"So, how was your experience at the herb store?" Kael asked, tossing a small pebble at the road as he walked beside Arin.
"It was great!" Arin grinned. "My mama said she'll take me to the outer forest region to show me some herbs later! What about you?"
Kael's eyes drifted toward the open-front smithy where his father, Karl Thorn, worked with rhythmic precision. "Wow, that's nice. I also enjoyed helping my father with his work."
Arin's eyes lit up with curiosity. "How does the smithy work? Can you tell me?"
Kael's grin widened. "Sure."
The boys stepped into the smithy, where heat from the forge wrapped around them like a heavy cloak. The air shimmered above the anvil as Karl Thorn hammered glowing metal, each strike sending sparks dancing across the stone floor. The walls were lined with racks of tools— tongs, chisels, and hammers, their handles darkened with years of soot. Barrels of ores and ingots sat in one corner, and in another, partially completed swords and farming tools gleamed under shafts of sunlight.
"My father uses Earth Element magic to make things easier," Kael explained. "Watch closely."
Karl's arms, muscular and veined from years of work, moved in a steady rhythm. As he raised his hammer again, the faint glow of his Soul Mark— a rugged stone-like pattern etched on his back— shimmered golden. The metal beneath his hammer softened unnaturally fast, a sign of subtle elemental manipulation. He was using magic to increase the pliability of the metal, channeling earth-aligned mana to temper it with stability and resilience.
"My dad's Soul Mark helps him manipulate the density of the ores and heat the forge stones. He told me he doesn't use pure fire magic like others do— his method keeps the metal stable longer."
Karl Thorn was a burly man with short, soot-black hair, and deep-set brown eyes that held both patience and quiet strength. His beard, streaked with iron-grey, framed a weathered face marked with small burns and old scars— a testament to a lifetime of craftsmanship. His presence was imposing, but his smile softened the edges.
Kael leaned in and whispered to Arin, "Also, Arin, you need to stop calling your mother 'mama.' That's what kids call their mom. Now we're grown up— you should say 'mom' or just 'mother.'"
Arin blinked at him, wide-eyed. "What's wrong with it? Aren't we still young?"
Kael groaned. "No, you idiot. Only 5 year olds say that. We're going to the academy soon. If you keep saying 'mama,' the other students will laugh at you. Seriously."
Behind them, Karl chuckled as he listened in. "Kids these days… acting like they've already grown up."
Kael turned toward him indignantly. "Dad, we're almost adults! We'll soon go to the academy and become really strong!"
Karl smirked without looking up. "You've got a long way to go."
"Hmph! You'll see soon!"
"If you're grown, then come help me increase the fire. The metal needs to be smelted, quickly."
Kael sighed, mumbling something under his breath, and moved to assist his father. He reached for a small rune-stone and focused his mana into it, causing the forge's flames to flicker higher. Karl nodded approvingly.
As Arin watched, Karl took a moment to explain, "You see, Arin, smithing isn't just hammering metal. The right balance of magic and muscle makes a true blacksmith. Too much heat, and the ore becomes brittle. Too little, and it won't mold. Kael's still learning."
"Hey!" Kael protested.
Arin laughed, absorbing every word with fascination. The interplay between mundane craft and magical reinforcement was unlike anything he'd seen before.
A while later, Lyra arrived at the smithy.
"Thanks for watching over Arin, Karl."
Karl wiped his hands on a cloth and smiled. "No trouble, Lyra. He's a quiet kid— unlike someone."
"What? Being quiet is boring!" Kael huffed.
"Bye Kael! Bye Uncle Karl!" Arin waved.
"Take care, kid," Karl said with a nod.
"Bye Arin!" Kael called out, already turning back toward the forge.
---
As Lyra led Arin westward, the sounds of the market faded behind them. With each step, the air grew crisper, the smell of soil and grass replacing the scent of baked goods and herb oils. Greenery thickened along their path. Vines with violet trumpet-like blossoms crawled along the sides of stone cottages, and the chatter of birds filled the air, their beauty quietly flourishing along the edges of the village.
The outskirts of Mistgrove Village slowly gave way to vast agricultural fields. Between the village and the Greenfold Expanse lay wide stretches of farmland, where life pulsed with earthy magic and hard labor. Dozens of villagers worked the land— some bent over with hand tools, others moving in coordinated groups.
A man stood near a pond, his hands weaving in fluid circles. With a flash of blue from his Soul Mark, a steady stream of water arced gracefully from the pond to the fields, nourishing rows of thirsty seedlings. Nearby, two women combined Earth and Water magic— one loosening soil with smooth, pulsing waves, while the other enriched it, shaping the land for rice paddies.
Others without magic toiled with ploughs pulled by oxen, and manual tillers forged from steel. They sweated under the sun, their efforts just as vital. Further ahead, a boy with wind affinity made swift cuts in the air with his arms, sending blades of wind to harvest tall stalks of grain in one clean motion.
Magic here wasn't grand or flashy— it was practical, rooted in everyday survival. Most villagers only had minor affinities, and even that was a gift. Their use of magic was limited to enhancing physical tasks, not bending the elements to their will. Yet the rhythm of their labor was seamless— magic and muscle working side by side.
"What are those shiny things floating?" Arin asked.
Lyra looked over. "Those are magical tools. Some farmers use enchanted equipment to help speed up their work. That disk over there is called a Wind Harvester— it trims grain with controlled wind spells. And that slow-moving one over there is a Weed Warden— it burns weeds using a tiny fire rune."
"They're amazing!" Arin exclaimed.
"They are," Lyra agreed, but her tone grew thoughtful. "But they're also expensive. Only a few wealthier farmers or co-ops can afford them. So, they share with others when they can— lending tools to neighbors, taking turns."
Arin nodded, watching a group of children carefully guiding a Wind Harvester down a field. "Even magic has its limits, huh?"
Lyra smiled. "Yes. Tools help, but it's people who keep things moving. Everyone contributes how they can."
They walked past a field of clustered green plants.
"That's Arula Leaf, used in that stew I make on cold nights," Lyra said. "It needs both moisture and heat, so fire and water mages take turns here. Sometimes we use warmstones— they store heat like sunlight and release it slowly at night."
Next was a field ringed by glowing stakes.
"That's Glowroot. It only grows under moonlight. These stakes mimic moonlight so the plant can grow even during overcast nights."
Arin's eyes widened with awe. "So many things are possible with magic… and even those who don't have much magic work just as hard."
A thought crept into his mind. Would they improve even more if they had higher affinities? But another followed quickly, one that made him frown. Would they still choose this life if they had greater affinities… or would they leave it behind, like I want to?
Arin watched in awe. "And what's this one?"
"This is Mirna Root, for that rich stew you you love. It takes months to mature." She gently plucked one from the soil. "Everything on your plate has a long story behind it."
Lyra knelt beside him. "There's a lot that goes into the food we eat, Arin. People who work the land, craftsmen who enchant the tools, merchants who carry it across towns… we must respect every one of them. Every profession has its place. Magic or no magic."
Arin clutched the Mirna Root in both hands. The sight of the fields, the smell of warm soil, the harmony of magic and labor— it left a deep imprint in his heart.
Arin nodded solemnly. His mind was swirling, trying to grasp the weight of what she said. The world was bigger, more complex than he'd thought. And in every corner, there was meaning.
Arin walked beside his mother, the last of the cultivated fields fading behind them. Beyond lay the threshold to something far older— the Greenfold Forest. It began innocently enough, with patches of herbs, low shrubs, and soft green moss carpeting the soil. But with each step, the plants grew taller, wilder. The gentle underbrush gave way to twisting vines and broad-leaved ferns. The scent in the air changed too— earthier, richer, tinged with something ancient.
The trees deepened in color and complexity. First, slim-trunked saplings. Then thicker, gnarled oaks. Then enormous hardwoods with bark like cracked stone and canopies so dense they dimmed the sky. Each layer of growth was like peeling back time itself.
The forest density increased, branches tangling high above like interwoven arms, forming a partial roof of green and gold. Light filtered through in shafts, dust motes dancing like faint spirits in the air. Birds called out from unseen perches, their songs echoing with a curious rhythm that felt... almost sentient.
Arin tilted his head left and right, trying to find the forest's edge. But no matter how far he looked, it stretched on— limitless. A living wall that went far beyond the borders of Mistgrove. Its length dwarfed their village, curving with the land until it vanished into the horizon. There was no end in sight.
He looked up at the forest horizon ahead, the edge of the Greenfold Expanse finally coming into view— tall, ancient trees rising like guardians of forgotten knowledge.
And their journey into it was just beginning.