The first light of morning filtered softly through the narrow window of Wads' room, painting the wooden floor with stripes of pale gold. Dust motes floated lazily in the quiet beams, catching the sunlight like tiny stars frozen mid-fall. Outside, the village stirred slowly—hens clucking in the yard, the distant bark of a dog, and the faint hum of wind rustling through the trees.
Wads stirred beneath the thin blanket, stretching his arms and blinking against the brightness. His dark eyes took in the familiar clutter of his room: a stack of worn books on the small desk, sketches of trees and animals pinned to the wall, and the black cat curled up near the foot of the bed, tail flicking lazily. The locket at his chest felt warm against his skin, a comforting weight he had grown used to over the past year.
The wooden floor creaked under his bare feet as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. The chill of the morning air brushed against his skin, and he shivered lightly, tugging his shirt over his head and slipping into something warmer. From the window, he could see smoke curling from the chimneys of neighboring houses and the faint glint of dew on the cobblestones. The world smelled faintly of wet earth and wood smoke, the comforting scent of a village just waking.
Downstairs, the kitchen smelled of fresh bread and porridge. Wads padded softly across the creaking floorboards, the sound mingling with the soft gurgle of a kettle boiling on the hearth. His mother hummed a tune as she stirred the porridge, her hands moving with practiced ease.
"Morning, Wads," she said without looking up. "Eat quickly. Your father's ready to head out."
Wads nodded, taking a seat at the wooden table. The porridge was warm, thick with butter and honey, and he ate slowly, savoring each bite. Outside the window, the forest stood like a shadowed promise, the trees swaying gently, leaves glinting with morning dew. His mind wandered to the quiet corners of those woods, to the secrets he had discovered there, and to the locket pulsing faintly beneath his shirt.
A sudden knock at the doorframe drew him from his thoughts. Ethan, tall and broad-shouldered, stood there in his leather hunting jacket, a bow slung over one shoulder and a quiver of arrows on his back. His graying hair was tousled from sleep, and his eyes, sharp and calculating, softened as they met Wads'.
"Wads," he said, voice steady but warm. "Time to go hunting. I'll teach you how to handle yourself in the forest. You may not be the strongest, but your mind… that's your greatest weapon."
Wads rose quietly, following his father outside. The sun was climbing higher now, casting long shadows across the yard. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. Birds called from the trees, and the black cat trailed behind, tail high and curious.
The forest greeted them with a cool hush. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, painting the ground in moving patterns of light and shadow. Ethan led the way, stepping carefully over roots and stones, his movements silent and deliberate.
"First lesson," Ethan said, crouching beside a patch of underbrush. "Hunting isn't just strength. It's patience, observation, and timing. Watch closely."
Wads knelt beside him, eyes sharp, as Ethan demonstrated. He pointed out subtle signs: the faint scrape of claws on bark, the pattern of broken twigs that hinted at recent movement, the delicate footprints of deer in the soft soil. Wads followed carefully, mimicking his father's stance, his fingers brushing the ground lightly, attuning himself to the forest.
Hours passed in quiet study. Wads learned to read the signs of the forest: how to move without disturbing the undergrowth, how to track a path without leaving traces, and how to predict an animal's movements. Ethan corrected his posture, praised his attentiveness, and occasionally chuckled at his son's overly careful, methodical approach.
"You're cautious, Wads. That's good," Ethan said as they rested by a small stream. "But don't overthink. Sometimes you have to trust your instincts."
Wads nodded, feeling the warmth of pride and a new understanding. Even if his body wasn't as strong as other boys, he realized that the forest rewarded minds that could read its language.
As they walked back toward the village, the sun beginning its descent, Ethan's tone shifted, becoming more serious. "Wads… when you turn thirteen, you'll be required to go to the capital. It's mandatory for all of us. You'll be away for some time. There, you'll face things you can't yet imagine—tests, challenges, responsibilities that will shape the rest of your life."
Wads' eyes widened slightly. "The capital… I… I'll have to go alone?"
Ethan nodded. "Yes. But remember this: the lessons you learn here—observation, patience, thinking ahead—they will guide you. You're ready, in ways you don't yet realize. And whatever happens, you'll always have the skills you've learned, and you'll never be without the ability to survive."
They reached the edge of the village, the familiar houses now glowing warmly in the late afternoon light. Ethan ruffled Wads' hair, a rare smile softening his otherwise stern features.
"I'm proud of you, son. Keep your wits sharp, your heart steady, and never forget—your mind is your greatest weapon."
Wads nodded, the locket against his chest pulsing faintly, as though echoing his father's words. For the first time, he understood that the journey ahead was inevitable, and that he would have to face it prepared—not just with his body, but with his mind and his courage.
As the black cat padded alongside them, Wads glanced at the forest one last time. Somewhere between the rustling leaves and the glinting sunlight, he felt the faint thrill of what was yet to come.