Siegfried Fors
Ten hours. Ten hours.
Oh Aethelhum above, this world really needs some form of faster transportation. My legs weren't even moving, and yet my backside had gone numb from all the jolting. I shifted uncomfortably on the carriage bench, my eyes wandering toward the curtain-drawn window. We'd spent the night at a campsite, and since sunrise, we hadn't stopped once. If this were my old world, we'd have covered this distance in just a few hours, in a car, probably with air-conditioning on, and snacks I didn't have to catch or grow myself.
But here? Well, here we had horses.
There were airships, sure, but they only flew between major cities, imperial capitals, dukedom capitals, and the ports that mattered. Not baronies. Not the forgotten little patches of green like this one.
With a sigh, I leaned forward and turned to Grandpa. "How much longer till we get there?"
But the answer didn't come from him.
"It's right outside," Granny said. "Look for yourself."
On hearing that, I reached for the window and pulled aside the curtain. The light of early afternoon spilled in, and my eyes widened.
Massive wooden walls loomed ahead, surrounding the area like an armored embrace. There was a sturdy main gate, reinforced iron at the hinges, and a pair of guards stationed on either side.
"They have walls," I murmured, more to myself than anyone else. "Granny… we don't have any, right?"
"We used to," she replied casually. "Before the Beast of Cataclysm incident. They got damaged during the stampede. We took the rest down during expansions afterward."
I raised an eyebrow. "Was that… alright?"
Granny didn't even blink. "We aren't in a strategic location. No monster nests nearby, no enemy borders to worry about. We've got a wide clearing around Fors Barony. And most importantly, we have Valka. There is no better defense."
I nearly snorted. "For some reason, I can imagine that 'better defense' is still in bed right now… after dumping all her duties on poor Silas."
Granny didn't deny it. Just chuckled softly.
The carriage rolled to a slow halt as we approached the gate. A guard stepped forward, spear in hand, peering into the window. "Who goes there?"
Before I could say anything, the knight riding alongside us, dark green-haired tied back neatly, armor polished despite the long ride, spoke firmly.
"Lord and Lady Fors."
The guard gave a respectful nod. "Welcome, Lord Fors."
With that, the gate groaned open, and the carriage rolled inside.
I found myself leaning forward without realizing it. I was… excited? Curious? A little of both. It wasn't every day we visited another barony.
The first stretch inside the walls was lined with homes, wooden cottages with tiled roofs, stone chimneys, and the usual bustle of baronial life. It was… good. Well-kept. Peaceful.
But it wasn't Fors.
Fors Barony always felt like it punched above its weight. From infrastructure to people, everything felt polished, modern, alive.
Here, it was clear.
This place had its charm, but it lacked the quiet efficiency I had grown used to. A reminder, perhaps, that Granny and Grandpa ran things with far more precision than most.
And then… we reached the fields.
My breath caught.
Scorched. Blackened earth stretched across what must have been once-lush farmland. Smoke still lingered in the air, faint but acrid. Patches of ground looked like they had been reduced to charcoal. Some of the homes near the edges of the fields had caught fire too, their roofs caved in, walls crumbling.
This wasn't damage, it was devastation.
Whether the land could be cultivated again would depend entirely on how deep the damage ran. If the soil had been damaged by fire… it might take years to recover. If ever.
My excitement dimmed, giving way to a strange heaviness. This wasn't just some political visit. People here had lost their harvest. Their homes. Their livelihood.
The carriage slowly came to a stop.
A familiar voice called out as someone approached.
"Lord Fors," said the red-haired knight from earlier, hopping down from his horse with a fluid grace. He strode up to the carriage and opened the door with a bow. "We've arrived at Baron Borg's manor."
He extended a hand toward me. "Let me help you, young lord."
His tone was respectful but warm, and he had that irritatingly perfect knightly smile on his face. His red hair shimmered slightly under the sun, and I felt a strange heat creep into my cheeks.
I cleared my throat. "Ahem." With all the noble dignity I could muster, I placed my hand in his and stepped down from the carriage, chin held high just like Mother taught me.
Act like a Fors. Look like a Fors. Walk like a Fors.
Even if your legs are still asleep from sitting too long.
Grandpa and Granny stepped out behind me. I turned my gaze toward the manor ahead. It was… respectable. Large enough, two stories high with carved pillars lining the entrance and a tiled roof that gleamed faintly in the sunlight. But still, not as grand as ours. Fors Manor had a certain lived-in majesty, a warmth in its structure and history. This one felt... newer. Still growing into itself.
A yawn vibrated through my hair.
Faux.
The little furball stretched like a cat, paws forward, tail straight up, his fluffy red-orange body arching over my crown as though he were a king surveying his kingdom.
I rolled my eyes. "Dude, just how much did you sleep?"
He had been out cold for almost the entire ride. He'd stirred last night for a few hours, enough to warm himself by the fire and munch some dried meat, but had gone back into snooze mode the moment we climbed into the carriage this morning.
Now, sitting up with his little ears twitching, Faux looked around groggily, blinking at the unfamiliar surroundings.
He peered down at me, made a confused little 'Fuaaa'
I sighed. "Don't you remember we left the barony for a trip?"
Faux tilted his head, letting out a curious "Fuuaaa?" that basically translated to: Did we?
I deadpanned. "You seriously need more awareness."
Before Faux could give me some cheeky retort via ear-wiggling, the front gates creaked open.
Two figures stepped out with measured grace. Lord Borg stood tall, though there was a noticeable stiffness to his posture. He looked our way with a composed, respectful gaze.
Beside him stood Lady Borg, draped in a beautiful dark green gown, her pale blonde hair cascading gracefully.
"Welcome, Lord and Lady Fors," Lord Borg said as he approached Grandpa with a slight bow. "Thank you for coming here yourselves."
Grandpa placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Of course we will. We can't leave family alone when trouble strikes."
Granny, already halfway toward Lady Borg, reached out gently. "How are you?"
Lady Borg's face softened. "I'm fine. Happier now that you're here."
Granny leaned in, pressing her forehead against hers in quiet affection. "Of course, I will," she murmured, though what she meant by that, I wasn't sure. Comfort, perhaps. Or support. With Granny, both came naturally.
While all the greetings and formalities played out, my attention shifted, drawn to the tiny figure still clutching his mother's gown. His eyes, bright and unsure, locked with mine.
James.
A moment passed. I offered him a smile and gave a small wave.
He blinked, startled, then returned the wave slowly with his little hand. There was hesitation in his movements, but his nervousness began to ease. A small, shy smile tugged at his lips.
I was glad he was okay.
"Let's go inside," Lord Borg said, turning toward the entrance. "I'm sure everyone is tired from the trip."
We followed him as the manor doors opened wide. The air inside smelled faintly of lavender oil and burnt wood, a strange but oddly fitting mix for a barony trying to recover from flames.
And though I was still tired from the journey, I couldn't help but feel the lingering heaviness in the air. The weight of the damage we'd seen outside. The weight of worry.
After a short rest and freshening up, we gathered in the dining hall for a late lunch with Lord Borg and his family. Faux simply took flight and disappeared. No heavy topics were brought up at the table, just small, polite conversation. Bits of travel talk, the weather, a few compliments on the kitchen's stew.
I sat beside James, hoping to ease the tension in his little shoulders.
"How're you doing?" I asked him, keeping my tone gentle.
He shifted in his seat, not quite meeting my eyes. "I'm good," he said, voice barely above a whisper.
That was unexpected. I thought after meeting him two years in a row at the Harvest Festival, he'd have warmed up to me a little. Maybe I misjudged. Or maybe everything happening around him was just too much for a six-year-old to deal with.
As the last of the plates were cleared and the servants bowed their way out, the room seemed to settle, and silence settled with it.
I knew what was coming.
Granny was the first to break it. "So... Lord Borg," she began, her voice calm but edged with seriousness, "what's the real extent of the damage?"
The room tensed with that one question.
Lord Borg exhaled slowly, resting his elbows on the table. "Lady Fors, as you may have seen on your way in... most of the fields are gone. A few homes at the edge were caught in the flames. And the wall on the eastern side, it burned too."
My brows lifted slightly.
The wall too? They were lucky to catch that before anything came in. If it had happened at night, during a storm, or Aethelhum forbid—when no one was watching—this could have been far worse.
Grandpa leaned forward, voice steady. "Have you discovered who was behind the fire?"
Lord Borg's expression darkened. "Sadly, no. We questioned every registered fire mage in the territory. No mana residual traces were left on the scene. Not even close."
Understandable. Fire mages were always the first suspects. But… not the only possibility. A concentrated lightning strike, magical or not, could spark a wildfire. Even wind-enhanced embers could spread unnaturally fast.
"And what about the condition of the soil?" Granny asked.
Lord Borg paused for a moment. "...It's bad," he admitted. "The fire spread fast. Too fast. Took everyone by surprise. By the time we managed to put it out, it was already too late."
That's the danger of fire. It doesn't give you a second chance. That's why every region needs its own countermeasures—its own firebreaks, reserves, wards, something. You plan before, not after.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw James' little shoulders slump, his hands curling into the cloth of his pants.
He was trying to hide it, but… he looked so small. So sad.
Lord Borg sighed. "We've asked the few flower-magic users we have to assess the land. They checked the land and said the soil's unstable. Lifeless, almost. But they're just common healers. They can't fix land like this."
Flower magic… I'd read about it. A gentle elemental affinity, usually centered around flora, trees, and herbs. It contained powerful healing properties, both for living beings and nature. In Fors Barony, Doctor Ridge used it to treat deep tissue burns and bone fractures. But reviving dead land?
If they had an elf, maybe… It's said that elves are true masters of flower magic. Capable of resurrecting entire forests. But finding an elf in this area? That was nearly impossible.
"For now," Granny said softly, placing her magic pouch on the table, "use what's in here."
Lord Borg blinked, surprised. "Lady Fors?"
"We brought a set of restoration reagents and seeds, everything we could fit in without delay. It's not much, but it should buy you some breathing room."
Lord Borg stared at the pouch. Then slowly, he shook his head. "We… can't accept this for free."
Grandpa raised a brow. "It's not a loan."
Lord Borg stood from his seat, fists lightly clenched. "Even so, I—"
"Lark," Lady Borg said gently, placing a hand on his arm.
He stopped, drew a slow breath, then bowed. "My apologies. I've had… a lot on my mind."
Grandpa nodded. "I understand. But this is not charity. It's family. Pay us when you've stabilized. That's all."
Lord Borg's eyes softened with gratitude. Then, he looked between us all, then finally, his gaze landed on me. Then on James.
"James," he said gently. "Why don don't you go and show young Lord Siegfried around the manor?"
James blinked. "Me?"
"You'll do fine," Lord Borg said, offering him a small smile. "Be a good host."
I could tell what this was. Lord Borg didn't want to look like he couldn't provide. Not in front of his son. I understood that more than I let on.
I turned to Granny. She gave a small nod, eyes flicking to James with a warm glimmer of approval.
I stood, pushing back my chair. "Shall we?"
James nodded quickly, eyes still wide and unsure, but a little more steady now. Together, we left the room, my footsteps quiet against the stone tiles as we stepped into the echoing hallways of Borg Manor.
He led me to his room, modest in size, but neatly kept. Shelves lined the walls, and to my surprise, they were crammed full of books. Thick ones, too. Not the kind with just pictures and big letters.
"You read all of these?" I asked, raising a brow.
James turned, a bit bashful. "Some of them... Mama taught me."
That was surprising. I'd learned to read when I was six, but that was only because I had the memories of a full-grown man in my head. James didn't. Or at least, I hoped he didn't. That would make things... complicated.
"You're amazing," I said, genuinely.
James fidgeted. "It's nothing... You awakened when you were six. That's way more amazing."
I gave a half-hearted chuckle. "And I've been stuck ever since. No element. No breakthrough. I'm still at the same stage."
He quickly shook his head. "Still... you awakened. That's a big accomplishment." His voice softened. "If I did... maybe I could've helped with the fire."
I looked at him, his small face slightly shadowed by guilt. Quietly, I reached out and gave his head a gentle pat.
"Even if I had been here, I couldn't have done much either. Some things... just burn faster than we can stop."
James looked up, hesitant. "But you can use spells, right?"
I nodded, remembering the last Harvest Festival when I'd shown him mana shaping for the first time. "I can. Want to see something new I've been working on?"
His face lit up instantly, a sparkle in his eyes. "I do!"
I held out my hand and began drawing in mana, gathering it around my palm. Slowly and carefully, I began weaving it, pulling threads of ambient mana together, folding them gently like silk. Within seconds, a glowing green butterfly shimmered into existence, its translucent wings pulsing with a soft light.
"Woah..." James whispered, completely mesmerized.
I smiled, then nodded toward him. "Hold out your hands."
He did, palms cupped eagerly. The butterfly flitted from my hand to his, its glowing wings stirring the air gently as it landed with care.
"I-I can touch it!"
"Yup. It's made from solid mana," I said, crossing my arms proudly. "Took a lot of practice to get the density right. I've been training Mana Weave lately, and this is the result."
"You made mana touchable... that must be difficult." His eyes were wide again, but this time with wonder.
"You really understood that?"
He nodded. "You shaped it and gave it form."
I had to admit, I was impressed. I'd expected curiosity, but not that level of insight.
Before I could say more, something outside the window caught my attention, a blur of blue and green through the glass.
"Are those the fruit trees your barony's known for?" I asked, stepping closer.
James joined me, peeking through. "They are. We grow them in the back. All the way to the tree line."
I turned toward him, already halfway to the door. "Can we go take a look?"
He nodded eagerly, and with that, we made our way out.
The rear garden opened into a vast orchard. Rows upon rows of tall, slender trees stretched outward like a quiet forest, their barked trunks supporting clusters of round blue fruits nestled in soft green leaves. The air carried a faint sweetness, like honey mixed with something herbal.
"Wow," I murmured as I approached one of the trees. "Blar Pome, right?"
James walked beside me and nodded. "They're rich in mana. Not a lot, but enough to make you feel warm when you eat them."
So mana-infused fruits… interesting. As I was turning the thought over in my mind...
"Fuuaa!"
I snapped my head up just in time to see Faux, my shameless, gluttonous, freeloader of a familiar, diving headfirst into one of the Blar Pome fruits still attached to the tree.
"Faux! What are you doing?! Get down here!"
With a guilty squeak, he pulled his head free from the half-devoured fruit. Then, instead of flying off quietly like any rational creature, he zoomed down while still holding the entire fruit in his paws like some airborne thief.
I snatched it mid-air as he tried to land. "You can't eat without asking, idiot!"
Faux flared his tail, glaring up at me and letting out an indignant stream of high-pitched noises that definitely did not sound apologetic.
"Shut up. You're at fault here," I snapped, holding the fruit behind my back.
With a sulky hmph, Faux spun around and tried to fly upward again. But in his dramatic exit, his head hit a low branch, and with a surprised squeal, he tumbled down, taking the branch with him.
Thud.
He landed on the ground in a sprawl, tangled in broken twigs and rubbing his head.
I let out a sigh, one hand on my forehead. "You... little disaster."
Turning back toward James, I found him standing there, eyes wide, completely unsure how to process what he just saw.
"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "I'll fix the branch. I promise."
Faux, meanwhile, lay sprawled on the grass like he'd just been mortally wounded in battle, groaning dramatically, his reddish-orange fur puffed up in tufts and golden eyes squinted in theatrical pain.
A calm voice cut through the air, "There's no need to do that, young lord."
I turned my head. Lord Borg was approaching us from the manor.
I straightened instinctively. "I apologize for Faux's behavior, he—"
"It's alright," Lord Borg interrupted with a faint smile as he knelt beside Faux. To my utter surprise, he gently scooped the little troublemaker up into his arms. Faux blinked up at him, confused for a second, then tilted his head and gave a soft "Fua?" Lord Borg reached for the half-eaten fruit I still held and offered it back to him.
"Magic beasts are drawn to these fruits. The mana inside makes them irresistible," he explained.
Faux accepted the fruit like royalty accepting a tribute, tail wagging lazily as he began chomping down with sheer delight.
Shameless creature.
Of course, Lord Borg thought he was just a magic beast. I hadn't told anyone in Borg Barony that Faux was a spirit, a high-level one, at that. Zayn once told me that spirits grew stronger by absorbing ambient mana, which explained Faux's unhealthy obsession with anything magical and edible.
Even so, I bent down and picked up the broken branch, holding it carefully in both hands.
"I'd still like to fix this," My grip tightened around the broken branch.
Lord Borg blinked, puzzled. "Young lord… you haven't awakened an element yet. How would you...?"
"I'll use a mana-based spell," I replied.
He stared at me for a second, visibly curious, then finally handed Faux to James and turned back toward me. "Then let me help."
He stepped forward and lifted me effortlessly, raising me up until I was level with the torn part of the tree. I gently pressed the snapped branch back against the trunk, closing my eyes to focus.
"Restora vinca." The words left my lips with steady breath, and I guided my mana into the break like threading a needle. A faint glow pulsed through the tree bark, green and alive.
A moment later, the branch mended itself, fibers knitting back together, bark smoothing over the seam like it had never broken.
I exhaled slowly.
James gasped. "You fixed it…!"
Even Lord Borg remained silent for a beat. Then he said under his breath. "Truly… Lady Valka's son."
He gently set me back down.
A few minutes later, we were all sitting under the shade of one of the fruit trees, the afternoon breeze rustling gently through the leaves. I bit into a Blar Pome, sweet, slightly tangy, with a tingle of warmth spreading through my chest. James was laughing in the distance, playing with Faux, who had somehow convinced him to toss bits of fruit into the air like a game.
Lord Borg watched them, then looked back at me. "You're very capable, young lord."
I scratched my cheek. "It's nothing, really." Seems like I hear that from everyone now… everyone but Mother, and Zayn, of course. He never says anything I want to hear.
After a moment of silence, I tilted my head and asked, "We're both from baron families. And I'm just a grandson, not the head. So why do you always call me young lord?"
"That's…"
At my question, he hesitated, like the words caught in his throat before he could decide whether to speak them or swallow them.
Ah… from the way his expression faltered, I must've backed him into a corner. He won't say it, but I can see it, the hesitation in his eyes, the weight behind his silence. It's strange, really… how a few words from me could make someone like him look uncertain.
I tilted my head further with a child's innocence. "It's alright if it's something you can't tell me. I understand."
His expression softened. "Thank you," he said quietly. "You're quite mature too."
I smiled, but couldn't help letting a yawn slip out right after.
"You had a long journey, young lord," Lord Borg said gently. "Why don't you rest for today? Lord and Lady Fors are already doing the same."
"Then I'll take you up on that."
Lord Borg rose to his feet, brushing the dust from his cloak.
"Allow me to guide you to your room."
I nodded, following him as the wind rustled the trees behind us and Faux flopped tiredly at James' feet.
Yes, let's rest for today… because from tomorrow, we get to work.