"What might this be, aye?" Grandma looked at the object he had carved for her.

"What does it look like, grandma?" Sol said, trying to keep his excitement in check with a voice loud enough for her ears, which were worsening more and more.

He knew not how he knew so much about... stuff. The blanks of walnut wood he had collected were lain with dirt, mold and probably bird droppings. And he cleaned them all, evened the surface with adze and knives, cut out redundant splinters and spikes... lengthened it according to grandma's height. He had known that a pumice stone would smoothen the final product, highlighting the wood's natural color... the bark marks, rings and whitish whirling patterns. He just had known it.

Sol watched her looking at his handiwork-a walking cane.

"Did you buy this, Sol? It's better than I've seen at the handicrafts market." Her light green eyes, looked at the cane all over.

"Come on, now, grandma. You know I made it, but that's not all." Sol took it back from her hands and twisted the handle of the cane, which according to him looked like a fisherman's bushy moustache.

Grandma's eyes widened, as the cocoa-hued handle's hidden end, lodged inside of the cane, now revealed a shiny dagger.

"How you make these stuff, I would never know!" She breathed, turning the cane in her hand a wrinkled smile on her lips.

Sol smiled sheepishly. "You trust strangers too easily, grandma. Please promise me that you'll keep this cane close to you. Would also help you to walk with a little more ease, your knees won't hurt much and outside, if anyone makes you uncomfortable... you just have to unscrew this handle and you have a weapon. Scare them off."

Grandma was peering at him as if she had never seen him before... "But why do I need this when I have my big, smart boy to look after me, aye?" She ruffled his hair, with the softest smile and shimmering eyes. "You are not leaving me, are you?"

Sol's heart clenched tighter. He felt selfish. Selfish, for wanting to move on from the comfort of her warm home, to find about himself. The thoughts gnawed and thrashed at him, forcing him to keep his mind and body occupied.

"You'll always have me, I promise." Sol said, averting his gaze.

***

"Ever since you've taken up these extra errands for the neighborhood, the cattle folk misses you, my dear," said grandma.

As if seconding grandma's statement, the newly purchased bull gave a bellowing grunt from the barn.

Sol sighed, halting in the middle of hammering a tiny nail into a metallic table-something he was fixing for Mistress Alice or Ally two houses down. He looked up to find grandma picking up her half-finished needlework onto her lap, having settled on the armchair he had mended for her a month ago. She pointed at the mess in a corner, where lay a mess of a pocket tool box he was creating, with six different tools wedged inside.

"I promise, I shall fence a new shed in two days, and clean that too," said Sol, wiping his greasy hands on his trousers, dirtying everything. It wouldn't be surprising if Sol had been a pig before being punted onto the Autumn Realm's seashore out of nowhere.

"Oh, no, no, mister, you are not going anywhere. There is said to be a royal parade hitting the streets anytime today."

Sol glanced at his distorted reflection in the silver metal, the greens of his eyes stark against the surface. Was even a disguise not enough to blend in?

What if someone from his past couldn't recognize him because of the disguise?

Grandma's wrinkled mouth gave a twitch, before she gently put her needles and thread on the small table beside her armchair and pushed up her weight, groaning. "Come on, then. I'll show you something better."

Sol watched as she went into her private chamber, adjoined to the wall of their kitchenette, where he only ever stepped in to sweep the floor and windows clean. He followed her, bending a little to avoid getting his head hit by the short arch of the entrance. Grandma nudged him with her cane to sit on the bed while she opened her armoire.

Sol's fingers tapped on his thighs as he waited... for what turned out to be...

...books!

Grandma pulled out a hefty drawer and out tumbled old, dusty, weathered books. He bent down to pick them all up and stacked them on the floor not wanting to dirty the clean linen sheet spread over the bed. Cross-legged he sat staring at the treasure while grandma chanted a prayer to the Throne and its Conqueror before sitting on the bed, clutching her paining knees.

"How could you let them get so bad?" Sol frowned, wiggling a small book in her face; its pages falling apart like the autumnal leaves outside.

"It's been more than... let me see," she smacked her lips thoughtfully, "twenty years, perhaps, since they were last taken out. I don't read them. Well, you see we cannot really understand them. I just thought, this will keep you occupied for today what with your brain being constantly hungry for novelty."

Sol opened the book. "Remedial spells," he mumbled under his breath, reading the title of the book.

"Did you say something, Sol?" grandma asked.

He knew he had erred by speaking low and raised his voice a little, tapping the book, "Remedial spells, just reading the title here."

Grandma gave a surprised chuckle, "You can read that language, eh?"

Sol scratched an ear, as he turned page after page, all the letters, digits familiar to him more than his own identity.

"Yes. Can you not?" he asked.

"No. That language is said to be long lost to the world. Only a few remain who can read it. But I'm not surprised you are one of those, since there is not a thing my genius boy isn't capable of," she smiled.

Sol smiled just a little, before picking up another book.

With every turn of the page, his mind roared, like a man supposed dead by the world, banging the buried casket in the graveyard to be let out, to be allowed to breathe again. Sweat trickled down his temple, as he held the book, his heart pacing faster. The gates of a dam unleashed, was how the words, the sentences, the entire context of the book, flooded back in.

He looked up at her. "D-Do you know what these b-books are about, grandma?"

She shook her head, "Haven't a clue. They belonged to my... uh... husband's collection, not mine."

Sol picked up another tome, even the title of this one familiar to him, the texture, the thickness of the pages, everything. On a reflex, he opened the middle page, with an itch in his brain that there had to be some marking on the fourth line on the right. He saw a vision of himself, his left hand holding a gold, embossed quill and flicking two highlighting lines in black ink.

But there was no marking to be found in this book.

He felt cold, as the realization hit him.

This was not his book. He had owned a similar book.

"My dear," grandma's voice traveled through the haze he felt building around him, "are you alright? You look pale."

Shutting the book, Sol traced two shaky fingers through its embossed title-

-Dark Sorcery through the Ages.

***

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" The older boy asked, his long hair brushing his shoulder blades in the bright sun.

In answer, the five-year-old shook his head, resting his back to the door. A fresh bruise sparkled near the crinkle of his right eye.

"Please."

The boy shook his head again stubborn as a mule.

"Well then, I'll just have to punch everyone-"

"No. I don't want you picking fights for me, you moron."

The older boy let out a breath. "We are not allowed to use that word, remember?"

"Okay... big moron."

"Well, in that case you are a little moron yourself. Association by kin."

"Didn't you tell me that I was adopted, eh?" Even with the bruise, he smiled wide, always hiding behind a snarky joke.

He bit back a smile. "Adopted or not, you know I'll fight the whole world for you and these are just a bunch of bullies."

After a brief moment of silence, the boy sniffled away his mischief and looked up, his little eyes glistening. "What if someday you are not around?"

The older one ruffled his hair with a smile. "I am not dying before you do. You'll always have me, I promise."

***

A kitten mewed somewhere close and when Sol opened his eyes-from the fleeting sleep he had stolen after long hours of afternoon work-he found the animal perched right on top of his chest.

"Seriously, here?" he frowned, but simply folded his arms behind his head, letting her be, letting himself be. He drew in and exhaled a huge breath, watching the kitten being rocked up and down with the movement.

Beside the barn's wall, his head rested over a thick root of a banyan tree, the aerial roots just about to touch his forehead. The sunset's tangerine glow had spread around like the dark traces of memories which had gripped him.

"Who do you think I was before?" he whispered, staring at the thick canopy of branches overhead.

The kitten mewed.

"What if I were a... bad person?"

"Is that why I was on the seashore all alone, bruised and aching?"

The kitten tilted her head to a side.

He let his eyes roam over the pasture which was shared by all the neighbors. The others need not even grow their food, they would swoosh their hands and whichever fruit they wanted would sprout out. But Sol and his grandma were Vacants, they grew their plants in the most mundane fashion or depended mostly on fishes and the dairy products.

He pressed a hand against the brick wall of the barn, the one he had freshly painted a few weeks ago with a deep shade of red, like the color of the skies when the sun was drowning in. He looked at the fence he had resurrected, sturdier than all others' in the vicinity. Whenever he had a sudden bout of overthinking accompanied by an uncontrollable urge to find out about his past life, he'd put his head into these distractions.

They worked. Mostly.

A wagon rolled by outside of the fence, to drop the empty caskets, which he'd load with fresh milk for the next morning.

"Hey, little nuisance, how about you make your bed someplace else? I got a list of things to do," Sol said, raising his head.

The kitten licked her paw and blinked at him.

"Let's see." Sol counted on his fingers, "One, load the milk bottles in the wagon. Two, nail the fence for the new bull a little away from the cow barn. Three, the worst, cow-dung pickup. Four, give the fisherman his boots. Five, work on the tool box. Six-"

His brows raised as the creature—who was barely two weeks old—had the audacity to yawn on his face, while sitting on his chest.

Sighing, Sol put a hand under her paws, lifting her off and she still managed to look tiny as a button, mounted in the middle of his palm. "This is why I made you that darned basket. Get back in there with your family... while you... still have one."

No wonder he was all alone. He must've been a horrible person. A big moron.

***

Sol was staring at the butter bubbling up on the pan, like the memories of sorcery contained amidst dark pages frothed in his head. One glance through them all and a flame had sparked in him, a flame that had him questioning all his conscience and morals.

Had he really been a practitioner of the art of sorcery, of the forbidden. There was an itch in his brain which frustrated him beyond limits to read about all the things one could achieve with dark magic, the possibilities-he shook his head, shirking off the ghastly thought.

Sorcery required years and years of concentration, years and years of training... to hold the whole world, time, space, the light and the shadows beneath one's fist. Rituals and rites, spells and charms... damn, the possibilities...

Only an idiot would do that! Maybe he just possessed the books and knew not a thing about sorcery...

His grandma called him a smart boy, and here he was seeming stupider than the caterpillar thriving on the leaves of his lemon plant. She could get in trouble for being in possession of such books.

Just then a harsh knock rang against their door, and grandma groaned in the sitting room. He heard the tap of the cane and later the door opened. Instantly, an unknown shrieking feminine voice bounced across the entire house.

"What is the meaning of this, you old hag!"

No sooner had the words been spoken, Sol had dropped his spatula and beelined to face the intruder, throwing a cleaning cloth over his shoulder. His fists clenched at his sides, and footsteps thumped aloud unlike the soft-footed Earth Elementals.

A lady, with a child attached to her hip was glowering from the doorway. Even before grandma had a chance to speak, she bellowed again pointing an accusatory finger at them both.

"You are running the fire in your furnace a little too much, don't you think? I can sense it two houses away. It's scaring my child."

Sol looked at the two-year old on her arm, who was as silent as a lamb, while the dark-haired woman coddled him closer to her bosom, eyes enraged.

"First, you shelter a strange man in your house and now-"

Sol moved forward, standing like a tower between grandma and the shrieking pest.

"Out."

She took an abrupt step back, stunned and raging. "Look, you Vacuusha-"

Sol bore his cold eyes into hers. "Don't call me that."

"Then stop the damn fire. You are sullying the 'Guidelines of Fire Usage'? Do you want me to teach you the basics of our Realm, boy?"

Sol crossed his arms, as something snapped inside of him. Oh, he was going to teach her the basics alright.

"Section three of the guidelines clearly states: 'One can run a fire conjured from flintstones, as long as it is being put in proper use, irrespective of the time and place, outdoors or indoors, as an individual or as a group.'"

The woman looked him up and down, with an expression of astonishment. He realized she was a blind follower of the traditions, without even knowing the full context, without even acknowledging how stupid this entire conversation was. Much to his dismay, a crowd was gathering inside his yard. People coming back from their work, some from the markets, some out on evening strolls, old and young, fat and thin, all with the same look of disdain... sensing the fire with their instinctive Earth powers.

The lady with the child pointed a finger at him. "You happen to have this memorized and still run the fire-"

Sol rubbed a finger against his temple. "Be my guest and cook my food for me, then, good lady."

"Do you see the way this insolent one talks?" she scoffed, glancing at him and then turning back to the herd of onlookers.

She was a bully. They all were.

Sol stepped out of his house, making the lady skitter away from him and from his place on the porch, he looked at the gathered people... with hands on his hips. He found his voice loud and clear, sharp and crisp-

"Pray tell me, if you were enemies with the Winter Realm, would you live without water? Would you drink water only-what-once a day? Would you not water your damn plants? Would you not spread your fish nets in the oceans that originate in their Realm?" Sol cocked his head to a side, "Would you not even pee because, it's also in liquid form?"

The woman and the crowd gasped in offense, and grandma poked a warning finger in his shoulder.

"One Realm cannot thrive without the others, no matter how self-sufficient you think you are. That's how the Throne wants it. Co-existence. I'll run the fu- flaming fire as much as I want. I'll do whatever I want, in my house. There, that's your lesson number one in basics."

Next, Sol heard whispers.

'He speaks as if this isn't his Realm.'

'Look how this Vacuusha speaks.'

'Should we call the Council?'

'Councilor Jared would set him straight right away.'

"Enough, my boy." A soft hand encircled his wrist. "Don't do this."

"This is who you are sheltering, old lady?" the woman tilted her neck, intimidatingly to get a look at grandma who was shielded behind Sol.

Sol snapped two fingers in front of the woman's face. "You take that tone with my grandma again and I will start the damned fire in your damned house. With you inside."

"You little—"

"Get out, if you can't handle the facts. And do not dare to knock on this door if this is your attempt at small talk. All of you."

Sol shut the door with a bang on her face, leaving the crowd gaping.

Silence lasted only until grandma cleared her throat whilst her brows were pinched. "That was... uh... so unlike you, my dear. Are you feeling quite alright?"

Sol didn't answer her, didn't even look at her. He felt different. But he didn't have a term for it. He felt a tingle in his hands, a zing in his soul to shut every tyrant who dared called the weaker ones derogatorily.

Grandma said again. "If they decide to call the Council on you, my dear... I don't think you can..."

Sol finished her words for her, "...hide under a disguise anymore. Right?"

"I... I know you are not from here, my boy and I don't want you picking up fights for me."

"You know I'll fight the whole world for you—"

Sol's heart stopped.

—and these are just a bunch of bullies.

Like a distant echo, he heard his own voice, his childhood voice speaking to another boy close to his age and he lost track of time, standing numbed down to the spot. He surely had a life somewhere; he had a life before this forsaken green shittery swallowed him whole.

That night, Sol tossed and turned in his bedding, wondering if he had made things worse for his grandma who still belonged here... unlike him. If he knew sorcery, then he was best away from her, from the kind old lady who had given him a shelter, a new identity, a new life...

...only if it were enough.

In the middle of the night, Sol began packing his things.

***