The walk to Maren’s house passed quicker than I’d expected, mostly because of Miquella. As we weaved through the narrow streets, she shared bits and pieces of her life, her voice light and cheerful despite the heavy truths it held.

  “I’m six,” she announced proudly, skipping a little to keep pace with me.

  “You don’t look six,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “You look my age.”

  Miquella giggled. “I get that a lot. I’m short for my age. Besides, living here makes you grow up fast.”

  “Here in Brustel?”

  “Yeah, we moved here a year ago.”

  “From where?” I asked.

  She hesitated, her cheerful tone faltering for just a second. “A smaller village. It doesn’t really matter where. Brustel’s my home now.”

  I noticed the slight shift in her demeanor and decided not to press further. She had offered enough, and I didn’t want to risk making her uncomfortable. When we reached Maren’s house, I opened the door, the familiar scent of dried herbs and old books washing over me. Maren looked up from her workbench, her sharp eyes immediately spotting Miquella behind me.

  “Well, well,” she said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “If it isn’t Edna’s granddaughter. What brings you here, little one?”

  Miquella shuffled her feet, suddenly shy. “I just... helped Ronan with the herbs,” she said softly, her earlier confidence replaced with a quiet awkwardness.

  Maren chuckled, her tone warm. “That sounds like something you’d do. How’s your grandmother, dear? Edna hasn’t been by in ages.”

  “She’s fine,” Miquella replied, her eyes fixed on the floor. “She’s just... busy, I guess.”

  Maren gave her a knowing look but didn’t press further. Instead, she turned her attention to me. “Thank you for the herbs, Ronan. I’ll make good use of these. You’ve done well today. Perhaps you’ve earned some time to yourself.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “You mean no magic lessons this afternoon?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean,” Maren said with a smirk. “Go on, play outside. And take your new friend with you. Just don’t burn anything down this time.”

  I laughed nervously, rubbing the back of my neck. “I’ll try my best.”

  Miquella grinned, her earlier shyness melting away. “Come on, Ronan. Let’s go!”

  The two of us spent the afternoon exploring the outskirts of the village. Miquella led the way, darting through the trees with an energy that was infectious. We played simple games—chasing each other, skipping stones across the brook, climbing low branches. For a few hours, the weight of training, magic, and expectations lifted, replaced by the pure joy of being a kid.

  As the sun dipped lower in the sky, we finally collapsed beneath a large oak tree, the same one where my father had shared his story earlier that day.

  “Do you like living with your grandma?” I asked, curious about her life.

  Miquella plucked a blade of grass, twisting it between her fingers. “She’s nice. She takes care of me. But...”

  “But what?”

  She hesitated, her eyes fixed on the horizon. “My parents died a year ago. That’s why I’m with her now.”

  Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. For all her bright smiles and playful energy, she carried a sadness that I couldn’t imagine.

  “I’m sorry,” I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

  Miquella shrugged, though her expression betrayed her effort to stay composed. “It’s okay. Grandma says they’re in a better place now. But sometimes... I just wish they were here, you know?”

  I nodded, unsure of what to say. Instead, I reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. “If you ever want to talk about them, I’ll listen. I promise.”

  She glanced at me, her green eyes glistening. “Thanks, Ronan.”

  We sat in silence for a while, the only sounds the rustling leaves and the distant chirping of birds. When the sun dipped below the trees, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, I stood and dusted myself off.

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  “I should head home. My parents will be wondering where I am.”

  Miquella nodded, standing as well. “Thanks for today. I had fun.”

  “Me too,” I said, smiling. “See you around?”

  “Definitely.”

  As I walked back to the house, I couldn’t help but feel a newfound sense of gratitude for my own family. Miquella’s story reminded me that not everyone had what I did—a loving home, even if it came with its challenges.

  When I returned home that evening, I found my parents sitting by the fire. My father was sharpening his sword, the rhythmic scrape of metal filling the room, while my mother stitched a patch into one of my shirts.

  “I made a new friend today,” I announced, placing my wooden training sword near the door.

  My mother glanced up, a warm smile on her face. “Oh? Who’s this friend?”

  “Her name’s Miquella,” I said, sitting on the hearth. “She’s Edna’s granddaughter. She helped me at the market today when I didn’t know how to pay for Maren’s herbs.”

  My father paused his sharpening, his brow furrowing. “Edna’s granddaughter? She’s the one who moved here last year, isn’t she?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. She’s six but she is as high as me. And she lives with her grandmother because...” I hesitated, the weight of Miquella’s words from earlier settling over me. “Because her parents passed away.”

  My mother’s smile faded, replaced by a look of sympathy. “That poor girl,” she murmured. “It’s a blessing she has Edna to take care of her.”

  My father resumed sharpening his blade, his expression unreadable. “You did right, making a friend of her,” he said gruffly. “Everyone needs someone they can count on.”

  I smiled at his rare show of approval. “She’s really nice. I’m going to see her again tomorrow if that’s okay.”

  “Of course,” my mother said, returning to her stitching. “But don’t forget your chores before you run off.”

  “I won’t,” I promised.

  That night, as I lay in bed, I found myself thinking about Miquella’s story. Her life had been so different from mine, yet we’d connected in a way that felt natural, effortless. I resolved to make her feel as welcome in Brustel as I could.

  The next morning, after finishing my chores, I headed into the village in search of her. It didn’t take long to find her—she was perched on a low stone wall near the market, swinging her legs and munching on an apple.

  “Morning!” I called, waving as I approached.

  Miquella’s face lit up when she saw me. “Ronan! You’re up early.”

  “I wanted to find you before Maren or my dad decided to pile more work on me,” I said with a grin. “Want to go to the forest?”

  She hopped down from the wall, tossing the apple core into a nearby bin. “Lead the way!”

  We spent the morning wandering through the woods, the sunlight filtering through the canopy above. The forest felt alive, the air thick with the scent of earth and greenery.

  “Watch this,” I said, crouching beside a cluster of wildflowers. I closed my eyes, focusing on the faint hum of Mana within the plants. It came easily now, like tuning into a quiet melody.

  Miquella watched in amazement as I reached out and gently touched a flower, its petals glowing faintly for a moment before the light faded.

  “How did you do that?” she asked, her voice filled with wonder.

  “Maren’s been teaching me,” I explained, standing up. “It’s all about sensing the Mana in living things. She says it’s the first step to learning real magic.”

  “Real magic, huh?” Miquella said, her eyes sparkling. “Do you think I could learn that too?”

  “Maybe,” I said, shrugging. “Maren says anyone with enough focus and determination can sense Mana. Want to try?”

  She nodded eagerly, crouching beside the flowers as I guided her through the process. Though she didn’t sense the Mana right away, her enthusiasm didn’t waver.

  As we walked further into the woods, the conversation turned to other things. I decided to bring up something that had been on my mind for a while.

  “Hey, Miquella,” I began, glancing at her. “Have you ever heard of a place called Reaper’s Peak?”

  She tilted her head, frowning in thought. “Reaper’s Peak? No, I don’t think so. Why?”

  “It’s just something I heard about,” I said quickly, not wanting to reveal too much. “I was curious if it was a real place or just a story.”

  Miquella’s face brightened suddenly. “I don’t know about Reaper’s Peak, but I’ve heard of Reaper’s Shore. It’s near where I used to live. People said it was a place of bad omens, where strange things happened. Some of the villagers were afraid to go near it.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “Reaper’s Shore? Do you think it could be related to Reaper’s Peak?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. I never went there myself, but Grandma might know more. She’s lived near that area her whole life.”

  The possibility sent a thrill through me. If Reaper’s Shore was connected to Reaper’s Peak, it could be a clue—a piece of the puzzle I hadn’t even realized I was looking for.

  “Do you think your grandma would talk about it?” I asked.

  Miquella hesitated. “Maybe. She doesn’t like talking about the old stories much, but I can ask her.”

  “Thanks, Miquella,” I said, a spark of excitement building in my chest. “This could be really important.”

  She grinned. “Anything for a friend.”

  As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, we made our way back to the edge of the forest, our laughter echoing through the trees