thin piece of leather with split ends from his waist. The same whip he used to herd their cattle. “Your punishment is ten lashings for each bag.”

Aidric felt cold as all the color drained from his face. Twenty lashings. The poor beggar was sobbing on the ground, bleeding from his wounds after his lashing, and he had only gotten five. The crowd jostled at the far end as Aidric’s mother and Priscilla pushed through the circle of onlookers.

“Neal, that’s enough!” Ada’s cries fell on deaf ears.  

“How does the accused plead?” Neal’s voice held a hint of emotion to it other than anger for the first time since he’d rode in. “Did someone put you up to this?” There was a twinkle of hope in his eyes. Hope for what? That Aidric would rat on someone else to spare his father from having to carry out the punishment? Aidric quickly glanced over in Priscilla and Lauren’s direction. Fear filled Priscilla’s face, yet her lips parted, but the words died in her throat before they ever left her lips. Aidric’s raised voice cut off Priscilla, leaving no room for discussion.

“Guilty.” Neal’s stony façade cracked for only a moment at his son’s response. Horror streaked across his face as cries come from Ada and Lauren. Aidric, trying not to let the pure terror coursing through his veins show, mustered up as much courage as he could, and strode towards the statue. Standing in front of his father, Aidric had his back to Neal, who walked up behind his son.

“Take your shirt off.” Neal said. Aidric peeled his shirt off his sweat covered torso with trembling hands as onlookers mumbled to one another in a half-moon around the entrance to town. Neal snatched the fabric from Aidric’s hand, only to return it a few seconds later, rolled up like his father had tried to wring it out. 

“Why, Aidric?” Neal’s voice was strained and conflicted. The boy’s gaze fell on Claire, who just stepped out of the bakery. Their eyes met, before Aidric gaze turned straight ahead, staring at the faint towers of the capital city in the distance.

“I’m tired of seeing my friend’s ribs.”