A year had passed since my victory against my mother, the formidable Sword Saint. I was now eight years old, and much had changed. With the passing months, I had beco proficient in beginner swordsmanship. My training had yielded four essential skills: the horizontal slash, vertical slash, single shot, and sharp nail.
Alongside my swordsmanship, my magical abilities had also seen progress. I had learned a beginner spell in wind magic called Wind Slice.
It wasn't much, but it was a start.
Unfortunately, I had to halt my training in magic as my father had left for the battlefield, aning I would have to wait another year for him to return and teach more.
At this mont, I sat in my father's study, surrounded by the musty sll of old books and parchnt. The room was dimly lit by the afternoon sun filtering through the tall windows, casting long shadows over the rows of bookshelves.
My eyes were glued to a book on beginner wind magic, trying to absorb the knowledge within. I longed to master more spells, but without my father's guidance, it was a daunting task. Magic wasn't rely about reciting chants; it required one to feel their mana, visualize the spell, and, most importantly, control the magic that flowed through them. Without soone experienced by my side, learning new spells felt almost impossible.
The afternoon passed quickly, and soon enough, it was ti for my daily swordsmanship lesson with my mother.
We t in the backyard, the grass soft underfoot and the air thick with the scent of blooming flowers. My mother was a strict instructor, and today was no different. She was trying to teach how to execute skills consecutively, a technique that seed beyond my current abilities. I struggled to get the hang of it, feeling frustrated as my movents lagged behind hers.
We sparred, as we always did before ending our lessons, the only sound being the clash of wooden swords. But today, my mother broke her usual silence during our fights.
"Isn't it Chris' birthday tomorrow?" she asked casually, as though the information was of no particular consequence.
I froze mid-swing, nearly dropping my sword. Chris's birthday! How could I have forgotten? My thoughts raced as panic set in. I needed to get her a gift, but what?
My mother seized the opportunity, capitalizing on my distraction. "Here! Opening!" she shouted, taking advantage of the gap in my defenses. Her wooden sword knocked mine aside, and I found myself on the ground, defeated.
"Did you forget her birthday?" My mother looked down at , a teasing smile on her face. She had reverted to her usual, more relaxed self, far removed from the intimidating Sword Saint persona she adopted during our lessons.
"You know, she went through a lot of trouble to get Philip's wooden sword to give to you last year. You should think of sothing nice to give her in return."
"What should I do?" I asked, hoping she would have a solution.
"Why don't you find sothing valuable in your father's study room?" she suggested. "There should be sothing in there that she would like."
"Isn't Father going to get angry?" I hesitated, thinking of how protective my father was of his belongings.
My mother chuckled. "Chris begged for Philip's wooden sword just to give it to you; why don't you do the sa? Sotis, a bit of effort is worth the reward."
Her words lit a spark of determination within . "Okay. I'll go to my father's study room and find sothing," I said, quickly standing up and dusting myself off.
I raced back to the study, my heart pounding with urgency. I had never searched through my father's things without his permission, and the thought of it made nervous. But Chris's birthday was too important. I owed her sothing special.
The study was as quiet and solemn as ever, filled with the sll of aged paper and leather-bound books. I began my search, carefully opening drawers and cabinets, hoping to find sothing that would make the perfect gift.
My eyes scanned the shelves lined with ancient tos and scrolls, but nothing seed right. Then, in a small wooden box tucked away in the corner of the room, I found it.
"This is it," I whispered to myself, holding the object in my hands. It was a delicate wand, carved from a smooth, dark wood with intricate designs etched into its surface. The craftsmanship was exquisite, and I knew imdiately that it was valuable—perhaps too valuable. But I couldn't think of a better gift for Chris.
The next day, my mother and I set off for Chris's house. The sun was shining brightly, casting a warm glow over the cobblestone streets as we walked. It wasn't often that I visited Chris's house; usually, she was the one who ca to our place.
When we arrived, my mother knocked on the door, and we were soon greeted by Chris herself. She looked radiant, her face lit up with a smile that made feel even more determined to make her birthday special.
"Happy birthday, Chris," my mother said, her voice warm and kind.
"Happy birthday," I echoed, trying to keep my nerves in check.
"Thank you!" Chris bead at us. "Please co in."
We were welcod inside, and after a delicious lunch, we headed to the backyard to play. The backyard was large and full of colorful flowers, with a small pond that glistened in the afternoon sun. As we played, I could feel the weight of the gift in my pocket, knowing the mont to give it to her was coming soon.
Finally, I couldn't wait any longer. "Chris, happy birthday again," I said, my voice shaky as I pulled out the gift, wrapped carefully in paper. I held it out to her, my heart thumping in my chest.
Her eyes widened with surprise as she took the gift. "Can I open it now?" she asked, glancing at with excitent.
"Yeah," I replied, nodding.
Chris unwrapped the paper carefully, and when she saw what was inside, her expression turned to one of astonishnt. "T-this is a wand, right?" she stamred. "Isn't this expensive?"
"Yeah, but you can have it," I said, trying to sound nonchalant despite the anxiety gnawing at .
"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice filled with disbelief.
"Yeah," I confird, smiling at her. "It's yours."
Chris's eyes filled with tears as she clutched the wand to her chest. "Thank you so much, Will! I will treasure it forever!"
Her reaction made all the worry and effort worthwhile. I felt a warm glow of satisfaction, knowing that I had made her happy. We played for a little while longer before heading back inside, where Chris eagerly showed her new wand to Aunt Lyshia. She bragged about it proudly, her joy contagious.
That night, as I lay in bed, I couldn't help but think about how Chris had looked so overjoyed. I was glad I had managed to find sothing that made her happy, even if it ant sneaking into my father's study. This day would be one I would rember for a long ti.
User Comments
0 comments from readers