The medical texts from the neighboring towns had run out.
I sat on the wooden floor of my room, surrounded by the familiar stacks of books I had read dozens of times. By the end of my eleventh year, I knew Varis's herbal remedies better than he did, and I could recite the anatomical charts from memory. The traveling merchants who occasionally stopped at the edge of the forest had stopped bringing new volumes, claiming they had sold me everything the regional scholars had to offer.
It wasn't enough.
The village was a sanctuary, but it was also a cage. If I wanted to truly understand the world—history, advanced medicine, the diverse cultures and people beyond our secluded woods—I had to go out there myself.
I closed the final book, the leather cover soft from years of use, and made my decision.
Later that afternoon, the crisp autumn air bit at my cheeks as I walked to the training clearing. Kael was already there, wrapping his knuckles with worn linen. He looked up, his sharp eyes catching the shift in my posture immediately.
"You're not here to spar today," Kael said, not as a question, but as a statement of fact.
"No," I admitted, stepping into the sunlight of the clearing. "I'm here to say goodbye. Or, at least, I hope to be soon."
Kael paused, the end of the linen strip dangling from his hand. He let out a long, slow breath, his breath pluming in the cold air. "You're taking the elders' test."
"I have to. There's nothing left for me to learn in these books, Kael. And..." I hesitated, looking toward the dense treeline that marked the boundary of our territory. "I want to see it. The world they write about."
He finished wrapping his hand and walked over, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder. "I always knew you wouldn't stay, kid. You ask too many questions for a quiet life in the woods. But the test... it isn't just about reading books. It's about enduring the cruelty of the outside world without letting the scarlet eyes take over."
"I'm ready," I said, meeting his gaze steadily. I didn't tell him about my private conditioning. I didn't need to. I just needed him to believe I could survive.
"Then you'd better go tell your parents," Kael smiled faintly. "Before they hear it from the elders."
Dinner that evening was quieter than usual. I pushed the roasted root vegetables around my wooden bowl, waiting for the right moment. The fire popped and hissed in the hearth, casting long, dancing shadows across the walls of our home.
"You haven't touched your food," my mother noted, setting her own spoon down. She wiped her hands on her apron, her maternal instincts already on high alert. "Are you feeling unwell again?"
"I'm fine," I said. I set my bowl aside and looked at both of them. My father, usually a man of few words, looked up from his carving knife, sensing the weight of the moment. "I'm going to the elders tomorrow morning. I'm requesting permission to take the test to leave the village."
Silence fell over the table.
My mother closed her eyes, letting out a breath that sounded like it had been held for years. "You're only eleven," she whispered. "Almost twelve. It's too early."
"It's not about age," I replied gently, leaning forward. "It's about preparation. I've read every text the merchants can bring. I know the languages. I know the geography. If I stay, I'm only waiting for time to pass, not actually growing."
My father set his knife down on the table with a soft thud. He looked at me, his face lined with the harsh sun of a hunter's life, but his eyes were entirely soft.
"The outside world does not care how many books you have read," my father said, his voice a low rumble. "They will look at you, and if they discover what we are, they will only see a prize. The elders will not make this easy for you. They will try to break your spirit before you even step foot past the trees."
"I know," I said. "But I won't break. I promise you."
My mother reached across the table, taking my hand in hers. Her grip was tight, as if she could anchor me to the village by sheer force of will. But she didn't argue. She just nodded, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Then you must pass. Because I won't have my son sneaking out like a thief. If you go, you go with the clan's blessing."
The next morning, the mist was still clinging to the forest floor when I approached the Great Hut at the center of the village.
The Elder sat on a woven mat, his face heavily lined with age, smoking a long wooden pipe. He watched me approach through the hazy gray smoke, his expression unreadable.
"I expected you a year from now," the Elder rasped, tapping his pipe against a stone bowl. "But your impatience precedes you."
"It isn't impatience, Elder," I said, bowing my head respectfully before sitting cross-legged across from him. "It is readiness. I request the trial."
The Elder leaned forward, his dark eyes boring into mine. "The trial is not a game of wits, boy. If you fail, you will be forbidden from asking again for three full years. You will take the healer's drops. Your eyes will become a hair-trigger. And then, we will send you into the nearest human city with a task. If the scarlet appears, even for a fraction of a second, the drops will lock the color in place for twenty-four hours."
He pointed the stem of his pipe directly at my chest. "The humans outside are loud, ignorant, and cruel. They will push you. They will cheat you. If you lose control, they will hunt you. Do you still wish to ask for the drops?"
I thought of Kael's warnings. I thought of my mother's tight grip. And then, I thought of the countless hours I had spent staring into a bowl of water, mastering the exact threshold of my own soul.
I didn't blink.
"Yes, Elder. I am ready for the drops."