The cold mixed with the pale morning sunlight as leaves drifted slowly down in the biting air, dancing before settling on ground dusted with light frost. It was very early, around six in the morning, the sky still holding that dull gray that comes just before full sunrise.
Alexander stood there, arms crossed over his chest in a desperate attempt to hold on to some warmth, watching his brother and waiting for the training to begin. He’d expected something ordinary — a technique shown once, then practiced until mastered, just like boxing... or so he thought, at least.
(Why is this taking so long? It’s freezing out here... I should’ve worn more layers.)
Daron arrived dragging two pigs behind him on thick ropes, his footsteps heavy on the frozen ground. He walked up to Alexander, his breath rising in small white clouds in the cold air.
"Cold out here."
Alexander looked at his brother as if he sensed he was being mocked.
(Of course it’s cold. Why else would I be shivering?)
"Since you’ve already fought in five battles, training you shouldn’t be hard. You can tell the difference between offensive and defensive magic, right?"
(I wasn’t in five battles. I was in exactly one, and I just stood there watching.)
Alexander didn’t say that out loud. He kept it to himself and simply said:
"Sure."
"Alright. This is my right hand — the hand of commands and Illumination. It’s the most important one, honestly. In everyday life, it’s useful for almost everything."
Daron looked at his right hand, turning it in front of his eyes with quiet pride.
"We carry the Evolution Blessing, which lets us develop the concept of our weapons. We can turn a rusty knife into a blade capable of wiping out armies, if we use this power right."
He raised his hand slightly, the pale morning light catching on his fingers.
"And let’s not forget the most important ability of this hand... commands. Most people forget to even use it."
Daron turned toward one of the pigs, the fat animal standing there indifferently, rooting through the dirt with its snout for anything edible.
"Watch this."
Daron stretched out his right hand toward the pig, touched its head, and said with quiet confidence:
"Illuminate."
Then he looked at Alexander, a faint smile forming on his lips.
"Tell me — what do you want to see this pig do?"
Alexander thought for a moment, wondering silently just how far this strange power could go, then said:
"Dance."
Daron smiled.
"Illuminate."
And suddenly the pig began spinning in place and swaying its plump body, its small hooves tapping soft sounds against the frozen ground.
Nobody could have expected a pig to actually stand up and dance, but watching one do exactly that on a human’s command was still oddly mesmerizing — enough that Alexander forgot the cold for a moment, watching wide-eyed.
Then Daron said:
"Illuminate."
(Stop.)
The pig froze instantly, standing there like a small statue, as though nothing had happened moments before.
"That’s the right hand’s ability. Our father’s one of the best at using it, in this whole era. No one’s ever matched his level when it comes to developing weapons with his right hand."
Then he added, a distant look crossing his eyes for a moment:
"Our mother’s right hand works similarly, but it’s different in a few ways."
Alexander looked at him now with real interest.
"All right hands across the four Blessings work similarly, but the details differ. Our mother, for example, doesn’t develop weapons — she can see the future just by touching a living creature. Human, animal, doesn’t matter. As long as it’s alive and breathing."
He paused briefly, his voice dropping as though speaking of something that carried a particular weight for him.
"And there are those whose ability grew so much they became able to see the future of trees."
(The future of trees... that woman — my mother — I could use her to find out my own future. But she’s sick, and Father might refuse if I asked him for that.)
Daron said, his patience clearly wearing thin as the cold deepened:
"Come on, hurry up. Try your right hand — tell the pig to go back to the barn. I want to get back to my son Snow, and it’s only getting colder."
Alexander stepped forward hesitantly across the hardened ground, and in the same stance his brother had used, raised his right hand toward the pig and said with false confidence:
"Illuminate... go back to the barn, pig."
But the pig didn’t move. It just stared at him with small, uninterested eyes.
Alexander was left standing there, embarrassed, while Daron burst out laughing loudly enough to ring through the cold air. He walked off and sat down on a cut tree stump, saying:
"Let me know when you get the pig back inside."
Alexander stayed there, trying again and again without stopping, his hand aching from the sheer effort of concentration, his breath coming faster with every failed attempt.
(Damn you, you filthy pig... go to the barn!)
But the pig didn’t budge, staring back at Alexander’s face as though saying: get your hand away from me.
This went on for hours, maybe. The sun climbed a little higher in the sky, but not enough to melt the frost blanketing the grass around them. Daron went to check on his wife and son at least three times, returning each time shaking his head with a mix of disappointment and amusement, while Alexander still hadn’t managed it.
Daron finally came back, rubbing his hands together against the cold, and said:
"Give it a rest, boy. I’m getting bored."
"I’m not stopping! This filthy animal is going into that damn barn!"
"Relax, you don’t need to wear yourself out over it... it’s just a matter of time before you get it."
"What time are you talking about? The competition’s in a week! And I can’t even work my right hand properly... how am I supposed to fight with magic if I can’t even use it?"
Daron raised his hand with a smile, trying to calm his agitated brother.
"You’ve gotten quick to anger, boy... but you’ve got a point. This would be embarrassing, especially with the King there, and thousands of visitors showing up. I’ve already seen delegations arriving."
(Screw the King, and screw the visitors! I don’t care about any of them. I just want to win that damn competition. How hard can that be? Not hard at all. I just have to beat a few kids.)
"Fine... can we try training my left hand first?"
Daron looked down at his own left hand, covered in a black glove that looked almost mummified, his fingers involuntarily tightening around it, and said in a calm voice that carried a hidden edge:
"I’m not ready for that yet, boy."
Alexander felt something boiling over from sheer frustration, the cold and disappointment building together in his chest, and said, his voice rising:
"I AM ready! I killed a witch on my own with this hand! She’s gone now, that wretched thing... you should’ve seen her crying in her final seconds."
Daron looked at Alexander’s face with genuine shock, then closed the distance between them in one quick step, straw scattering under his boots.
"What do you mean, you killed a witch? You told me our father did that."
Alexander fell silent, and suddenly felt as though the cold had crept into his stomach instead of just his hands.
He’d made another mistake, and this one was worse. One mistake after another... he didn’t know how to shut his own big mouth.
"Yeah, I’m the one who killed her... Father thinks I might be the Great Priest, and the priest told us not to tell anyone."
"Father hid this from me?"
"Okay, okay... just don’t tell him I told you, alright?"
Alexander said that with a nervous smile, laced with a hint of pleading.
Daron sat there on the straw, looking at Alexander with eyes still carrying traces of shock, then said in a tone that left no room for argument:
"Show me what you just told me. No words."
"But..."
"I said. No words."
Alexander raised his left hand hesitantly, the black glove on his brother’s hand looking more threatening now under the pale morning light. His whole body tensed as he remembered that moment in the forest — that cold feeling that came before the destruction, followed by that strange, intoxicating rush.
He closed his eyes and tried to summon the same sensation, the same darkness he’d felt facing the witch, his breath quickening in the cold air around him.
Long, heavy moments passed, in which Alexander heard nothing but his own heartbeat and the wind whistling through the bare trees. He tried again and again to summon that feeling, his hand trembling slightly from the intensity of his focus, but nothing happened; no glow, no cold running through his fingers — just an empty, shaking hand held out in the air before his silent brother.
Daron looked at him for a long, silent moment, his eyes giving nothing away, then stood without a word and walked toward the two pigs, leaving Alexander standing there with his hand still outstretched, disappointment written across his face.
And at that exact moment, as the sun finally rose high enough to touch the treetops and melt the thin layer of frost, one of the pigs — the very one that had refused to move for hours — suddenly turned and walked with slow, steady steps toward the wooden barn, as though something had finally pushed it toward the warmth waiting inside.
Alexander stood frozen in place, watching the pig disappear behind the barn door, his heart pounding with a strange rhythm.
(Did... did I actually do it? Was that last attempt the one that finally worked?)
But Daron, who had turned at that exact moment, said nothing. He just looked at the pig disappearing into the barn, then up at the cold sky above them, and shrugged simply.
"Guess even the cold got to be too much for him too."
And Alexander never found out, at least not in that moment, which of the two possibilities had actually been true.