The next day arrived in a blink, sunlight pouring through the windows, roosters screaming like they were being hunted, and the distant clatter of farm tools already echoing outside. Another peaceful morning on the Samsworth farm... except for the quiet war about to begin in the house.
Education.
Since I turned four, my mother had taken it upon herself to homeschool us. And despite her muscle appearance; biceps that could lift a barrel with one hand and carry a sack of potatoes with the other, she was surprisingly sharp when it came to books and knowledge. Although... For her body, she has a pretty slim waist and big melons. Curvey, just the right spots. If she weren't my mother, I would absolutely have a crush on her.
Right now, she stood at the front of our modest little study room, chalk in one hand, tapping it thoughtfully against her chin as she faced the blackboard. She wore her usual apron, smudged slightly from breakfast duty, and her golden hair was tied up into a messy bun, already showing signs of battle fatigue from wrangling two restless kids into sitting still.
"Alright," Reyna said with a smile that had far too much energy for this early in the day. "Today, we're doing arithmetic, again. Because certain people," she glanced meaningfully at Lyra, "think subtraction is a kind of sword move."
"It sounds like one!" Lyra protested, slumping back in her seat beside me with a groan.
"Subtraction: A deadly move that removes one enemy from the battlefield," I said dramatically, mimicking a sword swing. That earned me a giggle from Lyra and a sharp look from Mom.
I sat up straighter.
We were seated at a sturdy wooden table, our books open in front of us-handwritten, passed down through generations, with some pages more faded than others. My mother had even scribbled personal notes and corrections in the margins, which I found kind of charming... and occasionally frustrating when I couldn't read her handwriting.
I peeked at Lyra's page. She was drawing a sword fight between the numbers five and two, complete with stick figure casualties. She noticed me looking and grinned.
"Focus, both of you," Reyna said, tapping the chalk against the board. "Now, what's five minus two?"
"Three," I answered instantly.
"Two warriors lost to a sneak attack," Lyra added helpfully.
Mom sighed but smiled, shaking her head. "At least you're both... engaged."
There was something comforting about these moments; learning in a home filled with laughter, being taught by someone who cared more about our understanding than strict formality. My mother's strength wasn't just in her arms. It was in her patience, her ability to shift from axe-swinging barbarian to calm, clear teacher like flipping a switch.
I liked math. Numbers made sense. Unlike people, they followed rules. Cause and effect. It was logical. If only everything else in the world was as straightforward. I persued chemistry thanks to math.
"Okay, next one," Reyna said, writing a new equation on the board. "Eight minus four?"
Before I could answer, Lyra blurted, "Depends! Is four retreating, or being defeated?"
I groaned, burying my face in my book.
It was going to be a long lesson, but I didn't really mind.
After a few more lessons filled with chalk dust, exaggerated sighs from Lyra, and Reyna's patient explanations, the lesson finally came to a pause. Our mother stood, stretching her arms overhead with a faint pop of her shoulders before clapping her hands once.
"Alright," she said, with the kind of relief that only a parent-turned-teacher could muster. "Assignments are on the board. You've both got an hour. Don't make me come check on you every five minutes."
Lyra groaned. "Can't we take a break?"
"You've already taken three," Reyna replied without missing a beat as she walked toward the door. "Now, I have potatoes to scrub and laundry to beat into submission. I expect both of your pages to be full when I return."
With that, she vanished downstairs, her footsteps echoing along the wooden stairs, followed by the sounds of clattering dishes and humming, always humming. Somehow, Mom could be halfway through an upper-body workout while also preparing lunch and singing a lullaby from the northern highlands. Multitasking incarnate.
I leaned back in my chair, glancing over at Lyra.
She was hunched forward like a soldier in a trench, her pencil jammed upright into the table, one leg bouncing rapidly. Her sky-blue brows were furrowed, her lips slightly parted in intense concentration as she stared at the problem in front of her like it had personally insulted her.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Her finger was drumming against the table in rapid rhythm as if the math might answer her out of sheer intimidation. I'd already finished my assignment a few minutes ago.
Lyra, meanwhile, was visibly struggling.
Poor creature. I sighed. For a while, I said nothing... but as time goes on, my felt-bad meter was increasing rapidly.
"You know," I said casually, resting my chin in my hand, "you're supposed to write your answers on the paper, not stab the desk."
She glared at me, but her cheeks puffed slightly, embarrassed. "I was thinking."
"Is that what that sound was? I thought a woodpecker got inside."
Her pencil wobbled in place as she pulled it free from the paper, frustration clouding her face. With a sigh, she rolled her eyes.
"I'm just... not good with numbers, alright?"
I hummed thoughtfully. "Want help?"
She hesitated, her lips tightening. I could see the pride in her eyes, clashing with the quiet practicality that often showed up when it was just us.
"...Fine," she muttered, almost too low to hear.
I scooted over beside her, doing my best not to grin. Lyra could throw a hay bale across the yard without breaking a sweat, but math? Math was her mortal enemy. Still, for all her tough talk and wild energy, she never let pride get in the way when it came to family. She always asked for help when it truly mattered.
I leaned over to take a look. "Okay, so..." I tapped the page lightly. "You're not actually subtracting here. You're just placing the numbers side by side, like you're trying to make them sit next to each other at a fancy dinner table."
She blinked, then tilted her head. "Wait, what?"
"You see this part?" I pointed. "Instead of taking one number away from the other, you're kind of... pairing them up. Like you're hoping they become best friends instead of canceling each other out."
Lyra stared at the paper, frowning at it like it had betrayed her. "Ohhh," she said slowly, scratching her head. "So that's why it looked wrong... I wasn't taking anything away."
"Yup. Let me show you a trick that might help."
I took her pencil and gently wrote down a new example. Then, I talked her through the steps, breaking it down the way I wished someone had done for me in school, simple, patient, and with plenty of room for mistakes. To my surprise, Lyra actually followed along. Her eyes didn't wander. She wasn't making faces or complaining. She was listening. Really listening.
"...That makes more sense," she mumbled after a moment, her brow smoothing. "I think I get it now."
A small warmth bloomed in my chest.
Helping her with something I was good at, it felt strange, but in a good way. Besides, it was kind of funny seeing someone who could easily slam you to the ground get tripped up by simple subtraction.
A few minutes later, Mom came back to check on us.
By then, I had already returned to my book, flipping through its pages while stealing occasional glances at Lyra. She was hunched over her paper, pencil gripped tightly in one hand, her brows furrowed in deep concentration. A small smile tugged at her lips, and her tongue peeked out slightly at the corner, her usual thinking face.
It was... honestly kind of adorable.
She didn't even notice Mom entering the room. Her entire world was that sheet of paper, those numbers, and getting it right. Mom stopped a few steps away, her arms crossed loosely, a faint smile on her lips as she watched us. I looked up when I heard her footsteps, but Lyra didn't so much as flinch.
"So," Mom said softly, strolling over, "how are you two doing?"
Her voice was gentle and teasing, the kind of tone she used when she was pleasantly surprised. Lyra jolted upright with a tiny gasp, clearly caught off guard. Her pencil flew from her fingers and rolled off the table.
"I—I wasn't slacking!" she blurted, cheeks pink with embarrassment.
I snorted, doing a poor job of hiding my grin. "No one said you were."
Mom chuckled, bending down to grab the runaway pencil. "Relax, sweetheart. You looked more focused than a hawk watching a mouse."
"I was trying," Lyra huffed, taking the pencil back. "I think I got it all right."
"Oh?" Reyna said, curiosity piqued. "Mind if I take a look?"
Lyra handed over the paper with something resembling pride. Her chin lifted slightly. "Check it out. I think I even did that long one without counting on my fingers."
Reyna took the paper, scanned it once, and blinked. Then blinked again.
Then she cleared her throat.
"Well," she began diplomatically, "you definitely wrote numbers. Very nice formation. Great... spacing."
I peeked over, and my heart sank a little. Every single answer was wrong. Not even "close but not quite" — I mean wildly off.
Reyna gave a sympathetic wince. "Sweetheart... two plus six isn't twenty-six."
Lyra's face slowly contorted, her hopeful expression crumbling into something akin to betrayal. "But... but Kyro said—!"
"Hey now," I raised my hands, "I said add the top and bottom. You added the digits together like some kind of math soup!"
She groaned and dropped her head to the table with a soft bonk. "I tried so hard..."
I felt a little bad. Okay, more than a little.
She really had been trying. I reached over and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, it's alright. You're getting better. You'll get it next time."
There was a pause. Without warning, her hand shot up like a blur and snatched my wrist. My instincts went wild, sensing the immediate danger too late. Before I could finish the thought, she twisted her body and yeeted me sideways with the grace of a seasoned wrestler.
"YOU'RE THE REASON I GOT IT WRONG!" she yelled.
"WHAA—!"
I flew out the open window with a startled squawk.
"AHHHH!"
Miraculously, Thorskil happened to be walking past below with a basket of tools. He looked up just in time and caught me mid-air like a sack of potatoes.
"Whoa there, champ," he said calmly.
"Oof—" I let out the moment he caught me, I looked to him, "D-dad!"
His gaze was focused at me, he wondered what happened, then he followed the direction I fell — the open window.
He chuckled, then he turned to me. "Rough study session?"
"I don't want to talk about it," I mumbled into his shoulder.
Back inside, Mom yelled Lyra's name.
"LYRAA!"
***
The next morning, peace was a lie. The sun had barely peeked over the horizon when I rolled out of bed and found Lyra already sitting cross-legged in the hallway like some kind of golden-eyed gremlin.
"Teach me magic," she said, eyes wide and hopeful.
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and sighed. "No."
She didn't argue, she just vanished. Which was more worrying.
At breakfast, while I was chewing on a piece of salted meat, she leaned over the table, hands clasped like she was praying.
"Teach me magic?"
"No," I said, without missing a bite.
Later, while I was in the outhouse, mid-business (taking a dump), the door creaked slightly.
"Kyro," came a voice far too close for comfort, "will you—"
"LYRA!" I screamed. "GET OUT!"
"I just wanted to ask!"
"THIS ISN'T THE TIME OR THE PLACE!"
She left with a soft, "Fine," like I was the weird one.
By mid-morning, I thought I'd finally earned a moment of silence in the study room, curled up with my book, Source of Power. But then.. The window creaked open, and a familiar yellow-eyed face slowly rose into view like some climbing jungle cat.
"Teach me magic?"
I slammed the book shut. "NO!"
She blinked, then dropped back out of view.
A day have passed and she hasn't talked to me since the last time she asked me to teach her. I was outside, carrying a heavy sack of fried seeds to the pig trough, finally enjoying the breeze and pretending I lived in a world without older sisters.
I took a few steps forward when suddenly..
"KYRO!"
"GYA—!"
She exploded out of a nearby berry bush like a squirrel on fire, nearly causing me to drop the sack.
"Teach me magic?"
And that was it, I'd reached my limit.
"Lyra, I said NO! God, are you deaf or just dense?!" I gritted my teeth, she pause but I wasn't done yet.
"You keep pestering me like some annoying fly, thinking if you bug me enough I'll just give in! Newsflash: It's not for idiots who can't even subtract properly! You're impulsive, you don't think, and you treat everything like it's a game because you've never had to deal with real consequences!"
His breath would probably catch after that last line, but the damage is already done — especially the "idiots who can't even subtract" bit.
She flinched, eyes wide, her mouth slightly open, and then her lip quivered.
Ah, shit... I thought, bracing myself for an impending beat down, but something happened, one I least expected.
She cried. Tears welled up, fat and immediate. She tried to blink them away, sniffled once, then twice. Her fists clenched.
"I hate you!" she screamed, her voice cracking. "I don't need magic anyway! I can be strong without it!"
She spun on her heel, leapt clean over the pigpen fence like a wild deer, and ran down the path without looking back.
I reached out instinctively. "Lyra!"
But she was already gone. I stood there in silence, sack of seeds dangling from my shoulder, the distant sound of her footsteps growing fainter with each heartbeat. Later, after I'd finished my chores, I sat by the window again, book in hand but mind completely adrift. No matter how many pages I turned, Lyra's tearful face hovered behind every line. Guilt churned in my stomach like a bad stew.
She was just a kid. A stubborn, noisy, bush-leaping maniac of a kid, but still a kid.
I sighed and closed the book.
"I'm heading out," I told Mom.
She peeked up from her weaving loom and smiled. "Alright. Have fun, don't go too far!"
***
The afternoon sun hung lazily overhead as I walked the path toward the village, hoping maybe Lyra had gone to cool off with her usual friends on the grassy hill south of town. Sure enough, I found a small group of children gathered there. They looked uneasy, casting glances toward the dense tree line in the distance. The moment they saw me, they stiffened like they'd been caught doing something illegal.
"Hey," I said cautiously, "have any of you seen Lyra?"
They hesitated.
Then one of the girls, small and pale, mumbled under her breath, "She went into the forest... just down that way..."
I froze, I felt my blood ran cold.
"What?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.
Another kid, freckles, choppy hair, nodded quickly and his eyes wide. "She said she wanted to prove she could be strong without magic. She... she took a sword."
I blinked. "What sword?"
That's when a scrawny boy with a bowl cut and a sheepish grin slowly raised his hand like he was in class. "Uh... my dad's sword. It was in the weapon rack. She asked to borrow it and, well..."
He trailed off.
I narrowed my eyes. "And you let her?!"
"She said she'd punch me if I didn't!" he blurted out, shrinking under my glare. "I panicked! Have you seen her arms?!"
I groaned, stepped forward, and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. "You gave her a real weapon because she threatened you?!"
"I didn't know what to do! She's terrifying!"
I released him with a frustrated sigh, dragging my hands down my face. "Of all the reckless, thick-headed, ugh!"
She really meant it. She really wanted to prove she didn't need magic, and worse of all, she really was going to get herself hurt.
I turned to the rest of the kids, eyes wide with urgency. "Listen, go find Saul. Or my dad. Or—just anyone! I don't care who. Just tell them what happened. Tell them Lyra's gone into the southern forest with a sword!"
The kids hesitated for a second before nodding, then scattered like a kicked anthill.. I didn't wait. Without another word, I turned and bolted down the path, sprinting straight toward the forest. Trees blurred past me. My lungs burned. My legs ached. But I didn't stop.
"Hold on, Lyra," I muttered, heart pounding like a war drum. "Please don't be stupid. Please be okay..."
[End]