Chương 4: A Spark in the Dark

The carriage continued through the countryside for several hours. Sieghart spent most of that time staring through the window, trying to understand his new world from the fragments passing before him. Fields stretched across rolling hills, separated by low stone walls and narrow dirt roads. Some contained familiar crops resembling wheat and corn, while others held blue-leafed plants that shimmered whenever the wind passed through them.

Farmers worked beneath the afternoon sun, though many looked considerably stronger than the farmers Sieghard remembered from Earth. Even the older men had thick arms and broad shoulders. One woman carried a sack over each shoulder while walking as though they weighed nothing. This world continued to support his theory that physical weakness was considered a criminal offense. The carriage occasionally passed wagons carrying produce toward the distant city.

Most were pulled by horses, though one merchant used a large reptilian creature with four short legs and a row of blunt horns along its back. Sieghard watched it until it disappeared behind them. There were monsters, unusual plants, armed travelers, and something enormous flying among the clouds. This was unquestionably a fantasy world. Yet after more than a year, the only magic Sieghart had personally witnessed was Master Oswin's examination. He was beginning to feel cheated.

Eventually, the carriage turned away from the main road. The new path was narrower and considerably rougher. The wheels bounced over stones and shallow holes, forcing Marta to hold Sieghard securely against her chest. He was grateful for that. His Health had increased since birth, but he doubted his skull would appreciate being thrown against the inside of a carriage. Trees appeared on both sides of the road. Beyond them, Sieghard caught glimpses of fenced pastures occupied by large brown cattle.

They resembled the cows from Earth, aside from the thicker coats covering their bodies and the pair of additional horns curving beneath their ears. After another half hour, the trees parted. A large farmhouse stood ahead. It was smaller than the Emberhart estate, though almost anything would have been. The house had two floors, white stone walls, and a sloping roof covered in dark-red tiles. Vines climbed along one side, while several flower beds surrounded the entrance. A wide barn stood behind the house.

Beyond it were a stable, a grain storehouse, and several fenced areas filled with animals. Fields stretched into the distance, and Sieghard could see at least a dozen workers moving among them. Apparently, the people living here managed a farm. That didn't sound too terrible. Life in the countryside would be quieter than life in a noble estate. He might have fewer resources, but he would also have fewer people staring at him like a failed investment. If the farm produced enough food, he probably wouldn't starve.

Sieghart considered that an acceptable beginning. The carriage stopped in front of the house. The two guards immediately surveyed the surroundings. The bald soldier remained on his horse with one hand close to his sword, while the spearwoman watched the fields as though expecting an army to emerge from the crops. Neither looked prepared to stay. Marta opened the carriage door and stepped down with Sieghard in her arms.

The other servant unloaded two leather bags, a small wooden chest, and several bundles of clothing. That appeared to be everything House Emberhart considered necessary for his relocation. Sieghard stared at the luggage. One year of life, neatly reduced to what two servants could carry. The front door opened before anyone knocked. An elderly couple hurried outside. They had clearly been waiting for him.

The woman wore a clean cream-colored dress beneath a green apron, while the man had dressed in a dark-blue coat that seemed too formal for working on a farm. Both appeared to be somewhere in their sixties, though their movements were steadier than Sieghard expected from people of that age. Their white hair contained faint streaks of blonde. The woman's features struck him as familiar. Her blue eyes, the shape of her face, and even the way her eyebrows drew together when she was worried reminded him of his mother.

The old man also had blue eyes, though his face was broader and deeply lined from years spent beneath the sun. Sieghart looked between them. They resembled his mother. Or perhaps his mother resembled them. Were they her parents? If so, why had no one simply told him that he was going to live with his grandparents? Then again, no one knew that he could understand most conversations. From their perspective, explaining family arrangements to a one-year-old would have been pointless.

The elderly woman stopped in front of Marta and looked down at him. Her lips trembled for an instant before she forced them into a smile.

"Oh, look at you," she said.

"You have grown so much." She crouched so that her face was closer to his. Sieghart stared back. Her voice carried none of his mother's despair or the servants' indifference. There was sadness in it, but the sadness wasn't directed at him. If anything, she looked upset by the fact that it had taken so long for them to meet.

"Welcome, Sieg," she said softly.

"I am your grandmother, Elara." That answered one question. The old man crouched beside her, though his knees produced an audible crack.

"And I am your grandfather, Edric," he said.

"From now on, you will be living here with us."

"Sieg," Elara repeated, smiling more naturally.

"We hope you will like it here." Sieghard stared at them blankly. He wasn't sure how a child his current age was supposed to react to that information. Should he laugh? Cry? Reach toward them? Pretend not to understand? He settled for blinking twice. That seemed suitably infant-like. Elara extended her hands but paused before touching him. She looked toward Marta, silently asking permission to hold her own grandson. The servant hesitated for a moment before passing Sieghart to her.

His grandmother held him carefully. She was stronger than she appeared. Sieghard had grown heavier over the last year, but she lifted him without effort and settled him against her shoulder. The movement felt natural, as though she had done the same thing many times in the past. Perhaps with his mother. The thought produced an unfamiliar ache in his chest. Marta turned toward the old couple.

"His clothes and personal effects are in the chest," she explained.

"There are enough necessities for several months. Additional funds will be delivered at the start of each season." Edric's expression tightened.

"And his parents?"

"Lord and Lady Emberhart have many matters requiring their attention." A polite answer that meant they weren't coming. Elara's arms tightened around Sieghart. Marta continued as though she hadn't noticed.

"The young master does not make much of a fuss. He sleeps through most nights and rarely cries without reason. His appetite is normal." She paused.

"Despite his poor constitution, he has not suffered from any serious illness." Sieghard almost felt proud. His greatest achievement in this life was apparently not getting sick. Perhaps they could engrave it beneath his name. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Sieghart Emberhart: incapable of aura, but surprisingly resistant to the common cold. Edric glanced at Sieghard before looking back at Marta.

"Poor constitution," he repeated.

"The assessment was conducted by Master Oswin."

"I know who conducted it." The old man's voice remained controlled, but the anger beneath it was unmistakable. Marta lowered her gaze.

"I am only providing the information I was instructed to deliver." Elara forced another smile, though this one didn't reach her eyes.

"Of course. Thank you for taking care of him during the journey." The bald guard cleared his throat from beside the carriage. Marta took the hint. She gave the old couple a final list of instructions, most of which concerned deliveries, correspondence, and the location of Sieghard's medicine. Apparently, someone had prepared several bottles of tonics for his supposedly weak body. Then the servants returned to the carriage. They didn't say goodbye to him.

Sieghart had expected that, yet watching Marta climb inside without looking back still felt strange. She had cared for him almost every day for a year. Her behavior had never been warm, but hers was one of the few faces he recognized. The guards turned their horses around. Within minutes, the carriage was moving down the road. Everyone had departed with impressive speed, as though they had more important things to do than linger around a defective child.

Dust rose behind the wheels, briefly obscuring the road before settling again. Edric watched the carriage disappear.

"They could have stayed for a meal," he muttered.

"They were ordered to return immediately," Elara said.

"That does not make it right."

"No." Elara looked down at Sieghart.

"No, it does not." He understood then that his grandparents disapproved of how his parents had treated him. They had forced smiles during the exchange because arguing with the servants would accomplish nothing. Marta and the guards had merely followed orders. The real problem remained at the distant estate. Sieghart wasn't sure how he felt about that. He had expected indifference wherever he went. Open concern was more difficult to process.

Edric lifted the wooden chest as though it were empty, proving that age had done little to free him from this world's obsession with muscles. He carried it toward the house while Elara walked slowly behind him with Sieghard.

"Let us show you your new home, Sieg," she said. His new home. The words sounded strangely dangerous. Sieghart reminded himself not to become attached too quickly. They entered through the front door and stepped into a spacious hall. The farmhouse lacked the Emberhart estate's wealth, but it felt much more welcoming. Sunlight entered through broad windows. Woven rugs covered the wooden floors, and paintings of fields, rivers, and family members hung along the walls. Nothing looked needlessly expensive.

Everything looked used. Elara first carried him into a sitting room with cushioned chairs arranged around a stone fireplace. Shelves lined one wall, holding books, wooden carvings, and several framed portraits. Sieghart immediately examined the shelves. They appeared securely attached to the wall. Excellent. His grandparents showed him the dining room, kitchen, pantry, and a small office where Edric managed the farm's accounts.

Several servants greeted them along the way, though their behavior differed greatly from those at the Emberhart estate. They smiled. One elderly cook wiped her hands on her apron before touching Sieghard's cheek. A young farmhand waved at him from the kitchen door. A maid with dark curls introduced herself even though she assumed he couldn't understand. No one looked at him with pity. If they knew about his condition, they didn't treat it like a reason to avoid him. Sieghart became increasingly suspicious.

This was too pleasant. They took him upstairs and showed him a nursery prepared near his grandparents' bedroom. The room contained a small bed, a cradle, several toys, and a wardrobe already filled with clothes. Someone had prepared everything before his arrival. Fresh flowers stood in a ceramic vase beside the window. A carved wooden lion rested near the pillow, its mane painted red in imitation of House Emberhart's emblem. Elara placed him on the rug.

"This will be your room," she said.

"If you do not like it, we can change it." Sieghart looked around. The room was better than the nursery at his parents' estate. Not larger or wealthier, but better. That only made it more suspicious. What was their game? After completing the tour, Elara carried him downstairs again. The pleasant smell coming from the dining room had grown stronger, and when they entered, Sieghard found the table covered with food.

There were roasted vegetables, fresh bread, slices of meat, cheese, fruit, and several pastries glazed with honey. The cook had even prepared soft dishes that a one-year-old could safely eat. A small cake rested in the middle of the table. It wasn't his birthday. Apparently, this was a welcome party. The farm's household gathered around the table, and Edric introduced everyone. Most of the workers remained outside performing their duties, but the indoor servants and several senior farmhands joined them.

Elara placed Sieghart in a wooden chair fitted with a small tray.

"To Sieg," Edric declared, lifting a cup.

"Welcome home." The others repeated the words. Sieghart stared at them. Was this the part where something terrible happened? He had consumed enough stories in his previous life to recognize an obvious setup. The neglected child was sent to live with kind relatives, enjoyed a brief period of happiness, and then bandits attacked the farm. Alternatively, the grandparents revealed that they intended to use him in a forbidden ritual. Perhaps the cake was poisoned. No, that would be unnecessary.

They could have simply left him in the forest. Elara fed him a spoonful of mashed vegetables. They tasted good. Too good. Sieghard narrowed his eyes. Bazinga! You thought I would fall for this? Where were the cameras? What was their game? Was an unseen audience watching to see how quickly he trusted them? Would someone leap from behind a curtain and reveal that the entire party had been a cruel test? He waited. Nothing happened. He ate another spoonful. Still nothing.

Edric spoke with the farmhands about the harvest. Elara asked the cook whether there was enough flour for the coming month. The maid laughed at something one of the workers said. No assassins emerged from the pantry. No ritual circle appeared beneath his chair. Nobody announced that the cake required the blood of an aura-less child. It was simply a small party. For him. Sieghard didn't know what to do with that realization. By the time the meal ended, his suspicion had weakened but not vanished.

His first life had taught him that a good day was often preparing the ground for a worse one. Still, his stomach was full, the house was warm, and no one had looked disappointed when they saw him. Perhaps things were finally beginning to improve. That night, Elara bathed him and changed his clothes herself. She placed him in the small bed rather than the cradle, arranging cushions along the sides so that he couldn't roll onto the floor. The room had grown dark.

Sieghard expected her to leave after closing the curtains, but she walked toward the candle beside his bed. Candles probably weren't cheap in a world without modern manufacturing. Leaving one burning all night seemed wasteful, not to mention dangerous.

"Do not worry," Elara said.

"We will keep a light here until you become accustomed to the room." She raised her hand. Then she flicked one finger. A tiny golden spark jumped from her fingertip. The candle ignited. Sieghart froze. There had been no flint. No match. No hidden ember. One moment, the wick had been dark. The next, a flame burned above it. Elara adjusted the blanket around him.

"Good night, Sieg." She kissed his forehead and walked toward the door. Hold up. Sieghard raised one hand. Wait a minute. His mouth opened, but he stopped himself before a complete sentence escaped. He could speak several simple words now, but suddenly questioning her like a fluent adult would create problems he wasn't prepared to explain.

"Ah!" Elara turned back.

"Yes?" Sieghard pointed toward the candle.

"Fi… fire." His pronunciation was clumsy enough to be believable. Elara smiled.

"That is right. Fire." She didn't seem to understand what he was truly asking. She gave him one last wave, left the door slightly open, and disappeared into the corridor. Sieghart looked at the candle. Its flame moved gently, casting soft shadows across the walls. After more than a year of failed experiments, he had finally witnessed someone use magic outside of an examination. His grandmother could create fire with a flick of her finger.

That meant magic wasn't limited to legendary old men, trained soldiers, or people wearing elaborate robes. It could be used casually, without an incantation or ritual. More importantly, the person who had used it lived in the same house. Sieghart summoned his status screen.

Name: Sieghard Race: Human Age: 1 Year Level: 1 Health: 20/20 Mana: ∞/∞ Stamina: 20/20 Strength: 2 Endurance: 2 Vitality: 2 Dexterity: 2 Magic: 1 Mentality: 13 Resistance: 2 Perception: 3 Class: None Skills: None The empty Skills section no longer felt permanent. His parents had abandoned him because he lacked aura channels. Master Oswin believed his body possessed no potential. Everyone at the estate had already decided what Sieghard could never become.

His grandmother had just given him his first clue to proving them wrong. Sieghart stared into the candle flame, replaying the movement of her finger and the flash of golden light. Tomorrow, he would begin again. This time, he had someone to watch.