“A little more to the left!” The branch of the willow tree scooted another half inch to the left. “Okay, a little more to the right!” Oh, for fu- “Perfect!” Aidric’s eyelid twitched involuntarily as he concentrated on guiding the astral hands to tie a knot on the string in the exact spot he had hovered over multiple times before. “Thank you so much, Aidric.” Claire was absolutely giddy looking at her bakery. She flashed a big, toothy smile his way, her eyes crinkling with joy until she saw the look of disappointment on his face. “I did try to talk to her, you know.” As she turned her head, she caught sight of the small figures on the other side of the river, working diligently on their plot of land. 

“Any luck at all?” Aidric asked. Claire shook her head, her hair swaying with the movement, before she turned her attention back to him. 

“Priscilla won’t hear any of it. She thinks Lauren being close to you will only get her sick as well.” Ah, so that was the route she went with. To be fair, his appearance had been resembling that of a corpse over the past few months, so it was somewhat believable. “Lauren does miss hanging out with you, I promise. She even cried about it a couple of days ago, poor thing. Broke Priscilla’s heart.” His mood took a turn for the worse as his last glimmer of hope was shattered, leaving him to nervously fiddle with the crumpled paper in his pocket, contemplating whether to hand it to her. Making up his mind, the parchment made a satisfying crinkling sound as he pulled it out of his pocket and offered it to Claire.

“Then would you mind giving this letter to her?” With a suspicious glance at Aidric, Claire reluctantly reached out and took the letter from his outstretched hand. “You can just hide it under her pillow. If Priscilla finds out, you can just tell her I snuck through the window and put it there.” Since he was already portrayed as the villain, he might as well embrace it. 

“Aidric… it doesn’t have to be like this. Priscilla will see reason. I just need time to talk to her.” Time. That was the problem. His fate was either death or becoming everything Priscilla accused him of. Or both.

“I don’t know that I’ve got a lot left, is the thing.” Aidric gestured to himself with a feeble smile. “I kind of look like a walking skeleton at the moment.”

He regretted looking in the mirror this morning. His face had become so thin and sunken that it appeared as though he hadn’t tasted food in an entire year. The pain in his chest grew increasingly severe over the past few days, and even the slightest exertion left him exhausted. 

As Claire debated which path to choose, she unconsciously sucked in her lips before finally nodding in agreement. “Thank you.” Aidric said. With a bittersweet smile, he waved farewell to her and then slowly redirected his steps towards his home. “If you need any more help before the festival tonight, just let me know.” 

“Thanks, but that should be everything. See you around tonight?” A grin spread across his face as he turned his head back to look at her. 

“Yeah, I’ll be out and about.” Of course, he would be there. It was the one time of the year where kids let go of their responsibilities and embraced their inner child. Everyone would either be gathered around the crackling bonfire in town, enjoying a drink and laughter, or exploring the stalls of the few merchants who had arrived from the capital. Surprisingly, they sometimes even had a few undercover Highborn who were curious about the lives of commoners. 

“Hey bud, how’re you feeling?” Neal’s voice rang out from the ladder, his words carrying a mix of excitement and exhaustion, as he carefully adorned the corners of their home with green branches from the willow. 

“Tired, but I can help if you need it.” Aidric said. As Neal finished tying the knot on the string, he could hear the faint sound of a bird chirping nearby before he reached his hand into his pocket.

“Nah, I got it. Before you go in, catch.” As he removed his hand from his pocket, he flicked a shiny coin to Aidric. Catching the coin in his palms, and with a flick of his wrist, he flipped the warm piece of brown metal over, feeling the smooth texture in his palms.

“No way…” Emblazoned on the surface, in front of a crossed sword and arrow. The mage’s staff stood tall, with the digits below indicating the value of the coin. The digits sitting in the middle of the coin were… “Dad, you can’t be serious, a hundred-copper piece?!” Neal’s beaming smile and puffed-out chest showcased his immense pride. 

“You’ve earned it. Mr. Patel told me our last harvest wouldn’t have been even close to what it was without you. Sigmund’s Scrolls will be at the festival. I figured you could get a new spell.” 

“Sigmund is coming!?” Arthur Sigmund was the only commoner in the kingdom’s eight-hundred-year history to receive a permit to open a storefront in the capital selling spells. The range of spells he had, from first-tier to fourth, covered every possible wish, as Aidric had heard when he came to Vale three years ago. The business was flourishing. 

“Yeah, but nothing over the top, alright? We don’t need you getting sick again.” Neal said. Aidric suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, keeping his expression neutral. He had never stopped being sick, dad. His body had become a vessel of perpetual discomfort, with occasional beams of light escaping through his eyes. He had never been sicker.

“Humor me, please.” Neal said. “Don’t blow it all here. We’re leaving for the Inrora festival in a few days.” It seemed that Aidric’s boney face exposed more nonverbal cues than he had anticipated.

“Alright, alright, I got it. Thank you, Dad.” Aidric said as he made a gradual entrance into the house and ascended the stairs to his room. Peeling off the rough fabric of his shirt felt as abrasive as rubbing sandpaper on his skin. The frequent bouts of dizziness left him unsure if it was a fever or the intense heat emanating from his chest that made his head swim. The moment he sank into the bed, the cool sheets embraced him like a soft, heavenly cloud.

Aidric never even realized he fell asleep until a sudden, sharp knock on the door jolted him awake. The room was bathed in ribbons of light as the last remnants of the orange sun painted the walls.

“Ady, they just started the bonfire if you want to go.” Ada said. He begrudgingly forced himself out of bed, feeling aches in his muscles as he quickly dressed in the fresh garments Mr. Patel had procured. They still agitated his nerves, but not nearly as much as his work clothes. He figured Ira would forgive him just this once. As Aidric opened the door, he was met with the sight of his mother and father, their faces filled with a combination of surprise and concern. 

“You guys didn’t have to wait for me, you know.” Aidric said. They both tossed him a sweet smile. 

“We know bud, just thought it’d be nice for all of us to go together.” Neal said, playfully ruffling his son’s hair as they walked out of the door and towards the bustling center of town. Even from a distance up the road, the bonfire illuminated the surroundings as if competing with the setting sun, filling the air with the delightful scent of wood smoke that was so strong you could almost taste it.

“I told Priscilla it didn’t need to be this friggin big. Look at it!” Neal half-heartedly threw a tantrum, eliciting a giggle from Ana and Aidric.

“It’s her first time being in charge of the festival, dear. She just wanted to make sure it’s a blast for everyone.” Ada tried to comfort him, hoping to calm his frustration. Aidric, in contrast, openly called him out for his behavior.

“You really put Priscilla in charge of this and expected her not to go a hundred-ten percent? When has she ever been anything except extra? She probably chopped all the firewood herself.” As Neal rolled his eyes, Ada couldn’t help but laugh, trying to stifle it behind her hand. It wouldn’t be far-fetched to assume that she had actually done all the tree cutting, Aidric thought.

 As they reached the outer ring of the town circle, they could already feel the intense heat emanating from the crackling fire. The magic lanterns, despite being unnecessary, emitted more warm, orange light, and the blade-shaped leaves of the willow tree mirrored the dancing firelight on their skin. 

Priscilla’s uplifting melody on the flute filled the air as Lauren laughed and danced with carefree abandon. Claire’s drumming in tune with her wife added a rhythmic pulse to their joyful performance. Aidric couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the Goldfield’s happy little family, their laughter echoing through the air, as if those moments would last forever. The smile slowly slid from his face. It had been all too easy to remember that this was the first time the town had a festival since Madison’s tragic passing. Neal was usually was the person that planned them out, but for those two years he couldn’t find the willpower to do so. 

Neal nudged Aidric forward towards the crackling fire while he and Ada peeled off towards the inn. Ira and Jacque were waving the two over, steins in hand, their faces lit up with pure excitement.

“Go have some fun.” Neal said. Aidric gave them a slight nod, and a faint scent of freshly baked bread and ale lingered in the air as his parents turned the inn. If only he could have spent time with the only other kid his age in this gods’ forsaken town, having fun would have been so much easier. 

Along the dirt streets outside of the square, a couple of vendors were lined up near the main entrance into town. The majority of them were food vendors, offering rare sweet delicacies that were scarcely available in the rural areas. One had been an obvious swindler, selling knick-knacks full of odds and ends junk that was most definitely not worn by the late Magus Supremes dead wife. Standing at the end of the row of stalls on the outskirts of town was a man in his younger thirties. He had short, black hair, eyes that sparkled with hazel hues, and a complexion that resembled polished bronze. 

“Mr. Sigmund!” Aidric's voice betrayed his excitement as he called out to the merchant. The boy hurried over to him as fast as his thin legs could manage, which wasn't very quick. When the merchant saw Aidric, a range of emotions flickered across his face.

“Is that you, little Aidric Bauer? Wow, you look... yikes.” The merchant’s voice, as usual, came out in its raspy tone. Aidric couldn't help but let out a chuckle, amused by the unintended insult from the merchant. Arthur Sigmond was known for his blunt honesty, often known to drive customers away as soon as they entered. It's an honesty that might be harsh, but it was the kind that you could appreciate in someone, like a person who wasn't afraid to call someone out when they were wrong, even if it meant ruffling a few feathers.

"The hell happened to your face?" Arthur asked, tapping the left side of his forehead as he stared at scar that ran from Aidric's hairline to his eyebrow.

“It's a long story." Aidric said, trying to avoid the topic all together. "How’s your throat, Mr. Sigmund? I can grab you a mug of water if you want.” As the merchant smiled broadly, his fingers absentmindedly traced a circle just above his sternum, a nervous habit he couldn't seem to shake.

“I’m fine, kid, thanks, though. Some days are better than others, and today thankfully happens to be a good one.” Arthur said. He tore his gaze away from Aidric and carefully surveyed the faces around him, on the lookout for someone specific. “I haven’t seen your sister around. Where is she hiding?” 

Ah. With Arthur living in the city, there was no way for him to hear about it unless he happened to cross paths with Ira. The two of them, however, had always had a strained relationship. In towns and villages, there was no tradition of sharing a yearly tally of mortalities. Counting the deaths would be difficult in of itself, but the biggest challenge was getting the nobles and royal houses to care. Aidric's voice lowered when he fixated on a patch of earth at his feet, lost in thought, while hooded figures hurried towards the tavern. They kept their heads low to the ground, casting nervous glances at Aidric as they passed by, before pulling down on the edges of their hoods. When the one closest tugged on their garment, their sleeve slid to just below their pale wrist, revealing an insignia of, what appeared to be, an open tome branded on their skin.