"I'm starving..." Damian muttered, sitting up in bed.
He climbed down the stairs and headed to the washroom to splash water on his face. As he washed his hands and feet, a warm scent reached him and made his stomach growl. Fresh apple pie. His favorite.
"Good morning, Mom!"
"Good morning, Damian, my handsome boy!" Alani wrapped him in a hug before he could get another word out.
"Mom, enough with the hugs. I'm not a child anymore."
"As long as you live under my roof, you're still my little boy."
"Fine, I understand. Can we stop the hugging now?" He was nearly suffocated.
"Oh! Right, sorry." She let go. "Forgive me, sweetheart."
"Mom, where are Mimi and Nana?"
"Still sleeping. They stayed up late playing last night." She smiled, setting a plate down. "When I got home from work, I found them napping together like a pair of kittens."
"..."
"I made your favorite pie today, just for—"
"Mom, how much longer are you planning to stay at that job?"
"Damian. Please. Not this again."
"But Mom, I'm worried about you. Look at yourself, you're barely holding up. I don't know what that job is doing to you." He leaned forward. "If it's too much, I could take it over for a few weeks. Once you feel better, you could—"
"No." The word came out sharp. "Damian, I would rather suffer myself than let my children work in my place."
"But—"
A knock echoed through the house.
"I'll get it," Damian said, already moving.
It was Hundred, there to collect his friend for training.
"Hey, buddy!"
"Hundred. Always punctual, huh."
"Sorry for showing up so early. Things at home are chaos."
"Good morning, Aunt Alani!" Hundred called past him.
"Hundred, how are you? You haven't come by in ages."
"Been busy practicing swordplay. But I always make time for Aunt Alani's pies. Nothing comes close."
"Hundred, they're not that amazing."
"They are amazing!"
Alani laughed. "I just made one. Come eat with us."
"It would be an honor, Aunt."
After they finished eating, the boys got ready and said their goodbyes to Damian's mother.
A year had passed since Damian and Hundred began training to become knights.
Every morning they headed straight to an open field near Hundred's house. First they raced across it, then stretched and worked through push-ups. They trained against straw-and-wood dummies, Damian practicing with short bursts of wind, Hundred working through sword strikes with a wooden blade he had carved himself.
After a year and a half, real progress had shown in their strength and stamina. But Hundred felt stuck everywhere else.
"I'm exhausted... I can't do this anymore," he panted.
"Already tired, Hundred?" Damian walked over.
"Training with a sword is miserable. I keep trying to copy the moves from my father's books. They look right next to the illustrations, but something's still missing."
"Maybe it's because you've never faced a real opponent. We should find someone who knows fencing, get you a proper sparring partner."
"That's a good idea." Hundred straightened. "Let's do it tomorrow, though. I'm heading home early. I don't feel well."
"You don't look it either. Get some rest." Damian gave him a small wave. "I'll stay and practice a bit more."
"See you tomorrow," Hundred said, already gathering his gear.
Damian kept at his target practice, calling up gust after gust of wind. The training had strengthened more than his arms, his endurance with mana had grown too, letting him hold the magic longer before exhaustion caught up with him.
Then a thought struck him. What if I controlled the wind more intensely?
He concentrated harder, and the wind began spinning fiercely around him, fast enough that his heart pounded at what he'd just managed.
A small whirlwind took shape, then dissolved almost as quickly, scattering dust and loose straw in every direction. The only sound left afterward was his own stomach growling.
Am I that hungry already? It's only been three hours since I ate. He shook his head. Better clean up and head home.
He packed up and started back, unaware that someone had been watching the whole time.
Damian lived in the noble quarter of District 14, quiet and peaceful, if somewhat removed from the rest of the district. He was calm by nature, loved his food, a little lazy when he could afford to be, but always willing to help when it mattered.
"Hey, Damian!"
"Morning, Aunt Zyla."
"You're heading home already? Bit early for you."
"Hundred wasn't feeling well, so we cut training short."
"Here." She held out a small bundle. "Apples and oranges. Your mother could bake something nice with these."
"Thanks, Aunt Zyla. She'll love them."
"Be safe getting home."
"I will."
Damian's father, Wellys, had been a knight known across the district for his sense of justice, a man who helped people without ever expecting anything back, and earned no shortage of respect and gratitude for it. Even now, long after his death, people still felt they owed him something, and went out of their way to look after his family because of it.
"Hey, kid!"
"Uncle Jonas!"
"Back from training again?"
"Yes, sir."
"Baked some fresh cakes for you and your sisters." He handed over a small wrapped parcel.
"Thanks, Uncle!"
"Don't thank me, just enjoy them." Jonas grinned. "And find yourself a girl already, you're not getting any younger."
"Ha. I'll see about that."
Plenty of people showed real concern for Damian's family. But sometimes, walking alone, he caught other voices too, quieter ones, drifting from a distance.
People looked at him sometimes like he was nothing more than a poor orphan. It made something tighten in his chest, but there was nothing to be done except keep walking and pretend he hadn't heard.
That's Wellys's son.The witch's child.After his father died, his mother started drinking, taking up with random men.Oh, no... she was such a kind woman. What happened to her?You can't judge by appearances.Poor boy. Lost his father, and now look at his mother.
Damian was tired of hearing the same rumors every day. There was little he could do about it, so he simply pretended, again, that he hadn't heard a word.
When he reached home, he found Mimi and Nana playing in the garden, and a small smile crossed his face watching them.
The house was spacious. Back when their father was alive and earning well, they had lived comfortably, clothes, furniture, small comforts most people in the district could never afford. Since his death, those things had quietly become decoration. Food, more often than not, was scarce.
"Damian!" Nana called out.
"You're back!" Mimi ran over and hugged him.
"Hello, Nana. Hello, Mimi. How was your day?"
"It was great! We played a lot, and Mom made cake, and—"
"Okay, okay, I understand. Sounds like you had fun."
"Nana?"
"Yes?"
"Where's Mom?"
"Inside. She said baking tired her out and went to lie down."
"Damian, we're hungry," Mimi added, quieter now. "We haven't eaten lunch yet."
"Right, I almost forgot. Aunt Zyla and Uncle Jonas sent cakes and fruit." He held up the parcel. "Come on, let's go eat."
"Yes!" the two girls shouted together.
They went inside and ate. Damian's mind, even then, kept circling back to the new technique he'd found that morning, and how he might shape it into something he could actually use in combat.
He spent the rest of the day working through ways to keep the whirlwind alive longer without it draining him completely. By midnight, he thought he'd finally found a way.
What worked, in the end, was picturing the wind as something physical, something he could almost hold and turn in his hands. That image was what let him build and sustain the vortex without it slipping away from him.
All that was left was to prove it actually worked, and he was too tired to try that night.
Tomorrow. I'll show Hundred. He won't believe it.
The next morning Damian woke earlier than usual, just past five. He was too excited to wait. He rushed through his chores, the dishes, the floor, the plants, faster than he ever had before, and skipped breakfast entirely to run out the door and get Hundred, who was probably still asleep.
"Wuaagh... so sleepy. Being a baker is a tiring business sometimes," Jonas muttered, stretching outside his shop, then blinking in surprise as Damian ran past. "Hey, kid! Where are you off to this early?"
"Morning, Uncle Jonas! Going to pick up my friend!" Damian called back without slowing down.
Jonas watched him go, shaking his head with something between exhaustion and fondness. "I wish I still had that kind of energy. Watching those two reminds me of my own childhood."
While Damian ran, Hundred had already been woken by another one of his parents' early morning arguments. This time it was over Suly having seen Tiara talking to a man the day before, on her way home. Hundred had mostly learned to tune it out by now, but it still grated.
Then, while he lay there in bed, the shouting stopped. Faster than usual, which was almost more unsettling than the noise itself. Before he could make sense of it, the doorknob turned.
When the door opened, Hundred allowed himself a small smile and got up.
"Hey, Damian." He rubbed at his eyes. "This is new. You coming to get me, and this early?"
"Today's important. I want to show you something. But seriously, what's going on in there? When you said your house was always this loud, I thought you were exaggerating."
Hundred let out a tired breath, glancing down the hallway where the sudden quiet felt heavier than the shouting that had come before it.
"Don't try to make sense of it, Damian. Waste of time. I've tried everything to get those two to stop." His voice dropped, quieter now, the tone of someone who'd already made peace with the storm he lived in.
"All right, then." Damian gave a small nod. "Let's get to the training field."
"Hah! I love how seriously you say that, like it's not just a dirty old patch of dirt," Hundred said, already heading for the hallway. "But first, I need to eat something and get my chores done."
"Now that you mention it... I forgot to eat breakfast too."
"Don't worry about it. I'll share mine with you." Hundred said it easily, like there was nothing in the world worth worrying over.