Alexander and his father reached home the next morning, the pale sun slipping between the bare branches, casting long shadows across the dirt road still damp with dew.
The house was made of brown wood, its walls bearing the marks of years of renewed paint. Behind it stood an older barn, from which came the bored grunting of a pig rooting through the dirt.
William walked ahead, his armor slung over his shoulder with the weight of a man returning from a long battle, his steady gaze softening bit by bit the closer he got to his doorstep, calling out at the top of his voice, cutting through the morning stillness:
"Hunter... Huuunter!"
(Is my brother’s name Hunter?...)
But Alexander quickly realized who Hunter actually was.
It was a large brown horse, well into old age, its coarse coat starting to gray around the eyes, trotting toward William with heavy but eager steps, and William began rubbing its head with a familiar motion that had clearly repeated itself thousands of times. The horse moved slowly, but still looked strong despite its age, muscles still pulsing beneath its hide as though refusing to surrender to the years.
"Missed you, boy."
William pulled some berries from his back pocket and gave them to Hunter, who began eating eagerly, the sound of his chewing filling the still air.
"Knew you’d like these."
Then William turned to Alexander, his eyes still holding the warmth of the moment with his horse.
"Go on inside, Alexander. I’ll stay with Hunter a while longer."
Alexander walked off, keeping up his pretense of silence, trying to play his role well. The grass was soft under his feet, slightly damp, clinging faintly to his boots with every step, and the air was pleasantly calming despite a light chill drifting in from the nearby forest.
He approached the front door, which stood wide open as if waiting for him, and began hearing the sound of a broom sweeping inside the house, its steady rhythm like the ticking of an old clock.
(Should I go in? I just need to stay quiet and no one will suspect anything. Don’t talk too much.)
Alexander stepped inside, but found no one there — only a broom sweeping the floor on its own, moving in precise, straight lines as though guided by some careful, invisible hand.
He froze in place, staring at it, his breath catching for a moment. Even the most advanced technology in his own world hadn’t managed anything like this.
(I can’t believe this... was Harry Potter telling the truth all along? Is there some invisible person sweeping, or something? Maybe.)
Alexander stepped closer and touched the top of the broom with hesitant fingers. No one was holding it — it was working entirely on its own, its wood smooth beneath his palm.
But he noticed a faint glow on it, barely visible in the daylight — the same glow that had appeared on his sword when his father touched it during the battle.
(So it’s the same magic, then... Illumination magic really does make this family’s life easier.)
"So you’re back, Alex."
Alexander heard a woman’s voice behind him, striking his ears suddenly enough to make him flinch slightly. It was a sweet, gentle voice, carrying a warmth he hadn’t heard in a long time, and something in its tone told him she was tall — he guessed she must be his mother.
(Who’s Alex? Ohh... short for Alexander.)
Alexander turned slowly, and before him stood a woman with golden hair falling to her shoulders and a small nose, her face carrying a faint trace of exhaustion that did nothing to hide her beauty. She was, of course, his mother, just as the scattered threads of memory beginning to surface had told him.
"Good to see you didn’t lose a limb out there."
She said that with a smile that lit up her tired face, then raised her hand and approached to embrace him.
Alexander let her, closing his eyes, the scent of fresh bread and burnt wood rising from her clothes.
(This hug is really nice... it’s warm. I love mothers’ hugs.)
The mother smiled as she looked at her son, resting her hand gently on his hair, then said:
"Did you just hug me back? Seems like those battles really did change you."
Alexander tensed, flustered, his heart racing as he calculated whether he’d just made another mistake that might expose him.
(Damn it, damn it, damn it... what do I do now?)
In a quiet voice, he said:
"Yes."
His mother froze where she stood, raising a hand to her mouth as she stared at her son speaking, her eyes suddenly widening as if she’d just witnessed a miracle.
Strange as it might have seemed to Alexander, to his mother it was one of her dreams finally coming true after a long wait.
Her son’s voice, in that moment, was a source of overwhelming joy — joy beyond words to describe.
Meanwhile, Alexander had just made another mistake. How was he supposed to stay quiet, when he was used to talking constantly back in his own world?
The mother began silently crying as she watched her son speak, tears she made no attempt to hide, then pulled him into another embrace, tighter than the first.
(Does talking earn me hugs in this world?... I really don’t mind that at all.)
"How I longed to hear this voice... the priest was right. The battles fought for our faith really did change him."
Alexander smiled to himself, thinking:
(Guess I’m Christian in this world too... I don’t mind that either, if it means I get to enjoy this hug every day.)
William walked in, his steps still carrying the smell of dust and sweat from yesterday’s journey, and found his son embracing his mother. He gave a faint smile, his tired eyes suddenly regaining their spark, and said:
"Seems he spoke before I could tell you, Rosalyn."
His wife turned at the sound of his voice, her golden hair swaying slightly with the sudden motion, and walked toward him, saying softly as she stood before him:
"You’re five months late."
Her husband smiled, placing his hand on her waist, his rough hand a stark contrast to the softness of her dress.
"Slowest five months I’ve ever lived through... I missed you."
She smiled back, and the two began exchanging kisses, the silence around them growing warmer despite the cold morning air drifting in through the open door.
Alexander stood there, watching them flirt with visible awkwardness, his cheeks beginning to flush slightly, and he tried turning his face away.
His father noticed and said, a faint laugh hiding behind his words:
"Seems he’s gotten shy too..."
William took his wife’s hand, the scent of the berries he’d fed Hunter still lingering on his fingers, and said:
"Is there lunch?"
"Yes, I made some pork. I knew you’d be coming."
The father looked at his wife’s face, then noticed the dirt on her hand, a small dark smudge on her slender fingers.
"You used your Prediction magic... didn’t you?"
She fell silent for a moment, her eyes avoiding his, then said in a gentle tone:
"Well... I had to know what happened to you two out there. I couldn’t stop thinking about it."
William cupped her head in his large hand, tenderness at odds with the roughness of his fingers, and said:
"The priest said it’s hurting your health... you need to stop. Even for our sake."
(Really? Mom can actually predict the future... well, that’s a kind of magic I might like to learn.)
William and Alexander sat down at an old wooden table, its surface polished smooth from years of use, while their mother brought out food on simple clay plates. Neither William nor Alexander had eaten yet.
The smell of the pork was irresistible, warm steam rising to fill the small room, but Alexander had been a vegetarian in his previous life, so he hesitated at first. Noticing his father’s glances toward him, though, he reached out and tasted some of the food, since he genuinely felt hungry — a real hunger that had been gnawing at his stomach for hours.
He loved the cooking. The meat was prepared with real skill, its rich flavor spreading across his tongue so thoroughly that Alexander found himself almost regretting having been a vegetarian before.
As William chewed his food, he pulled out a pouch of coins, its metallic clink cutting through the room’s silence, and said:
"We collected five hundred gold coins. Alexander and I earned them together."
The mother smiled with joy, her eyes gleaming with relief, and said:
"That should be enough to get us through winter, I think... it’s been getting colder every day."
"Yes, it has... but where are Daron and his wife?"
"They went to the city. He took her to the physician — she’s started giving birth."
"You’re the one who told her she’d be giving birth today, weren’t you?"
The mother fell silent with a faint smile and didn’t answer, her fingers fidgeting nervously with the edge of the door.
William, meanwhile, gave her a long look, as if quietly scolding her for what she’d done. Her health had been declining over the past few years, a faint paleness beginning to show in her face that hadn’t been there before, and Prediction magic required energy to activate — energy she no longer had enough of to spare.
And yet, she kept using this magic often, for all sorts of things.
"I caught the smell of a fire on the way here... what was that about?"
"Ah, right... I forgot to mention that. The knights of Scarbi caught a group of black-magic practitioners and burned them."
"And why burn them out in the forest? Let them burn them in Scarbi."
"Daron spoke to them about it — apparently the King wants that smell kept away before the competition. Doesn’t want any unpleasant odors put off the tourists."
William scratched his hand, a fleeting look of thought crossing his eyes, and said:
"Ah, right... he’s got a point. It’s a profitable event for him... are you ready to compete, Alexander, or did you change your mind?"
Alexander froze mid-chew, the bite stopping in his mouth for a moment. He had no idea how to answer.
(I’m not supposed to back out. Seems like Alexander was brave enough to enter this competition in the first place... I need to keep it up.)
(No, no... let me think.)
Then Alexander answered cleverly, trying to keep his tone natural:
"I think those battles were enough for me."
His mother looked at her son, narrowing her eyes slightly, then grabbed a lock of his hair and tugged it lightly, making him wince.
"What do you mean, boy? You want to back out? Didn’t I raise you better than this? I already told the priest you’d entered the competition... he’s eager to grant you whichever Blessing suits you."
"Yes, what your mother’s saying is right... the competition will give you a chance to win that Blessing, if you win, of course."
"Fine, I’ll compete."
Alexander said that even though he didn’t want to compete at all, but the warm, hope-filled looks from both his parents were enough to make him agree to anything they wanted. He’d finally found a home with food, warmth, and the smell of morning bread, and he didn’t want to ruin that, even if it meant getting beaten up in that competition.
At that moment, a voice rang out from outside the house — rough, angry, shouting at the top of its lungs and shattering the calm of the morning:
"Get out here, William! Come out, you coward... I know you’re in there. No one else wears boots that huge around here but you!"
The father stood up immediately at the sound of that shouting voice, his wooden chair scraping sharply behind him, while the mother rested her head in her hand and said with a tired sigh:
"The idiot’s back."
The man kept shouting furiously, his voice rising with every word, threatening to beat William within an inch of his life. Alexander stood there, not understanding what was happening, wanting no part of whatever this trouble was.
He’d read in a book once that most disputes in this era ended with someone killing someone else, and that violence was practically a daily occurrence. So he decided to stay put, his body tensing slightly despite his resolve not to get involved.
Then he heard:
"Damn you, old man! I’ll punch you till you forget you ever had teeth!"
Then Alexander heard his father calling for him, calm as though the shouting outside meant nothing to him at all:
"Alexander, come here. Seems like someone wants a fight."
Alexander hesitated briefly, but felt compelled to listen to his father. Still, he did know some boxing, so it probably wasn’t dangerous... unless this person happened to be skilled with magic too.
Alexander stepped out into the sharp morning light, to find the man with the red — or golden — hair he’d glimpsed in yesterday’s memories.
He stood right in front of him, muscles coiled and ready for a fight, staring at him intensely. He was massive, and looked taller than Alexander.
Then he spoke, his voice carrying an unmistakable challenge:
"You, boy... I still remember you promised me a fight. Let’s do this—"