Life with Mom has a nice rhythm. Mornings usually start at dawn with my "studies" (i.e., me, a baby, staring at books) while she makes breakfast or tackles the first chores of the day. Then I help her tidy up, and finally, we head out together for shopping.
Today, we're off to the village market. Going with Mom is a full-on sensory adventure. Sitting in my little backpack seat on her back, I get a prime view. There are the smells of freshly baked bread, hints of exotic spices (or maybe just local herbs I haven't learned about yet), and fresh fish from the nearby river. The vibrant colors of fruits and vegetables, the intricate fabrics sold by local artisans, and the constant murmur of people—laughter, friendly haggling—all blend together into one lively symphony.
With my [Fast Learner] skill active, I soak it all in: the local dialects, the subtle expressions on people's faces, and the social dynamics of our small town. Mom greets almost everyone; her reputation as a healer (and maybe her connection with Dad) makes her very valued and respected.
After we return and I "help" out at the clinic until noon, Mom decides a little fresh air will do us good. So we head to the small park in the southern part of the village—a stretch of well-kept grass with a couple of big trees and some rustic wooden benches carved from naturally withered logs.
She gently sets me down and, flashing her best smile, encourages me to explore on my own. I walk pretty steadily now, though sometimes my center of gravity still confounds me.
While chasing a particularly colorful butterfly with my clumsy steps, I notice another small figure not too far away—a girl, perhaps a little older than me, with big green eyes as bright as the meadow around us. She's wearing a bright yellow dress with purple accents, and her two red pigtails bounce along as she struggles to stack a few stones.
I glance over at Mom, who gives me a subtle nod of approval. Then, fueled by my boundless baby energy, I toddle over with my natural curiosity (and just enough social awareness to keep up appearances). The girl looks at me, surprised and a bit shy. I offer her the flower I just plucked (oops—poor flower! I promise I'll "heal" its stem like Mom showed me the other day). She smiles and, in return, hands me one of her smooth stones. A fair trade, and just like that, we start playing side-by-side, communicating in that silent, secret language only little kids know. Her name is Lila, I overhear her mom call out to her while chatting with another woman nearby.
Then, out of nowhere, chaos breaks out. A small pack of stray dogs—probably attracted by leftover food scraps or sheer boredom—trots into the park. They're thin and a bit scruffy, but to kids our size, they look like giant wolves. They start barking and close in on Lila, who had dropped the flower I gave her. Startled, she backs up and trips, falling onto her bottom. Soon, she's crying, and the dogs, emboldened by her fear, get even closer, sniffing and barking aggressively.
Mom jumps up in a flash, though she's on the other side of the small lawn. Other adults react too, but instincts kick in faster than reason. I see Lila crying, I see the threatening dogs… and something inside me clicks. I don't think—I act. My core, that steady 80% of warm energy, vibrates intensely. I remember the feeling of wind, that Air element I saw Kael use so often to escape sticky situations. I concentrate with all my might: GO AWAY!
No spells, no bright lights—just a sudden, almost unnatural gust of wind that whips around the dogs. It isn't a full-blown storm, but it's strong and localized enough to kick up dust, knock them off balance, and scare them out of there. They yelp in surprise and confusion, turn tail, and flee the park with their tails tucked between their legs.
It all happens in an instant. I quickly scan the scene: Mom is right beside me with a look of concern, and Lila's mom is hovering close by. No one else seems to have noticed anything strange—only the dogs fleeing and my little friend sobbing on the ground. Phew! Beginner's luck… or maybe my control was even more instinctive than I thought.
While Mom checks on me and helps comfort Lila with her own mother, I feel another surge inside me. It's stronger than the one I felt with Dad—it's as if that first real, successful use of my will to protect someone shattered a final barrier. The energy refines itself and settles. That 80% core… it no longer feels partial. I sense an almost complete fullness—this has to be 90%! The interface doesn't flash or beep, but the internal sensation is unmistakable.
Lila's mom, a well-dressed woman with an air of quiet authority, thanks us profusely. "Oh, Elara, thank you so much for checking on her and healing her scrape. And thank you too, little one… Lexo? How brave you are to protect her! Lila is terribly afraid of dogs." She gives me a friendly pat on the head. Then she introduces herself formally—though Mom already knows her, of course. That's when I learn she's the wife of the village mayor.
"As a token of our thanks for caring for and helping Lila," she says with a warm smile, "we'd love for you to come over for snacks tomorrow afternoon. My husband would like to thank you personally."