It seems not only had Aian died early in the winter, but the shaman too, that day he visited.

It had all been to protect mother, Ivian and me.

I now learned that after Aian had shooed us from the room that day, he tried to carry the shaman from the manor. Along the way, he had been showered in spittle and blood from the shaman's illness just before the old quack died.

Soon after, while washing the flooring in the entry hall, Aian himself had started coughing.

A model of diligence, he had stoically asked for a few days off and went back to Olwick to nurse himself at the old steward's house. Ivian had apparently been gone to help him, which scared me when I heard. Thankfully she didn't catch the disease and I admired her courage and willingness to help Aian who had perhaps saved our lives with his sacrifice.

I knew all this because today, despite the manor being so busy preparing for my grandfather, the ipocond's visit, our family all walked down the road, halfway to the village, to see Aian's funeral.

Mr. Barker had brought with him a coffin with carefully grooved panels and a curve to the edge of the lid.

It was a truly beautiful box. It was the one I had seen Mr. Barker working on outside with Grita even a few weeks ago. The designs and ornaments carved in the wood peeked out from beneath the wreaths and flowers heaped on top of it.

In my mother's arms, I could see father beside us and three old men following closely behind. Everyone wore white, as did I, though there was little variation other than my parents' more intricate clothing in the gathering.

Father knelt and placed his hand on the coffin lid. Mother and I stood right behind him.

"Blessings of the golden sun to Aian. May no curse afflict him nor demon disturb him as his rest continues unbroken."

He remained kneeling even after his short prayer.

I felt a streak of liquid spill down my cheek. My mother was crying, her tears falling down on me.

Aian, I thought, you have my heartfelt gratitude for saving me, my mother and Ivian. I might not have known you well, but please know that I will make sure to live strongly and protect my family and this village.

It was a small promise, one I would have wanted to carry anyway, but I thought it was what he would have wanted as I placed my hand on the coffin and mother knelt beside me, doing the same.

I glanced at my mother a couple times, thinking of she would offer up mana to the dead in the funeral ritual of the white haired people, but she didn't, nor did father or the others.

We walked beyond the coffin to stand around the hole that a familiar crooked nosed fellow was standing beside with a shovel, looking rather bored and uncompassionate.

It was the same man from morning three days ago who had been badmouthing the bigger man near the stables. It seems Saul had had the bad judgement of choosing this man after all. It paid to be mean, it seemed.

He looked over at my mother and me. I caught his sneer and frowned at him and his eyes widened in surprise.

Feeling somehow smug that I had freaked out the man, I went back to watching the gathered villagers as they knelt and then lined themselves on the other end of the burial hole.

Among them was Ivian with her sister and Eve. A man walked with them too. He was big with black and curly hair, both on his head and his burly chest, that was only covered up to the first button of his shirt. He was probably Eve's father, the baker.

I saw Eve brighten up a bit when she saw me, but her mother didn't think it was appropriate for her to come over. I waved back though, since she obviously wanted me to say hi.

They too knelt around Aian's coffin. Tears trickled from Ivian's eyes but it was her sister who didn't get up on her own. The baker had to put an arm around his wife to gently raise and pull her away.

I looked at Ivian and saw her tears redoubled as she reached out to hold hands with her sister.

There were other people and families I had never seen before. There were far more than I had ever seen. If you don't include the phantoms of my illusions.

Each of them had different reactions. Some people cried and others pondered. Some mumbled prayers and others closed their eyes in silence.

Once the procession of villagers had finished their prayers, my father spoke to them.

"We have come together today to mourn the loss of one of our own. To me, Aian was not only a loyal valet but a man who I could depend on for advice. He was a diligent man and a brave man. A man who gave his life to defend my family and Olwick, a sacrifice I shall never forget."

The village murmured, in approval or in agreement, I am not sure which.

"Aian was not a lucky boy. In his youth, both his parents died during a year of famine," he said, and I tried to imagine dying of starvation. I was never forced to go without a meal, although other fainter memories of a laboratory and days of long experiments reminded me of what even missing one or two meals voluntarily could feel like.

"Aian did not despair, or fall to sloth or wickedness. Instead, he came to the then steward of Olwick, to whom he asked for daily bread and duties. May no curse afflict him nor demon disturb him as his rest continues unbroken."

Some repeated those final words while others closed their eyes and then father motioned one of the three old men towards him and clasped his hand.

"To honour Aian's passing," the old man said, turning to the villagers, "in memory of his parents, we need to make sure that famine does not afflict this village again. Lord Feles got Olwick has agreed to support us expanding the grain pit. If we are successful, we should have enough grain to survive 3 to 4 years, if we don't sell or share any. In Aian's honour, the largest one shall be named the Aian grain pit."

My mother and father joined the clapping at the old man's statement.

My parents lingered as the coffin was settled into the pit. As the crooked nosed man started piling sod over the casket, Ivian walked up to us, cheeks still wet and eyes red.

"My lord, my lady," she said solemnly. "Young master," she said, straining a smile as she waved at me. "Thank you for treating all of us so well. For being here for Aian as he is sent away from us and providing for his resting place."

"You don't have anything to thank us for, Ivian," my mother said, putting her free hand gently behind Ivian's shoulder. "Aian died in place of the three of us. I will never, ever forget that."

"Nor I, my lady," Ivian trembled, shaken by a suppressed sob.

I put a hand out trying to comfort my angel as well. My arm wasn't very long though, and ended up patting her cheek.

"Sorry Tilly, not now." Ivian said, and stepped out of my mother's embrace. "My lady, I just need to stay here a bit longer. I... I would like to take tomorrow to mourn, if that is possible."

My mother took a moment before answering, "alright. This has been hard on you. You may take the next two days, if you need."

Mother sounded almost grudging, but sympathetic at the same time.

"Just make sure you're back before Sunday though."

"Thank you. I'm sorry to selfishly ask for time when you have little before your Lord father's visit."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next few days passed slowly, Ivian gone again, longer than the two days she had talked about and no more than a couple glimpses of mother and father.

Well, I shouldn't complain. I wasn't ill, I didn't remember Aian as more than a martyr and I had no chores in the house like Vis.

Grita, unintentionally, revealed to me the secret alchemy of the magic bubble water. It was a concoction of normal water, oil and the ash water that Mr. Barker had distilled.

Maybe I could learn some alchemy from him. I didn't have many impressions of how it worked, but all sorts of ideas and finished products flickered around me as I thought of what I could make. How hard could it be to reverse engineer them?

Then, as I was daydreaming of my future fame and fortunes, another messenger arrived at the manor.

Well, it could have been the same messenger that returned, I didn't see his face last time.

He dressed the same way that Saul and father did when they went out on hunts, with various leather pieces strapped on to him. He had a curved sabre in his belt and long hair, tied near the nape of his neck into a long rope.

"The lord?" he hailed Grita and I who were sitting in front of the manor.

I pointed towards the study room, where there was a possibility father was. But the messenger was more interested in Grita's response than mine.

"If you're lookin' for the lord, he's probably where the young master's pointin' at. Just ask the new stablehand 'round the back and he'll get ya' som'un."

"Appreciated."

He bowed his head slightly towards me just before kicking his horse in the sides. Was that a threat? Was he trying to say he'd kick me too?

A few bubbles later and the man's ropy hair was swinging behind him as his horse galloped back down the road whence he came. I stuck my tongue out at his back. Teach him to threaten me.

"Grita, please come inside. We need to get Tilly ready. My father will be here by lunchtime."

I liked the ash water that made bubbles, but getting it into my eyes was not a pleasant experience. It stung and I got panicked that my eyes might evaporate. I started trying to ask Grita, but she just made it worse by slapping me roughly, shouting at me to quiet down as she wanted us to head inside.

It seems it was an overreaction on my part though. I was rinsed off and slipped into a set of dapper linens with a red sash tied around my waist and a little pair of uncomfortable shoes.

At least I wasn't made to wear those on normal days.

Ivian hurried past us, as Grita dressed me in my room, just sparing a hello before going past us to her own.

It seemed grandfather had come before Ivian ended her mourning, and she had to be called back.

Ivian soon returned, walking in livery, coloured the same red and grey as Aian always used to wear, but with an apron atop it and a dress instead of pantaloons.

Then we waited. At least, Grita and I did. Grita sat in a chair by my crib, knitting, dressed in a maid's livery just like Ivian's, if larger and with faded colours. I had not seen her use it before.

Sitting in the cradle with a sash and shoes was a chore, but since Grita would get mad when I tried to undo the laces, I just had to bear it and try to distract myself.

I had a thought that I could try creating a mana pool.

I thought of the other place, where so much of what I knew came from.

It wasn't the first time I saw the field that took over the ceiling and then the walls of my vision, but it was the first time I willed it to happen.

Boxed in between paths where people walked between domed faculty buildings, the field was not all that large.

I was here with 5 others, each of us in a dark yellow colour and a scribbled symbol that I somehow knew meant 'duel' written over the front.

I seemed to be looking at a practice, something we did every morning before heading to classes.

The first thing would be to meditate together, focusing on our bodies and mana, refreshing our pools for the upcoming exertion.

The basics of unstructured magic use were to gather the trickles of mana that saturated the body and with them create a pool. It wasn't something that could be naturally done, but mana was deeply linked to the mind.

For some, unstructured magic and the duel team was a way to keep fit and live ever so slightly longer, for others, a nostalgia, of the great wizards who moved the world before the Treaty of Azar. For most, it was a game, a pride in our military academy and a place to show off the prowess of our nation.

I thought of those training sessions while sitting in my crib and found that simply feeling uncomfortable in these shoes and vestments could allow me to create an imbalance between my hands and feet and my stomach. Concentrating on discomforts and finding warmth and calm near my abdomen, I stretched out my legs, creating a network of sensations that could guide mana.

It didn't work so well though. The rush of mana that I remembered from the meditation in my dream was frustratingly empty. My body felt dry and as I tried to move ambient mana saturated in my body and near surroundings towards my core, it was like trying to scrape water out of an empty well, convinced something should be there, but only getting moist silt and pebbles.

I felt apprehensive and stopped. I didn't know if there was something wrong or if it was simply because I was still in such a small body and hadn't been saturated yet with enough mana.

Still, better not to force it. I didn't know what could happen, since I didn't see any visions of that, but it would at best be an exercise in futility.

Then, just as I opened my eyes to a blurry sight of Grita knitting in her rocking chair, I felt a a tiny spark of cold in my stomach, overlapping instead of warring with the warmth of my body.

I had done it! It was my first drop of mana, so small but very real.

My lips trembled with a smile as I shouted out "I did it! I can do the magic now!"

Grita looked up at me, startled and then stood and patted her dress.

"What's that dear? You can do the what now?"

"The magic! I condensed mana into my core to do the magic!" I told her proudly. Just wait until I could brag to mother and father.

But Grita didn't look very impressed at all. She was smiling, but in that condescending way that grown ups do when they think you're talking baby talk.

It's not baby talk, I swear!

"Now, now, don't be silly. The Viscount is going to arrive any minute yet. You better be on your best behaviour, alright?" She told me, trying to change the subject. "Oh!" She exclaimed, as I heard a shuffling of feet downstairs as well, "speak of a demon. I believe that must be them."

She bundled me in her saggy arms and we went down the stairs. "No surprise you have ants in your pants, sitting in your cradle for so long."

A row of soldiers, each with their horse still saddled beside them, lined each side of the left path leading out in front of the manor. From a distance, 3 horse carriages lumbered along between yet another dozen men on horseback.

It was an astounding and worrisome sight. I couldn't take my eyes off this procession, despite feeling nauseous and exhausted from mana condensing. I had seriously underestimated the toll that it would take on my body.

And all this procession was for my grandfather, deemed too lowly by my paternal grandfather to be a father-in-law to his son. What kind of retinue would my other grandfather have brought if it was he who had decided to visit?

My mind completely entranced by this spectacle, I continued to watch as the carriages rolled up, only stopping when the second, largest of the carriages, was near the double staircase.

A man's face could be seen in the carriage window, the wooden shutters locked to the sides of the carriage to take advantage of the warm air.

"Grandfather, is this it?" A voice squeaked from somewhere unknown before a little head popped out of the opening carriage door.

The coachman who had opened the door for the carriage's passengers elegantly stepped to the side, tails on a long, clean cut vestment curling gently at their tips.

"Yes, Pricel, now greet your aunt and uncle properly."

"Yes, grandfather."

He had hair of raven black, just like his aunt and... everyone I had seen in the material world, come to think of it. But, unlike my father, both this grandfather and grandson duo had gentle curls that somehow complemented their light brown freckles on peachy skin. Well, the boy had peachy skin, but his grandfather's was more chalky, but with not too many wrinkles, perhaps indicating he was only in middle age.

"Lord uncle Sivis got Olwick, aunt Cianna vis Lord Feles, I am sincerely happy to meet you both. My parents both send you their best wishes."

"What a pleasant surprise," mother exclaimed, and strode up to the bowing boy before giving him a kiss on the cheek. "My little nephew, Pricel Phrans. I last saw you when you were just a baby, only a bit older than my son. Look at how tall you've gotten, and how eloquently you speak."

"Thank you aunt Cianna," he said, in that polite, patient tone boys use when they meet doting family.

"Nephew," my father said curtly, extending both hands in front of him to the young heir.

I thought for a moment that the boy would feel affronted at such a cool greeting.

Instead, his eyes lit up with idolisation as he reached up his hands to grasp my father's wrists.

A strange greeting, clasping wrists, but somehow both familiar and firm.

"Has Lord Virtal Phrans brought you to the training yards yet?" My father asked.

"No, sir, but I would very much like to join you if..." he blushed a bit and grew hesitant before finishing his sentence.

It was clear that my mother's family did not keep the same martial standards as my father. Not only did I see a couple extra rings around my grandfather's belly, but, with a sinking feeling, I realised that by Pricel's age, father would already have me training with a sword.

"I see you could use a bit of mettle trained into you," my father responded.

Sorry cousin, you just pulled that trigger on your own. I would personally pick my loving mother over my stern father any day.

"Don't be too hard on the boy, he's only 7," the boy's grandfather said with a hint of a smile. Maybe mother would save me a few years more from my father's hands.

"Father," my father said, and the two men clasped arms, "we are honoured at your visit."

"It's been too long I haven't seen my daughter and son-in-law. I heard you had a son of your own and could not contain my excitement."

"Father," this time my mother spoke, "it is a pleasure to see you as well, but let us not tarry on the stairs longer than we have to."

"Of course, Cianna," my mother's father said, a bit awkwardly for a father to his daughter. There were no embraces or kisses, only a nodding of heads and hesitant smiles.

Perhaps some of that melodrama of which Ivian had told me about my parents was true after all.

"What are we to do with all of your retinue?" Mother spoke again. "As you know from our letters, the manor was almost derelict when we arrived here. The stables had to be completely rebuilt, and they only have space for a dozen."

"My men can camp. I'm sure they will be pleased just to have a morning to sleep through tomorrow. Most of them are city guards from Bridgewater though, so I'll trouble you for a warm meal for them," The coachman, not all that far behind grandfather, evidently happy with the idea of a warm meal as he stood by the carriage.

"Karbrol," grandfather raised his voice to talk to one of the nearby guards, "As soon as we go in, take the horses and men and set up a camp in the fields to the back."

"Yes, Ipocond Phrans," the grizzled man responded respectfully.

Then I was distracted when the boy's face appeared right in front of me.

"Is that my cousin?" He asked Grita, looking me in the eyes, almost of a height with me in my temporary caretaker's arms. "Can I hold him?"

"Careful, young master. Young master Tilvrade is still young and you'd hurt him easy. But you can take his hand."

Phew, close one. I don't want to imagine what it would be like to get tossed or thrown by this one.

"Alright," he said and held out a hand. I put my palm on his, which surprised him for a moment, but he smiled and matched my gesture.

"Can he understand me?" my cousin asked.

"Young master Tilvrade is just a baby," Grita told him factually. "But that doesn't mean he doesn't understand you. He is a quick learner like his mother's family."

"Ohhh."

"Who have you found there, Pricel?" My grandfather looked over. It seemed the talk on camp logistics had finished.

"Father, this is Tilvrade," my mother said, walking ahead of her father to take me from Grita's arms. "Your grandson."

I looked around for my 7 year old cousin who seems to have wandered off again towards the manor yard. He had probably been sitting in that carriage all day and was restless to move about.

One of the guards, dressed somewhat differently, stalked behind the boy, shadowing him.

And then, I could pay attention no longer as a stubble covered face hovered above, cooing most effeminately like a besotted father to a newborn.

I was so surprised at the close up face that I put my hand out to shield myself and accidentally slapped the man in the face.

"Are you my little miracle?" He said cooingly, with pouted lips that he most definitely did not use with mother and father.

"Yes!" I shouted excited. Did he know I was condensing mana already? Well on my way to making miracles?

He dismissed my slap to the cheek as if I was doing nothing out of the ordinary, and pinched my hand up and down in his fingers and waved it about.

"Father, do not tease him. He might be young, but he is very mature already."

"Hahaha," he laughed from his stomach, "I would expect nothing less of your son, Cianna."

I giggled back too. Grandfather was delicious! Wait, was delicious only used to describe food? No matter...

"Grandfather!" I exclaimed to say my hellos too.

My grandfather laughed joyfully, but mother then corrected me, "Tilly, this is mother's father, not your grandfather."

Mother's father's chuckles settled down, then he talked to me again, "I hope you will bring us together once again, little one. I'm sorry the years ahead will be anything but calm."