"Say another word about my mother," he hissed, his voice a low, guttural growl that sounded far too old. "And I'll show you what kind of pet a weak human is truly makes."
Grimoire struggled, eyes bulging, vision blurring. He was choking on invisible air. Impossible. I'm a noble Beastfolk!
"You think you're strong?" Lith continued, the whisper terrifying calm. "You think your bloodline makes you superior? You're nothing. My mother could wipe out your entire race without breaking a sweat. She could crush your father bones, tear his flesh, and leave his world in ashes." He paused, the grip tightening. "And you dare to insult her? You defile her with your filthy, borrowed thoughts?"
Grimoire's eyes rolled back. He felt his life slipping away, his body growing limp.
Lith stared at the beastfolk, his face a mask of cold fury. He wanted to kill him—to silence the filth forever. But then, he remembered his mother. Her gentle smile, her unwavering love. He remembered her words: Don't let anyone take you away from me.
With a supreme effort, Lith forced himself to release the wind's grip. FWOOMP. He dropped Grimoire to the ground, wracked by violent, desperate coughs.
"Consideryourself lucky," Lith said, his rage making his voice trembled. "My mother is too kind to let me dirty my hands with trash like you. But next time, I won't ask her permission."
Grimoirelay on the ground, shaking, his eyes wide with terror. He looked at Lith and saw not a weak human, but a monster in a child's body.
Lith turned and walked away, leaving Grimoire gasping for breath in the dirt. As he walked, he wiped his hands on his pants, as if trying to cleanse himself of the filth of the beastfolk.
By the time he reached the village, Lith's face was composed, his gentle smile back in place.
Inside the cabin, Mhari was finished the negotiation. She had subtly the conversation, using her flawless command of high-nible etiquette tl deflect Helvane's probing questions. Rhei, watching her, felt a surge of hope mixed with profound confusion. This was not the clumsy farmer he knew. This was a shield against cruelty.
As the negotiations drew to a close, Helvane leaned forward, eyes fixed on Mhari. "I believe we have reached an understanding, madam. Loyalty is always rewarded."
Mhari met his gaze, the perfect mas of subservience in place. "We understand perfectly, my Lord. Our discretion is assured."
My discretion to not murder you here, yes.
As the nobles prepared to leave, Koda turned to Rhei. "Remember what we discussed, boy. Don't disappoint us."
The words were barrel out of Koda's mouth when Grimoire stumbled into the clearing. His face was pael, his body shaking. He locked eyes with Lith—who gave him a sweet, innocent smile and a small, angelic wave. Grimoire's eyes widened in sheer, naked terror. He scrambled into the carriage, pressing his body against the far corner. The carriage doors SLICED shut.
As Lith stepped inside, Mhari turned to him, her eyes sharp with concern. "Lith, darling, are you alright? Did Young Master Grimoire do anything to upset you?"
Lith tilted his head, the mas of innocence flawless. "Of course not, Mama. We had a lovely time. We simply... got to know each other better."
Mhari studied his face, sensing the faint tremor of darkness beneath his aura. He did something. I know that stillness.
"I'm glad to hear that. Just remember to be careful, darling. Not everyone is as kind as they seem."
"I know, Mama. I'll always be careful. Especially when it comes to protecting you."
Mhari's heart ached. Protecting me? He's seven years old. She watched him walk away, troubled. She touched the sealing earring on her left ear, a nervous habit.
Thump-thump, thump-thump.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. The darkness was growing stronger. How could she nurture his potential without unleashing the cold, predatory darkness he inherited?
The villagers began their celebration, but Rhei was consumed by doubt.
Later that evening, he found Mhari tending her garden.
"Mhari," he said, his voice low. "About the agreement with the nobles..."
"I simply assured them of our cooperation," she said guarded. "We will provide the rice they need, and in return, they will leave us in peace."
"It's not that simple, is it? Who..." he paused. "Who are you, Mhari? You acted like you knew exactly what they were doing. You spoke their language." He remembered the commanding grace that spoke of power and experience. She was lying to him.
Mhari's eyes flashed with anger, quickly masked. "I'm just a simple farmer, Rhei. Don't let your imagination run wild."
Rhei didn't believe her. The betrayal—or was it desperate secret?—would have to wait.
That night, Mhari slipped out into the cool air. Drawn to the forest, she found Lith in a clearing, eyes closed, face upturned to the moon.
The wind swirled around him, but it was not merely a breeze. A faint aura, the color of amethyst and lightning, began to pulse from his small frame. The power radiating from him—raw, untamed, astonishing for a child—both thrilled and terrified her.
He is suppressing that power to protect the weak. Just like I did.
She understood the truth: Lith was extraordinary. She couldn't protect him from his destiny forever.
—
The next morning, Mhari watched him like hawk. When Lith rushed to her side, offering to use his wind magic to lift a heave basket of chopped wood, her heart skipped beat.
"Mama, why don't you just use your power to lift it?" He asked, full of innocent curiosity.
"It's alright, Lith." She said, gently taking the basket from him. "I'm strong enough to carry it myself. Besides, if I used my power, people might suspicious. It's best to keep things simple."
Lith frowned. "But why can't I use my wind power to help you?" He asked, his eyes filled with longing. "I could just lift it all into the basket with a gust of wind!"
Mhari's heart skipped a beat. She knew that Lith possessed a natural affinity natural affinity for wind magic, but she had always discouraged him from using it. The villagers already knew he had some talent, but they dismissed it as the weak, almost nonexistent mana of a human child. If he displayed too much power, it would draw unwanted attention.
"It's too dangerous, Lith," she said, her voice firm. "You're still too young to control your power properly. Besides," she added, with a wink, "who would believe that a skinny little seven-year-old could lift a whole basket of wood with the wind? They'd think I was teaching you witchcraft!"
Lith giggled, but his eyes still held a hint of disappoinment. He longed to use his power, to help his mother, to prove that he was strong enough to protect her.
Later, sitting by the river, Lith pressed her. "Mama, tell me more about the city. About the Academy. What's it like to learn magic?"
Mhari sighed, running a hand through his hair. She knew she couldn't hold him back. He is already strong.
"The city is... complicated, Lith," she said, her voice hesitant. "It's full of wonders, but also dangers. The Academy is a place of learning, but it's also a place of power, where ambition and greed can corrupt even the purest hearts."
Lith's face fell. "But I want to learn magic, Mama," he pleaded. "I want to become strong, so I can protect you."
But your already strong...
"Hm, alright Lith," she said, her voice firm. "If you truly want to learn magic, I will teach you. But it comes with conditions."
Lith's eyes lit up. "Conditions?"
"Yes," Mhari said, serious. "First, you must promise you will never use your power to hurt others, unless it is to protect yourself slor those you love. And second, if you ever want to go to the city, if you ever want to attend the Academy, you must do one thing: You must Master the fire. You must learn to harness its power without letting its rage consume you."
"I don't like fire."
"Why? I've never seen you use fire magic."
"Because, it's too... destructive."
Mhari's heart skipped a beat. "Destructive?" She repeated, her voice trembling slightly. "What do you mean?"
Lith giggled, a light, airy sound that sent a shiver down her spine. "If I used fire, I might burn everything down," he said, his eyes sparkling with a strange, unsettling glee. "And I wouldn't want to do that, would I? I might accidentally burn you, Mama."
Mhari forced a laugh, trying to dismiss her unease. "Don't be silly, Lith," her voice strained. "You wouldn't burn me. You're too kind."
But Lith's smile didn't waver. "I don't know, Mama," his voice still soft. "Fire and I didn't get along very well. Wind is much better. It clams me down, keeps me... balanced." He paused, his eyes locking with hers, his expression unsettling mature. "Besides, fire is too messy. Wind is much more... elegant."
Mhari stared at him, her mind feeling. He's just a child. He doesn't understand the implications of what he's saying. But deep down, she knew that Lith was different, that there was darkness within him that she couldn't ignore.
Gulp, went her throat, dry with sudden fear. She had to teach him to control his power, to channel his darkness into someone constructive. She had to protect him from himself.
"Still, you need to control your fire magic."
"But Mama, I told you, I don't like fire. It's too dangerous."
"I know, Lith. But you can't run away from your power. If you can prove to me that you can control your fire, then...then I will consider letting you go to the city."
"Really, Mama?" His voice filled with hope.
"I mean it, Lith. But you must promise me one more thing. You must always hide your power. The world is a dangerous place, and there are people who would try to exploit you. Promise me you will only use it when you need to protect me, or someone."
"I promise, Mama!" He exclaimed, throwing his arms around her. "I won't let you down!"
Mhari held him close, her heart swelling with love and dread. She was ready to guide him, to prepare him for the world.
—
That night, Mhari say by the window, tears stream I down her face. "Lithos," she whispered, her voice choked. "Oh, Lithos, if only you were here. You would know how to guide him."
Tap-tap, went the rain against the windowpane, a mournful counterpoint to the monumental pact she had just made.