The dusty path beneath our feet gradually widened as we approached the heart of Millbrook, where the familiar sounds of commerce drifted through the morning air. Wooden wheels creaked against cobblestones, merchants called out their wares in melodic cadences.
The market square stretched before us like a colorful tapestry—a modest clearing where traveling merchants gathered twice weekly to peddle their goods. Canvas-covered stalls lined the perimeter, their weathered awnings fluttering in the gentle breeze that carried the mingled scents of fresh bread, leather goods, and exotic spices from distant lands.
As always, curious villagers had gathered in small clusters, their eyes scanning the displayed merchandise with the practiced gaze of seasoned bargain hunters. Children darted between the adults' legs, their laughter punctuating the steady hum of conversation, while elderly residents leaned heavily on walking sticks, sharing gossip with anyone willing to listen.
It didn't take long for me to spot the familiar figure I'd been searching for. My mother's distinctive white hair, braided with small wildflowers she'd picked that morning, caught the dappled sunlight filtering through the old oak tree that dominated the square's center. She stood beside a merchant's cart laden with various goods, her posture relaxed yet attentive as she examined what appeared to be a selection of fine fabrics.
I approached quietly, my footsteps muffled by the soft earth, and leaned close to her ear. The familiar scent of lavender soap that always clung to her clothes enveloped me like a warm embrace.
"Mom," I whispered, my breath tickling her ear.
"Ha!" The startled yelp that escaped her lips was endearingly high-pitched, and I watched with amusement as a delicate pink blush spread across her cheeks like watercolor on parchment. She whirled around to face me, her pink eyes wide with surprise before narrowing into an exasperated glare that held more affection than genuine annoyance. "Harold! Don't startle me while I'm conducting business," she scolded, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her lingering embarrassment. Her hands fluttered nervously to smooth down her skirts, a gesture I'd seen countless times whenever she felt flustered and nervous.
I couldn't help but grin at her reaction. "Startle you? But mother, surely there must be something truly fascinating here to warrant such intense concentration?" I gestured dramatically toward the merchant's cart, letting my gaze sweep over the arranged wares with exaggerated curiosity.
"Not much worth getting excited about, if you ask me," came Rosaluna's voice from beside me. She had materialized at my shoulder with her typical silent grace, her pink eyes surveying the displayed goods with the critical assessment of someone who'd seen far more impressive merchandise in her travels with her mysterious mentor.
The cart indeed held nothing extraordinary—bundles of dried herbs tied with rough twine, root vegetables still bearing traces of earth, wheels of aged cheese wrapped in cloth, and strips of salted meat hanging from wooden hooks. The typical offerings of a rural merchant catering to simple village needs.
Isabella released a long-suffering sigh, her shoulders sagging slightly as she regarded us both with a mixture of fondness and mild irritation. "You two should explore the other merchants' stalls," she suggested, making a subtle shooing motion with her hands. "You might discover something that actually captures your interest."
"Come on, Harold," Rosaluna said, her slender fingers wrapping around my forearm with surprising firmness as she began to guide me away from our mother's side. "Let's see what treasures await us."
I nodded following her lead.
"Do you actually have any money with you, sister?" I asked as we wandered toward the next cluster of stalls. "I didn't think to bring my coin purse."
"Of course I do," she replied with a slight toss of her head that sent her white hair cascading over her shoulder. "Unlike some people, I actually plan ahead and take responsibility for these things."
I feigned offense, pressing my free hand to my chest in mock hurt. "I'm plenty responsible, big sister. I help mother with countless tasks around the house while you're off gallivanting with that enigmatic mentor of yours."
"I am not gallivanting," she shot back, turning to fix me with a withering glare that would have intimidated most people. "And for your information, you could have joined those lessons yourself if you weren't so terrified of her."
The truth was more complicated than simple fear. Isadora, Rosaluna's mentor, possessed an intensity that made me uncomfortable—not because I feared her power, but because I sensed she might see too much if she looked too closely at me. I preferred to chart my own course, learning and growing at my own pace without the scrutiny of someone who might ask uncomfortable questions.
"Oh yes, she's absolutely terrifying," I said with theatrical trembling, clasping my hands together in mock supplication. "Please, big sister, protect me from the scary lady who might actually expect me to work hard."
Rosaluna rolled her eyes at my performance, but I caught the fond smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. She pulled my arm closer to her side. "You're impossible," she murmured, but there was clear affection in her voice.
Unfortunately, our moment of sibling camaraderie was about to be shattered.
"Oh, Rosaluna!"
The voice that called out across the square made both of us freeze mid-step. It was a voice we knew all too well—one that never failed to make me annoyed and my sister's shoulders tense with barely concealed irritation.
A figure came bounding toward us with the enthusiasm of an overeager puppy, his long legs carrying him across the uneven ground with surprising speed. Alric, the village chief's eldest son, possessed the kind of golden good looks that made mothers throughout the village sigh wistfully and fathers consider him excellent marriage material. His curly blond hair caught the sunlight like spun gold, and his blue eyes sparkled with what he probably thought was charming confidence.
The family resemblance to his younger sister Rumia was undeniable—they shared the same fair coloring and aristocratic features that marked them as nobility in our small community. But where Rumia possessed a quiet intelligence and genuine warmth, Alric radiated the kind of entitled arrogance that came from never having been told 'no' in his entire privileged life.
I felt my expression carefully neutral as he approached, though internally I was cursing whatever cruel fate had decided to throw this particular obstacle in our path. Of all the people we could have encountered today, Alric was perhaps the worst possible choice. His talent for creating awkward situations and his complete lack of social awareness made him a walking disaster waiting to happen.
If anyone possessed the capability to single-handedly destroy the carefully maintained relationship between our family and Village Chief Aldan, it would undoubtedly be his own obliviously destructive son.
"I am busy, come back later," Rosaluna said, her voice carrying that particular tone of polite dismissal she'd perfected over the years. She turned her head away, focusing intently on organizing her hunting gear as if it were the most fascinating task in the world.
"Hey, wait—" Alric started, but I could see the rejection rolling off him like water off a duck's back. The boy was nothing if not persistent.
Before Rosaluna could take another step, he appeared directly in front of her, that trademark grin spreading across his face like spilled honey. It was the same expression I'd seen him wear when he'd successfully talked his way out of trouble with the village elders, or when he'd convinced some poor merchant to sell him goods at half price using his father's influence.
I recognized it all too well—it was the look of someone who'd never been told 'no' and meant it. In my previous life, I might have worn a similar expression, though I liked to think I'd had more finesse. More genuine charm, less entitled presumption.
Watching Alric now felt like looking into a funhouse mirror of my past mistakes.
He was clearly attracted to my sister, that much was painfully obvious to anyone with eyes. The way his gaze lingered on her face, the way he positioned himself to show off his height advantage, the way his voice took on that particular cadence men used when they thought they were being irresistible—it was all textbook courtship behavior. Clumsy, obvious textbook behavior.
At fourteen, he was two years older than Rosaluna, which made him four years my senior—the same age as Lisa, though the comparison ended there. Where Lisa possessed a sharp intelligence and quiet strength, Alric wielded his age and status like blunt instruments.
Still grinning with what he probably thought was devastating charm, Alric reached inside his shirt with theatrical flair.
Oh, for the love of all that's holy, spare me this awkward moment.
I'd pulled similar stunts in my past life—grand romantic gestures, surprise gifts, carefully choreographed moments designed to sweep someone off their feet. The difference was, I'd had timing. I'd understood the delicate dance of seduction, the importance of reading the room, of knowing when to advance and when to retreat. I'd made it an art form.
Watching this amateur attempt unfold before me was like watching someone butcher a symphony with a rusty spoon.
"Look what I bought for you," he announced with the pride of a peacock displaying its plumage.
In his palm lay a delicate rose pendant, its silver chain catching the afternoon light. The craftsmanship was actually quite beautiful—petals carved with obvious skill, probably imported from one of the larger cities. It was the kind of gift that would have impressed most village girls, the kind of present that spoke of wealth and consideration.
It was also completely wrong for Rosaluna.
My sister was practical above all else. She valued function over form, substance over appearance.
But Alric didn't know that. He didn't know her at all.
The secondhand embarrassment was suffocating me. I could feel my face heating up just from proximity to this disaster in motion.
"With whose money?" The words escaped before I could stop them, cutting through Alric's moment of anticipated triumph like a blade through silk.
Rosaluna's shoulders shook slightly, and I caught the sound of her barely suppressed chuckle. She turned her head just enough that I could see the corner of her mouth twitching upward. At least someone was enjoying this train wreck.
Alric's grin vanished as if I'd slapped it off his face. His expression transformed in an instant, going from lovestruck suitor to something much darker and more dangerous.
He approached me. Despite being only four years older, he had nearly half a foot on me in height, and he used every inch of that advantage as he stepped directly into my personal space.
"What did you say, you little dog?" The words came out low and threatening, his breath hot against my face.
"Alric." Rosaluna intervened, her pink eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.
I knew that look.
She would never let anyone insult or threaten me, not while she drew breath.
But she was also being careful.. Alric wasn't just some village bully she could put in his place with her usual directness. He was the son of Village Chief Aldan Brennan, the man who controlled trade permits, settled disputes, and held the power to make our lives significantly more difficult if he chose to.
In that aspect, my sister and I were thinking along the same lines. We both understood the precarious balance we had to maintain—standing our ground without crossing lines that couldn't be uncrossed.
Alric seemed to sense her restraint and mistook it for weakness. He ignored her warning entirely, keeping his glare fixed on me with the intensity of someone used to getting his way through intimidation.
I shrugged. "That's what I thought. Daddy Aldan might have given you pocket money for your little shopping expedition."
"You—!" His face flushed red.
I continued before he could raise his hand, which I could see him preparing to do. His fingers were already curling into a fist.
"You see, me and my sister earn our money by ourselves. My sister hunts and sells her game to provide for our family, while I sell the medical herbs and concoctions I make myself. I also earn coins by helping other villagers with their problems." I let each word fall like a stone into still water, watching the ripples spread across his face. "What about you? Offering a gift bought with someone else's money—someone else's work? Don't you find that... pathetic?"
Alric might have been a brainless brat, spoiled beyond redemption and lacking in both wisdom and common sense, but even brainless brats had pride. Sometimes that was all they had.
I watched the realization hit him—not the deeper understanding of his own privilege and parasitic lifestyle, but the simple, cutting awareness that I'd just called him out in front of the girl he was trying to impress. That I'd reduced his grand romantic gesture to what it actually was: an empty display funded by his father's position.
His knuckles went white as he clenched the pendant in his fist, the delicate silver chain cutting into his palm. For a moment, I thought he might actually hit me with it.
Instead, he hurled it to the ground with enough force to send it skittering across the cobblestones, where it came to rest in a puddle of muddy water near the well.
"Fuck!" The curse echoed off the surrounding buildings, causing several passing villagers to turn and stare.
I can't believe I'm arguing with a kid because I'm scared of losing my home.
Here I was, a grown man's mind trapped in a teenager's body, engaging in petty squabbles with someone who should have been beneath my notice. But the reality of our situation made every interaction a potential threat. We lived at the mercy of people like that village chief Aldan Brennan, and one wrong move could see us cast out of the only home we'd ever known.
I really need to speed up my preparations. I need to find us a home outside this village, somewhere my mother and sister can live better and more independently.
The thought had been growing stronger each day, fed by incidents like this one. We needed our own place, our own land, somewhere we could build something that couldn't be taken away.
"Let's go, Harold," Rosaluna said. She walked past Alric as if he were nothing more than an inconvenient piece of furniture, her spine straight and her head held high.
I moved to follow her, eager to put this entire embarrassing encounter behind us, but Alric's hand shot out and caught my arm in a grip that was tighter than necessary.
"Wait."
His fingers dug into my sleeve, and I could feel the tremor of barely controlled anger running through his hand. His face was still flushed, his breathing slightly uneven. He looked like someone on the verge of doing something spectacularly stupid.
"What now?" I glanced at him, barely able to restrain the full force of my annoyance.
The look I gave him must have conveyed more than I'd intended, because his face flushed an even deeper shade of red. His grip on my arm tightened.
In that moment, I saw something shift in his expression—a recognition of the contempt I hadn't quite managed to hide. It was the look of someone realizing they were not feared as much as they'd thought, not respected as much as they'd assumed.
It was also the look of someone about to do something very, very stupid.
"Brother!"
Thank the Gods.
Rumia Brennan appeared around the corner of the baker's shop, her blond hair flying behind her as she hurried toward us.