The fire popped, sending a cascade of bright orange embers swirling up into the indigo sky.
I watched them rise, mesmerized. They looked like reverse shooting stars, climbing higher and higher until they burned out, vanishing into the cold autumn air.
"They haven't lost their step, have they?"
I turned my head. Grawn, the baker, had wandered over to my hay bale fortress. He was wiping his hands on a flour-stained rag, his face flushed from the heat of the fire and the excitement of the night. He held two steaming wooden mugs in his hands.
"Not even a little bit," I replied, accepting the mug he offered me. "Thanks, Grawn."
"Spiced juice," he winked. "Figured you might be getting cold sitting still."
I took a sip. It was scalding hot and incredibly sweet, heavily spiced with cinnamon and cloves. It tasted like liquid autumn. The warmth spread through my chest, chasing away the chill that had started to seep through my tunic.
"They look happy," Grawn said, nodding toward the center of the square where Roxas and Sylvia were just finishing their dance.
The music swelled to a crescendo, the fiddler sawing frantically at his strings, before ending on a triumphant, sustained note. Roxas dipped Sylvia low, causing a cheer to erupt from the surrounding crowd. Sylvia was laughing, her face flushed pink, holding onto Roxas's shoulders as he pulled her back up and planted a quick kiss on her lips.
"Yeah," I said softly, watching them. "They really do."
Grawn sighed contentedly, taking a swig of his own drink. "Your father is a good man, Percy. And your mother... well, she's the heart of this family. You're a lucky lad."
"I know."
Roxas and Sylvia began to make their way back toward us, hand in hand, weaving through the clapping villagers. They looked winded but energized, that specific kind of exhaustion that comes from pure joy.
"Did you see that?" Roxas boomed as they approached, his chest heaving slightly. "Still got it!"
"You nearly stepped on my toes twice," Sylvia teased, breathless, fanning herself with her hand.
"But I didn't!" Roxas grinned, grabbing his mug of ale from the bench where he'd left it. He took a massive gulp, sighing with satisfaction. "That's the important part."
He looked down at me and the twins. Iris was now fast asleep on my lap, her head resting heavily against my thigh, her thumb loosely in her mouth. Sora was fighting a losing battle against sleep, her eyelids drooping, though she jerked awake every time the fire crackled too loudly.
"How did they do?" Sylvia whispered, leaning down to brush a stray curl off Iris's forehead.
"Iris passed out about two songs ago," I reported quietly. "Sora is trying to stay awake to memorize the fire, I think."
Roxas chuckled, sitting down heavily on the hay bale next to me. The straw crunched under his weight. "That sounds like her. Too stubborn to sleep."
He reached over and gently scooped Sora up. She protested with a weak, sleepy grumble, but the moment her head hit his broad chest, she was out. He wrapped his cloak around her, tucking her in like a little burrito.
"We should probably head back soon," Sylvia said, sitting on my other side and leaning her head on Roxas's shoulder. "It's getting late."
"Not yet," Roxas said softly, looking at the fire. "Danton is about to do the toast. We can't miss the toast."
As if on cue, the music died down completely. A hush fell over the square.
Danton, the village herbalist, walked toward the fire pit. He looked ancient in the firelight, his grey hair wild and unruly, his back stooped. But when he raised his hands, the village went silent out of respect. He held a goblet made of horn high in the air.
"Another year!" Danton's voice was surprisingly strong, rasping over the crackle of the flames.
"Another year!" the crowd echoed back.
"The earth has been kind!" Danton shouted. "The granaries are full! The wood is stacked! We have faced the sun and the rain, and we remain standing!"
"We remain standing!"
"To the harvest!" Danton roared. "To Brent! And to the winter may it be short, and may our hearts stay warm!"
"To the harvest!"
The crowd erupted into cheers. Tankards clashed together, spilling ale onto the cobblestones. It wasn't a polite, noble toast. It was a primal, grateful shout into the darkness. It was a village of people acknowledging that they had survived another cycle, and that they were ready for the next one.
I raised my wooden mug of juice. "To the harvest," I whispered.
I looked at my parents. They were raising their cups, their eyes shining in the firelight. They looked so young in that moment. Not parents, not workers, just two people in love with life.
I felt a lump form in my throat. It was that heavy, warm feeling again. Gratitude.
After the toast, the energy shifted. The frantic energy of the dance faded into a mellower, slower rhythm. The musicians started playing a soft, melodic tune on the lute. People began to settle down, sitting on the hay bales or the ground, talking in low voices.
Ryan, Kipley, and Himmel wandered over near us. Ryan was still damp from the bucket of water, shivering slightly, but he was grinning. He held a skewer of roasted meat in one hand.
"Hey Percy," Ryan called out, trying to act casual despite his shivering.
"Hey Ryan," I replied. "Nice swim earlier."
Kipley snorted, trying to stifle a laugh, and even Himmel cracked a smile.
Ryan rolled his eyes, taking a bite of his meat. "Whatever. She has no sense of humor. You staying late?"
"Until my sisters wake up, probably," I said.
"Cool. We're gonna go see if we can sneak some extra cakes from Grawn's stall while he's busy talking to the blacksmith. You in?"
I looked at the sleeping Iris on my lap, then at my parents relaxing beside me.
"Nah," I said. "I'm good here. Don't get caught."
"Your loss," Ryan shrugged. The trio slipped away into the shadows, looking for their next target.
I watched them go, feeling a strange sense of detachment. I was physically six, same as the younger kids, but mentally... I fit in better here, on the sidelines, watching. And I was okay with that. I didn't need to sneak cakes. I had everything I needed right here.
Another hour passed. The fire burned down to glowing coals, casting a deep red light over the square.
The stars above grew brighter as the firelight dimmed. I looked up, tracing the constellations. They were different from Earth's, of course. There was Sylas, the huge dragon coiling across the northern sky, and Grim, a tiger with wings pouncing on the horizon. Sylvia had taught me the names from her books.
"Alright," Roxas finally whispered, his voice rumbling in his chest. "I think it's time."
Sylvia nodded sleepily. She stood up, stretching her arms, and reached down to take Iris from my lap.
"Careful," I whispered, helping transfer the sleeping toddler into her arms. Iris didn't even stir; she just curled instinctively into her mother's warmth.
Roxas stood up next, cradling Sora in one massive arm while offering his free hand to me.
"Ready to march, soldier?"
"Ready," I said, jumping down from the hay bale. My legs were a little stiff from sitting so long, but the walk home would wake them up.
We said our goodbyes. Hands were shaken, backs were slapped. Grawn waved us off with a towel over his shoulder. Danton gave a sleepy nod from his bench.
We left the square, stepping out of the warm circle of firelight and into the cool, crisp darkness of the main road.
The transition was jarring. The noise of the village faded rapidly behind us, replaced by the silence of the countryside.
The walk home was magical in a completely different way than the festival.
The moon was full, hanging low and heavy in the sky like a silver coin. It bathed the road in a pale, ethereal light that turned the colorful leaves into shades of silver and black. The shadows of the trees stretched long across the dirt path.
It was cold now. I could see my breath puffing out in front of me in rhythmic clouds. Huff. Huff. I shoved my hands deep into my pockets, hunching my shoulders slightly.
"Cold?" Roxas asked quietly.
"A little," I admitted.
"Walk closer," he said, shifting his cloak so it draped open slightly on one side.
I moved in, walking right next to his leg. The heat radiating off him was immense. He was like a walking furnace.
The only sounds were the crunch of our boots on the gravel and the rhythmic breathing of my family.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
I looked up at the canopy of trees. The moonlight filtered through the branches, creating a shifting mosaic on the ground.
"Did you have fun tonight, Sylvia?" Roxas asked softly, breaking the silence.
"I did," she replied, her voice dreamy. "It's been so long since we danced like that. I forgot how good you are at leading."
"I only stepped on you once," Roxas joked.
"You stepped on me zero times," she corrected him. "You were perfect."
Roxas hummed happily. "I try. It's good for the girls to see the village like this. Everyone together. Everyone happy."
"Percy seemed to enjoy himself," Sylvia added, looking down at me.
I looked up at her. In the moonlight, her skin looked like porcelain.
"I did," I said honestly. "It was the best night ever."
"I'm glad," she smiled.
We walked in silence for a while longer. I let my mind wander.
This life... it was so different from my last one. In my previous life, a Friday night meant training, or maybe sitting in my apartment playing video games, or a quick dinner with my dad before we both crashed. It was loud, electric, and fast-paced.
Here, life moved at the speed of a walking pace. It moved at the speed of the seasons. It was slower, harder in some ways, but richer. I felt connected to the ground I was walking on. I felt connected to the people breathing beside me.
I looked at Sora, fast asleep in Roxas's arm. Her tiny hand was gripping his collar, holding on tight even in her sleep. I looked at Iris, buried in Sylvia's shawl, only the top of her golden curls visible.
I thought about the magic I was learning.
I thought about Maria, miles away in the snow, probably sleeping in a dormitory.
I thought about my conviction to see the world.
That desire was still there. It burned in my gut like a pilot light. But tonight... tonight I didn't need to be an adventurer. I didn't need to conquer anything.
Tonight, I was just part of a unit. The Wilders.
We reached the turnoff for our cottage. The house sat dark and quiet in the distance, a solid shape against the stars. The fence line was frosted silver by the moonlight.
Roxas walked up the path, his boots thudding on the wooden steps of the porch. He shifted Sora to one arm and fished the iron key from his pocket.
Click. Creak.
The door swung open, revealing the pitch-black interior.
"Home sweet home," Roxas whispered.
We stepped inside. The air in the cottage was still warm from the day, smelling faintly of the herbs Sylvia dried in the kitchen.
Roxas didn't light a candle immediately. He navigated the room by memory, moving toward the stairs.
"I'll take them up," Sylvia whispered. "You get the door."
Roxas passed Sora to Sylvia. She somehow managed to balance both sleeping toddlers, a feat of maternal strength that never ceased to amaze me. She carried them up the stairs, her footsteps soft and rhythmic.
Roxas turned and locked the deadbolt. Thunk.
He turned to me in the darkness. I could just make out his silhouette.
"You okay getting to bed in the dark, Percy?"
"Yeah," I said. "I got it."
"Alright. Goodnight, son."
"Goodnight, Dad."
I waited until he went upstairs, listening to the creak of the floorboards overhead. Then, I made my way to my room.
I didn't need a light. I knew this house. I knew that the third step squeaked. I knew exactly where the doorframe was.
I walked into my room and closed the door softly behind me.
The moonlight poured in through my window, illuminating the wooden carving of the Flit sitting on my shelf. It looked like it was watching me.
I sat down on the edge of my bed and pulled off my boots. My feet were aching, a dull throb that felt earned. I stripped off my tunic and trousers, changing into my nightclothes.
I climbed under the quilt, pulling it up to my chin. The pillow was cool against my cheek.
I stared up at the ceiling, tracing the familiar knots in the wood.
My body was exhausted, but my mind was drifting, replaying the highlights of the day.
The taste of the apple pastry.
The look on Ryan's face when the water hit him.
The sparks of the bonfire rising into the night.
The feeling of my father's cloak shielding me from the wind.
It was a good day. No, it was a great day.
I smiled in the dark. Maybe it was a simple sentiment. But lying here, warm and safe, surrounded by the people I loved... it felt true.
I rolled over, closing my eyes. The silence of the house settled around me like a protective blanket.
"I'm happy," I thought, just before sleep took me. "I'm really, actually happy."