I look up from the tome I was just reading and watch Oscar win the match against Boyd for the umpteenth time this afternoon. After Papa finished with Lance earlier this morning, Oscar and Boyd took the field. They usually have the field in the morning. I bet they enjoyed having this morning off to watch Papa train Lance. Even though they still did a bit of training themselves while Mama was training me beforehand, but that's beside the point.

Boyd playfully shakes his fist at his brother while Oscar smiles back at him, "Aw, come on! I almost had you this time!"

"Again, Boyd!"

He spins around at his brother's comment, "What? Of course again! I'm not stopping until I defeat you!"

I slide my gaze back down to the tome, gently close it, drop it to my lap and lean back against the tree trunk. The soft sounds of the wooden clunking start again, but this time, triumphant sounds emerge from Boyd as he tries continuously to defeat his brother. I close my eyes and feel the soft cool breeze across my skin while listening to the clunking of wood.

Why does everyone practice continuously here? Mama or Papa haven't really told me much about the world we live in or what they even do on a daily basis. The only thing I have ever known is practice, practice, practice. Why is Mama and myself the only who do magic while everyone else have weapons? Why are we even fighting? Why does Mama seem to worry about something every day? Why did the princess rush to us and Papa Greil commanded everyone to leave with her while mentioning battle? Who are we battling? Why are we battling?

When Mama finally lets me come with her, what will I find? I'm going to have to kill people, aren't I? Is this what we are practicing for?

The relaxed state I was just in dissipates as my eyes fling open, wanting those thoughts to leave me alone. I push the tome aside, growing tired of all of this practicing. Maybe Mama can tell me something. Maybe she just hasn't told me yet because she has very little time for that.

I should go ask her about herself and where she even came from. And why she is so much different from Papa and everyone else.

I push myself up onto my feet and grab the tome at my feet. Besides, if I go ask Papa, he will just ask me why I stopped practicing to ask him such things.

I allow my feet to take me from the field into the keep. I try my best to avoid anyone as much as possible. As I turn the corner to search for Mama in her bedroom, I find myself bumping into Papa.

I know it is best not to ignore him or try to slip past him so I look up at him, "Hello, Papa,"

To my surprise, he does not look angry down towards me at all. Instead, he smiles a bit, slides his gaze from me to my tome and back to me. He pats me on the head and keeps it there, "Looking for your mother, Merric?"

Does he know I must be troubled? Perhaps it is because he knows I was just reading tomes and I may have questions that he cannot answer? If he knew my troubles were not about understanding such magic hexes, he may not be so understanding. But then again, there are no negative emotions surfacing in his eyes at all as he looks at me. Perhaps I take Papa too far granted. I try to keep my surprise to myself and keep the emotion from surfacing to my face and nod.

"Yes,"

Papa steps aside and motions for me to head down the hallway. The hallway that leads to their bedroom. As I tread my way down the hallway, perhaps Papa would not be upset with me at all if I asked him and maybe he wishes I would come talk to him more. Perhaps it would be a good thing to talk to Papa about such things since I don't talk to him about much anyway. Perhaps he would begin to think that they have not explained to me anything about what they ask of me. Perhaps they both are realizing or suspecting me to ask them soon about this?

I turn the corner in the bedroom doorway and find Mama sitting on her bench by the bookcase in the back of the room. She is silently reading a tome that looks similar to the one I am holding. The tome is laced with a deep purple material like the one I have and the pages are yellowed from age. I scan the bookcase beside her and I believe I can find the location the tome in her hands came from as there is a spot that has no dust at all between other tomes.

Mama catches my gaze as she notices me in the doorway. Her smile is just as soft and sweet as Papa's just was a moment ago. Perhaps I am being ridiculous about all of this. Why would they be upset at me for asking them what troubles me?

She quietly pats the place beside her and waits patiently for me to come sit while keeping her gaze on me. She is wearing her outfit that she wears when visiting her Ma and Pa again. It is strange attire that matches nothing else worn around here at the keep. Her mother also wears similar clothing and her mother also has the magic her and I both wield.

As I find myself sitting next to her, she moves her gaze back to her tome. But her father also does not wield the magic. Why is it we have it but everyone else does not?

I lean on her and glance over the words on the page, not really reading them. I listen to the silence of the room, the walls of the keep blocking out the sounds of practice going on outside in the field. The only sounds are of the pages as Mama turns them. I think about just ignoring my feelings and to open the tome again to begin reading once more.

I almost do it. I was about to bring the tome back to my lap and I was moving my hand to open it when Mama's movements stop me. She swiftly brings the tome up closer to her face and it feels like the room becomes more silent as the sounds of the turning pages stop.

"Mire,"

Mama's voice is soft. But the way she says this word worries me. She spoke of it as if saying the word itself took her breath away. Was it a question? Has she not seen this word before? Why is she acting this way?

For a moment, I think I see her purple magic cover her hands as she holds the tome tightly near her face. My eyes widen slightly. I have never seen her like this before and I have never seen her magic appear like this so freely. I almost feel afraid to call her. But something is telling me to do so. I ignore the hesitation within me and I just do it.

"M—Mama?"

Her gaze slides away from the tome and down to me. I saw something in her gaze for a second before it fades away as she studies me. Her face morphs away from the horrific look it was beginning to form and softens slightly. She gently closes the tome and keeps looking down at me.

"Merric,"

Her voice sounds a bit worried now. What does that word mean to cause her to act like this? Maybe now is a good time to ask her.

"You must never learn and use the spell Mire; do you understand me?"

She places emphasis on those two words; never and Mire. This spell must be a dangerous one. But aren't all dark magic spells usually dangerous? Why is this one so much worse?

"Mire?" I repeat, wanting to say the spell for myself. I knew good and well what she had said. But saying it myself will help me never forget.

"It is dangerous boy. Never use it,"

She places emphasis on two more words, dangerous and never once again. I can tell she is just trying to keep me safe, but somehow, I feel like I am not the problem. I have a deep feeling that something more is happening. Why else would she single out a specific spell, "Okay, Mama. I won't,"

"Good," She begins softly, "This spell is different than most of the others, Merric. This spell saps you of your life energy to grant you extreme power,"

She sharply narrows her gaze at me, "But with that great power comes extreme consequences. It is too dangerous to cast, my son,"

I cannot take my gaze from hers and she continues to study me. Her lips curl into a small smile after a moment and the tension that was just in the air feels like is just lifted. I decide it is time to ask. Time to ask those questions that will never leave my mind.

"Mama?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you and I so different from everyone else?"

I watch her emotion switch all over her face. At first, she looks shocked that I had just asked, but after a moment, her smile fades like she was expecting the question. She stands up slowly, placing the tome down gently on the bench next to me. She slowly walks towards the other side of the room, not looking back at me, "I knew you would ask me that sometime,"

She takes a few more steps forward, "Where to begin," She whispers softly.

A very curious boy with many things to be curious about.