"…Tell me," she said at last, her voice quieter now, "how much do you actually understand?"
The room stilled.
Riven and Talen didn't answer right away.
They stood side by side, small and composed, their earlier struggle already tucked neatly out of sight. To anyone watching, they might've just looked like two boys unsure how to answer a question they didn't quite follow.
Riven glanced at Talen.
Talen glanced back.
A silent exchange—quick, practiced.
Then Riven looked forward again, brow faintly furrowed. "…About what?" he asked.
Their grandmother watched him for a beat longer than necessary.
Then, "The energy of the world," she said. "The thing that had your parents celebrating for three days straight."
Talen blinked, slow and deliberate. "Oh," he said, like he'd just remembered. "That thing."
Riven shifted his weight. "Mother and father said we had it," he added. "But we don't know what it does."
"That's because nothing happens," Talen said, a little quicker, like he was correcting something important. "We tried."
Their grandmother didn't respond immediately.
She leaned back slightly, one hand resting against the arm of her chair, the other tapping once against the side of her cup.
"You tried," she repeated.
The words weren't questioning.
They were noted.
Without warning, she lifted her hand.
It was a small movement. Easy to miss.
For a moment, nothing changed.
Then the air shifted.
Light bent—just slightly—near the table, like heat rising from sun-warmed stone. A faint pressure followed, brushing against the skin, subtle but present.
Controlled.
Intentional.
Riven felt it immediately.
So did Talen.
And for half a second—
They reacted.
Too cleanly.
Riven's gaze snapped to her hand, focus sharpening before he forced it to dull. Talen straightened just a fraction, his attention locking onto the distortion before he let his shoulders relax again.
A moment too precise.
A moment too aware.
Then it was gone.
The air settled. The light returned to normal. The room exhaled.
Silence followed.
Their grandmother watched them.
Not openly.
Not accusing.
But closely enough.
"…Nothing, hm?" she said at last.
Riven blinked, like he hadn't quite understood the question.
Talen tilted his head. "It just felt weird," he said, honest enough to be safe.
A pause.
Then—
"Hm."
This time, it carried something quieter. Thoughtful.
She leaned back again, the faintest trace of a smile touching her expression—not wide, not warm, but there.
"Then it seems the problem isn't whether you have it," she said, almost to herself. "It's that no one's bothered to explain it properly."
Nora shifted slightly at the edge of the room, but said nothing.
Riven looked up at her. "Explain what?" he asked.
Their grandmother glanced toward the window, toward the distant shape of the village beyond.
"Knowledge," she said simply. "If you don't understand something, you can't use it. Doesn't matter how much of it you have."
Her gaze returned to them.
"You're at the age where people start learning the basics," she continued. "Most do it in small pieces. Stories, lessons, hand-me-down explanations that barely scratch the surface."
Her expression sharpened just slightly.
"I don't like doing things halfway."
Talen shifted his weight. "So… what do we do?"
For a moment, she didn't answer.
Her eyes drifted again—past the house, past the open land, settling somewhere beyond it.
The village. More specifically—The market.
"We start by finding something that actually explains it," she said.
Riven's brow creased. "Like… a teacher?"
A small breath of amusement left her. "No," she said. "Teachers talk too much." Her eyes flicked back to them, steady and certain. "We'll find a book."
Talen glanced at Riven.
Riven glanced back.
A beat passed.
Then Talen looked forward again, a small, almost reluctant nod following.
"…Okay."
Their grandmother's smile returned—faint, satisfied.
"Good," she said.
Outside, the distant movement of the village carried on as it always had.
Unaware.
For now.
"Nora, my grandchildren are hungry," their grandmother said, already rising from her seat. "Have something prepared by the time we return. We'll be back soon enough."
Nora blinked, just slightly caught off guard by the sudden decision, but nodded all the same. "Of course."
The chair legs scraped softly against the floor as their grandmother stepped past them, not waiting to see if they followed.
They did.
The door opened, then closed behind them with a quiet thud, and just like that, the calm of the house gave way to open air.
The walk started in silence.
Riven kept his gaze forward, small hands at his sides, matching his pace to hers without thinking about it. Talen walked just to his right, close enough to feel familiar, far enough that neither of them brushed against the other.
For a few steps, Riven didn't think about anything at all.
Then it hit him.
That was sloppy.
His jaw tightened—just barely.
Not enough for anyone to notice.
Anthony.
Of course it was Anthony.
"We tried."
Riven resisted the urge to glance over. It wouldn't help. It wouldn't change anything. They'd both heard it. So had she.
He exhaled slowly through his nose.
It wasn't even the words themselves—it was how quick it had come out. Too natural. Too unguarded. The kind of mistake you only made when you got comfortable.
And then there was his own.
The shift in the air.
He'd felt it—and worse, he'd reacted to it. Not like a confused child. Not like someone who didn't understand what they were sensing.
Too fast.
Too focused.
His fingers twitched faintly at his side before stilling again.
You knew better than that.
They both did.
Years of keeping things quiet, of staying just within the lines of what people expected—and they slipped on something that simple?
Riven let out a slow breath, forcing the tension out before it could settle deeper.
It wasn't catastrophic.
She hadn't called them out.
Hadn't pressed.
But she'd noticed something.
He was sure of it.
And that was the problem.
The path shifted beneath their feet as they crossed from open ground toward the outskirts of the village, the distant movement growing clearer with each step. Voices began to carry faintly on the air now—indistinct, but present.
Life. Normal. Unaware.
Riven's shoulders eased just slightly.
No point digging into it now, what was done was done. They'd adjust they always did.
His thoughts quieted, the tension slipping away as quickly as it had come.
Well… shit happens, I guess.
He didn't say it out loud, didn't need to.
Ahead of them, the village stretched wider, the edges of the market beginning to take shape—movement, color, people weaving through narrow paths between stalls.
And just in front of them—
Their grandmother walked on, steady and certain, like she already knew exactly where she was going.
Riven watched her for a moment longer.
Then followed.
The path beneath their feet shifted as they walked into the center of the village, the soft earth gave way to packed dirt and worn stones that made the cobbled streets.
The stone path was in a state of disrepair, some stones were broken while others were loose and shifted slighted as you placed your foot over them.
Their village wasn't centralized, it was a border town, only a few days travel from the edge of the country.
This made it a popular travel route for merchants on their way from the neighboring country and into the bustling and profitable capital city.
Johnny and Anthony had never been to the capital, their needs were all met by the village and the travelers who rested here before continuing their journeys.
It wouldnt suprise Johnny if they managed to find something within the market that could suit their needs, though their grandmother was a bit of an enigma to them, she showed up unannounced and proceeded to read the two of them like a book.
She was incredibly observant and strong too, both the boys felt it when she nearly squeezed the life out of them.
Johnny leaned towards Anthony.
"When I said I wanted a woman with a gorilla grip I didnt mean this." Johnny joked under his breath while gesturing at the woman leading their way.
Anthony stifled a chuckle.
Their grandmother stopped in her tracks and looked back at Riven.
"Did you say something dear?"
"Nothing grandmother."
The older woman stared for a second longer before turning and continuing on.
...Damn, she's got some serious hearing, johnny thought.
He had made sure to speak aloud in English just in case, but the fact that she heard what was barely a whisper between him and Anthony was baffling.
Their grandmother continued forward, the boys unsure of her destination, while she moved with quiet certainty—as if she already knew exactly where she was going.
She guided them through the middle of town, passing stalls of searing meats and scattered knickknacks. The rich scent made their stomachs twist with hunger, a low growl escaping them both—loud enough that they were sure she heard it. Still, she didn't stop. Not until her pace suddenly slowed, then ceased altogether, leaving them standing before a wooden building.
Its design was simple—a single door and two windows that looked like they could open, though with the amount of dust and debris built up around them, Anthony doubted they had been used in a long time.
Inside, the place was reasonably clean—just enough to keep customers from turning away, though it could've used a fair bit of decorating.
Off to the side stood a woman, no older than the boys' mother, positioned behind a wooden counter. She leaned against its surface, the wood worn and slightly warped—whether from age or poor craftsmanship, it was hard to tell.
The moment she noticed them—especially their grandmother—she stiffened, her entire demeanor shifting in an instant.
"Lenora… it's been a while. How can I help you—and…" The woman gestured toward the two boys, hesitating. "…your friends?"
Lenora stepped up to the warped counter, each step heavy and deliberate.
"Lydia," she said evenly, "it has been years since I've come this far west to visit my daughter. I've been… occupied."
"Ah. Yes." Lydia straightened, her hands settling a little too neatly on the counter. "And the southern border? Still keeping you busy?"
"There's been a recent increase in demand for the magically gifted," Lenora replied. "The south has always had more mages than we do, but now they seem far more interested in military applications than in improving everyday life."
Lydia gave a small, tight smile, her eyes flicking briefly toward the boys before returning to Lenora. "That does soun like it would keep someone busy."
"I've come today to procure a few items."
"Of course," Lydia replied quickly. "We have an assortment of household goods, and even some toys for the little ones—"
"I'm not here for anything on your inventory list, Lydia," Lenora cut in. "I'd like to browse what you keep in the back."
Lydia froze. "Please, Lenora… I stopped procuring those goods years ago."
"Just show me," Lenora cut in.
The words were calm—but final.
Lydia met her gaze, and a bead of sweat began to form along her brow.
"I'm not here on official business," Lenora said. "My grandchildren will need schooling soon, and I'd like to give them a head start."
Lydia hesitated, her eyes flicking briefly toward the boys before returning to Lenora. "Lenora, I don't exactly carry books on arithmetic. I have…" She trailed off, catching herself mid-sentence.
"I know what you have," Lenora replied calmly. "And they won't be needing those for some time. It's magic they'll be learning."
Lydia glanced at the boys, hesitation flickering for a moment before she tilted her head toward the back, silently urging them to follow.