The harshness of the wooden floor in the carriage woke before dawn. Even though we’d laid out blankets to soften the ground, the discomfort lingered, digging into my back like a series of small, persistent annoyances. I pushed myself up, wincing as my muscles protested the movent, and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. The carriage creaked slightly as it settled back into place, the early morning quiet enveloping like a heavy blanket. A glance around confird Father wasn’t at the door of the carriage where he’d sat all night, keeping watch.
Curious, I stepped outside into the cool morning air. The sky was a combination of dim blues and purples, stars fading as the first light of dawn crept over the horizon. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves overhead, carrying the earthy scent of the forest and the faint aroma of sothing cooking. The chill of the early hour nipped at my skin, waking up fully. The scent of smoke led to Father, who sat by the still-glowing embers of last night’s bonfire, stirring a pot of soup.
"You’re up early," he said, his voice warm and a little teasing, a small smile playing on his lips.
"You’re one to talk," I replied, stretching my stiff limbs. "Did you get any sleep at all?"
"A bit," he admitted with a casual shrug. His eyes were sharp, betraying no signs of fatigue. "Had to catch so rest, or I wouldn’t be much use if anything happened." His voice held a certain edge, the kind of steely resolve I rarely saw in him, usually hidden behind his gentle deanor. "Can you wake Chris? Breakfast’s ready, and it’s best eaten while it’s hot."
"Sure," I said, nodding as I turned back toward the carriage.
Inside, the air was warr, still holding onto the heat of our bodies from the night. Chris was curled up in the corner, her face serene in sleep, a stark contrast to her usual talkative self. I reached out and gently shook her shoulder.
"Chris, wake up. Breakfast is ready," I whispered.
She stirred, groaning softly as she blinked her eyes open, confusion montarily crossing her face before she rembered where she was. Together, we clambered out of the carriage and joined Father by the fire. The soup was a simple broth, thin but hot, and alongside it, we had stale bread from our supplies. It wasn’t much, but out here, even the simplest al felt like a feast.
The warmth of the soup seeped into my bones, chasing away the morning chill. We ate in a comfortable silence, the only sounds the occasional slurp or crunch of bread. It was a rare mont of peace, a brief respite before the journey ahead.
After breakfast, we packed up and resud our journey. The carriage groaned as it started moving, the wheels crunching over gravel and twigs. Pride, our steadfast horse, trotted forward with a steady rhythm, his breath visible in the cool air. As usual, Chris and I occupied ourselves with magic training. The inside of the carriage beca our makeshift classroom, the narrow space forcing us to focus on precision and control. Father occasionally glanced back with an encouraging word or two, his eyes crinkling with pride whenever Chris managed a spell correctly.
Ti passed in a blur of practice and quiet concentration until the sun hung high overhead, signaling lunchti. The forest around us had thinned slightly, revealing patches of open land and a river glistening in the distance. Father guided the carriage off the road to a nearby bank, the sound of rushing water offering a soothing change from the monotonous creak of the wheels.
"We’ll have fish for lunch," Father announced with a grin, pulling out a fishing rod from the carriage with a flourish.
"Are you good at fishing?" I asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow at the sight of the simple rod. It looked well-used, the wood worn smooth from countless trips.
"Of course," he said, his tone brimming with confidence. "Watch and learn."
He sauntered to the river’s edge with a confidence that made curious about his skills. With practiced ease, he cast his line into the water, the hook disappearing beneath the surface with a soft plop. I watched, arms crossed, as he waited with an air of smugness about him, his eyes fixed on the water.
Minutes passed, and not a single fish had bitten. Father’s confident deanor slowly turned into one of quiet frustration. He cast the line again, each attempt more determined than the last, but luck seed to have abandoned him. The serene flow of the river remained undisturbed by his efforts.
"Father, maybe we should just eat the supplies," I suggested, trying to be tactful. "We don’t want to delay our schedule."
His eyes narrowed with determination, the kind I usually saw when he was teaching us magic. "No, I’ll catch it. Just you wait."
He muttered a spell under his breath, his voice low and commanding, a stark contrast to his earlier lightheartedness. "Magnificent spirits of ice, Oh imperial frozen prince in heaven, strike them down with your majestic sword of ice." He then raised his hand toward the river, his fingers tracing intricate patterns in the air. "Icicle Break!"
Five sharp, glistening icicles materialized above the water before shooting into the river with precision, causing the surface to ripple violently. For a mont, the river was still, then it burst with life as five fish floated up, stunned by the icy onslaught.
Father smirked in triumph, his eyes glinting with a mixture of pride and amusent. "Well, there you go," he said, pulling the fish from the water with a flourish.
"Thank you for catching this fish, Father," I said sincerely as we ate. The fish was fresh, its flesh tender and flavorful, a stark contrast to the stale bread we’d been subsisting on. Father’s face lit up with a subtle smile, trying to play it off as nonchalance. But it was clear he was pleased, not just with the al but also with the acknowledgnt of his effort. I couldn’t help but smile back, a warmth spreading in my chest at the sight of his happiness.
We resud our journey after lunch, our spirits lifted by the hearty al and the ease with which we’d acquired it. Chris and I went back to our magic practice, with Father throwing in occasional tips from his spot up front. Chris’s improvent was noticeable—her spells now ford with confidence and precision, the mana flowing from her fingertips with an ease that had been absent before. It seed the constant practice and Father’s guidance were paying off.
As the sun began to sink toward the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, I noticed a dense forest ahead, its towering trees casting long shadows across the road. The air grew cooler, the light dimming as we approached the treeline.
"That’s the Dakiya Forest," Father said, catching my gaze as he pointed ahead. "Also known as the Rectangular Forest because of its shape. We’ll cut through it to reach Craud faster."
"Why not just follow the road?" Chris asked, her voice tinged with concern as she peered into the darkening woods. The forest lood before us like a silent sentinel, its secrets hidden within the dense foliage.
"If we follow the road, it’ll take a week to reach Craud," Father explained. "The forest stretches far, but it’s a shortcut."
"Is it safe, Father?" I asked, scanning the darkened treeline with a mix of curiosity and unease. The forest seed alive, its trees whispering secrets to each other in the language of rustling leaves.
He smiled confidently, the kind of smile that usually accompanied a lecture on the basics of magic. "There’s no monster here that I can’t defeat with a single spell. Don’t worry."
"If you say so," I replied, though a part of remained uneasy. Father had a knack for making things sound simpler than they actually were.
As we entered the forest, the atmosphere shifted. The sounds of nature surrounded us—leaves rustling, twigs snapping, and the occasional call of a distant creature. It was peaceful but also unsettling, like a place where anything could happen. Shadows danced on the ground, twisting into strange shapes as they played tricks on my eyes.
Suddenly, a wild boar charged from the underbrush, its eyes wild and foam dripping from its mouth. It barreled towards us with alarming speed, its tusks glinting in the dim light. I jumped to my feet, adrenaline surging through my veins as I raised my hand, ready to cast a spell. But before I could utter the incantation, the boar collapsed mid-charge, a faint blue glow emanating from a spot on its side.
I turned to Father, stunned. His hand was still raised, a faint wisp of blue magic dissipating from his fingertips.
"You’re still too slow, Will," he said, grinning at with a hint of challenge in his eyes.
Throughout the journey through the forest, any monster that dared to approach us was swiftly dealt with by Father’s precise spells. Wolves, snakes, even a large bear—all fell before they could even get close. His movents were fluid, each spell cast with an ease that spoke of years of practice. He moved with a grace and efficiency that belied his frail build, his eyes focused and sharp.
Watching him, I felt a newfound respect for the man I had always thought of as weak. He was more capable and reliable than I had ever given him credit for. Every spell, every motion was filled with a confidence I rarely saw in him. It was like seeing a different side of him, a side that I had never known existed.
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