Miquella’s house was nestled on the quieter side of Brustel, tucked away behind a grove of chestnut trees. It was small and unassuming, with a thatched roof and a front garden bursting with colorful wildflowers. The wooden door, adorned with an old iron knocker in the shape of a sparrow, creaked softly as Miquella pushed it open.

  “Come in,” she said, beckoning me inside.

  The interior was cozy and inviting, filled with the scent of lavender and something faintly sweet—maybe baked apples. The walls were lined with wooden shelves, most of them sagging under the weight of books, jars of herbs, and little trinkets. A woven rug covered the stone floor, and in the corner stood a rocking chair with a half-finished quilt draped over its arm.

  “It’s simple,” Miquella said, a hint of self-consciousness in her tone.

  “I like it,” I replied earnestly. “It feels... warm.”

  She smiled and led me further in. “Grandma’s in the kitchen. Come on.”

  The kitchen was small but meticulously organized, with copper pots hanging neatly on the walls and bundles of drying herbs suspended from the ceiling. At the center of it all was Miquella’s grandmother, Edna. She was a petite woman with silver hair tied into a neat bun, her sharp green eyes—so much like Miquella’s—focused on slicing a loaf of fresh bread.

  “Grandma, this is Ronan,” Miquella said, her voice bright. “He’s my friend.”

  Edna looked up, her gaze landing on me. Her expression softened into a warm, welcoming smile. “Ah, Ronan. It’s nice to meet you. I’ve seen you around the village with Maren.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said politely. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

  Edna nodded approvingly and set down the bread knife. “So, what brings you two here? Surely not just to see an old woman.”

  Miquella glanced at me, and I took that as my cue. “Actually, ma’am, we were hoping you might know something about a place called Reaper’s Shore—or maybe Reaper’s Peak?”

  The question made Edna freeze, her hands pausing mid-reach for a teapot. She straightened slowly, her expression cautious. “Why do you ask about such places?”

  I hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. “I heard about them in passing. I’m curious, that’s all.”

  Edna’s lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, I thought she might refuse to answer. But then she sighed, motioning for us to sit at the small wooden table in the corner.

  “Talking about places like that is said to bring bad omens,” she began, her voice low and steady. “But I’ll tell you this much: the name Reaper’s Peak—or Shore—derives from ‘The Reaper,’ a figure of great power from long ago. Some say he was a man; others believe he was something more than human. Whatever he was, his presence left a mark on this land, one that lingers even now.”

  I leaned forward, hanging on her every word. “Do you know what kind of mark?”

  Edna shook her head. “No. My knowledge is limited to what the elders used to whisper when I was a girl. They said The Reaper was both a bringer of life and death, a force of balance. Beyond that, I know nothing.”

  Her words stirred something in me—a mix of curiosity and unease. I was beginning to understand more about these places, but they still felt like puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit. The old man’s words echoed in my mind. Why should I go there? What was waiting for me?

  As I mulled over these questions, Miquella shifted in her chair, breaking the silence. “Grandma,” she said, her tone lighter now, “do you think my Factor will have anything to do with The Reaper?”

  Edna chuckled softly, her mood visibly lifting. “I think that’s highly unlikely, dear. Factors are shaped by the person, not by old legends.”

  I glanced at Miquella, curious. “What Factor do you want to have?”

  She grinned, leaning forward on the table. “I’ll find out next year when I turn seven. Mom had the Archery Factor, and Dad had the Knowledge Factor.”

  “Which one would you prefer?” I asked.

  Miquella thought for a moment, then shrugged. “The Archery Factor would be fun. I’d get to use a bow, like my mom. But... Dad’s Knowledge Factor wasn’t bad either. He always said it made him feel like he could understand the world better.”

  Her words made me smile. “Sounds like either one would suit you.”

  “You think so?” she asked, her grin widening.

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  “Definitely,” I said.

  Before we could continue, Edna stood and began setting the table for lunch. “All right, you two, enough chatter for now. Lunch is ready.”

  Miquella and I helped her bring the food to the table—a simple but delicious spread of bread, cheese, and vegetable stew. We ate quickly, laughing and sharing stories as the afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows.

  Afterward, I reluctantly stood, brushing crumbs off my tunic. “I should get going. I have lessons with Maren this afternoon.”

  Miquella pouted but nodded. “Okay. Maybe we can play again tomorrow?”

  “Of course,” I said, smiling. “Thanks for having me, ma’am,” I added, turning to Edna.

  “You’re welcome here anytime, Ronan,” she said warmly.

  Miquella walked me to the door, her usual energy returning as she waved me off. “See you tomorrow!”

  “See you!” I called back, heading down the path toward Maren’s house.

  As I walked, my mind buzzed with everything I’d learned. The Reaper’s story was starting to take shape, but it still felt distant, like a shadow just out of reach. And then there was Miquella, so full of life and dreams, yet tied to this mysterious legend in ways neither of us fully understood. By the time I reached Maren’s house, I felt both excited and uneasy.

  A Year Later

  A year had passed, and it felt like my life had been turned inside out, stitched back together, and set ablaze—in the best possible way. I didn’t know who I was before this, but this life felt infinitely better.

  I had turned five a few months ago, and everything seemed to fall into place. My father’s intense training with the sword was paying off; he believed I was only a short time away from reaching the Expert rank in the human style of swordsmanship. I had learned nearly every technique he could teach me, and I was no longer just “trying.” I was good—really good.

  Magic, on the other hand, was an entirely different kind of challenge. After endless practice, I finally managed to control my mana flow. Just a month ago, I cast my first successful spell—a Fireball! It was a Novice-tier fire spell, and while I wasn’t officially classified as a Novice-tier mage yet, I was getting closer. Apparently, I needed to learn all the Novice-tier spells in a specific element to earn the title. It sounded overwhelming, but for now, just hurling fireballs was enough to make me feel like a wizard from the old stories.

  But those weren’t the only good things that had happened this year. The biggest surprise came a month ago: I’m going to be a brother!

  Mom’s pregnant, and I couldn’t be more thrilled. At first, I was worried. Would there be enough food for all of us? Would we have enough money? But then Dad told me that he had started receiving a steady sum of money for his years of service in the kingdom’s army. With that extra support, everything suddenly felt manageable, and I was free to focus on being the best big brother I could be.

  The third and most important reason this year was so amazing? Miquella.

  She had become my best friend. Every day felt like an adventure when we were together—exploring the woods, playing games, and sharing our dreams. We talked about everything, from magic and Factors to the stories our parents told us at night. She even tried to teach me how to climb trees the way she did, though I wasn’t nearly as good at it as her.

  Today, I couldn’t wait to share my big news with her. I was finally going to tell her about the baby. But for the past few days, she’d been sick—nothing too serious, Edna assured me, but enough to keep her inside. I decided to wait until today to visit her.

  I dashed out of the house, the morning air crisp and alive with the buzz of the village. As I rounded the corner, I spotted something unusual—a carriage escorted by armored riders was entering Brustel. My excitement turned to curiosity, then to dread as I noticed the emblem on the side of the carriage: a golden sun with a sword engraved in its center.

  The carriage rolled to a stop in the square, drawing a small crowd of villagers. I froze in my tracks, watching as an old man in a white-and-gold robe stepped out, his movements deliberate and commanding. His gaze swept over the square, sharp and calculating.

  Then his eyes landed on Miquella.

  She was standing with her grandmother, Edna, who held her hand protectively.

  The man’s voice rang out, clear and authoritative. “The Prophet has spoken. The child carries the Priest Factor.”

  Miquella flinched, clutching her grandmother’s hand tighter. Two armored men stepped forward without hesitation, grabbing her by the arms.

  “No!” Miquella cried, struggling against their grip. Tears streamed down her face as Edna shouted, “What are you doing? Let her go!”

  I felt a surge of anger and panic. Without thinking, I bolted toward the guards, my heart pounding in my chest.

  “Miquella!” I shouted, desperation driving my legs forward.

  I had no combat experience. No real-world experience at all, aside from sparring with my father. But none of that mattered now.

  I raised my hands, trying to channel my mana, trying to cast something. Anything. But the spell fizzled before it even formed.

  Before I could reach her, one of the guards turned, his gauntleted hand catching me square in the chest. The impact sent me sprawling to the ground, the air knocked out of my lungs.

  I struggled to get up, my vision swimming. Miquella’s cries echoed in my ears, blending with Edna’s frantic shouts.

  But then—

  Silence.

  The world tilted. My body felt heavy, my limbs unresponsive. The last thing I saw was Miquella’s tear-streaked face as she was dragged toward the carriage, her voice calling out my name.

  And then—

  Darkness.