I analyze him instantly. He appears to be around my father's age, perhaps a few years older. He has a striking appearance: his hair is a deep, dark grey, almost like charcoal, which contrasts sharply with his warm brown eyes. He isn't massive like the blacksmith or broad like my father; he is of average height and build.
But he doesn't look weak.
He moves with a quiet economy of motion. His steps are silent on the wooden floor. There is a wiry, compact strength to him, the kind that comes from endurance rather than brute force.
He is dressed well, better than the average farmer. He wears a crisp, cream-colored linen shirt tucked into dark trousers, with a well-oiled leather vest over it. He carries himself with a calm, confident posture, shoulders back, chin up.
"Ahh, Soldat. Good to see you." Roxas puts down his hand plane and walks around the workbench.
"Hey, Roxas." Soldat's voice is smooth and steady. "I was just passing by. I wanted to thank you again. Elise has been loving the furniture and built-ins you installed."
I watch the interaction closely. Elise. That must be his wife. This man, Soldat, seems to be a regular customer, likely one of the wealthier ones given the quality of his clothes.
"No problem at all. I'm glad she likes them."
Soldat nods, his gaze sweeping the room. He checks the other pieces on display, his eyes sharp. He notices the joinery. He notices the finish. This is a man who pays attention to details.
Then, his eyes land on me.
He blinks, clearly surprised to see a toddler perched on a stool like a foreman, analyzing him with a critical stare.
"Who is this little guy here?"
He starts to walk over, his boots clicking softly on the wood floor. He looks down at me with a gentle smile, the kind adults usually reserve for pets or very small children.
Roxas beams, placing a heavy, proud hand on my shoulder. "That's my son, Percival. He's a very helpful little guy, aren't you, Percy?"
I look up at Soldat.
My first instinct is to wave and giggle. That's what a three-year-old does. That's the safe play.
But something about this man makes me want to stand taller. He isn't looking at me like I'm a potato. He's looking at me with genuine curiosity.
I slide off the stool, landing on my feet with a small thud. I stand up straight, brushing the sawdust off my trousers.
"The name's Soldat Grimgrove."
He extends a hand toward me. It's a gesture meant for an adult, likely a joke to entertain the baby. He expects me to grab his thumb, or maybe high-five him.
I treat it with absolute seriousness.
I reach out and grab his hand. My hand is tiny, barely wrapping around two of his fingers. I can't squeeze hard. I have the grip strength of a hamster but I don't let that stop me. I hold his hand firmly.
I lock my eyes onto his.
"Hello, Soldat. It is a pleasure to meet you."
My voice is high-pitched. I have a slight lisp on the 's'. But my enunciation is crisp. I don't look at the floor. I don't fidget. I look him directly in the eye with the confidence of a man who has stared down a batter in the bottom of the ninth.
Soldat freezes.
His eyebrows shoot up. The playful smile vanishes from his face, replaced by a look of genuine, unsettled surprise. He looks from his hand to my face, searching for... something.
He expected a baby. He was a tiny adult.
"That's... quite the greeting," he chuckles, though the sound is a little breathless. There is a hint of confusion in his eyes. He studies me for a second longer than necessary, as if trying to solve a puzzle. "How old are you, Percival?"
I pause. Don't say sixteen.
I calculate the date in my head instantly. "I am exactly three years, three months, and one week old."
The silence in the shop hangs for a second.
Too specific? Yeah, probably too specific. Most kids would just hold up three fingers.
But Soldat just laughs, a hearty sound that breaks the tension. He shakes his head, looking at Roxas with a mixture of disbelief and admiration.
"Sharp mind on this one, Roxas. Very sharp. You might have your hands full."
He looks back down at me, his expression softening into something thoughtful. He isn't just seeing a carpenter's son anymore. He sees potential.
"I have a daughter around the same age as you. Maybe one day you'll meet her."
I pause, thinking about that. A daughter... well, I haven't really seen anyone my age around here. I'll see the occasional kid running around the village, but they are usually older.
A person my age... I never thought about it really. Back in my old life, I didn't really have any close friends outside of the team. Baseball was my life. Maybe this is the opportunity to make one. A real friend.
"Well then, Roxas, I best be going." Soldat gives my hand one last pat before letting go. He straightens up, turning back to the door. "Nice meeting you, young man."
"See you later, Soldat." Roxas waves.
I climb back onto my stool and watch him leave.
Soldat Grimgrove. Interesting guy. He didn't treat me like a baby after the handshake. I like him already.