“Book.”

Eugene, the great sage of Armsdam, the Lone Abbot who had lived near on one-thousand years, raised an eyebrow at his young son, who was currently tugging on his finger quite insistently.

“Book?” He asked gently, the child may have been intelligent, taking after his father that way, he supposed, but his grasp on language was still barely developed.

“Book!” The child nodded affirmatively, and despite himself, he found he was standing up, his old bones creaking obnoxiously. Sure the magic preserved his skin quite nicely, but for the last two hundred or so years he had been having a hard time moving around as quickly. ‘didn't stop me from siring a child like a young idiot though.’

He smiled as the memories of sweet Rebecca came to him before he shook then away To think that with all of the flings in his life that he had managed to avoid fatherhood for so long. It was only when he felt his life begin to fade away that he had ended up forgetting his contraceptive charms. ‘Ah well, the will of God is odd I suppose.’

Still, he ended up following his child down the hall out of the foyer, and over to the library, where one of his tomes lay open on the table.

‘Has he been trying to read it? Well, I suppose it does have pictures in it.’ the tome was an instruction manual for a few cantrips of the Purifying light that had been invented, oh, he didn't know how long ago at this point, it was hardly advanced magic, but a dry read if not for the instructional diagrams.

“Flurm.”

Eugene reeled back as a thin line of burning light soared across the room and out the window, then glanced wide-eyed back to his son, who just stood there grinning like a Jester, having apparently just cast a spell at a little over the age of one.

‘Well.’ Eugene sighed, straightening his leather jacket. ‘He certainly takes after me to a greater degree than I thought.’

“It's pronounced Flirm, not Flurm.” he scolded the child, who had always been somewhat fascinated with his magic, and was apparently quick enough to pick it up just from some images and simple reading. “I won't have my son practicing magic poorly.”

He stared down only to find his son raising an eyebrow at him in what surely must have been a parody of his own mannerism.

“You didn't understand any of that did you?”

“Book.” the boy insisted.

Eugene ran a hand down his supernaturally preserved face. “Alright, Fine. Book it is.”

Perhaps he could teach one last disciple in his long, long life.

______________________________________

It was always a pain to lose a loved one.

Even when given a second life this was certainly true, and while he was not my first father, he was the only family I had known for fourteen years and had given me just as much as my last, both stellar men, albeit in different ways.

“Oh God of Light and Mercy, shine down upon the spirit of your faithful believer who now goes to join you in your realm. Forgive him his transgressions and grant him your blessings as you forgive those of all the world. This I pray.”

The ceremony was held in the courtyard, underneath the old oak. I wore my vestments, and the whole population of the mountain gathered, the faeries, the animals, even some of the spirits if my senses were correct. I even caught a glimpse of the unicorn standing outside of the abbey. Though the mare was too frightened as always to come closer to the other animals. Daughter Bark, the painted pixie, sat cross-legged on the ground beside me.

If any of the gathered animals were surprised when a literal beam of light from heaven descended at the end of my prayer, resting atop my father's body like a radiant veil, they didn't show it. The lot of them were probably used to it between he and I practicing magic all the time, though the work of our God here was on a far greater scale than I at least could manage.

As for me, I simply took it as the confirmation that it was. God had heard my prayer and accepted my father's soul into the heavens. It was as great a confirmation of faith as I could ask for, and one I appreciated. My father was still dead, however.

When the ceremony had finished and the animals departed, I stood there alone save for Daughter-Bark for some time, pondering on what I should do now, without my father's teaching hand.

The tranquil air of the courtyard as always was a balm upon my senses, even with my feelings as raw as they were. But I could not stay in the abbey cloistered away forever, not if I sought to uphold the will of God.

‘Father… I would have liked your guidance.’

______________________________________

“I don't know Daughter-Bark, where did you put the flour?” I glared at the smug little pixie, her painted wooden skin making her look like a doll but for the soft leaves that made up her wings.

She simply pursed her lips and stared at me expectantly, obviously aware that I wanted breakfast more than I was annoyed at her losing the flour, something that would likely be more difficult if fae, especially wood-sprites, weren't so mercurial.

“Alright, fine.” I rolled the woolen blanket off of myself and reached down to start putting my boots on. “But you have to help cook today.”

In response the cheerful fairy flitted about my head, brushing me with her wings. Her Cedar smell filling the air as she left some twigs in my hair.

I'd have to comb those out later, but oh well. More than anything Seelie Faeries reminded me of dogs. They were smarter of course, but their perpetual optimism and friendliness, at least in my experience, was a trait they shared in common with man's best friend.

They even both smile when you rub behind their ears and leave hair or twigs everywhere.

“Alright you little rascal, I'm up, I'm up.”

Daughter-Bark was the daughter of the great oak tree in the Abbey’s courtyard, which my father planted long ago. As such, she saw me as a brother of a sort, in a treeish way I suppose, and practically never left me alone. Not after I had painted her skin for her when I was little and bored. One of the only skills that had truly stayed with me between my lives was miniature painting, and her bark was easily the best work I've ever done, though I did cheat by using a luck draft to ensure I avoided any mistakes.

She rested on my shoulder while I made my way to the kitchen, where the flour sat prominently on the counter, one of the bluebirds scooping it into a cup with a spoon clamped in its beak.

“Lost huh?” I grumbled, though Daughter-Bark just gave me a peck on the cheek in response.

“Well, let's get to work then.”

One of the birds decided to give me a lead-in to my song by singing himself a merry accompaniment.

“Whistle while you work

Just whistle while you work

And cheerfully together we can bake a tasty cake,

So Hum a merry tune

It won't take long while we have song that's helping us to bake.”

Technically I was baking a pie, but the song worked better that way.

Oh, what, don't look at me like that, if you had the opportunity and a bunch of fluffy animal friends you would do the same thing.

I can't remember exactly when I started singing whenever I did chores, sometime after father died, I'm sure, but it had long become routine by this point.

“just whistle while you work.”

Soon we slid the small meat-pies into the oven to cook, and with a whispered “flirm” I set the kindling alight.

“Alright, now that was very fun, how's about you all go out and play in the courtyard while we wait for it to bake through.”

Immediately the birds, fairies, and small mammals that helped bake made a dash for the door like a pack of toddlers, which in some ways I often felt that they were. This mountain's animals were smarter sometimes than they had any right to be, the wolves that occasionally donated deer they had hunted were particularly odd.

“so hum a merry tune.” I hummed to myself lightly, whistling away the time in the calming breeze.

“whistle while yo- Ouch” I groaned as Daughter-Bark slammed right into my face, having come zipping in through the window. Immediately the wooden faerie fell to the floor and began gesturing wildly.

After a moment trying to decipher the hand gestures of the 6-inch tall being I realized she was gesturing mostly towards the trail up the mountain.

“Has someone come?”

The fervent nodding I got in response saw me change into my proper vestments just in time to greet the group at my door.

______________________________________

Boris grimaced slightly, feeling Delilah’s head once again. It was still so hot. His little daughter clutched in his arms. The medicine had run out yesterday, and though they had reached the foot of the Mountain of Saint Eugene, his wife and he had not been able to find a path to its peak.

“I'm not sure that she'll last much longer dear.” He said grimly, Sarah at his side as he leaned against the old stone gate at the base of the mountain, the only place that he was able to consistently find in the places Maze-like trails that seemed to twist even the ups and downs of the hillside against him.

“Is our faith not true enough? Our need not worthy..?” They had known it was a long shot trying to climb the holy mountain, it was said that only those in true need could make the ascent, but he could not think of someone in more need than they, their daughter's life hanging by a thread, uncurable, the priests and healers had called it.

“No. We cannot doubt now.” His wife's hand clamped around his forearm like a Vice. “Come, let us try to make the climb one more time.”

He nodded solemnly, hoisting their child onto his back and once more putting foot to sod on the spiraling trail. The forest warm and inviting as it was confusing.

It was no use, however, as the hours ticked by, they found no trail that led to the peak.

Sitting to rest on a fallen tree at the foot of a ridge he cradled his daughter within his arms, wondering how many days she might have left, his wife the only comfort beside him.

“To think we crossed the Teeth and all of Kelmo just to find a dead end…” He sighed lightly as Sarah leaned against him, back to back.

“We haven't failed ye-... His wife stopped abruptly, sniffing the air. “hold on a moment.”

“What is it dear?”

“Can't you smell that? That's the smell of meat pies baking.”

“What?” He was up in a flash, now that he was paying attention he could pick up the same thing. “Where?”

“Just that way, up the ridge.”

Clutching his daughter in his arms he followed his wife through the brush, the hope in his heart reborn.

“Wait… this, It's a trail.” Sarah said after a moment. Joy leaking into her voice as they reached a line cut through the brush. “We've found it.” With hurried step the two made their way towards the top of the mountain, their legs breaking into a run as they spotted a large stone building, a wooden, shuttered steeple sticking forth from its top, sitting at the very peak of the mountain.

Just as they stepped through the gate and into the courtyard, the front door opened.

Out of it stepped a childlike figure, perhaps half the height of a man. Long and curly, platinum blond hair fell from its head to just below its shoulders, and a set of priests robes lay over its shoulders. The child's blue eyes seemed to radiate a benevolent light. To Boris, at that moment it seemed an angel had stepped right out of a painting.

“Er… Hello.”

He fell to his knees, as did Sarah beside him. “Please, take our daughter to Saint Eugene, she is sick and needs healing. The priests said it was incurable.”

He did not see the child move, his eyes closed as if in prayer, but heard his footsteps approach. “What ails her?” The child's voice was as one might expect, light and pleasant, though it now had a serious undertone.

“It's the burning-cough,” he said, looking up at the child, to find the child's brow clenched in thought.

“Alright. Let me see her.” hesitating for a moment, he handed his little girl over to the strange boy, who pressed a hand against her forehead. “Not too advanced, good.”

“Daughter-Bark, bring me a lightning flower, oh, and Jinlacks treatise on Magical Ailments volume 3.”

The young man's voice took on a tone of command as he shouted back towards the building. Before he turned back to Boris, his big blue eyes steeled with determination.

“Your daughter will be fine.”

It was all the man could ask.

______________________________________

The dummy mocked me, and oh how it rankled.

I swung my sword at the dummy.

The dummy, of course, refused to budge even as the wooden training blade pushed into the hay that made up its flesh.

“Poor form there Abbot, maybe try going back to your church.”

“Our God tells us to be willing and ready to protect others as he protects us,” I noted, getting back into what I hoped would eventually be a good enough striking position, given enough practice. “Go forth children of my merciful light, and do as I have done, shelter the weak, the poor, the frail and the world-weary, just as I have done for you when you were the same,” I spoke the words easily, I had spent years of my precious new life memorizing them after all. “From the Testament of Saint Cuthbert of Mirlon. First scroll.”

“Maybe, but I think you ought to leave that type of fighting to the warriors.” The man said, no doubt contemplating my sloppy form. “Your Father’s miracles are known far and wide already, and you are honestly not suited for fighting, You just don't have the size for it, heh. You certainly won't get anywhere by summer.”

“I'm aware of that.” I took another swing at the dummy, gritting my teeth, it was hardly something I had control of, I was fourteen now damnit, but puberty was still nowhere in sight, a quirk of my magic, probably one of the reasons most people didn't start training in it young. No, my body still had the proportions of a child, my arms and legs refused to build any muscle no matter the effort I put into them, and my height left a great deal to be desired, regardless of my age.

The fact that holy magic preserves ones youth is something that sounds wonderful to old men and women starting to see the signs of their age, but not for someone who just wants to become an adventurer and is two feet too short to make it happen.

Being a kid was hell, to begin with, and I got an extended stay.

My anger must have shown on my face though, as the old militia trainer just chuckled. “Heh, me and the wife used to think you were some sort of angel, what with how mature you were for your age and the miracles and the animals gathering around you and whatnot, but I guess you're still a kid after all.” The man smiled good-naturedly in a way that always managed to stop me from turning him into a newt. “I wonder if my little Delilah will grow up dreaming of something silly just the same way?”

Ah, the reason the old man had agreed to train me in the sword, even knowing how bad I was at it. His young daughter had taken sick some months ago, and the priests in the city were charging a great deal to cure her, probably because of the material cost of the spell, so he had come to my little Abbey on top of a far away sacred mountain where it was apparently rumored a great sage lived.

Well, it wasn't exactly wrong, from everything I could learn about him, my new father had been as much a great sage as anyone could claim to be. Even now, with all the power I had achieved I was still far behind him.

Boris and Sarah had chosen to stay and help me maintain the Abbey after I healed Delilah. I'd told them they didn't have to if they didn't want to, but Boris wouldn't take no for an answer, and Sarah was willing to back him fully, so they had stayed. It was a good thing too in truth, else I might have forgotten how to talk with only the animals and the fae for company.

“Well,” He said, cradling his chin in his hand. “At least I know she can't possibly be worse with a sword than you.”

Then again the birds were very nice conversationalists.

______________________________________

“Hay biday Abot” Delilah cheerfully said, and I got the message despite the toddlers still limited speaking ability. I tussle the girl's hair, though a tint if melancholy stroked the back of my mind as I realized she would soon enough be taller than me. ‘No, bad thoughts, it's your birthday.’

“Happy birthday Abbot.” Boris, for all his japes, was kind enough to reel it in to be a bit more subtle today. “How's it feel to be a man of majority huh?” the old warrior chuckled at that even as his wife gave him a dirty look.

“Pretty alright actually,” I said, playing along with his implied crack about my physical age. “Doesn't feel much different at all really.”

“Didn't for me either, least not until my pa shoved a pint in my face.”

“Well it's a good thing we don't have any alcohol here then isn't it.” Sarah cut in, turning towards me. “I've got a lovely cake baked up in the main hall if you'll just follow me, Abbot. I've been keeping your animal-friends away from it all day.”

Ah yes, Sarah had a rather love/hate relationship with my affinity for the wildlife, on the one hand she found it absolutely adorable when I interacted with them, as evidenced by her cooing, but on the other she was from Polnia, which apparently had some semi-modern standards of hygiene, though she had left it more than apparently decade ago during a civil war. She rather disapproved of animals tracking dirt all over the house as well.

“Thanks, Sarah,” I said, not having to fake my happiness at that, I quite literally had not had a birthday cake in my life, well, my new life. I followed behind her as we went into the main hall, looking cleaner and more lived in than usual. The room was far too large too reliably use most of the time.

The cake sat on the grand table, far more decorated than I would have guessed.

I turned back to see the caretaker family smiling proudly as they pushed me into the seat at the end of the table.

All was right in the world.

______________________________________

I sighed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I rose from my bed, pushing the covers to the side, I had left the shutters open so that the sun cresting the horizon in the morning would hit me straight in the face, and it had worked, I was up with the early morning dawn.

Before I began on my final preparations, I whispered a small prayer to God, a thanks for having given me this new life, a prayer for luck on my journey, and one for the wellbeing of Boris, Sarah, Delilah, and all my friends on the mountain.

Today was the day, it was time for me to leave. Yesterday I had turned fifteen years old, though I hardly looked it, and that meant I had come of age. Last night had been amazing, Boris, Sarah and Delilah, and all the faeries and animals had all been so happy wishing me a happy birthday and sending me off.

It was the best day I've had since father's death.

It was time for me to go out and see the world.

I took off my nightgown, instead pulling on the underclothes I wore during the day. Then I moved to what used to be my father’s room. Though it now stood sad and empty, but for an old wooden trunk that stood alone in the corner.

I made my way over to it, full of apprehension, this was father’s traveling gear, objects that from what I understood, held a great deal of power both real and symbolic, at least to me.

“Omand” I spoke loudly and clearly, and the latch clicked open, the signature of my magic more important in all likelihood than the unlocking spell itself.

The lid was heavy, but putting my shoulder into it I managed to flip it over the back of the trunk.

Inside, atop his folded robes sat the two magic items that father kept from his time abroad long, long before I was born, gifts of a heathen god and a great wizard respectively, I knew their stories well.

From the withered hand of the old empire’s god of agriculture, Mudra, was the Cornucopia of Eternal Harvest. Not only was it able to generate a limitless amount of food itself, though not quickly, it also held seeds of various crops, which, when thrown over an area, increase its productivity, though the blessing can be expended by over-farming, or by letting an area be overtaken by nature. It manifested as a golden ram's horn, from which you could pull both food and the seeds. The blessings had long outlived the god it seemed.

Next, to it, the craft of an archmage of water who had been cured of a dire illness by father, was a crystal-glass bottle, filled with water. This was a legendary item unto its own right, the bottle of endless lakes. It poured out an endless stream of fresh water and was rumored to be the source of many of the lakes on the continent. Between it and the cornucopia father was able to wander far and wide without having to constantly worry about food or water, and now they were mine.

Beneath them, of course, we're father's robes. As a priest of God, that is, the Nameless God of Light and Healing, he, of course, wore the robes of his order during his travels, this specific set was also armored with a thin layer of white-silver chain that was enchanted like the rest. It was no true gleaming-mail like he told me old Cybria the bannerlord, one of his traveling companions in his youth, had worn, but it would do its job protecting me well enough.

But for one problem.

Holding up the robe before me, it occurred to me that I should really have thought this through, as the robe was obviously far too big for me. The sleeves hung over my hands and the bottom was floor dragging.

“Daughter-Bark, would you please come help me with this?” I knew the faerie was around. Her magic was different than that of humans, but still quite powerful unto itself.

Soon enough, she zipped into the room and came to rest on top of my head, tapping her foot impatiently as if to ask what exactly was wrong.

“Could you shrink these clothes down to fit me better?”

One of the peculiarities of faerie magic was their control over the size of things, while it took a great deal of effort on their part, they could even shrink people down to their own size if they wanted to, normally to teach them a lesson, though from what father had told me it was only temporary when applied to live beings as their own magic would soon throw off that of the faerie. For inanimate objects, however, a faerie’s magic would just blend into existing enchantments as long as they weren't contradictory.

Daughter-Bark stood still for a moment before hopping off of my head, her wand, a small twig of cedar, held in her hand as she began to circle around me, her painted lips making no sound but speaking in strange syllables.

Soon enough, the clothes began to tighten around me, becoming more fitting of a child like me than a tall spindly man like my father had been.

“Thank you Daughter-Bark,” I said, rubbing the top of her ivy hair with the tip of my left index finger.

She responded by smiling beatifically and grabbing hold of my hand, tugging me out of the room.

“Ok, ok, just let me put the horn and bottle on my belt rings first alright?”

She pouted at that, floating in the air, but let me place them on before she guided me out to the courtyard, where the Old Oak tree, her father, waited.

“Hello, Old Oak,” I said, and the wind whispered through the leaves of the tree. “I’m leaving today. Off to see the world, and I came to ask your blessing.”

The tree made a creaking sound like an ancient dragon asleep, and Daughter-Bark went up to it, circling the tree quickly until it finally stopped.

I simply sat there watching respectfully and listening, I could not understand the tree anymore than I could it's daughter, but it was still worthy of honor unto itself, being such a long ally of my father.

Finally, the great tree itself seemed to twist, turning it's gaze if it indeed could do such a thing, away from its daughter and back towards me.

*crunch*

I looked down sharply as a neat stick, or more of a quarterstaff really dropped just in front of my feet. I couldn't tell you where it came from, but it nonetheless did so, it was half again as tall as I was, but the wood seemed strong, and it felt warm to my touch as I picked it up.

“Thank you, for your gift and your blessing, Old Oak.”

The tree almost seemed to humph at my thanks, but nonetheless waved it's green boughs at me gently, and I nodded as I stepped away from it.

Still, I wondered where Daughter-Bark had gone off to.

After that, I met with The family, entrusting Boris with caring for the Abbey, and there was a great deal of hugging and tears that are far too personal to get into here, Sarah I felt didn't want to let me go, but Boris at least understood my drive. Delilah, of course, was too young to even know what me leaving meant, but I made sure to give her a nice piggyback ride and hug her tightly before I left their house halfway up the mountain, making my final descent.

Soon I reached the base of the mountain, where a small stacked-stone wall with an arch for a gate stood, the land beyond an unpopulated plain with a small trail leading through it, as opposed to the lush and tranquil forest of my mountain home.

I had come here many times recently, my mind lingering on the world beyond my home, which Boris and father had told me much about. This would be my first time crossing the threshold, however.

I could only hope that it would not be the last.

______________________________________