32 - Here’s to Growing up

  Valrion returned to the market a week later with Octavia, who held a list of groceries for the coming days. As usual, the place buzzed with energy. His eyes lit up as he took in the sights, watching Octavia deftly negotiate with vendors over fresh fish, crisp vegetables, and aromatic spices. Each transaction seemed to bring her satisfaction—she often giggled while handing over coins, and Valrion happily carried some of her purchases.

  He had expected to see Amelia and her group while he was in the market, but he still flinched when he found them in the same spot as before—near the candy seller. They were clumped together as usual, their faces always weary from the day’s challenges. When their eyes met, Valrion smiled, but both he and Amelia quickly looked away, almost in unison.

  Should he offer them some food? The memory of their last encounter left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he was certain it felt the same for her.

  “Uh, Octavia, should we buy them food?” Valrion hesitated but eventually gave in, waiting until Octavia finished selecting a small jar of spices from a nearby stall. He gestured subtly toward Amelia and her friends with his free hand.

  Octavia followed his gaze, her lips twitched as she witnessed the scene. She let out a sigh and shook her head. “No, Valrion. Your mother already told me that you would ask for that.”

  “I see,” he replied. He felt somewhat disappointed, but he also understood.

  “I’m sorry, but we can’t let them get used to this,” she continued. “They can’t always rely on us. Your mother told me what happened last time, and that wasn’t good.”

  Valrion nodded, accepting her perspective. It was a complex situation—humans often were. The lines between compassion and practicality blurred, leaving him conflicted about the best course of action. The idea that helping could inadvertently foster dependency made sense, so he quietly followed Octavia deeper into the market—an area he hadn’t explored before.

  There was nothing particularly new around except that the stalls extended further, with at least twenty more lining the road. Octavia stopped by a weaver’s booth, where she carefully selected two spools of black thread. The clacking of a loom nearby added a quiet backdrop to their brief stop.

  “Why isn’t the Kingdom helping them?” he asked after Octavia finished paying. He already suspected the answer would be similar to before, but he was curious about what she might say.

  “The Kingdom spends most of its money on war,” Octavia replied, her voice carrying a hint of mockery. “Even then, it’s hard to help those who won’t work. Most of them are sick as well.”

  Valrion’s heart sank at her words. It painted a grim image—a cycle of suffering with no easy escape. He pondered how, someday, someone needed to set aside their ego to truly help those who were struggling, risking everything in the hopes that those people could change for the better. Would he be able to take on that responsibility when he became a high-ranked member of society? Only time would reveal the answer, but mortals truly were amusing.

  From that day forward, Octavia made it a point to take Valrion to the market at least four times a month. Plenty of stalls always overflowed with fresh, seasonal fruits: vibrant strawberries heralded spring, juicy peaches signaled the height of summer, and plump grapes marked the transition into autumn. The aromas of baked goods cooling on wooden stands, spreading spices, and the rich, buttery smell of pastries had become familiar.

  As they wandered through the bustling crowd, Valrion observed the interactions around him, hoping to overhear something new or intriguing—perhaps even something that Eru, Octavia’s teacher, hadn’t mentioned. Yet, there was nothing of the sort. The surroundings buzzed only with the calls of vendors enticing potential customers, the sounds of bartering and haggling, and the lively chatter of people immersed in their exchanges.

  Valrion couldn’t shake the haunting images of those who lingered at the edges of the bustling market—the ones invisible to the crowd. Amelia and her group remained stuck on his mind, and more than once, he had to fight the urge to take coins from Octavia’s pouch and slip them discreetly toward those people.

  Things seemed to have worsened during his subsequent visits, as he often spotted Amelia rummaging through garbage. She would smile each time she found something shiny, rubbing it against her coat as if it were a precious gem. Other times, he saw her pulling out a half-eaten apple and biting into it without any concern that it might be spoiled.

  As time slipped by, winter shrouded the land, changing it into a serene, white-covered wonderland. By the time Valrion turned four, snow blanketed the streets, including the market, which remained lively despite the cold. Unlike the rest of the townsfolk, the street dwellers had vanished, leaving no trace behind.

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  “Where did they go?” Valrion asked Octavia, squeezing his gloved hands as his breath puffed out in frosty clouds.

  “They usually hide away during winter,” she replied.

  “Really? Where?” he went on.

  “Some buildings or something,” she explained. Her tone suggested she was offering a vague answer to end the conversation. Moving to a warmer place might have been true, but would they be safe?

  As the season changed, spring arrived. Flowers burst forth from the thawing ground, days grew longer, and the warmth of the new year began to spread across Eru once more. Despite the promise of new beginnings, the street dwellers never returned. Their absence lingered like a shadow, and everyone went about their lives, seemingly indifferent to the mystery of their disappearance.

  ***

  Valrion’s father rarely took days off from work, so every weekday, Valrion dedicated his afternoons to practicing archery with Sergius. The bright daylight illuminated the side yard, highlighting the grass beneath their feet as they stood side by side, a bow in Valrion’s hand. Rain was the only thing that had forced them to postpone the training.

  “Focus, Valrion,” Sergius instructed, his voice always calm and steady during these hours, cutting through the rustle of leaves around them. Valrion nodded, inhaling deeply as he fixed his gaze on the target—still the simple straw bag, its surface marred by the punctures of countless arrows.

  “Can I add fire?” Valrion asked after landing a shot that nearly hit the center.

  Sergius raised an eyebrow, amusement crossing his face. “Again with the fire? Seriously, what are you planning to do? Burn the target that I’ve carefully prepared for you?”

  Valrion paused, realizing how foolish he sounded. The thought had been spontaneous, and yet it was true—a burning target would be useless. Had living among mortals dulled his reasoning? Heat rose to his face as he inwardly berated himself for not thinking it through.

  “We bought that bow for you to use when it’s necessary,” Sergius continued, his tone softening. “Save your fire for when you need it most. In real situations.”

  “Like killing monsters?” Valrion seized the opportunity to steer the conversation toward something more exciting—another thing that he had long desired.

  “Probably,” Sergius replied with a laugh. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First, master the basics.”

  Valrion straightened his stance, drawing back the string of his bow. The tension built in his arms, mingling with his focus. Every time he concentrated, the world around him seemed to fade. The calming gust of wind, the chirping of distant birds—all dissolved into silence. His breathing steadied, and his vision sharpened, centering solely on the target.

  Then, he released the arrow.

  It soared through the air. A heartbeat later, it struck—right in the middle of the target. The sound of impact snapped the world back into focus. The wind picked up again, the birds resumed their song, and Valrion felt the faintest flicker of pride in his chest.

  “You’ve done this quite often lately. Good job!” Sergius remarked, walking over to inspect the shot. I don’t think I could shoot this well when I was your age. We should make the distance longer—”

  “When can I hunt with you?” Valrion interjected.

  Sergius immediately turned around to look at him, his expression unreadable for a moment. He studied the boy, his serious gaze meeting Valrion’s determined eyes. It should clear this wasn’t an idle question. Valrion had waited for far too long for this. He had been asking for far too many times.

  A small smile tugged at Sergius’s lips. “Okay. When you turn five.”

  Valrion’s face lit up with resolve. “I’m five soon.”

  “Yes,” Sergius replied, his smile softening. “Soon.”

  And soon, Valrion no longer slept in a cradle. Instead, he moved into the bed with his parents—this time for real, not just because his mother had forgotten to put him back in his own bed after a long day. The space was more than enough for the three of them, though his father would playfully grumble about being kicked during the night, while his mother simply laughed and smoothed Valrion’s hair whenever he woke up.

  The cradle remained in its corner, untouched and unmoved, as though it were waiting for something. At first, Valrion wondered if they were hoping for another baby, but as the months passed, it began to act more like an artifact of a time that had gone by.

  Another winter came, bringing frostbitten mornings and long, dark nights. Inside, the fireplaces and hearth burned steadily throughout the day, its warmth warding off the never-ending chill. During one of the tranquil evenings, Valrion finally celebrated his fifth birthday.

  The house brimmed with laughter, as it often did, but a yearly celebration always brought a unique kind of joy. Everyone gathered in the dining room, their lively voices filling the brightly lit area. The rich aroma of freshly baked spice gingerbread cake mingled with the clinking of tankards. Valrion sat at the center of it all, his face glowing with excitement as he basked in the festive atmosphere.

  When the song ended and the cake was almost entirely eaten, Valrion’s gaze wandered across the room. His eyes landed on Sergius, who stood in the kitchen, getting another serving of ale. Taking his chance, Valrion quietly slipped away from the others and approached Sergius, his heart pounding with anticipation.

  “I’m five now,” Valrion declared without waiting for the man to be done with the barrel. “Can we go hunting tomorrow?”

  Sergius turned to him, a gentle smile forming as he met Valrion’s gaze. The firelight danced across his face as he chuckled softly. “It’s winter. We should wait until spring.”

  Valrion frowned briefly, but he recognized the validity of the excuse.

  “You aren’t just playing with me, are you?” he asked.

  “Wow, I didn’t expect you to talk to me like that,” Sergius replied, but his tone was carefree, showing no sign of offense. “We’ll go hunting once the snow stops falling. Mark my words.”

  “All right.” Valrion’s face beamed with resolution, his earlier frustration fading as he nodded. The loud conversation from the dining room swirled around him and Sergius, but at this moment, all he could think about were the possibilities that lay ahead now that he was older.

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