Lucas and his father left that afternoon. His father’s cart was stacked above Lucas’ head with goods again, and Lucas, rather than looking around at all of the new sights in the village, sat with his nose in a book of herb lore.

The book was as thick as his father’s wrist and had pages that were so thin that Lucas thought he’d be able to see through them if he held them up to the light. In fact, he’d tried to do just that as soon as he started reading, but his father had told him that he’d get a whipping if he dropped the book or tore the pages. He covered as many pages in the book as he could on the way home. The book itself had a ridiculous amount of information on each plant. Each entry included a picture of the plant with a memory spell tied to it. Under each picture was a small glyph. When he touched the glyph, he entered a memory of someone, likely the person who wrote the book, holding a sample of the plant. There was no commentary, but he could feel the sharp edges of aspen grass and smell the cloying sweet aroma of an aloe plant’s rich sap. Each entry included common names for the plant, the many uses, the climate that it required to grow, the mana density that each plant thrived and failed at, and much, much more.

Lucas had never thought that he could be so tired just from reading, but, by the time he arrived home, all he wanted to do was just eat dinner and sleep. Unfortunately for him, his training to attempt to acquire an [Inventory] was starting this evening. As Lucas jumped down from the cart and started to trudge inside he felt his father’s big, roughly callused hand come down on his shoulder.

“Not so fast, son,” said his father. “You get to unload the cart.” He then pulled out a small stack of about five sheets of paper. “This is the list of items in the cart. You should know where everything goes, if you have any questions, just ask your ma’. I reckon that it should take you about three hours to unload the cart and have everything squared away. I want you to write down on your own sheet of paper a list of everything you unloaded, where you placed it, and how many of those items we had before unloading the cart.”

Lucas just stared at his father for a moment, at a loss for words. “But, dad,” he replied. “There’s no way I’ll be able to unload all of this in time for supper.”

“Don’t worry, son,” said his father with an evil smile. “I’ll make sure your ma saves you somethin’. From now on, your job is to keep track of every item we own, both here and in the barn. You will count how much grain we feed the chickens, how much hay the donkey eats, how many barrels of water we go through in a week. Every single thing.” He then pulled out a ledger book before continuing. “This is yours, I spect’ you to keep it neat, and for it to be correct. Once you’ve written everything down from today you’re gonna’ tally it up and start a ledge entry for it. Your ma’s gonna’ show you how to get started on it tomorrow and she’s gonna’ check it pretty regular. Don’t worry, when you fill it up I’ve got extra. Now, hop to or you won’t get any sleep tonight, morning’s comin’ early.”

Lucas didn’t say anything, he just let out a dejected sigh, grabbed a sack from the top of the cart, and headed over to the cellar door. At least dad pulled the cart around back. He set the sack down and opened the cellar door. Just inside the door was a small glyph. It was crudely drawn, and Stan had to spend a week each year replacing it and the connected glyphs. With a touch of the activation glyph, the glyphs on the ceiling of the cellar lit up a soft yellow glow.

He picked up his sack and headed down the creaky stairs into his family’s cellar. With a grunt he placed the sack on the shelf next to three other similar sacks. He brought out his paperwork and quickly jotted down the information and headed back up to the cart. After an hour and a half of steady work, Lucas had the cart to the half way point. He climbed into the cart and reached for the next item. It was a large chest with one handle on either side. It was a glossy black and there was a large lock on the front. Lucas reached out and grabbed the handle on the right and strained. With effort, he was able to lift the right side of the chest off of the cart bed by a few inches.

Lucas turned around and headed inside to find his father at the table. Laid out in front of him was one of his traps, separated into all of its component parts, on a large piece of cloth.

“You probably didn’t finish unloadin’ the cart. What do you need, son?” asked his father.

“There’s a big chest that I need to move, but it’s too heavy,” replied Lucas.

“Ah, I know the one. I reckon you would have some trouble liftin’ it out of the cart,” said his father. Stan set down the piece of equipment that he was modifying and stood from the table. He walked out to the cart and grabbed the chest. With a grunt he lifted it from the cart and set it on the ground. “You can set this in the barn to the right of the door. On your list you can mark it down as training materials,” said his father. Without another word, his father turned and went back into the house. Lucas was left standing behind the cart staring at the chest on the ground.

With his third big sigh of the day, Lucas bent and grabbed one of the handles of the chest and began to drag it towards the barn. It took him almost twenty minutes to get it the 20 meters from the cart to the barn, and he was worn out by the time he finished. He sat on the chest for a few minutes trying to gather his energy back up before heading back to the cart. Laying on top of a crate containing various nails, screws, and fasteners was his traitor pet. Next time I have to move something like that I’ll make him help. I’m sure I can make a harness out of some rope, thought Lucas.

He amused himself by imagining what it would be like to ride around on the large void cat like a steed for the next hour as he unloaded the remainder of the cart. When he was finished, he headed inside to find his father gone from the table, and the table cleaned off. He walked into the living room and saw his mother and father sitting on the couch. His father had his eyes closed and his mother was leaned against him reading a book. As he entered the room, his mother turned to look at him. She took in his bedraggled, sweat soaked state and smiled in amusement.

“Go wash up, I’ll get your supper ready,” she said as she closed the book and stood up.

Lucas didn’t say anything, just headed towards the wash room. Inside was a large tub that they used about once a week to take a full bath, spigots to draw water from the cistern, and several basins and rags. Lucas filled a basin with cool water, stripped, and washed off. Once he’d rinsed, he put on his night clothes and headed back to the kitchen. Sitting on the table was a large plate with roast venison, potatoes, greens, and a large chunk of bread. There was steam coming from the plate and the aroma was just as powerful as if it was just cooked minutes ago. Lucas didn’t spend too much time appreciating the site of the food that had been kept fresh by his mother’s hearth magic, instead he immediately set to devouring the plate of food as fast as possible.

When he was finished, his mother laughed at him and gently steered him to his bed where Lucas immediately fell into a deep sleep before his head had even hit his pillow. His mother closed the door and headed back into the kitchen to clean up. She hated seeing her son so exhausted, even if it was cute how he could barely keep his eyes open, and knew that tonight was just the start, but she loved that he was finally getting the chance to grow into his potential.

Lucas woke the next morning and started his new life of training and responsibility. First, he did his normal chores. He went out to the chicken coop and collected eggs, fed the chickens, goats, and the donkey. Next, he milked the goat and helped his mother in the garden. He helped his father with some small repairs in the barn before lunch. Then there was lunch and an afternoon with his mother helping him with his ledger and the inventory of the homestead’s supplies. After supper, he read in his book of herb lore and attempted to answer prewritten questions by Randolph.

Each night he would go to sleep exhausted, and each morning he began the cycle of training and learning over. This pattern repeated for the next three weeks. On Freeday, three weeks after returning from Emmit’s Village, Lucas wasn’t awoken by the sound of his mother’s gentle tap on his door. He woke up to find the sun streaming in his window, already most of the way through the morning rise to its zenith. He quickly got up and got dressed. Afterwards, he went into the kitchen, where the smells of his mother cooking a giant breakfast made his mouth start watering.

“Why didn’t you wake me up, mum?” he asked.

“You don’t know what day it is, dear?” she replied with her own question.

“It’s Freeday, but I thought that I needed to work on my skills.”

“True, but today is also your birthday. Happy Birthday, Lucas!” his mother said. She sat the spatula down and stepped over to give him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Your father is out in the barn. When you finish breakfast, he has a surprise for you.”

Lucas could hardly contain his excitement as he quickly consumed a breakfast of his favorite foods without even tasting it. Last year, his father had gotten him Mr. Snugglepuss for his birthday. The year before that he got his first magic item, a small pendant that would ward off insects and bugs and could be used to purify water.

Lucas ran out of the house as soon as his plate was clean. “Thanks mum!” he said as he rushed out the door.

When he got to the barn, he saw his father setting up a straw dummy like the one he used for archery practice. Lucas made sure to make plenty of noise so that his father didn’t think he was trying to sneak a look at his present. As Lucas entered, his father turned and motioned him over.

His father reached out and placed a hand on Lucas’ shoulder. “With you starting your training this year instead of next year, I had to get this made in the village on short notice and it took a couple of weeks to be ready, but I think it’s time.”

He walked over to the heavy black chest that Lucas had set inside the door three weeks ago and opened it with a key from around his neck. Out of it he took a bundle wrapped in leather and secured the chest once more. Lucas’ heart was racing as his father unrolled the bundle to expose a small recurve bow, a quiver of arrows, and a small sabre. The small slightly curved sword looked odd in Stan’s large hands.

“Getting a sword in your size was difficult. You’re going to grow pretty fast over the next few years, so we’ll swap it out as needed, but this should be big enough for you to train that [Swordsmanship] skill for a year or two. I remembered your description of the sword you used in your dream to learn the skill, and this should suit you. If you take after your ma’ in size like you do in pretty much everything else, you’re gonna’ want to rely on speed and skill over strength. The rapier is similar in size and is good for quick, light thrusts versus one opponent, but the Aldmunth Sabre is curved just enough to focus on slashing attacks as you move in and out of range while still allowing precise thrusts to vital areas. It’s suited to fighting multiple opponents while engaging and disengaging frequently, which is how we’re gonna’ teach you to fight with your cat.” Stan reached out with the sabre and handed it to his son, who still hadn’t spoken since seeing his items.

“Happy birthday, son.”