(Lexo's Point of View)
After that visit from my illustrious (and not at all terrifying) grandfather, our lives took another virtuous turn in this tangled mess called existence. Urso—my esteemed personal "assistant"—became a constant, silent presence. He was like a ninja butler with built-in teleportation, turning even the most trivial requests into instantaneous actions. Of course, the downside was that Mom would shoot me disapproving glances every time I asked Urso to fetch the salt shaker that was literally a foot away. "He's not a servant, Lexo," she'd say. "He's... well, it's complicated." Yes, "complicated" was the word of the year in our house.
But even with a bodyguard/errand runner with spatial powers, life couldn't stand still.
The School of Trades in the Great Village of the Four Roads loomed on the horizon—this kingdom certainly had a thing for the number four. It promised opportunity, or perhaps threat, depending on who you asked. A real school? Learning structured skills? Other kids who weren't just Lila or the encyclopedic four-eyes Pietro? It sounded almost normal—a word I rarely applied to my existence.
The mayor, spotting a golden opportunity for his precious Lila to have a playmate (and maybe an unofficial bodyguard with multiple elemental affinities and chronokinetic tendencies), pulled some bureaucratic strings. One afternoon, Pietro confirmed it between feints and calculated moves during his Netamino game:
"The formal recommendation has been approved, Lexo. Furthermore, you've secured a full scholarship with room and board," he announced with the same enthusiasm he reserved for explaining the chemical composition of the earth. "You will be enrolled in the next cycle, starting in two weeks. The training lasts six years, culminating when you turn twelve with an evaluation of magical aptitude… for those with potential, of course," he added, peering at me over his glasses. "After confirming your core potential, you'll also undergo a mandatory one-year internship prior to your formal Awakening at thirteen."
Six years. It was an eternity in kid time—but a blink compared to my previous life, I suppose. And the internship… mandatory. Pietro was right: trying to sneak out of a system designed to detect and manage magic—being the living definition of "anomalous magic," no less—would be like hiding a glowing elephant in a closet at midnight.
The conversation with my parents was exactly the sort of high-society family drama I expected, complete with tense explosions and the occasional intervention from Urso (who, by now, seemed to be massaging my shoulders, whether I liked it or not).
"Send Lexo to that village alone?" Mom's voice was dismayed, and her hands unconsciously squeezed a mortar as if it were Dad's neck. "With everything we know now about the Children of Twilight and the 'Legacy'?" I could almost feel her light aura vibrating with unease—definitely not as peaceful as usual.
Dad nervously combed his beard with his fingers, torn between giving me a normal life and his protective instincts as a legendary warrior. "But love, understand—it's the law. It's the school. All the children go… or nearly all. Maybe a little normalcy…" His voice trailed off. We both knew that "normalcy" had long since sailed away in my case.
"Normalcy is a luxury we may not be able to afford, Garen," Mom replied gently but firmly. "We can teach him here. With us. With Borin, Lyra, Kael… even with Urso." And my ever-present assistant—standing motionless in the corner—seemed to nod imperceptibly. (Or maybe it was just a draft.)
It was my turn to intervene. This was now or never. So I put on my best "reasonable child who understands adult concerns but has a valid point" face. "But Mom, Dad… Pietro says that if I don't go to school now, won't it be more suspicious later? A kid who appears out of nowhere with already awakened magic—and with royal lineage to boot—would attract too much attention, wouldn't it?" I used my logic, my best friend's favorite weapon. And, believe it or not, it worked! Even better than puppy-dog eyes or my perfect theatrical gestures.
They exchanged a long, heavy look. The weight of the Kingdom's rules, the pressure of the Guild (and whatever my grandfather was plotting), all combined to convince them. They sighed in unison; there was nothing more to say. I would go to school.
That decision, however, triggered a chain reaction of unexpected events. Maybe I shouldn't have been so euphoric.
"What?! Send the tadpole to that viper's nest in Four Roads?!" Borin roared when he found out, slamming his fist on the table and making the dishes dance—Urso quickly stabilized the table before it could tip over. "No way! Someone has to make sure he isn't ripped off at the market or talked into joining a band of wandering bards! I'm going!" His logic was… peculiar, but his loyalty was unwavering.
Kael materialized next to Borin, causing him to jump. "If Borin goes," the wind ninja said in his usual neutral tone, "the chances of him joining a band of off-key wandering bards increase by 73%. Tactical supervision is required." Translation: Kael was coming too.
Lyra sighed, a sound like a warm autumn breeze. "Where these two go, chaos inevitably blooms. I guess I'll have to go prune the mess before it takes root too deep." And with that, the precious elf also signed up.
And Urso, of course, simply bowed slightly. His silent presence was a clear declaration: wherever I went, he would go—no questions asked.
Dad ran his hands through his hair. "By all the gods! We can't have a school trip escorted by what looks like a private army and a living legend!"
In the end, after a negotiation involving maps, potential ambush routes (courtesy of Kael), analysis of local mead quality (courtesy of Borin), and a heated debate about carriage durability (courtesy of Lyra), a compromise was reached. Lila and I would travel in a smaller, more discreet carriage. Dad—deemed the "least intimidating" of the group (which, honestly, was hilarious)—would accompany us inside. The rest—Mom, Borin, Lyra, Kael, and Urso—would set off in the old, battered "Intrepid," following at a prudent distance but ready to jump in if, well, if Borin decided to join the wandering bards.
The two-week journey felt interminable. Sharing a confined space with Dad (whose "silent worry" mode was almost worse than his scolding) and Lila (whose endless questions ranged from "Why is the sky blue?" to "Do cows fly if they jump really high?" to "Does Urso eat under his mask?") tested my reincarnated adult patience. The other carriage, visible from time to time, looked like a rolling party—or a full-blown battle—depending on the day. We'd hear snippets of Borin's off-key singing, the occasional whoosh of an arrow from Lyra, and once, a flash of spatial energy that suggested Urso had to "relocate" a fallen tree from the road. Normalcy, I thought sarcastically. This was my version of a school trip.
And then, suddenly, the monotony broke one night, midway through our journey. We were camping in a quiet clearing, the fire crackling, the stars shining, and I was trying to explain to Lila for the umpteenth time that no, cows don't fly (and I wouldn't bet on it either). Out of nowhere, with the crack of breaking branches and the glint of several malicious eyes, beings emerged from the trees—clumsy, tripping over one another.
Before anyone could react, a bald-headed figure—clearly the leader, though his appearance was rather comical—ordered, "Alright, everyone, quiet! This is a robbery! Hand over your money, jewels, and... that apple pie that smells so good!" He licked his lips while brandishing a makeshift spear.
We faced a group of about fifteen bandits who had just emerged from the shadows. Their patched-up armor and rusty weapons made them look more pathetic than fierce—more amateurs than hardened criminals. Oh, great, I thought. More amateurs.
Before Dad could even rise with his "disappointed Captain" expression, chaos erupted from the other carriage, which must have crept up unnoticed.
RRROOOOAAAAAR!!! Borin's war cry sent the bandits stumbling backward. He charged like an enraged boar, his axe a flashing blur.
Fwish! Fwish! Fwish! Three arrows from Lyra found their targets with inhuman precision—one immobilized a leader with a net of ice, another made an attacker drop his weapon with a burst of steam.
Kael moved like a whisper. One bandit turned to look and, suddenly, he was on the ground, tangled in his own belt. Another tried to flee, only to trip over an invisible rope that seemed to appear out of nowhere.
And then there was Urso. Oh, Urso. He'd been helping Mom with dinner and was still sporting that infamous pink frilly apron over his black suit. When a particularly foolish bandit lunged at him, Urso parried the chipped sword with the lid of the stew pot (CLANG!), delivered a sharp tap to his forehead with a wooden ladle (THWACK!), disarmed him with an elegant flick of his wrist, and knocked him unconscious with a precise blow to the neck using the ladle's handle—all in less than three seconds. Then he just stood there, motionless, ladle at the ready, his apron fluttering slightly in the night breeze.
The remaining thugs froze, staring in horror at the masked man in the pink apron with lethal kitchen utensils. The fight was over before it had even really begun.
"Boring… I expected more of a challenge when I sensed them coming from miles away," Kael muttered, picking up the dropped weapons.
Mom sighed and pulled out her ointments. "Always creating extra work…" She set about healing the bandits—more for their bumps and fright than any serious injury.
"You can keep your lives," Dad said, his voice booming with authority. "Leave everything that isn't yours and vanish. And if I see your faces on this route again…" He didn't need to finish the threat.
The bandits, mumbling apologies, dropped their few meager belongings—a few copper coins, a rusty knife, half a moldy piece of cheese—and fled into the darkness, casting terrified glances at Urso and his ladle.
The rest of the journey was uneventful. Too uneventful, really. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, the four great roads converged. The Great Village of the Four Roads stretched out before us like a living, messy organism—a vibrant chaos, a whirlwind of activity, very different from the quiet world I'd known until now.
Well, I thought, watching the lively mess from the carriage window. Home sweet home... or something like that. I closed my eyes for a well-deserved nap.