Five Months After Departure: The Forge

Victor - POV

The hammer felt heavier than it should, but I kept my strikes steady as Papa guided me through shaping a horseshoe. Five months since Aunt Seraphine and Elira left. Winter had come and gone, and now early spring winds carried the scent of thawing earth through the open forge door. I'd grown taller, my clothes tight around the shoulders. More than that, age settled into my bones, carrying responsibilities that weighed more each day.

"Keep the angle consistent," Papa instructed. "Each strike should be deliberate."

The forge had become my refuge when missing Elira got too sharp, when the cottage felt too quiet without magical lessons.

"Blade's coming along nicely," Master Jorik said from behind us. "Boy's got steady hands."

"He's a good student," Papa replied with pride.

Master Jorik examined a finished plowshare. "Shame about that elf woman leaving when she did. Though I suppose it's for the best."

A chill spread through my chest, but I kept hammering.

"Seraphine will be back," Papa said firmly. "She's family."

"If you say so. Just seems the boy was getting too dependent on her. Better to let children learn early that people don't stay." Master Jorik's tone suggested he thought otherwise. "Builds character, really. Boy needs to learn to stand on his own. World's a hard place, better he figures that out now."

Each word felt like a hammer blow to my chest. My throat tightened. Too dependent. People don't stay.

"Victor's plenty strong," Papa said, warning in his voice. "Stronger than most children his age."

I set down my hammer carefully, though heat crawled up my neck. The forge fire flared brighter, responding to emotions I was trying to suppress.

"May I be excused, Papa? I need fresh air."

Papa looked at me closely. "Of course, sprout. Take your time."

I walked out with measured steps, nodding politely to Master Jorik. It wasn't until I was out of sight that I let my shoulders sag.

Too dependent. Learn to stand on your own.

I needed somewhere private to think clearly. To prove I wasn't weak.

The Stream Discovery

My feet carried me to the secluded stream behind the village, my secret practice spot since Aunt Seraphine left. Spring sunlight filtered through trees just beginning to bud, making the water sparkle.

I'm not too dependent. I can stand on my own.

To prove it, I reached out to the stream with gentle awareness. The water responded immediately, familiar and welcoming.

I started with simple exercises, lifting portions into graceful arcs, creating temporary bridges that caught afternoon light. The magic felt good, flowing smoothly, responding with precision that would have made Aunt Seraphine proud.

As I worked, hurt from Master Jorik's words transformed into determination. I would show how strong I could be. How much I'd learned.

I began attempting complex patterns, weaving water ribbons through air with artistic precision. The stream rose in perfect spirals, forming liquid crystal sculptures rivaling anything court mages created.

I was so absorbed in peaceful magic, so focused on proving my independence, that I didn't notice the merchant caravan upstream.

Merchant Kael - POV

Nice water work. I led my mare to the stream, our usual rest point between Millhaven and Silverbrook.

Someone was practicing by the far bank, graceful water arcs dancing through the mild spring sunlight. Decent technique. Probably a village practitioner keeping skills sharp.

Awareness tugged at me. The magic felt smooth. Almost effortless. That kind of fluid control meant serious training or exceptional talent.

I glanced up, curious to see which mage was responsible.

Perfect spirals formed temporary bridges of liquid crystal that would have impressed court wizards. But where was the caster?

The bank looked empty except for a child.

A little boy, maybe seven years old, sitting beside water with unconscious grace. Surely he was just playing while his teacher worked unseen.

The water moved as the boy gestured.

I blinked, certain I was seeing wrong. Children mimicked elders, pretended to cast spells. This had to be coincidence.

But the boy lifted his hand and the stream responded instantly, lifting in a graceful arc following his movement with perfect precision.

That wasn't possible.

I scanned frantically. Where was the real caster? Behind trees? Hidden by rocks? There had to be an adult controlling the water.

But the bank was empty. The boy was alone.

And the magic was definitely responding to him.

My mouth went dry. My pulse hammered in my ears. Children didn't manifest abilities until adolescence. Everyone knew that.

Yet here was a child commanding water like he'd been born to it.

When he turned, I caught his face. Those eyes: one red as forge coals, the other violet as twilight. They held depths no child should possess.

My hands shook.

This was impossible. Unprecedented. A goldmine.

I jerked behind trees, mind racing. A child with awakened abilities. Young enough that powers were still developing, malleable.

Fighting pits would pay fortunes. Noble houses collected gifted children like pets. Darker markets would empty treasuries for a child this rare.

I considered my brother Marcus, rotting in debtor's prison. The fortune that could secure his release.

By the time the boy finished and wandered toward the village, my course was set. This was the opportunity of a lifetime.

Two Weeks Later: Millhaven's Copper Kettle

The tavern was thick with smoke, but Kael had his audience. Three merchants, a blacksmith, and a traveling minstrel leaned in as he spun his tale.

"The water moved like it was alive," Kael gestured with his ale. "Shapes defying nature itself. And the boy, seven years old, commanding it all with thought."

"You're sure it wasn't a trick?" asked Willem the blacksmith.

"This wasn't performance. I know real magic. Twenty years on these roads, seen every practitioner there is. This was different. Unnatural."

The minstrel, Aldric, leaned forward. "Strange eyes?"

"Mismatched. One red as forge coals, the other violet as twilight. Never seen anything like it." Kael drank deeply. "There's something unnatural about that boy. Something Hearthvale is hiding."

Aldric nodded thoughtfully. A minstrel's currency was stories, and this would earn free drinks from here to the capital. Already he was composing verses, adding flourishes to make the story sing.

By evening's end, the seed was planted. Within a day, Aldric would carry the tale to Thornwick. Willem would mention it to caravans. Other traders would spread it like scattered grain.

And in the telling and retelling, truth would grow until the mysterious child could supposedly part rivers and command storms.

Three Months Later: The Network Spreads

The story mutated with each telling. In Greywater, dockworkers whispered about a demon child who could drown ships. In Ironhold, miners spoke of a boy who could flood valleys.

But in the criminal underworld, the tale found its most interested listeners.

Jade the fence heard it from a pickpocket and saw potential profit. She sent word to slave markets. Buyers would want a child this unique.

Garrick the smuggler picked it up in a brothel and began calculating transport routes. Moving a valuable child required planning, but the payoff would be worth it.

In lawless Blackhaven, where humanity's worst gathered to trade misery, the story reached someone who'd waited his entire criminal career for such opportunity.

Four Months Later: Blackhaven

Malachar - POV

The message reached me through my network of informants, whispered from beggar to cutthroat until one of my sources laid parchment on my desk with trembling hands.

"A child with power over water. Seven years old. Village called Hearthvale. Red and violet eyes. Unguarded."

I read it three times. Forty years building this organization, transforming from sellsword to minor crime lord. Forty years of planning, violence, and profit.

But this could be the opportunity I'd waited for.

A child this young with awakened abilities would be worth a fortune beyond measure. Fighting circuits would empty their coffers for an elemental gladiator who could grow with training. Noble houses would go to war for a living weapon with years to mold. Darker markets would offer kingdoms for something that shouldn't exist.

More than profit, this represented true power. A weapon that could think, learn, adapt. One that would grow stronger with training.

Insurance against a world respecting only strength.

I summoned Gareth, my most trusted lieutenant, and began making plans.

Back in Hearthvale: Growing Unease

Victor - POV

I woke in deep night, pulled from sleep by warning that pressed against my senses. The cottage was silent except for baby Naelira's breathing and Mama and Papa sleeping. The chill of early spring still lingered in the air, though winter's worst had passed. Eight months since our friends left, and I'd learned to carry sadness without being overwhelmed.

But tonight felt different. I slipped to the window, peering out at darkness. Everything looked normal. Empty streets, moonlight casting familiar shadows.

Yet wrongness crawled across my skin. The air seemed charged with tension I couldn't name. My skin prickled with awareness, magic humming restlessly beneath the surface. Cold sweat beaded on the back of my neck.

Aunt Seraphine had taught me to trust these instincts, that power often sensed danger before the mind could comprehend it.

I watched the horizon but saw nothing unusual. Just familiar hills against stars, peaceful Hearthvale bathed in moonlight.

Maybe I was imagining things. Leftover worry from Master Jorik's harsh words, concern about things that would never happen.

But I couldn't shake the wrongness lingering like shadow at my thoughts' edge. Like standing at a cliff in darkness, knowing one wrong step would send me tumbling into something vast and cold and empty.

Outside, stars shone down beautiful and distant, impossibly far from the small cottage where a family tried to sleep peacefully, unaware their perfect world was about to change in ways no amount of love could prevent.

Hidden Among the Hills

Malachar - POV

From my position overlooking the valley, Hearthvale looked exactly as intelligence described. Prosperous farming community, defenseless and unaware of danger creeping toward them.

Perfect.

"Final positions," I whispered to Gareth among the rocks. "Precision operation, not massacre. Maximum captures, minimal resistance."

"Men are in place. Outer perimeter secured, escape routes blocked. Ready for your signal."

I studied the village through pre-dawn gloom. Fifty professional fighters positioned at strategic points. No walls to breach, no guards to eliminate, no early warning systems. These people had grown soft and trusting.

That would make our job easier.

"Target priorities?"

"Women and children first. Most valuable in slave markets. Kill only men who resist effectively. But remember..." I fixed him with a hard stare. "The boy with mismatched eyes is primary objective. Everything else is secondary profit."

"And if he's not there?"

"Then we take what we can and disappear. But he's there, Gareth. I can feel it."

Truth was, I'd invested too much to accept failure. Four months planning, fifty fighters, supplies for a week. If the water-wielding child wasn't there, my reputation would suffer.

But he was there. Reports were too consistent. Somewhere in those peaceful buildings, a seven-year-old boy slept unaware he was worth more than everything else combined.

"When do we move?"

I checked the moon's position. "Three hours after midnight. Deep sleep time. Silent approach, coordinated strikes, overwhelming force before they can mount defense."

"After we secure targets?"

"Gone before dawn. By the time anyone realizes what happened, we'll be halfway back to Blackhaven with a fortune in captives." I allowed myself a cold smile. "This will be remembered as the night that changed everything."

Gareth melted into darkness to relay orders. I remained watching the village settle into peaceful routines. Families finishing dinners, parents tucking children into bed, last patrons leaving the tavern.

None suspected their safe world was about to end.

In hours, Hearthvale would burn. From its ashes, I would claim the greatest prize of my career. A weapon ensuring my organization's dominance for decades.

The boy with impossible eyes would be mine before morning.