The world was painted in amber and bronze.
It was mid-autumn, that specific, fleeting window where the air is crisp enough to wake you up but the sun is still warm enough to kiss your skin. The sky was a piercing, cloudless blue, acting as a perfect canvas for the explosion of color that had taken over the valley. The oak trees, the maples, and the birches were ablaze with crimson, burnt orange, and gold.
Today was the Harvest Festival.
It was the biggest event in Brent. It marked the end of the hard labor in the fields and the beginning of the hunker-down for winter. For a village that worked as hard as this one, today was a collective exhale, a day to eat, drink, and forget about the coming snow.
I stood on the front porch, waiting for Sylvia.
"Come on, Sora, hold still," Sylvia's voice drifted through the open door, followed by a soft, indignant squeak.
A moment later, she stepped out, carrying a twin in each arm.
She looked beautiful. She wore a dress of heavy, cream-colored wool that fell to her ankles, cinched at the waist with a dark brown leather belt. Over it, she wore a knitted shawl in a deep, rusty red that matched the falling leaves. Her chestnut-gold hair was braided loosely over one shoulder, tied with a simple ribbon.
The twins were bundled up like little pumpkins, though Sylvia had decided to let their hair breathe today.
Sora, perched on Sylvia's right hip, was wearing a thick, knitted tunic in a soft oatmeal color, with matching leggings and tiny leather booties. Her dark hair with the blonde tips was wild and static-charged from the wool, sticking up in cute tufts. Her dark brown eyes were scanning the yard with intense, serious scrutiny, as if she were performing a security perimeter check.
Iris, on the left, was wearing the exact same outfit but in a pale, dusty pink. Her golden curls were bouncing as she kicked her legs excitedly, bubbling with happy gurgles, trying to catch a falling leaf that drifted past her nose.
"Ready to go, Percy?" Sylvia asked, shifting the girls to get a better grip.
"Born ready," I grinned, adjusting my own collar. I was wearing my best tunic a dark green one that didn't have any sawdust or dirt stains on it yet and a fresh pair of trousers.
We set off down the main road.
The walk to the village was an experience in itself. The dirt road was lined with trees that formed a tunnel of gold above our heads. The sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting dappled shadows on the ground. The air smelled of woodsmoke, dried corn husks, and the sweet, earthy scent of damp soil.
As we got closer to the village proper, the quiet sounds of nature were replaced by the hum of activity. I could hear the distant scrape of a fiddle being tuned, the laughter of children, and the low rumble of wagons.
We rounded the final bend, and the village square burst into view.
It had been transformed.
Strings of dried flowers and colorful ribbons were strung between the buildings, fluttering in the breeze. Stacks of hay bales were arranged like makeshift benches around the perimeter of the square. In the center, a massive fire pit had been dug, though it remained unlit for now, filled with logs waiting for the sunset.
Everywhere I looked, there was movement. Farmers were shouting greetings to one another, merchants were setting up stalls draped in colorful cloth, and the smell of roasting meat and caramelized sugar hung thick in the air.
"There he is," Sylvia said, pointing toward the bakery.
I followed her gaze. Outside the bakery, a large wooden stall had been set up. Grawn, the baker, was red-faced and sweating, trying to arrange trays of pastries.
And right next to him, lifting a massive crate as if it were filled with feathers, was Roxas.
My father looked like he was in his element. He was wearing a simple white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his biceps, revealing his thick, muscular forearms. He was laughing at something Grawn said, his deep voice booming over the crowd noise.
We walked over, weaving through the villagers.
"Heavy lifting again?" Sylvia teased as we approached.
Roxas turned, and his face lit up. He set the crate down on the counter with a solid thud and wiped his hands on his trousers.
"Just earning my keep," he grinned. He leaned over the counter and gave Sylvia a quick kiss on the cheek, then kissed the tops of the twins' heads. "You all look great. How are my girls?"
Sora reached out, grabbing his finger with her iron grip. Iris just squealed, blowing a spit bubble.
"Hey, Percy!" Grawn shouted, leaning over the counter. His shock of red hair was messy, and he had flour on his nose. "Good to see you, lad! And you too, Sylvia."
He reached into a basket behind him.
"Fresh out of the oven. On the house, for the best carpenter in the valley and his family."
He handed us four pastries wrapped in thin paper.
I took mine and bit into it immediately. It was still warm. The pastry flaked apart in my mouth, buttery and crisp, revealing a filling of spiced apples and walnuts. It was sweet, but not cloying, with a hint of cinnamon that warmed my throat.
"Thanks, Grawn!" I said, wiping crumbs from my lip. "This is amazing."
"Enjoy it, kid! Now, shoo, go have fun. Roxas, help me with this table, will ya?"
"Go on," Roxas told us, winking. "I'll catch up with you in a bit. Save me a dance, Sylvia."
Sylvia blushed, smiling. "I might."
As my mother moved toward a group of village women to chat, showing off the babies, I decided to break off on my own.
"I'm gonna go look around, Mom!"
"Stay close, Percy! Don't leave the square!" she called after me.
"I won't!"
I wandered into the crowd, feeling the energy of the festival wash over me. It was different from the festivals in my old world. There were no loudspeakers, no electric lights, no plastic stalls. Everything here was handmade, wooden, organic. It felt... grounded.
I found a stack of hay bales near the edge of the square, stacked three high. I climbed up to the top, sitting with my legs dangling over the edge. It was the perfect vantage point. I took another bite of my pastry and just watched.
The village was alive.
To my left, a group of musicians had started playing. It was a folk band two men with lutes, one with a fiddle, and a woman beating a rhythmic tattoo on a hand drum. The music was upbeat and bouncy, a jig that made you want to tap your feet.
In the open space near the musicians, couples were starting to dance.
My eyes caught a pair near the center. I recognized them immediately.
It was Niles and Yuna. They were a young couple, maybe in their late teens. Niles worked as a stable hand at the inn, a lanky boy with messy straw-colored hair and limbs that seemed too long for his body.
Yuna was the daughter of the seamstress. She was petite with dark hair that fell to her shoulders. Watching her laugh as she spun around, her skirt made of bright blue and yellow patches twirling around her shins, I had to admit... she was genuinely pretty. It was a weird feeling being six years old physically but recognizing beauty with an adult mind. I wasn't jealous of Niles, but I definitely understood why the guy looked so terrified of messing up.
He was stiff as a board, his face bright red, staring at his feet as he tried to keep up with the fiddle.
Yuna didn't let go, though. She just gripped his hands tighter, spun him around to correct his balance, and pulled him back into the rhythm. She whispered something to him, probably something encouraging and Niles finally looked up from his feet. He looked at her, and his panic melted into a goofy, lovesick grin.
I smiled, finishing my pastry. Young love. It was clumsy, but it was sweet.
My gaze shifted to the right, near the town well.
Trouble was brewing.
I spotted a trio of boys I knew from the village. They were older than me, maybe ten or eleven.
Ryan was the leader. He was a stocky kid with shaggy brown hair that fell into his eyes and a perpetual smudge of dirt on his cheek. Next to him was Kipley, a scrawny kid with freckles covering every inch of his face, who followed Ryan like a shadow. And trailing behind was Himmel, a quiet, chubby boy who always looked like he was worried about getting caught.
They were crouching behind the well, giggling and pointing toward a group of girls standing near the flower stall.
I watched, intrigued. What's the plan, boys?
Ryan reached into his pocket and pulled out... a frog. A massive, slimy green frog he must have pulled from the creek earlier.
He whispered something to Kipley, who nodded frantically, trying to suppress a laugh. Himmel just looked anxious, wringing his hands.
Ryan crept forward, moving with the exaggerated stealth of a child playing spy. He snuck up behind the miller's daughter, who had long, sandy hair flowing down her back. She was busy looking at a flower crown.
With a sudden lunge, Ryan dropped the frog right onto her shoulder.
"Ribbit!"
The reaction was instantaneous.
"AAAAH! GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!"
The girl shrieked, flailing her arms. The frog, terrified by the noise, leaped off her shoulder and landed squarely on the head of the girl next to her. Chaos erupted. The group of girls scattered, screaming and laughing.
Ryan and Kipley doubled over, howling with laughter, slapping their knees. Even Himmel cracked a smile.
But their victory was short-lived.
The miller's daughter, having realized it was just a frog, turned around. Her face was beet red, but not from fear. From rage.
She grabbed a bucket of water from the flower stall meant for the bouquets and heaved it.
Splash.
Ryan took a direct hit. He stood there, dripping wet, a flower petal stuck to his forehead, his laughter dying instantly.
The girls pointed and laughed. Ryan wiped the water from his eyes, looking indignant, while Kipley and Himmel slowly backed away, pretending they didn't know him.
I chuckled, shaking my head. Classic.
The sun began to dip lower, casting long, purple shadows across the square. The air grew cooler, but the atmosphere only warmed up.
Roxas found us a bit later. He had finished helping Grawn and had cleaned up. He walked over to where Sylvia was sitting on a bench with the twins.
I hopped down from my hay bale and joined them.
"Having fun?" Roxas asked, sitting down next to Sylvia and putting his arm around her.
"Loads," I said. "You should have seen Ryan get soaked."
The music shifted. The upbeat jig slowed down into a warm, melodic waltz. The fiddle player drew his bow long and slow, creating a sound that was hauntingly beautiful in the twilight.
Roxas stood up and extended a hand to Sylvia.
"Milady?" he asked, his voice low and charming.
Sylvia looked at the twins in her lap.
"I got them, Mom," I said quickly, stepping forward. "Go dance."
Sylvia smiled, handing me Iris first, then settling Sora onto the bench next to me. "Make sure Sora doesn't eat the hay."
"I'm on it."
Sylvia took Roxas's hand, and he pulled her to her feet.
I sat there with my sisters, watching my parents walk to the center of the square.
They were a striking pair. Roxas was a mountain of a man, broad and sturdy. Sylvia was slender and graceful. But when they started to dance, they moved as one.
Roxas didn't dance like a carpenter; he moved with a surprising amount of grace, his steps light despite his size. He held Sylvia close, guiding her effortlessly through the crowd. Sylvia looked up at him, her eyes shining with the reflection of the lanterns that were now being lit around the square.
They looked... happy. Truly, deeply happy.
I looked down at the twins.
Iris was mesmerized by the music. She was swaying back and forth, clapping her hands out of rhythm, bubbling with delight.
Sora, on the other hand, was staring at the fire pit. The village elders were just now lighting the bonfire. A torch was thrown in, and the dry wood caught instantly.
Whoosh.
A tower of orange flame roared to life in the center of the square, crackling and spitting sparks into the darkening sky. The light bathed the entire village in a warm, flickering glow.
Sora's eyes went wide. She watched the fire with that same intense, analytical stare she had when I showed her the sparks. She reached out a tiny hand toward the flames, opening and closing her fist.
"No fire for you yet, little one," I whispered, putting my arm around her to keep her steady. "Wait until you're older."
The night wore on. The stars came out, pinpricks of light above the smoke of the bonfire. The music got louder, the laughter heartier.
I sat there, surrounded by the people of Brent. I watched the baker laughing with the blacksmith. I watched Niles and Yuna sitting on a bench, sharing a blanket, looking at the stars. I watched my parents dancing, lost in their own world.
A feeling washed over me. It was heavy and warm, like a weighted blanket.
This was a good night. It was perfect. It was the kind of memory you store away in a glass jar to look at when things get dark.
I thought about Maria up in the frozen North, studying in her library. I hoped she was having a night like this. I thought about my secret training, about the cold determination to adventure.
But for tonight... I let that go.
Tonight, I was just happy.
I leaned back against the hay bale, pulling Iris onto my lap as she started to doze off, and watched the sparks from the bonfire drift up to join the stars.
"Yeah," I whispered to no one in particular. "This is a ton of fun."