Adventurer: A Fantasy LitRPG Adventure

My father led me from the dining hall to his and mother’s bedroom, before he approached a door at the north wall.

The man produced a key from a pouch at his waistline. He went down on one knee beside me, mostly leveling his eyes with mine, and offered the silver key to me.

“But I’m not allowed in your study without you?” I blurted.

“You weren’t before,” my dad agreed. “This is me acknowledging that you’re growing up into a man and a mage in your own right. Even though you haven’t officially started studying at the towers, you’re very close to reaching the competent level in Druidry. Sadly, the towers don’t teach that. I think the arcane magics will suit you very well, but I don’t want you to lose out on the opportunity to reach such a big milestone in what you already know. I won't be there to guide you after you reach Highmount, son.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “You’re coming with us?”

“What kind of father would I be if I couldn’t see my son safely to his new home?" my dad said with his soft, happy voice. "Go ahead and unlock the door with your new key, Pery,”

I couldn’t say that the thought of traveling to Highmount without my parents hadn’t bothered me at least a little, even if I was more excited than anxious. Maybe having dad come along would mean it could be a smoother transition into my new life? Somewhat comforted by the thought that my dad would be coming with me and Bastion to the city, I lifted the key to my shoulder level and shoved it in the lock. I felt a weighty resistance as it clicked into place. There was a mechanical shifting as I turned the key and heavy gears moved behind the strong, thick-carved wood that surrounded the face of the lock.

After turning the key, I slowly withdrew it and looked up to my dad. He just waited patiently and gestured for me to go ahead into his study first.

I pulled the handle of the now unlocked door down and took my first steps, without my father leading the way, into the man’s private research quarters.

I’d have normally felt like I was trespassing, but now, with dad’s previous words, I felt something much different. Pride. Pride that he had recognized me as he had, as someone who was almost a young man; I tried to keep my face solid and not as full of interest as it usually was, in hopes of showing him that I really was growing more mature.

To call the room we entered just a study wouldn’t be entirely accurate. Taking up the entirety of the third floor of the manor, tall log shelves traced the walls and various semi-glowing potted plants and preserved fauna set in dioramas, some of them being monstrous in variety, filled the room. Dad's private workspace was more of a library or a museum in its own right--not that I’d ever been in either of those sorts of places, but I’d read about them and heard about them from father.

“My present is in here?” I asked and then had a thought, “or was it the key?”

“This is your present,” my father explained and chuckled at my afterthought-induced comment, “but yes I guess the key was a part of it.”

“Your study?” I asked a bit confused.

What did dad mean by that? He wasn’t going to actually give me his study and, even if he did, I’d be leaving soon.

“Not the room, but access to what’s inside,” father explained and beckoned me to the westmost wall.

I followed him to his desk, large enough to hold his many sketches of various arcane subjects and two small stacks of books.

“Now, I know I’ve only ever let you read what I’ve brought out for you,” my father started, “but that changes today. You won’t be leaving to Highmount for six days; I’ve already talked it over with Bastion. You’re going to need knowledge to succeed in the towers and, while this,” he gestured to the hundreds of books all around us, “might not match the towers' libraries, it’s the total collection of all of my life’s work. There are magics and concepts listed here that a novice mage of the towers would simply not be allowed to access, if it even existed there at all—which I’d like to think some of it doesn’t."

"You're serious? You're going to let me read stuff like that?" I asked, shocked and already feeling my eyes scan with anticipation for the secrets that I could discover. "Isn't some of it dangerous?"

"I'm serious, but that is part of the reason I haven’t allowed you to read my collection at your leisure. With your talent and born trait, there’s a good chance that’s what’s written in some of these books and my notes could lead you to harm if you were foolish or lacked patience. Your magical aptitude and ability to perfectly reflect on anything you've seen does not equal wisdom, son, and I need you to always remember that—especially now that I won’t be able to remind you for much longer,” he paused to cough, but my father quickly cleared his throat and continued, “but you’ve always been a good son. Respectful and studious. I’m going to trust you now, Pery. I want to know you’ll grow up strong and wise, able to take care of your mother, brother—even Amelia and Rosaria and whoever else you come to care for. If I can give you this head start over your peers, then I will. At the end of your journey, careful steps taken early can put you far ahead of others who've walked your same path.

I was a bit taken aback by my father’s speech, but only momentarily. The feeling of resolve from when I’d first entered the study, to live up to my dad’s newly bestowed trust in me, only grew stronger as I took in his faith-laden words.

“I don’t know if I can take care of everyone, or live up to you, dad, but I’ll try, but I—” I looked to the many, many books all around, “I can’t read all of these in six days.”

My dad smirked knowingly.

“But you can remember the titles, can’t you?” he asked. “And you can flip through the pages, make sure you see them clearly, and remember those pages later, right?”

My eyes widened. I’d never thought of using my born trait like he was suggesting. True, I sometimes used it to recall what I’d read down to the word, but to use it to see a book and then read it later? Could I do it?

I took a moment, before answering my father, to delve into my mind. I sifted through the memories, calling back to the last time I’d read one of his books that he’d entrusted to me. The memory formed and, soon, I could see myself holding a green, leatherbound tome as clearly as day. I tried to picture the page itself and realized I could read the words exactly as if they were in front of me. I’d done this before, but never had I thought about using it on a book I hadn’t really read but instead just looked at briefly.

It worked! How had dad figured out I could do that before I had?

Seeing and reading a book weren't the same things, but dad was right. I could visualize any memory I'd ever made and, even if it was easier to freely recollect things that I’d taken the time to understand, I could always go back to my memories to try to replay and understand things later. I often did it when I visualized and tried to match my mother’s sword movements when I trained alone or with Rosaria. Of course, if I hadn’t been able to see mother’s movements, due to my attention slipping or her being too fast, I was unable to see them better upon replaying them in my mind; so, in the same way, I’d have to be sure that I’d glanced at the entirety of the pages of my father’s books as I flipped through them, and to not go so fast as to only half-reveal a page or blur the words in my vision.

I could have a library in my mind. My born trait didn’t provide perfect analysis of anything I’d ever seen, but it did allow me to call up the things I’d seen and replay them perfectly… and to nearly infinitely analyze them for things I’d initially missed. So, in theory, I guess I could flip through all of his books and, even if I hadn’t read the words, I could read them in my memories. Like dad had suggested, it’d be easy enough to recall the titles of books quickly, if I took the time to read those and more firmly cement them in my memory, and to then use the titles to search for any information I might need later.

I wouldn’t have dad with me at the towers when I got confused or had questions, but I could have the next best thing: all of his books, records, and journals.

“This is an amazing gift, dad,” I said. “Are you really sure I can read everything?”

“Hopefully, in the future, you’ll only be using your trait to read the books you store away in your mind from here that pertain to situations that you’re ready or have to deal with. So, I think it should be alright,” my dad placed his hand on the leftmost stack of books. “Still, I’ll be taking these books with me. I know I said I trusted you, but these are not something I’m entirely sure I trust myself with. I acquired one of them in a time of crisis and the other two were gifts I was given to safeguard. I’ll be taking them with me today. I only left them here at all so you could see them. Pery, I know you’ll remember what they look like, so, I’m imploring you, even if something were to happen to me and you were to be given them as part of your inheritance from me in the future, do not open them until you’re sure you’ve grown wise enough to wield a knowledge that even your father struggles with.”

My immediate reaction was that I wasn’t mad at dad for saying I could access his entire study and then withholding those three books. I trusted him, and was very glad he’d said he trusted me, and the three tomes clearly troubled him. Besides, why would I want to read something that scared even dad? Right?

“Dad?” I asked. “If you’re so scared of them then why don’t you get rid of them? They’re just books.”

My father appeared to ponder my question, before answering solemnly. “Son, there are some things you shouldn’t bring yourself to destroy and others that you simply can’t because it’s beyond your station. I said I wasn’t sure I trusted myself with these, but there are others that I know I don’t trust with them--that I can’t trust to have them, or I wouldn’t be myself anymore.”

Dad couldn’t destroy the books. As in he couldn’t just burn or tear them up? Were they magical and even stronger than my father? Two of them did look pretty ornate, and expensive honestly, but I didn’t feel any magic coming off of them. The book on top even just looked like an especially thick journal of some kind.

Even with the dragon-eye ring that mother had given me, it’d been beyond my ability to discern what it did but I’d still be able to feel that it did something. The eye that the ring’s stone had been created from had belonged to a dragon that had nearly killed my parents, that had killed multiple of their friends even. What could have created the books for them to be more powerful than a dragon that my father had destroyed, albeit with help?

“I promise I won’t read them dad,” I had already made my decision upon hearing my father’s request for me to not open the books, even if he weren’t around, but I spoke my intention aloud for dad’s benefit—so he could know he could still trust me.

Dad exhaled in relief. “I wasn’t saying never, but it’s probably best that you don’t. I promise, Pery, some things are better left to ignorance. In a few very rare cases, ignorance can be a shield all its own.”

“I trust you, dad,” I said.

His face grew more relaxed at that. “I know, Pery, and my son’s trust means a lot to me. Regardless, all of that aside, these books,” he put his hand to a stack of seven tomes that sat beside the books he’d forbidden me from reading, “are ones that I think you’ll find especially useful in breaking through in your druidry. If you follow their teachings well, in the coming months, then you should be able to reach the competent tier in no time. A few of them are my journals and notes from when I was younger. I would take the time to explain what’s inside them myself, if we had a little more time, but I think you can puzzle it all out on your own with what I’ve already taught you. Over the last few weeks, I’ve gone ahead and annotated the journals to correct some of my younger self’s misconceptions and blunders in understanding, so they shouldn’t lead you astray as long as you pay attention to the margins.”

My dad’s personal journals on magic? I was very excited. My dad was the strongest person I knew, maybe even stronger than mom—in a different sort of way, of course. If I had access to all his thoughts when he was younger, and closer to my level, maybe I could follow the same path that he had?

The gap between me and dad was so huge right now that it was always almost intimidating to try to learn from him, though not as much as it was with mom, but if I could learn from his earlier self? Maybe I could compete against this younger version of dad? Yes, maybe, just maybe, I could do that.

“Dad, you’ve put a lot of thought into this present. I really love you,” I said.

My dad moved in to hug me. “I love you too, son. You’re going to do great things.” He pulled back and rested both of his hands on my shoulders. “You better get to reading. The magic of the towers is a lot different from what I’ve taught you. You won’t be starting from scratch, but druidry is very divergent from the most common of the magics based upon arcane theory in a lot of ways.”

Dad had mentioned that before. Apparently, mages who used more conventional magic used mana to force their will upon the world, drawing upon the concentrated mystical energies that they’d stored in dedication-formed circles of power around their soulcores.

Magical fire cast by a traditional elementalist for example, wasn’t actually exactly fire; it was more like the mage’s imagination, funneled into mana that had set itself ablaze through intent. A magical flame had no spark of natural life, but was rather created with mental energies--it was a caster's thought and understanding of fire, rather than fire itself.

It didn’t sound like a big difference to me, but my father had explained that, much like I could understand the language of animals and the intent of plant-life, real fire also had a voice and presence—though it was beyond the scope of a druid to manipulate the elements. Druids were limited to manipulating flora and fauna.

That said, my dad was a wind shaman, as well as a druid. Dad could control the wind and other shamans could communicate with the spirits of fire and coax them into aiding them. This sort of fire magic did also consume mana, though I didn’t exactly fully understand how, but it apparently took much less power than traditional magic to draw upon—even if there were other downsides when you compared using elemental flames with using arcane fire.

“Dad, what if I wanted to learn to control wind like you? It seems really strong, so why should I have to only learn how to do it like the mages at the towers do?” I asked.

My dad slowly withdrew his hands from my shoulders. “That’s a commitment, son. Shamanism requires you to learn the language of the elements and to open a line of communication with them, but, well, you are twelve now… a young man able to make some of your own decisions. I’ve considered introducing you to it, but I wanted it to be your choice.”

“I learned how to speak elven and dwarvish fast, though. I could learn,” I said.

It was true. My born trait made acquiring languages particularly easy. Once someone had spoken something to me, if I momentarily forgot a word, all I had to do was search my mind and replay the sound of it then practice replicating it.

“You have a good bit on your schedule already. Focus on these books for now. I’ll speak with Bastion. It is possible I could introduce you to the path of the elements on our way to Highmount, though it would require a detour and a bit of an adventure,” my dad said.

“An adventure?” my eyes opened wide at that word. “Please, dad? I know I’d be safe with you and brother.”

My dad’s face shifted at my response. Suddenly growing sort of scary.

“You are never safe when on an adventure,” he scolded me. “Thinking that is how you die or get someone else killed.”

My mouth opened in shock. “I didn’t mean… I’m sorry.”

Dad exhaled his displeasure and coughed against his will and apparently held breath, seeming to reset and remember himself somewhat while he fought the choking fit back to relative calmness, grabbing at his desk to steady himself as he did so. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have snapped like that. You can and should have fun when you explore the world, Pery, but you must remain centered and realistic. Your level and expectations of an adventure are almost irrelevant to fate if it decides to kill you; you might be stronger than a foe sometimes, but you might also be weaker and find an enemy to be more dangerous than you ever expected. Life is more random than any of us would like to admit and the ratings for guild missions are meaningless at worst and informed guesses at best. Always be ready to talk, fight, or run in equal measure, and never grow prideful if you want to instead grow old.”

“I do want to have fun, dad. I want to be an adventurer. Mom always seems like she had a lot of fun when she talks about it, but I’ll remember what you said,” I replied, recovering myself from my earlier shock as best I could.

If I had to explain or put into words why I’d replied to my dad like that, I wasn’t sure I could. I’d been momentarily scared of his change in mood, but I didn’t want to be a dumb kid who was so easily frightened. I respected and didn’t want to challenge my father, but I wanted to voice my own thought. I was twelve now. I had to start being able to do that, right? That was what dad wanted, wasn't it?

My father peered at me for a moment. “You take after me so often, in how you carry yourself, that sometimes I forget how much of your mother you have in you. It’s not a bad thing; it’s made her incredibly strong and a wonderful partner in my life. Just remember to try and heed both of us as you grow into heeding yourself.” Then he smiled. “Go over these books. I’ll talk to Bastion about it and teach you the basics of Aetaric, the language of the wind, on our way to Highmount and I might even introduce you to a certain someone before we get there.” His smile calmed to a thoughtful expression once more. “You might have to fight a monster or two if we go down this path, however. I won’t judge you if you don’t want to yet. You just turned twelve. Most young men your age get a year, or three, of training before they go off to slay anything—but you do already have more training than most of them. So, I’ll let you think about it and tell me your decision once we get a little ways on to where we’re going.”

I didn’t have to think about it. How scary could a few monsters be when I’d crossed swords with mom so many times? And, no matter what my dad said, I’d have him and Bastion; I couldn’t imagine anything short of another dragon giving those two troubles. A mage, a knight, and me--and Rosaria of course. We could do this.

“I want to do it, dad,” I said, saying far fewer words than he had. “I’m already sure.”

My father laughed. “Yes, you’re definitely your mother’s son. My influence might just be surface level, after all. Though perhaps I was much more like her when I was your age as well.” He pushed his stooping body away from his desk and gathered up the tomes he’d forbidden me from opening. “Alright, get to reading. You’re going to be hard-pressed for time, even with your talents. Take the time to talk to your mother and Amelie before we leave, but I want to see you have the majority of what you can out of this room tucked away in your mind before we set out.”

And so, heeding my father's words, the next six days passed with my nose shoved in a book, then into another one, and another one after that.

I'd further tested my ability to use my born trait as a sort of tucked away library, after I’d flipped through a few pages of the first of the seven books my dad had picked out especially for me. I was careful to make sure I’d gotten a clear picture of each-and-every page that I’d turned without actually reading any of them. I then closed the book and tried to properly understand it from my memories alone.

It was a little harder than just re-reading a book I’d already read from my memories, if I were being honest. Just to read anything at all in my memory, I had to keep the mental focus to freeze the memory of a page, before I’d flipped to the next in the actual memory, for a good minute or two, as I read it, and then I had to do the same with the next page and the next.

It was just a bit harder than actually reading a book, but it would hopefully be worth it. This way I didn’t need to carry around hundreds of books to have their knowledge available to me. I could probably still do it while laying around in bed at night and, as an added benefit, I didn’t need to worry about lighting a lamp, or anything like that to provide myself with firelight to read by.

Even still, at first I was intimidated by the sheer idea of storing away the majority of dad's library in my mind. Ultimately, flipping through a book to commit it to memory didn’t actually take long, but it was pretty boring. I didn’t have to focus too much, but annoyingly just enough to make sure I actually saw what I was looking at. I didn’t want there to be missing pages in my memory when I decided to actually mentally read a tome later.

By the end of it all, the six full days had passed since I’d started my project to add dad’s library to my own mind. Eventually, and with a brain that was pounding from the exertion of task-focused boredom, the kind that makes your brain as sore as any workout does to your moving bits, I’d managed to get through all of dad’s books.

I fell into my bed that night with a nagging exhaustion. I was half-tempted to ask father for a potion to clear my migraine, but I knew what he’d say. Before offering me anything, he’d ask if it wasn’t just something a little rest could fix and if I really needed something external.

Besides, even though the veins in my brain were throbbing, I felt a strange sense of attachment to the sensation. I’d bear the pain with pride; it was a mark of my achievement, of my conquering my first real step towards becoming a proper, dedicated student of magic and not just a dabbler.

So, with a very tired determination to knock out, I slipped under my covers and let the weighted embrace of a dreamless sleep overcome me.

The next morning was a busy one. Dad and I packed the rations for the trip, while Bastion and Rosaria prepared the horses and dad’s wagon.

I wore Mytharis by my side and had already loaded the hunting bow my mother had gifted me some years ago into the back of dad’s cart. The only other thing I’d been sure to take with me, besides the ring mother had also given me, was a weather-proofed leather pouch full of various seeds that sat looped into my belt.

I was just coming out of the house, carrying half of the wrapped bundles of food we'd prepared in my arms, when I saw Bastion and Rosaria wave to me.

“Do you need any help?” Rosaria asked after walking over to me.

“I’ve got it,” I told her, as I still let her take one of the bundles “but this one’s yours. For your rations.”

“We’re just packing it in the back,” Dad told us, “it’s all going to the same place. I just wanted it evenly sorted out.”

Dad walked to the back of the horse-drawn, covered wagon and placed the bundles he was carrying under one of the bench seats.

Me and Rosaria waited behind him, only to hand him what we were carrying so he could pack it away.

I noticed that Bastion had already loaded all of our backpacks away in the back. Including the bags he had tied to Windtide when he’d arrived. He was in simple traveling clothes and was only wearing his armored chest-plate as far as adventuring gear went--the rest must’ve still been packed away.

“Why are you only wearing that?” I asked.

“And not the rest of the armor?” Bastion asked. “A full suit is just for war and when you know what you’re walking into. Armor isn’t comfortable after a while. Any soldier will tell you that they wear it as little as possible, once the newness and most of the pride of having it wears off. This,” he tapped the white metal covering his chest, “Is more than enough for most of the situations that you probably won’t even run into on the open road. You’ll figure it out when you get your own armor and get a few sore spots from its grip on you.”

“Probably something we should handle fairly soon for both of them,” my father said, “considering the detour we discussed.”

“There’s a cross-roads town on the way,” Bastion said. “We can get them something simple and lightweight there. Better if they get used to earning anything fancy from now on, yeah?”

My father nodded and replied. “As long as they’ve got the basic protection, I won’t argue with you. You’re their new teacher, after all.”

Bastion put his hand to his chin and rubbed it as if that hadn’t occurred to him. “Ah, well, yeah,” he said and looked to me and Rosaria, “I guess you guys are my students now, huh? That’s wild.”

“You’re not very serious of a person are you, Sir Bastion?” Rosaria peeped up from beside me.

My eyes grew wide. “Rosaria…”

“Hey now,” Bastion said with a laugh. “I’m very serious when I need to be.”

Rosaria just blinked at him. “That didn’t sound very serious either.”

My father kept noticeably silent as Bastion blinked back at the girl for a moment.

Then the man just waived it off as he climbed up into the driving seat of the wagon. “You’ll see how serious I am when you’re doing sword drills until your arms fall off. And they might! You coming, dad?”

Rosaria sighed good-naturedly at that, and I laughed. Dad, meanwhile, cracked a small grin.

“Guess it’s about time we set off then,” my father said.

We’d already said our goodbyes, but, nonetheless, two women left the house before we could officially hit the road.

Amelie followed behind my mother, who had a very serious expression on her face as she strode confidently up to my father.

The fiery, red-headed woman’s presence of authority oozed off of her as she stopped directly in from of my dad; my mother and father merely exchanged blank faced gazes for a moment.

Then my mother’s face shifted from its momentarily scary visage into a happy, carefree expression. “Okay then, just don’t die on the little adventure you have planned for them or something silly, honey,” she said to my father, before turning her face to me, no more serious or scary than when she’d spoked to dad, “and you. Your dad is strong enough to die well already, but I expect you to get stronger before you do, so you’re not allowed to yet.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

I sorta understood what she meant. She didn’t want me to live a meaningless life. She didn’t mourn her well-fallen comrades, but, for as long as I’d been alive, she’d always refused to speak of her parents except to say they’d been worthless people. I could only assume they’d never tried to amount to anything approaching good parents considering dad had mentioned that mother had been orphaned since she was eight years old--and apparently not by an uncontrollable tragedy.

“You’re a good boy,” my mother said as she leaned down to hug me. “I love you, alright? Do good at the towers,” she then hid her mouth from Bastion with a raised palm, “learn what you can from his style, it’s good for some stuff, but don’t stop training what I’ve taught you or you’ll never beat him—he’s a prodigy at the sword, but even more with that new style of his. The specifics of people’s talents matter when it comes to overtaking them with your own, but, just between you and me? You’re gonna be able to knock him down a notch in a few years if you fight smart with your magic and don’t get lazy.”

“I heard that,” Bastion said. “You trying to give my new students a bad idea of me, mom?"

My mother lowered her hand and looked to her eldest son with an innocent, uncaring face. “If they get a bad idea of you then it’ll be your own fault. A master is only over their students for as long as they stay ahead of them. If he beats you then you’ve succeeded and failed at the same time. That’s just the way it is.”

Bastion scowled, but not too seriously. It seemed mom did not share my father’s newfound respect for Bastion as our teacher, or at least not to the same degree--or maybe just not in the same exact way that dad did.

“I’ll miss you too, mom,” I said and met her arms for a tight hug, carefully choosing not to comment and risk insulting either of my mother or brother's oddly laid-back egos.

“And you, girl,” mother said to Rosaria, as she loosened and let go of our embrace.

Rosaria stiffened.

“Yes, my lady?” the girl asked.

“Bastion told me that you showed a lot of talent over the past week that you two have been training together, while Pery's had his nose in those books,” my mother said, suddenly making Rosaria’s seeming comfort with insulting my brother a bit more understandable. “Feel free to get a big head about it, but be sure to keep backing that up.”

“Um... Yes, ma’am,” Rosaria said and nodded firmly.

“Good girl!” my mother said cheerily.

“Rosaria,” the more demure of the two women that had left the house addressed her daughter next.

Unlike my mom, she didn’t go in for another hug. I figured they’d already gotten that out of the way. Amelie had a look of resigned courage on her face; unlike my mom, the maid seemed to have to steel herself strongly against the sight of her child leaving her.

“I’ll miss you, mother,” Rosaria replied to Amelie’s address immediately and then ran to hug her mother.

The maid met the hug at Rosaria’s level without hesitation and pulled her much closer than my mom had pulled me.

“I’ll miss you too, little songbird. Be safe. Your father would be very proud of you,” she said through choked words.

Eventually, after we’d all said our second goodbyes, and mother and Amelie had moved to the entrance of the manor to watch our actual departure, there was just one final interruption.

A loud, excited barking.

“Hm? Those weren’t words,” my father said and turned to the noise.

He was right. The bark hadn’t carried any real meaning, it was mostly just a happy babble of greeting.

Me and dad were the first to turn our heads towards the large and athletically muscular, but old-looking female hunting dog that was approaching us. It hadn’t been the dame who’d barked at us, however, but the large, weening age puppy that she carried by the nape in her mouth. The obsidian colored pup was wagging its tail excitedly, its tongue hanging out as its mother carried it, and its teeth showing the puppy was in a good mood.

I’d played with the blacksmith’s dog’s pups in person almost every day since they'd been born, excepting the last week.

I looked up to my father who nodded his permission.

“Hey, Maggie?” I said, lacing my intonations with the, and bringing my mind in line with, the wavelength of thought that dogs communicated along--or more precisely, the way in which they saw the world--as I climbed down from the carriage to approach the two canines.

I could see the recognition and understanding in the hunting dog’s eyes as I greeted her. It barely took any mana to pull off speaking to an animal, but I was a lot better at talking to dogs and cats than I was to birds or wildlife--thus the situation of me not quite being able to communicate fluently with the bird back in dad’s garden. There were actual spells one could learn to speak to any animal, that burned more mana to fill in the gaps for a druid’s lack of understanding surrounding a particular species. My current passive spell was the more efficient method, but it required practice talking to, and understanding an animal well enough, to communicate with them without the aid of a more complicated enchantment.

Thankfully, domesticated animals, especially dogs, operated on a much closer plane of communication to humans than the more wilds-dwelling beasts did; basically, the language barrier was smaller and thus easier to bridge between man and his best friend. I’d already been talking to Maggie for years; she’d taught me most of what I knew about how dogs saw things.

That was the simple secret behind druidic magic. Arcane mages used their mana to bring the world in line with their will. Druidic magic brought the caster in line with the world, allowing understanding and resonance, a oneness of sorts with whatever flora or fauna you were interacting with. I understood dogs pretty well, could use my intent to align my soul with the spark of life within them, and thus I could speak to them as if I was one of them.

I wasn’t barking, of course. I was speaking the old empire's tongue, but my mana-fueled intent was speaking dog and thusly lacing my words with something Maggie would hear and understand.

Maggie placed her puppy down in front of me.

“You’re leaving,” the dog barked at me.

“Yes,” I nodded. “I’m going off to learn how to grow up.”

“My puppy is ready to grow up, he should go with my other puppy,” Maggie barked. “You’ll be safer together.”

“Your other—oh, you mean me?” I asked. “You want me to take him with me?”

I looked to the small, black ball of fur who was sitting calmly with his tongue still dripping drool beneath him. The pup looked at me with big, green eyes. He was already an eighth the size of his mother and he looked like had the genetics to grow into a much bigger frame than her. One more, I wondered who his sire was? Definitely not one of the local, village dogs, that was for sure; none of them had the look of this puppy.

Maggie barked again in the affirmative. “My puppies should go together.”

I’d never known Maggie saw me as one of her puppies? Dogs weren’t stupid. She probably didn’t actually see me as a dog, but just as a child she cared for. I was honestly touched.

“Does your human know about this?” I asked.

“He doesn’t speak with me like you can,” Maggie said. “My puppy, my decision. He won’t be mad.”

I looked to my father, who was coming up beside me.

“We can pick up extra food for him, or rely on wildlife if we need to,” my father said to me and then looked to the mother dog in front of us. “Thank you for loving my son as much as you do, Maggie. Are you sure this is what you want? Your son won’t be back for a long while, perhaps.”

Maggie barked and looked like the determined old girl that she was. “Both of my puppies should go together. You understand and have puppies too. My puppy is safer with your puppy. We should keep some of the litter together as much as we can.”

My father leaned down to the black-furred puppy of Maggie.

“Do you want to go with my son?” he asked the fur-ball.

The little dog just wagged its tail and then jumped to bite at the tip of my boot, before looking up to my father and barking unintelligibly.

“My puppy trusts me,” Maggie said. "He will go with yours."

“Alright then,” my father said. “Son, are you ready to take on the responsibility? An animal companion is always good for those who walk our path. If you trust your bond and raise him well, you may find he becomes more than you might expect over time--especially since you've known him since he was born.”

I looked at my father and then went down to pet Maggie’s offspring, watching as the dog promptly rolled his belly over to allow me to scratch the noble-looking scruff of fur on his chest.

“It would be nice to have another friend by my side, if brother is okay with it?” I said and looked to Bastion who was still sitting on the cart.

“You two are talking to dogs again, yeah? I got your half of it. Samantha likes animals. We already have a cat, but as long as he doesn’t eat it and you house-train him then sure, be my guest,” Bastion said to me. “I’ve always wanted a dog--something more manly; her cat hates me anyway—I might not be too mad if he eats it now that I’m thinking about it.”

“Thank you, Bastion,” I said with a thankful smile. “In that case,” I walked over and pet Maggie on the head, “thank you too, Maggie. We’ll be sure to take care of each other.”

Maggie barked and leaned down for my gratitude-filled pets.

“Be safe and keep your noses open,” the mother dog said and wagged her tail back and forth slowly.

And, just like that, another unexpected friend joined my trip with Bastion, Rosaria, and my father.