Eventually, I end up by the archery targets, still feeling a little depressed. I sit on one of the benches and look over the setup. There are about a dozen lanes. Each has a thin light bow in a stand. A place for arrows and a target. The targets are a couple of car lengths away, maybe 20-25 feet, and can be moved back half a football field or more.

As I sit, I go pick up one of the bows out of the stand and sit back down with it. Examining the bow, I think about the bow I had. It was a fiberglass 40lb bow with a rubber handle. I had a little target I would shoot at. I never shot anything live with it. I had a pellet gun too. I remember someone saying once that when you go hunting, if you shot it, you skin it. That turned me off hunting or shooting anything right then and there.

The bow in my hand was much thinner and lighter than what I owned. It was still just as big as a normal bow, but it was more of a toy. 15lb pull if that. Maybe the arrow would stick in the target if it was hit. I hold the bow and pretend to aim at the target. A small red dot sight appears just above my hand. “That’s cool” I look for where the bow is creating the targeting sight from, but there is nothing. “Must be another rock here somewhere” I laugh, feeling better about myself.

I walk over and stand at the place marked for shooting the bow. As I aim, again the sight appears. I draw the bow slightly and small rings appear around the sight. Pulling harder increases the size of the rings, the rings varying with how far the bow is drawn.

Aiming and sighting the target was another experience. Moving my head moves the dot, but it remained on the target where it would have hit. Moving my fingers up and down the drawstring also moves the dot, because of where I would be holding the arrow, but only over a two- or three-inch length. Holding the drawstring more than an inch or two off-center and the dot would not appear. Also, aiming at something more than about 50 ft away, the red dot would not appear. “I like it” I comment putting the bow back into its stand. Always liked toys, gadgets, and tools, that were more Rube Goldberg than functional.

Not wanting to walk around the entire path, I head back the way I came. Feeling better again about everything after taking my mind off it, playing with the bow.

Heading back to the main house I look over the layout of the property. Nothing special, again it fits the theme of a country farm or schoolhouse community with differing buildings housing different activities.

Coming closer to one of the buildings with obstacles and equipment near it, I can see that this is a type of gym and training area. Mostly older people are about and no children are nearby. An older gentleman, the one I saw earlier with the silvery ID, is holding that ID up against the side of the door handle waiting to get in. I hear the lock click and as the door is closing behind him, I do a quick step and catch the door before it closes.

Once inside I see that it is a good size gym with lots of equipment and side rooms for extra activities. While I am looking over the equipment, some I recognize, some I do not, I hear the familiar sound of someone training on a heavy bag. I was never really any good at that. I tried a couple of times to learn martial arts. But when I was a teen, I didn’t try. When I was older, I didn’t stick with it, working then taking college courses at night left little time and energy to keep going.

I follow the sounds of the training and as I get closer, I see little flashes of light coming through the window of one of the training rooms. I see the old guy I followed in, but what is surprising me, is that he is not punching a heavy bag. He is hitting a man-like training dummy with a wooden sword, a large wooden shield on his other arm. Watching I am fascinated to see sparks coming off the sword when he lands direct hits.

“Hey there buddy.” Another older man has come up beside me and started up a conversation. “You sure you should be in here?” he asks.

“I’m sorry. I was just looking around at the facilities and seeing what there was to offer here” I reply. “Can you tell me why the sword is sparking when he lands a direct hit?”

“Oh, my apologies. I saw the blue ID. Only Adventurers are allowed in the training buildings” he states.

“Not an issue” cutting in right away. “It’s a temporary ID Lilly gave me this morning”

Looking more relaxed he continues “That’s Jaxx. He’s our residents’ silver plate. That’s why you probably haven’t seen that much intent before” Looking at him I’m sure a little puzzlement on my face. He continues “That is just the next level in the Way of the Sword. Us Bronze can’t make a show of striking like that unless it’s a critical hit. Shows he is focused in and training his strikes.”

“How do you train for something like that? I could see if you were using something made of metal, you could make sparks when you hit hard enough, but that looks like wood. Is it not wood or is there something I’m not seeing causing the sparks?” I ask.

Some old people like to talk and this guy is one of them. He’s happy now and just getting started. “That’s the difference with Adventurers son. Once you’ve been a part of a kill with essence, it becomes a part of you, letting you get as strong as what you’ve killed. That’s why most never even make iron and remain white their whole life. I thought you would know stuff like this? Jaxx’s there, was lucky when he started, but it has become a curse for him over the years. When he was in training, his party came across a gold snow leopard. Not sure what you would consider rarer, a snow leopard coming this far down into civilization, or just the fact it was gold ranked. Nearly killed off the entire party. Lucky a few silver-ranked teachers were tagging along in the group to help take it down. Jaxx has the potential for gold but was such a small part of the kill, it may never rank him up. He’s been capped for a long time now. What’s worse is, he’s too old for adventuring. Still, he keeps training, hoping for a breakthrough before he’s too old to even try.”

I look back to Jaxx’s training and we both watch for a few minutes more. Not sure of this old man’s name, but he goes back to working with some of the smaller weights. I turn and head back out the way I came in. There are some full-length mirrors on the way out. I pause to look at myself, and I can’t stop staring.

Taking a few steps closer to the mirror, I examine my face more closely. It is me, but I am young. Thinking of my wedding pictures, I was married a few years out of high school, in my early twenties. It’s like I’m looking at myself then. I also notice that I was a little overweight, maybe 20lbs, and now I am not. Hands-on my stomach, I’m not a picture of health, but no excess fat either.

A few moments later I see Lilly coming in behind me, in the mirror. She sees me looking at her, and back to myself. Coming up to stand beside me, both of us now looking in the mirror. She says “I have given you a gift. You saved and guarded my daughter. She is precious to me and I am grateful. I swore that there would not be a scar or a mark on you, and it is done”.

“That is not what I am looking at” Looking at her in the mirror. “I look young, much younger”

“No,” she says shaking her head. “It is the effect of the healing. Scars and marks are repaired to the point that it is as if they never happened. It does not make you younger or extend your life”.

“How old do I look to you?” I ask.

“You are a human male, a few years out of puberty. 16-25 years, most likely in your early twenties. I would ask the same of you. What would you say my years are?” she asks.

I think for a moment. She does look young, but I know her daughter is not a child. Even if she had a young pregnancy, and add her daughter's age to it. “35, maybe 40 at the most.” I guessed.

She tilts her head a little and smiles “You judge me to a human standard. I am an elf. Can you not see? I am older than all that you see about this place. That is why my daughter is so precious to me. She is half-elven and I will only have but a few hundred years with her at most.”

I see she is serious or is keeping a straight face. “I am sorry, this is all cosplay to me. There are no elves or wizards where I live. No magic rocks to talk to people.”

“Thank you for sharing with me” she smiles and starts to lead me out of the gym. “I understand much better about your situation now. ‘Community Farms’ is here to help people like yourself. This talk has helped me greatly narrow where I believe your family will be and we will unite you and your family as soon as possible.”

As we leave the gym, she goes over the rules. “Our training facility is meant for adventurers iron rank and above. Anywhere past the main exercise room, we were just in is dangerous for any non-rank person like yourself. If you would like to visit or watch, you must be accompanied by a person of rank, iron or above.”

We walk back to the main house without saying much more. Passing through the halls I can smell dinner being prepared. She leads me back to my room, pauses for a moment, letting me enter and sit on the bed. With a single nod of her head saying goodbye, she backs out and closes the door, leaving it open just a crack.