The distant crow of a rooster clawed August from a dreamless sleep. His eyes snapped open. For a moment, the world was just the familiar grey light of dawn filtering into his small room. Then he remembered.
Mimic
He had a spell. He had magic.
The suffocating memory of the pantry tried to surface, a dark bubble of bile and confusion, but he shoved it down with brutal force. That was a nightmare. A bad dream. Today was about the future.
His future!
A wave of pure, uncontained excitement washed over him, more potent than any Stallion's Vigor he had ever brewed. He threw off his thin blanket and was on his feet in a single motion. He was going to be an adventurer. An S-Ranker. And this was the first day of his new life.
He dressed silently and flew down the stairs, his mind buzzing with possibilities. He moved through the quiet house and out into the biting morning air.
The world was still cloaked in shades of blue and purple, the stars fading in the growing light. He didn't head for the stables or the fields. He headed for his sanctuary.
A small, rickety shed behind the barn, where he and Leon spent countless hours acting out grand adventures with wooden swords.
Before he stepped inside, he scanned the ground. His eyes landed on the perfect test subject: a rock about the size of his fist, grey and uneven. He picked it up, its familiar weight solid in his palm.
Inside the shed, the air smelled of old wood and dust. He placed the rock on a rickety wooden crate that served as their table. He took a deep breath, calming the frantic energy in his chest.
"Okay," he whispered to himself.
"Let's think."
The book wasn't a guide, it was a lesson. The queen didn't change reality. She changed what people saw. She made them believe. Mimic.
You make one thing look like another.
He closed his eyes and summoned an image into his mind. The one thing that always made his stomach rumble: his mother's bread, fresh from the oven. He pictured it perfectly.
The dark, crusty top, dusted with a light layer of flour. The golden-brown sides. The soft, steaming white interior. He could almost smell the yeast and feel the warmth.
He opened his eyes. He felt a strange heat building in his chest. On his palms, ghostly white patterns flickered into existence, intricate circles and lines of pure light that pulsed with a life of their own.
The heat in his chest surged, a torrent of energy flowing up into his mind, then down his arms and into his hands. It felt like his blood was boiling, rushing through him in a hot, powerful stream.
He reached out and wrapped his hands around the cool, hard rock. He squeezed his eyes shut again, forcing the image of the bread to the forefront of his mind. He focused all his will, all his energy, on that single thought.
Bread. Bread. Bread.
A faint warmth spread from his palms into the stone. He felt a strange, subtle shift, like sand settling. He held his breath and slowly opened his eyes.
It worked.
Sitting on the crate was not a grey rock, but a perfect, crusty loaf of bread. The illusion was flawless. The color, the texture of the crust, the shape—it was all there, just as he had imagined it. His heart leaped. He did it.
He was a mage.
He reached out a trembling hand and touched it. The surface felt wrong. It was cold, hard, and rough, not warm and yielding like bread. He picked it up. His arm dropped slightly from the unexpected weight.
He was holding a piece of bread that weighed as much as a rock, because it was a rock. The illusion was only for his eyes. It was a partial success, but it was a start. A huge, wonderful start.
A screen flickered into life in his vision.
[Mimic: F]
[A basic illusion spell that alters the perception of an object. Sight manipulation unlocked. If you can change the color of your mom's panties I'll give ya a reward ;) ]
The words hit him like a iron boot in the nutsack.
Panties.
The word, the stupid winking face, it was a key that unlocked the vault he had sealed so tightly in his mind. The pantry door swinging open. The moonlight through her nightgown.
The carrot
He doubled over, a violent gag ripping through him. His stomach heaved, and for a second he thought he would vomit all over his magical bread-rock. He stumbled out of the shed and dry-heaved into the dirt, spitting thick saliva.
When the wave of sickness passed, he stood up, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He took a deep, shuddering breath of the cold morning air.
Lokiera
The goddess had seen. She knew. And she had helped him. That was the only explanation for why his mother hadn't seen him hiding in the rack. She had granted his silent, desperate prayer. And now she wanted payment.
"You've got to be joking," he muttered, his voice raw.
He looked up at the sky, as if he could see the smug goddess looking down at him.
"You help me one time, and this is what you want? You pervert."
He paused. A reward, though.
Rewards were good. He was a businessman, after all. A deal was a deal.
"Fine," he sighed
"But only for the reward. That's it."
"August? What are you doing?" He spun around. Leon stood at the entrance of the shed, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Mom said breakfast is ready."
August's foul mood evaporated instantly. "Hey, Leo. Sorry I ran off last night. I was just really busy with... adventurer stuff."
Leon's face lit up. "Can you tell me the story now?"
August grinned. "I'll do you one better. Torvin is teaching me something. A secret. Can you keep a secret?"
Leon nodded so hard his head bobbed. "Yes! Of course!"
"Good." August led him back into the shed. He knew he could trust his little brother. And even if Leon slipped up, who would believe a twelve-year-old's story about magic? It was the perfect test.
"Watch this."
He picked up the rock, which still looked like bread to him. He focused, changing the mental image. He thought of the wooden practice swords they used, long and straight.
He channeled the magic again, the white circles flaring on his hands as he held the rock. The bread illusion melted away, replaced by the image of a simple wooden sword stick.
Leon gasped. His eyes were wide as dinner plates. "Whoa! You made it change!" He reached out to grab the handle of the illusory sword.
His hand passed right through it.
"Huh?" Leon frowned, waving his hand through the empty air where the sword's handle should have been. The illusion was longer than the physical rock it was based on.
"Try grabbing it in the middle," August coached, his own mind racing.
Leon reached for the center of the "sword." His fingers closed around it, and the moment they made contact, the illusion shattered like glass. In his hand, he held not a sword, but the same grey rock from before.
"It's the rock!" Leon exclaimed, staring at it in confusion and wonder. "How did you do that? It looked so real!"
This was exactly what August had expected, but seeing it happen was different. So touch breaks the spell for others. That was a serious limitation. But he remembered, Mimic was only an F-Rank spell.
It wasn't perfect, but it was something. It was a tool. His mind immediately leaped to its practical uses. Scams. He could make worthless stones look like gems, cheap wine look like the finest vintage. A grin spread across his face.
He couldn't wait to see Anna again.
"It's a secret trick," August said, ruffling Leon's hair. "Now, let's go get breakfast before Mom yells at us."
They walked back to the house together, Leon peppering him with a hundred questions about "Torvin's" amazing ability. As they reached the kitchen door, it opened, and their father stepped out.
"Morning, boys," Angus said, his voice a low rumble. "I'm off to feed the animals. Don't cause your mother too much trouble." He gave them both a pat on the head and walked towards the barn.
Inside, the table was set with two bowls of hot, steaming porridge. August tried to focus on the bland, warm taste, listening to Leon babble on about magic swords. Hannah was at the far end of the kitchen, scrubbing the stone floor.
The heat of the morning and the hard work had made her sweat. She wore a simple, sleeveless tunic that was damp, clinging to her skin and outlining the heavy globes of her breasts.
Her shorts were old and cut high, practical for the work, but they revealed the long, strong lines of her tanned legs.
August's spoon paused on its way to his mouth. His mother moved to wring out her heavy cloth in the bucket. To do it, she had to bend over deep, bracing one hand on the floor for balance.
The shorts, already tight, strained against her body and rode high up her thick thighs. They exposed the entire pale, rounded curve of her ass to him.
His gaze locked onto the scene, against his will. The plain white cotton of her panties was pulled taut, a thin strip of fabric disappearing into the deep cleft between her cheeks.
But the simple garment couldn't contain her. A thick, wiry bush of her black pubic hair escaped the sides, a dark cloud against her tanned skin.
The white fabric was stretched so thin over her mound that it was nearly transparent. It pressed hard into her, forcing the soft, fleshy lips of her pussy to bulge out from underneath the elastic hem.
He could see the plump, pink folds of her inner flesh spilling out, glistening with sweat.
The sight was a lightning bolt to his brain. It was the same body, the same place he had seen in the pantry.
The porridge in his mouth turned to ash.
A wave of heat shot through him, sickening and familiar, settling low in his gut. He was instantly hard, his erection a painful throb of shame and disgust. He hated himself for it. Hated her for being so unthinking, so unaware.
He tore his eyes away, focusing on the wood grain of the table, his knuckles white as he gripped his spoon. He had to do it. The quest.
The reward.
Power. A step up. A new skill, maybe. To become an S-Rank adventurer, you couldn't be picky about the jobs you took. He was a professional. He would get it done. It was just a task.
A disgusting, necessary task.
He tooka steadying breath and slowly, deliberately, looked back at the strip of white fabric.
It's now or never!