(Lexo's Point of View)
The presence of my grandfather Gustav had left behind a trail of tension and unanswered questions—and, ironically, a new kind of freedom. Or at least a fascinating new tool: Urso. In the days following his visit, our home became a testing ground for my new "assistant."
"Urso, could you bring me that book 'Minor Mythical Creatures' from Pietro's library?" I'd say, and in an instant, with an almost imperceptible twist in space, the book would appear in my hands. "Urso, tell Pietro to meet us at the oak tree after naptime—make sure he gets the message, even if he's in the bathroom." A silent nod was all I got, but I knew the message would be delivered. My favorite request was: "Urso, let me know exactly five minutes before the baker takes the honey star buns out of the oven." I'd never missed a hot batch! Those fluffy, star-shaped pastries—glazed to perfection—were a divine tribute to our Quintus kingdom.
Of course, Mom wasn't entirely thrilled. "Lexo, Urso is not a messenger boy or a toy," she'd gently scold as the imposing masked man handed me a glass of water from across the room. I'd just smile and show her the letter my grandfather had sent (delivered by Urso, naturally): "For whatever my grandson needs. No exceptions. – G." Mom would sigh, but she couldn't argue with the Grandmaster's direct order. Unlimited uses!
It was Pietro who suggested a more productive idea. "Considering Uncle Valerius's demonstrated ability to interact with your Chronos—and Urso's apparent spatial affinity—it would be advantageous to use Urso as a training partner. He could offer unique resistance or even interact with your temporal ability in unexpected ways."
That was brilliant! Besides my uncle and perhaps Mom (whose demonstration against Valerius still gives me chills), I didn't know anyone else who could even sense my Chronos, let alone counter it. Training with Urso might be the key to understanding and improving my control.
But before training, there were more urgent matters—at least for my taste buds. Urso had just "informed" me (with an almost imperceptible nod) that the star buns were about to come out. Convincing Mom to let me go to the market was easier this time; Urso's silent, imposing presence at my side seemed to reassure—or maybe just intimidate—her. "Very carefully, son. And be back before dinner," she warned.
In just a few minutes (Urso was excellent at carrying me on his back), we arrived at the bakery stand. The air smelled of glory: warm bread, caramelized sugar, and sweet honey. The baker—more akin to a blacksmith who'd chosen the wrong profession—was a burly man with flour-dusted mustaches named Magnus, pulling golden trays from the oven. And there she was: Astrid, his beautiful daughter, helping him arrange the breads on the counter. She was really pretty, with blonde hair tied back in a practical braid and a hint of flour on her nose.
And, naturally, Borin was there too. Leaning casually against a nearby post while flexing a bicep the size of my head, he watched as the blonde girl's eyes met his. Straightening up like a battering ram, he advanced.
"Astrid!" he bellowed, making several customers jump. "Today... your buns... smell especially... uh... round!"
She blinked coquettishly and blushed. "Uh... thanks, Borin. They're stars, actually."
"Stars! Yes! Like the ones I see when I train hard!" he continued, clearly at a loss for words. "You should see me train! I break rocks! With my head!" (He has all the subtlety of a raccoon.)
Magnus, clearly unimpressed, emerged from behind the counter, wiping his hands on his apron, his expression darkening. "Borin, again. Don't you have... axes to sharpen or something?"
"I was just admiring the... baking!" Borin stammered, taking a step back under the baker's stern glare.
I watched the scene with a mix of amusement and secondhand embarrassment. Poor Borin—a legendary warrior, yet a complete disaster at courtship. I decided to step in with a plan. The moment I asked Urso to lift me into the air like an angel, I mentally declared, "Kneel, mortals, Lexo has arrived in cupid mode!" (Even though everyone ignored me.) Let's move on.
"Mr. Magnus!" I said in my sweetest, most childish voice as I approached the counter, while Urso stood a few steps away. "I'd like two of those amazing star buns, please! And one for my friend Borin!"
Magnus looked at me, his expression softening slightly. "Of course, little Lexo. Here you go. The best for my best customer," he said, handing me the warm buns.
"Thank you," I replied, then turned to Astrid and, feigning shyness, added, "Miss Astrid... my Uncle Borin is a legend—a legendary adventurer who tells incredible stories of dragons, treasures, relics, even unopened chests of gold. He says he'd like to share them with someone who appreciates a good story." I glanced at the now-gasping giant. "But he's a little shy to ask."
Astrid looked at Borin, then at me, and a small smile spread across her face. "Adventure stories? That sounds... interesting." She looked at her father, who merely snorted. "Maybe... you could tell me one after closing, Borin, if you're not too busy breaking rocks with your head."
Success! Borin nearly fainted with excitement, managing an awkward nod. I bought my buns (using the copper coins Kael had given me) and we retreated strategically while the baker continued to eye my father's companion suspiciously.
We walked back home in silence (Urso making sure the buns stayed warm). The next hour was quite a spectacle: Borin, gripped by pre-date panic, rummaged through his meager wardrobe.
"Does this bear pelt say 'I'm sensitive'?" he asked, holding up a tattered fur.
"Negative," Pietro interjected after being summoned by me and brought by Urso, who observed everything with clinical fascination. "According to 'Etiquette and Decorum for the Lesser Nobility,' a clean cloth doublet would be more appropriate."
"I don't have a doublet!" he roared like he was launching into battle. "What if I wear... my war helmet? It's shiny!"
"Maybe just a clean shirt, Borin," I suggested diplomatically.
Finally, he opted for his least stained tunic and a failed attempt at taming his unruly beard. Before leaving, he even plucked some peculiar wildflowers growing near the shed. (Don't worry, big guy, I won't tell Mom.)
"Flowers! Women love flowers!" he declared triumphantly.
I watched him walk away with the plant in hand and silently cheered him on, wishing him success. Meanwhile, Urso dried my tears with a teddy bear-covered handkerchief.
We waited for him to return. While Pietro read, I tried to decipher the notes in his notebook and brainstorm the next training session with my assistant. After an hour, Borin came back—alone, with a tragicomic mixture of confusion and slight embarrassment on his face.
"Well?" I asked anxiously.
The barbarian sighed, sounding like a derailed train. "I found her by the river. I gave her the flower." He paused. "She started sneezing uncontrollably. She said she was allergic to Night Carnation pollen—which is poisonous if inhaled too much—and that Lyra had warned me about that flower last week." Another pause. "Then her father showed up with a rolling pin and strongly suggested I practice my axe throwing... far from the river and, if possible, far from town."
Pietro scribbled something in his notebook. "Interesting correlation between attempted courtship and allergic reaction to local toxic flora. Hypothesis: A botanical analysis of floral gifts is required."
Poor Borin. At least he tried.
That night, determined to relax after so much vicarious romantic drama, I decided to try an oatmeal cookie recipe Mom had taught me. I gathered the ingredients—flour, sugar, eggs, oatmeal...
"Urso," I said, "could you help me beat the eggs?"
The masked giant nodded. I handed him a bowl and a whisk. Mom insisted that Urso wear an apron (a pink frilly one she found somewhere) when in the kitchen to protect his elegant suit. The image was surreal: a silent, formidable assistant, masked and dressed in a sharp black suit, sporting a pink frilly apron, beating eggs with robotic precision while I—a five-year-old smothered in flour—gave instructions.
Yes, what I learned today about dating is… those cookies are absolutely delicious!