The very next morning after their parents' return, the house was already buzzing with energy. Ellie found her mother in the yard, running a whetstone along the edge of her enormous battle-axe.
"Mom," she began, her tone serious, "can Arty train with us? I think he's ready."
Christina pauses her work, looking up in surprise. Her gaze shifts from her determined ten-year-old daughter to her small five-year-old son, who is watching them from the doorway with wide, hopeful eyes. A slow, proud smile spreads across her face.
"Is that what you want, Arty?" she asks, her voice softening. "You want to learn how to fight?"
"Yes!" Arthur blurts out, perhaps a little too eagerly.
A chance to learn combat from an arena legend like her? There is no way I'm passing this up, he thinks, barely able to contain his excitement.
"Alright then," Christina says, a playful but challenging glint in her eye. "Let's see what you can do."
Arthur steps forward, his small fists clenched not just with a child's excitement, but with the focus of a seasoned fighter.
"Come on, Arty. Show me what you've got," she encourages.
The moment Arthur drops into a fighting stance—knees bent, hands raised, perfectly balanced—Christina's playful expression falters, replaced by a flicker of genuine surprise. He's not just mimicking moves he's seen; his form is perfect.
He lunges, his small feet crossing the distance with startling speed. But the vast difference in their reach and power is immediately obvious. His punch cuts through the air, aimed perfectly at her arm, only for her to casually knock it aside with the back of her hand. The motion is so fluid, so dismissive, it's almost insulting.
Damn it, Arthur thinks, already recalibrating. My reach is nonexistent. She's technically flawless, and her strength and speed are worlds beyond what this body can handle. This is going to be tougher than I thought.
He presses the attack, a flurry of kicks and punches. But it's like fighting a ghost. She mirrors his every move, her blocks effortless, her deflections almost lazy. He can read her patterns—she's not even attacking, just reacting—but his small body simply can't keep up.
Damn it, she's treating me like a kid! he thinks, a flare of his old pride stinging him. He prepares to counter her next block with a more complex move, then stops short as a sobering thought hits him. Wait a minute. I am a kid. Crap. It doesn't matter how smart my attacks are; she's a mountain and I'm a rock. This is a physical gap I have no way of closing yet.
They continue their one-sided spar for a few more minutes before Christina finally calls for a break.
Arthur stands in the middle of the yard, bent over and gasping for air. His small lungs burn and his muscles scream in protest. But beneath the profound physical exhaustion, a feeling he hadn't felt in a very long time was sparking back to life: a vibrant, thrilling energy. The pure joy of facing a superior opponent, the adrenaline of being forced to adapt and overcome. He was exhausted, but he felt more alive than he had in years.
Christina is beaming, her face a picture of pure maternal pride. "You were incredible, Arty! For someone so young to have such amazing instincts... Ellie, I think you're going to have a real rival on your hands in a few years."
"Of course I will!" Ellie agrees, puffing out her chest with pride. "Arty's going to be a great warrior, just like his big sis."
Arthur, however, is looking down at his small hands with a frustrated sigh. "But I have so much more physical development to go through. At this rate, it will be ages before this body can catch up to you two."
Hearing such a technical and world-weary complaint from a five-year-old, Christina and Ellie exchange an amused look over his head. Christina stifles a laugh.
"Don't worry so much, Arty," she says, trying to keep a straight face. "We beastmen have long youths specifically so we have more time to fight. I'll still be practicing with you for many, many years to come."
"And I have an idea," Ellie adds. "How about you join my morning conditioning runs? We can build up your body's strength outside of sparring."
Arthur looks up at his mother, who just smiles and nods her approval. He agrees instantly.
And so, the very next morning, Arthur is up early as usual. But instead of heading to his father's forge, he goes to the kitchen to prepare breakfast before their run.
When Ellie arrives in the kitchen, she finds Arthur already finishing setting the table.
"What are you doing up so early, Arty?" she asks, surprised.
"I figured I'd handle breakfast," he replies, unable to hide a proud smile. "That way, we can get an early start on our training."
"You are unbelievable, you know that?" Ellie says, shaking her head in amused disbelief.
"Alright, stop admiring your brother and let's eat," Christina says, entering the kitchen and sitting down with her children.
"Where were you, Mom?" Ellie asks.
"In the forge, talking with your father. Nothing important," she replies, grabbing a piece of bread and taking a big first bite, before continuing to speak while chewing. "So, have you planned out your run for today?"
"Yep. We'll start with a lap around the arena. That should be enough for his first day," Ellie says, visibly excited about taking her little brother on her morning run.
"Good plan," Chris replies, speaking around a mouthful. Arthur has to suppress a laugh. His warrior mother had absolutely no table manners, and he found it hilarious.
After a quick goodbye from their mother, the two siblings set off on their run. The town is already coming to life, and it's clear Ellie's morning routine is a familiar sight. "Morning, Ellie!" a fruit vendor calls out. "I see you've brought your little brother along!" another shopkeeper shouts from her doorway. Ellie, focused on her pace, simply offers a wave or a quick shout of greeting in return as they continue towards the city arena.
"Okay, we'll take a short break here to catch our breath," Ellie says, slowing to a stop.
But as soon as she sits down, Arthur drops to the ground and starts doing push-ups. Ellie watches him for a moment, baffled.
"Arty, what are you doing?"
"Just some conditioning," he replies between breaths. "Can't waste the downtime."
Ellie rolls her eyes. "This is the downtime, you weirdo. The point of resting is to rest."
"I'm fine," he insists. "Not even tired."
As he's in the middle of a set, a small group of children walks past, heading into the arena. They exchange curious looks with Arthur. The older boy leading them gives Ellie a familiar, silent wave, which she returns with a nod. No words are exchanged. After a moment, Ellie calls out to Arthur, "Alright, break's over. Let's head back."
When they arrive back home, Christina is waiting for them in the yard, a wide, energetic grin on her face.
"Perfect timing," she says, clapping her hands together. "Ready for your combat lesson?"
A cold dread washes over Arthur. "The... the training is now?" he asks, his arms already feeling like lead.
"Yep. Let's go, son."
At that moment, the realization hits him.
Oh, crap. That's why she wanted to rest, he thinks, a wave of regret washing over him. It wasn't for the run back. It was for this. And I just did a bunch of push-ups like an idiot. Well, no helping it now. Time to pay the price.
Arthur takes a deep breath, trying to will some strength back into his exhausted muscles.
Despite his exhaustion from the morning's run, the training session is exhilarating. Arthur manages to keep a decent pace, his mind sharp even if his small body is screaming.
Sparring with his mother is like facing a force of nature. Her blows are powerful but controlled, designed to test his guard and build his resilience. "Come on, Arty! More power behind those blocks!" she shouts, her voice a cheerful bark.
Sparring with Ellie, however, is completely different. Her strikes are lighter, faster, and far more technical.
Her instincts are insane, he thinks, barely deflecting a quick open-palmed strike. Even at ten, she could probably take down most adult fighters without breaking a sweat. She's holding back, of course—using open hands instead of fists, light kicks just to unbalance me. But even these 'taps' are heavy. I feel like a mouse being toyed with by a very, very skilled cat. And her smile makes me believe she really sees it that way.
He can see the openings, he can read her movements, but his five-year-old body just cannot respond in time. His reach is too short, his legs too slow. The best he can manage is an occasional block, and even then, her strength easily shoves him back.
The spar continues until Christina finally claps her hands, a wide, impressed grin on her face. "Alright, that's enough for today! Time for lunch!"
And so, a new routine was forged. Mornings were for sweat and bruises—conditioning runs followed by combat practice with his mother and sister. Afternoons were for sparks and steel—helping his father in the forge. A month passed in this happy, exhausting blur.
One day, in the middle of their backyard training, a firm knock echoes from the front door. Christina goes to answer it, Arthur trailing curiously behind her.
Standing on their doorstep is a woman who seems to have walked straight out of the fairy tales from his old world. She is older, with regal white hair, but her face holds a striking, timeless beauty. She is dressed in a heavy, deep blue robe with a matching pointed hat—the quintessential image of a classic witch, just as Arthur remembered from Earth's stories.
He is shocked by the fantastical sight. But his mother's shock is entirely different. Her breath hitches, not at the woman's attire, but in recognition of who she is. It wasn't just a court mage. It was the Court Mage.
"Lady Frost!" Christina blurts out, her voice a mix of awe and disbelief. "To what do we owe the honor?"
"Good day. You must be Mrs. Anvil," the woman says, her voice as crisp and cool as her name. "And this, I presume, is the young Master Arthur."
"I am Adria Frost, Court Mage to His Majesty King Leopold James Avakar," she continues, her speech impeccably formal. "I have been dispatched to serve as tutor to Mr. Arthur Anvil."
"I'm Arthur, ma'am. A pleasure to meet you," he says politely. "And please, just Arthur is fine."
A faint, knowing smile touches Adria's lips. "I am afraid formalities are a requirement when representing the Crown. However, we may dispense with them during our private lessons."
"Yes, ma'am," Arthur replies, satisfied with the compromise.
"Please, Lady Frost, do come in. Have a seat," Christina says, her voice suddenly stiff and her movements awkward. Arthur recognizes it instantly—the guarded posture she adopts when confronted with matters of etiquette and nobility, a world whose rules she disdains.
"You are most kind," the Mage replies, gliding into the room and taking a seat on the sofa.
"I was dispatched under direct orders from King Leopold," Adria begins. "According to Captain Knight, this young man was able to manifest the holy element, despite his young age."
"It's true! Arty is amazing!" Ellie exclaims with a proud smile.
"Is that so?" Adria says, her gaze analytical. "I imagine he tries hard to make you proud. If you don't mind, I would like to get straight to the point, so we may decide on the necessary arrangements."
"Of course," Chris replies, her voice still a bit stiff.
"Excellent. As I said, I was sent to ascertain young Arthur's true capabilities and to teach him to control this magic properly. I would require at least a few hours with him each day for our studies. What would be your preference for scheduling?"
"Well, right now he trains combat with me and Ellie in the mornings, but we can change that..."
"No, there is no need to alter his physical training. May I assume, then, that his afternoons are free?"
"He usually spends the afternoons with me, in the forge," a deep, warm voice says from the doorway. Daniel steps into the room, wiping his hands on a rag. He gives Adria a respectful nod. "My apologies for the interruption, Lady Frost. I am Daniel Anvil, Arthur's father. As for the afternoons, while he enjoys his time with me, it is not an obligation. His education is paramount. The afternoons are free."
Adria gives a single, appreciative nod in return. "I thank you for your understanding, Mr. Anvil. In that case, I shall arrive in the early afternoon each day to begin our lessons. That is all for now, as I have other kingdom matters to attend to, including my own lodging."
"I am sorry we cannot offer you a place to stay," Christina says.
"Do not trouble yourself. I prefer the official lodge, as I must still conduct other state business. While I may be Arthur's tutor, I remain a representative of the Crown," Lady Frost replies with a polite smile.
After a few more moments of pleasantries, the arrangement is settled. Adria Frost departs, promising to return the following afternoon.
That night, lying in his bed, Arthur finds it impossible to sleep, his mind buzzing with a hopeful, electric energy.
Tomorrow, he thinks, a wide, genuine smile spreading across his face in the darkness. Tomorrow, my real journey as a mage begins. If I was able to create new spells just by guessing, by piecing together scraps of logic from a past life... what will I be capable of once I understand the true, fundamental principles of magic? Once a master like her teaches me? The possibilities... I can't wait.
The next morning on their run, they once again see the group of children heading into the arena. This time, however, the older boy, Anton, breaks away to speak with Ellie.
"Morning, Ellie," he says with a hopeful smile. "Any chance you've reconsidered? Your help would make a huge difference for them. We'd be happy to have your brother, too."
"Anton, I've already given you my answer," Ellie replies, her tone firm but not unkind. "What you're doing for those kids is a great thing, but I can't get involved. My focus is elsewhere."
"I know, but a man can hope," he says with a sigh, though the smile doesn't quite leave his face. "Doesn't mean I'll stop asking."
"I'm sure it doesn't," Ellie says, a hint of her own weary smile touching her lips.
With a final nod, the boy departs into the arena, leaving the siblings alone.
"Who was that?" Arthur asks.
"Anton. A Rank-C adventurer. He's a good guy, just... persistent."
"What did he want?" Arthur asks, giving his sister a curious look.
"He wants me to help train his group. The little ones you saw. They're orphans with nowhere to go. He took them in and is teaching them how to fight so they can become adventurers and survive on their own."
"That sounds like a good thing. Why did you say no?"
"Because it is a good thing, but it's not my thing," she says firmly. "It would be a distraction. It would take too much time away from my own training. I need to focus if I'm going to be like Mom. Now, come on. We need to get back."
Back home, after their training with Christina, they're just finishing lunch when Adria Frost arrives, punctual as always.
"Good afternoon, young Arthur. Are you prepared for our first lesson?"
"He's been ready since yesterday," Ellie comments with a laugh. "I don't think he slept at all last night."
"Excitement is a fine catalyst for learning," Adria says, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "But sleep is a non-negotiable component of the process. I must insist you do not neglect your rest. You will need a clear mind to absorb what I am about to teach you. I may seem... lenient, but I have little patience for a lack of dedication."
"Yes, ma'am."
"That being said," Adria continues, "I shall be waiting in your room for our lesson to commence."
As she glides up the stairs, Arthur looks at his sister with a silent plea for help. She just gives him an encouraging smile and a nod.
"Don't worry about the dishes," Ellie mouths silently. "Go."
Wordlessly, Arthur gives his sister a grateful bow and heads upstairs after his new tutor. When he enters his bedroom, he finds her already standing by the window, not looking out, but surveying the room with a critical, analytical eye. Before he can speak, she does.
"This room will suffice for our theoretical studies," she states, her back still to him. "A suitable location for practical application will be determined at a later date. For now, you may be seated." She gestures towards the chair by his desk, which is piled high with books.
"Yes, ma'am."
"I find your affinity for literature commendable," she says, finally turning to face him, though her eyes are focused on the messy stacks of books. "However, I will require you to maintain a higher standard of organization and cleanliness going forward, given that I shall be a daily presence in this space."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good heavens, boy," she says with a slight, exasperated sigh. "I do hope you do not intend to answer my every statement with 'Yes, ma'am'. I am not a drill sergeant, and you are not a knight. Magic requires a mind that questions and thinks for itself. Mages without intellect achieve nothing. Knights, on the other hand, can go quite far on simple obedience."
"I am sorry," Arthur says, perfectly playing the part of a shy, sheltered child. "It is just that I am not used to speaking with many people, besides my sister and parents. Well... perhaps Aunt Emma, but she tends to do the talking for both of us."
"I see," Adria says, her expression softening almost imperceptibly. "Be that as it may, I will expect a more active exchange in our lessons. Let us begin by assessing what you already know of magic."
"I'm sorry, I do not know very much."
"Very well. We shall proceed as if your knowledge is a blank slate. But do not be timid in my presence. Inquiry is the foundation of all magical arts."
"I will do my best."
"Let us begin with the fundamentals," Adria says, her tone that of a lecturer. "Magic can be categorized. Some divide it by its function: offensive, defensive, support, curses, and so on. A simple method. I, however, find it imprecise. I categorize by the essential principle, the source. We begin with the four core elements: Fire, Water, Earth, and Wind."
She pauses, as if expecting a question.
"So," Arthur begins slowly, trying to put his feeling into words, "it's about what the magic is, not just what it does? Is that it?"
A flicker of approval crosses Adria's face. "A simplistic way of putting it, but not incorrect. You grasp the core concept. Beyond the core elements, we also have the great polarities: Holy and Dark. And finally, that which has no element at all: pure, or 'non-elemental', magic."
"Why is your way better?" Arthur asks directly.
"An excellent question," she replies. "Let me use a craft with which you are familiar. To forge a blade, does a smith study the general concept of 'a weapon', or does he first learn the fundamental properties of the metal itself—its temper, its resilience, its nature? It is the same with magic. To use Fire, you must first understand the principle of Fire. Once you do, you can shape it into a blade for offense or a wall for defense. But to study 'Offensive Magic' is to attempt to forge blades of iron, steel, and bronze all at once, without truly understanding any of them. For an apprentice, that path is inefficient and leads to a shallow understanding."
Arthur leans forward in his chair, completely captivated. For the first time since coming to this world, he felt like he was back in a real classroom, with a teacher from whom he could actually learn something profound.
"I get it," he says, with more confidence than before. "My parents always said I learn fast."
"Let us begin with the fundamentals," Adria says, her tone that of a lecturer. "Magic can be categorized. Some divide it by its function: offensive, defensive, support, curses, and so on. A simple method. I, however, find it imprecise. I categorize by the essential principle, the source. We begin with the four core elements: Fire, Water, Earth, and Wind."
She pauses, as if expecting a question.
"So," Arthur begins slowly, trying to put his feeling into words, "it's about what the magic is, not just what it does? Is that it?"
A flicker of approval crosses Adria's face. "A simplistic way of putting it, but not incorrect. You grasp the core concept. Beyond the core elements, we also have the great polarities: Holy and Dark. And finally, that which has no element at all: pure, or 'non-elemental', magic."
"Why is your way better?" Arthur asks directly.
"An excellent question," she replies. "Let me use a craft with which you are familiar. To forge a blade, does a smith study the general concept of 'a weapon', or does he first learn the fundamental properties of the metal itself—its temper, its resilience, its nature? It is the same with magic. To use Fire, you must first understand the principle of Fire. Once you do, you can shape it into a blade for offense or a wall for defense. But to study 'Offensive Magic' is to attempt to forge blades of iron, steel, and bronze all at once, without truly understanding any of them. For an apprentice, that path is inefficient and leads to a shallow understanding."
Arthur leans forward in his chair, completely captivated. For the first time since coming to this world, he felt like he was back in a real classroom, with a teacher from whom he could actually learn something profound.
"I get it," he says, with more confidence than before. "My parents always said I learn fast."
Adria gives a rare, genuine smile. "Excellent. Let us move on. Now that we have a framework, let us discuss the fuel." With a flick of her wrist, glowing letters hang suspended in the air before them. "Mana. Tell me what you know of it."
"It's... the energy inside living things that we use for magic?" Arthur guesses.
"Again, not incorrect, but incomplete," she says. "Mana is the ethereal energy that permeates all life. Humans learned to manipulate this energy from the elves, ages ago. We are, today, one of the races with the greatest natural aptitude for it. You, however, are an exception, being part beastkin and part dwarf..."
Adria trails off, her analytical gaze sharpening as she truly looks at him. She sees his completely human features, so unlike either of his parents. The logical conclusion—that he might be adopted—hangs in the air for a moment, unsaid. She recovers instantly, deciding not to pry, and continues as if she hadn't noticed the contradiction.
"In any case, neither dwarves nor beastkin are known for their skill in mana manipulation. Dwarves have some affinity for enchanting, but nothing extravagant. The beastkin use it only for physical enhancement, and even then, it is almost entirely instinctual. They are not a studious people, though they are very dedicated."
"So... does that mean I shouldn't be good at magic?"
"No. It means you are an anomaly. A rare one, but not an impossible one. There have been proficient mages of dwarven blood before."
"And of the beastkin?"
"None. That race, in some of their more traditional clans, actively despises mages. They are a warrior people at their core. To use magic in a duel is considered a coward's tactic, an offense to their gods."
"Gods? Plural?" Arthur asks, genuinely surprised. "I thought there was only one God."
Adria raises an eyebrow. "And wherever did you get that idea?"
Right. From God himself. Can't exactly tell her that, though, Arthur thinks. Another thing to add to the research list.
"Ah, actually," Arthur says, trying to sound sheepish, "I guess I never really thought about it. We didn't talk much about religion at home, so I just... assumed."
"I see. I shall prepare some theological texts for you. Your mother mentioned you are a proficient reader, which simplifies matters. But for today, we shall remain on topic."
"Yes, ma'am," Arthur replies, a little disappointed but also impressed by her focus.
"Back to mana," Adria continues seamlessly. "When we cast a spell, such as these glowing letters, we are manipulating our internal mana and altering its properties. There is, however, a cost. We do not have an infinite supply. The use of mana puts a strain on the body."
"Even for a simple writing spell?"
"Yes. The cost of this spell is negligible, so I could maintain it for a full day with little issue. But in a battle that requires advanced techniques, one feels the effects of mana depletion rapidly. As I said, it is the energy that flows within us. To be without it is to be without strength. Exhaust your mana, and you will faint. A problematic outcome in the midst of a war, I am sure you would agree. Knowing your limits is paramount."
"Yes, ma'am. I will remember that."
Lady Frost gives a nod of satisfaction. The lesson continues for some time, as she elaborates on the elements and other foundational concepts.
"Very well, that will be all for today," she finally concludes. "We shall continue at this time each day. Practical lessons will commence next week, once I have secured a suitable location. I will see you tomorrow, Arthur."
The theoretical lessons continue, and in a few days, Arthur's understanding of the elements, magical systems, and spell types has grown exponentially.
The two months of theoretical lessons revealed Arthur to be a strange, paradoxical student. He would struggle with some of Adria's more abstract theories, requiring intense focus to grasp the complex concepts. But the moment the theory 'clicked' in his mind, the practical application of the magic came to him with a frightening, almost unnatural ease. And so, after two months of dedicated study, the day for his first practical field test had finally arrived.
"The backyard will no longer suffice for our purposes," Adria informs him as they walk. "We are going to the Soulwood to find you some... appropriate opponents."
After a short walk, they arrive. Adria gestures towards an enormous boar rooting in the dirt nearby.
"Let us begin with offensive magic," she says. "Analyze the target. Propose a course of action."
"Considering it's an animal we can eat," Arthur begins, "a Wind Blade spell would be best to preserve the meat. Or perhaps an Ice Spear for a clean kill."
"Both are sound choices. The decision is yours. I will not always be here to answer your questions; you must learn to trust your own judgment."
"Yes, ma'am."
Arthur turns to face the boar and takes a deep breath, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up his neck. Reciting these things out loud is so cringey, he thinks. But it's the 'proper' way to do it. Better stick to the manual for now... no need to give her anything else to be suspicious about. He begins the incantation.
"Flow of ethereal waters, pass through all obstacles that stand in my way. Bring the end with your freezing touch. Ice Spear!"
An ice spear materializes before him and shoots forward, striking the boar squarely in the head.
"Yes! Headshot!" Arthur shouts, a moment of his gamer past leaking through.
Adria raises a single, unimpressed eyebrow. "Pardon?"
"Ah... nothing, ma'am."
"Indeed," she says, her face unreadable. "You performed the Intermediate-tier spell flawlessly. Proceed."
He goes on to defeat several more animals, cycling through different elements with an ease that defies his age. Adria watches in silence, her calm, professional facade a perfect mask for her utter astonishment.
It's not just his affinity for all elements, she thinks, her mind racing. It is his mana reserves. That Ice Spear is an Intermediate-tier spell. He has now cast it, along with a half-dozen other Basic spells, without breaking a sweat or showing the slightest sign of mana fatigue. His mana pool... it is as vast as that of a seasoned archmage. For a five-year-old... this is not genius. This is impossible.
The lesson concludes, and they return home. At the end of the third month, just before a planned break in his lessons, Adria requests a meeting with his parents.
"To be frank, the results of these first three months are... unprecedented," Adria begins her report. "Content that a gifted adult mage might master in two years, Arthur has absorbed completely. He is, without exaggeration, a prodigy. I have never witnessed such rapid advancement. If he continues at this pace, he could well become the most powerful mage in the kingdom before he is even fully grown."
"That's... astounding," Daniel says, genuinely impressed. "I knew he was a bright kid, but that's on another level entirely."
"He is exceptionally dedicated to his magical studies," Adria continues. "Though he shows less enthusiasm for other subjects, with the notable exception of history."
"He's always been like that—intensely focused on specific things," Daniel adds. "I used to think he came to the forge just to spend time with me, but I've come to realize he genuinely loves the craft of making weapons and tools."
"One moment," Adria interrupts, her eyes lighting up with academic curiosity. "Did you say he has a talent for blacksmithing?"
"He does. He's good enough to rival some adults. In a few years, he'll be better than me."
"A fascinating combination of talents," Adria muses aloud. "His aptitude for magic, and now smithing... It would make perfect sense, of course, if he were a dwarf."
"What are you implying?" Christina interrupts, her voice suddenly sharp and cold.
Adria meets her gaze, unfazed by the hostility. "Forgive my presumption," she continues smoothly, as if there had been no interruption. "But given his entirely human appearance, I had simply assumed he was adopted."
"He IS our son!" Christina snaps, her protective instincts flaring.
I know I am. I remember being born, coming from her, Arthur thinks, the strange reality of his situation hitting him once again. But she's right, it is strange. This must be that God's doing.
"He is our son," Christina repeats, her voice trembling with barely controlled rage. "I don't know why he lacks our common racial traits, but I have no doubt that he came from me and from Daniel!"
"Calm down, my dear," Daniel says, placing a gentle hand on her arm. "Lady Frost meant no offense. It is a natural question for a scholar."
"It is... alright. My apologies," Christina replies, forcing herself to calm down. "That subject is... a sore spot for me."
"It is I who should apologize for my lack of tact," Adria says with a slight, formal bow. "Regardless, this information is invaluable. His talent for smithing opens up a new avenue of training. My expertise is in conjuration and enchantment; I am ill-equipped to teach the art of crafting magical tools. I must bring this to the court. We can arrange for a proper instructor."
"That would be incredible!" Daniel replies, his excitement obvious.
"Then we have an agreement. For the coming months, I will send one of my subordinates to instruct him in the crafting of magical tools while I attend to matters for the Crown. I shall return afterward to continue his magical education."
"That would be wonderful, Lady Frost," Christina says, her composure restored.
"Now then, why don't we celebrate this new arrangement with a fine dinner?" Daniel interrupts, his cheerful, diplomatic tone returning.
"A wonderful idea, my love! I'll prepare a special feast for us," Christina says, rising with a brilliant smile. In that instant, both siblings shoot a look of wide-eyed panic at their father. Daniel quickly intercepts.
"Ellie, please, go and assist your mother."
It was an unspoken rule in the Anvil household: Christina was an excellent fighter and a devoted mother, but her culinary talents were, to put it mildly, nonexistent. She used to cook, and it wasn't terrible, but after discovering both her children were naturally better at it than she was, the family had silently conspired to keep her out of the kitchen. No one, however, had the heart to stop her now, not with that happy expression on her face.
"Yes, Daddy. Let's go, Arty?"
"Let's go."
As the trio heads to the kitchen amidst a clatter of pots and what sounds suspiciously like laughter, Daniel and Adria are left alone in the room.
"My apologies about before, Lady Frost," Daniel says, his tone now serious. "But that subject is a delicate one for Chris. We've had... incidents... regarding it in the past."
"I understand. The error was mine. I am truly sorry."
"No, it is understandable. It was strange for us at first, too. But we know Arty is our son. I was there when he was born. The fact that he lacks any dwarven or beastkin features is a mystery, but he is ours."
"Indeed. He is, for all intents and purposes, human. His eyes, however, are another matter. I have never seen their like in a human."
"I know what you mean. I have never seen eyes like his on any race. They seem normal, but there's an energy to them..."
"A predatory energy," Adria finishes his thought. "Reminiscent of a dragon's, yet... different. Unique."
"Really? Well, please do not share that observation with others."
"Of course. You have my word."
"Now, about these magical tool crafting lessons..." Daniel begins, a smile returning to his face.
"Ah, yes. I will send one of my own disciples," Adria says. "She is still young, but her promise is immense. She possesses a natural talent for the craft that is unparalleled. I know of no one more qualified in the entire kingdom."
"That is incredible. I am deeply grateful to have a teacher of that caliber for my son."
"Do not worry, Mr. Anvil," Adria says, a hint of steel returning to her voice. "Remember, the Crown is not giving this gift freely. It is an investment in the future."
"Of course."
The next day, Adria departs for the Royal Capital to resolve her affairs and find Arthur's new tutor. Ellie is ecstatic to see Lady Frost go, not out of malice, but because it means she gets her little brother back for a while.