Spring didn't just bring the thaw, it brought the merchants.

  The arrival of the four seasonal traders transformed the quiet village into a chaotic, noisy marketplace. This was the first time Vivian was old enough, and mobile enough, to truly witness it. The entire village was out, a bustling crowd haggling over every item.

  "It's a good day, little man," Oliver said, balancing Vivian on his hip. "Let's see what our winter's work is worth."

  Nora was at his side, her eyes bright with the rare chance to shop. Oliver carried a heavy sack of cured wolf pelts and a string of large orc fangs, which were apparently valuable.

  It was chaos. The first merchant sold tools and metals. The second sold textiles and leather. The third sold household goods like salt, oil, and candles. Oliver and Nora moved through the crowd, haggling patiently, trading the pelts and fangs for a large block of salt, a new skinning knife for Oliver, a pot of ink for Alicia, and other necessities.

  They showed Vivian a few brightly painted wooden toys, but he just stared at them blankly. Nora, however, found a bolt of simple, rough spun brown fabric that made her light up.

  Then they reached the fourth merchant. He was a young man in his twenties, and his cart was covered in baskets of seeds, dried roots, and pungent spices.

  Vivian's heart stopped.

  He could see it all. Small, dark spheres labeled 'Black Pepper!' . Gnarled, bright yellow roots 'Turmeric!'. Baskets of pungent white bulbs 'Garlic!'. And, in a small, precious box, tiny, dried red berries...

  'Zereshk,' he whispered internally. 'Barberries.'

  He could smell it all, the ghosts of his past life's feasts. Zereshk Polo, Gheimeh, Fesenjoon. He was so overwhelmed by the sudden, visceral memory of flavor that his head swam, and he almost fainted.

  'I want it all,' he thought, his hands clenching. 'Give me all of it!'

  But he was a one year old. He couldn't cook. He couldn't even ask for it. He let out a frustrated sigh, which Nora mistook for boredom. 'It's okay,' he told himself, filing the merchant's face away. 'I'll find you. When I'm older, I'll buy your entire stock.'

  Back at home, Nora was called outside by a neighbor asking for healing advice for her mother's cold. The moment she was gone, Oliver's entire demeanor changed. He got a giddy, conspiratorial look on his face.

  "Alright, Vivian," he whispered, "Nora's gone. Let's do this."

  He hurried to a large, locked chest in the corner, one Vivian had never seen him open, and pulled out several long, cloth wrapped bundles. He laid them reverently on the floor.

  He unwrapped the first, a long, leaf bladed sword, its crossguard shaped like a wolf's head. He unwrapped the second: a beautiful, dark wood recurve bow. Finally, he laid his own massive, rune etched hunting axe beside them.

  'Whoa,' Vivian thought, his eyes wide. 'How come I didn't know he had these? And why do they look so fancy?' These obviously weren't the tools of a simple woodsman.

  Oliver looked at him, his eyes shining with anxious pride. "Go on, son. Pick one."

  Vivian instantly understood. This was a test. And he knew, from the way Oliver kept glancing at the door, that Nora would not approve.

  'I don't want to fight,' Vivian grumbled internally. 'I want to be a mage. It looks so much easier. You just memorize some weird words, wave your hands, and poof, the lock breaks. No swinging, no sweating. But...'

  He looked at his father's excited face. He couldn't just crawl away.

  'Fine. The sword is too much work. The axe is definitely too heavy. The bow it is. That one looks easiest.'

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  He crawled forward, past the axe, past the sword, and put his small hand on the smooth, dark wood of the bow.

  Oliver let out a whoop of pure joy. "Yes! A hunter! Just like your old man!" he cheered, picking Vivian up and tossing him in the air. "I'll start on your practice bow tonight!"

  He was so happy that he scrambled to wrap the weapons and hide them back in the chest just as Nora's footsteps approached the door. When she came in, Oliver was just whistling innocently. Nora gave him a suspicious look, and what followed was a very funny, one sided scolding about "not tracking mud on the floor" that was clearly about something else entirely.

  ...

  Pete and Lily were acting very strange, constantly sneaking off to the storage shed, whispering and giggling. 'What a nice sight,' Vivian thought, cheering Pete on. 'It's about time he made a move.'

  The children were plotting, too. Finn, Freya, and Clara were in a constant, hushed huddle, and this time, even Silas was involved. 'This is going to be big,' Vivian thought.

  Even Alicia was acting weird. She was busy writing in a thick, new bound book , as always, but every so often she'd look up at Vivian and... giggle. A silent, smug giggle. It was, by far, the most terrifying thing he had ever seen.

  And Nora was sewing. She was working with the simple, rough brown fabric she'd bought at the market. "Why?" she grumbled to herself, not realizing Vivian was listening. "Why brown? It's the sacred color of the earth, fine, but he's going to look like a sack of potatoes. A lumpy, pale potato. I will not let that happen."

  At last, the day came. His first birthday.

  He was woken up, cleaned, and then, to his horror, put into the outfit. Nora had done... something. She had added white embroidery and a stiff, ruffled collar. The potato sack was now a fancy potato sack. He looked even more ridiculous than he had in Alicia's elven robes.

  They walked to the center of the village. A beautiful, simple statue of a woman holding a sheaf of wheat stood there. It seemed the entire village had turned out.

  An old man Vivian had never seen, wearing clean but plain brown robes, stepped forward. "The offering," he said, his voice kind.

  Oliver and Nora placed a small basket of potatoes and wheat at the statue's feet.

  The old man placed his hand on Vivian's head. He didn't chant in an ancient tongue or something, no. He just spoke. "Oh, Great Mother of the Earth, we thank you for this harvest. We thank you for this life. We ask you to bless this child, Vivian, and guide his path."

  And as the old man spoke, Vivian blinked.

  He was no longer in the village. He was in a garden.

  It was an endless, sun drenched field of flowers, trees, and plants he'd never seen. The air smelled divine. In the center, a woman with kind, earthy brown eyes and hair braided with living flowers sat on a simple stone bench.

  "Hello, little one," she said, her voice like the rustling of leaves.

  "You... you're the Goddess of Cultivation," Vivian said.

  "I am," she smiled. "But you... you are a puzzle. I see you already carry the mark of another. That arrogant bastard, Sophiel... he poached you, didn't he? Stole a human right from under my nose." She murmured this to herself, annoyed.

  She looked at him. "Well, I can't be outdone by that glorified librarian. I will give you a blessing of your choice... and the standard one on top."

  Vivian's mind lit up. This was his chance! His food!

  "Honored Goddess," he said excitedly, "I want the power to change seeds! To make them grow how I want, sweeter, or bigger, or sourer, or with fewer seeds! To make them... better!"

  The Goddess looked at him, troubled. "That... is a very specific request. And a very powerful one. That is the core of my own domain. To give you that..." She thought for a long, silent moment. "It is possible. But it is dangerous. If you accept that power, I cannot give you the standard blessing on top. It will take all my focus. Do you agree to this, and do you promise to be careful with it?"

  "I agree!" Vivian said instantly.

  She smiled gently. "Very well. A blessing of [Edit] it is. Go, little gardener. Show me what you can grow."

  She touched his forehead.

  He blinked.

  He was back in the village. The old man was just finishing his prayer. No one had noticed a thing. He was one year old, and he had two secret, god tier blessings. He was thrilled.

  Back at the hut, the "party" began.

  The children shoved a gift at him. It was a set of four, slightly lumpy, woven bracelets. "Silas stopped Finn and Freya from bringing you a frog," Clara announced proudly.

  'Thank you, Silas,' Vivian thought, truly grateful.

  Pete and Lily came next, blushing. They gave him a small, carved wooden bird, painted a very bright, very sloppy blue. "Pete carved it," Lily said, "and I painted it."

  'They snuck off for... this? What a bum,' Vivian thought, but he decided then and there: 'I have to help this man. He has no game at all.'

  Then, Alicia. She handed him the book she'd been giggling over. "A Beginner's Guide to Aetheric Principles and Runic Structures," she said smugly. "I wrote it myself. It's for when you can read."

  Nora immediately started scolding her. "Alicia! He's one! He doesn't need to be learning such dangerous things! ..."

  After an hour of scolding, Oliver, looking very nervous, stepped forward next. "And from me..." He presented a small, perfectly made practice bow.

  "Oliver!" Nora shrieked, her anger palpable. "A weapon! Absolutely not! ..."

  And another hour passed by scolding .

  "And from me," Nora said, cutting Oliver off with a glare, "is something you can actually use." She unfolded a beautiful, soft blue tunic, perfectly stitched.

  Vivian loved it. He was surrounded by his new, chaotic family, holding a book on magic, a bow, and a new outfit.

  'This,' he thought, 'is a very good birthday.'