Year 896 of the Aerian Calendar. The day had finally arrived. After hours of anxious pacing, muffled cries, and Darrik’s nervous muttering outside the door, I finally heard the first wail of my baby sister. My heart leapt at the sound. I rushed into the room just as my mother, pale but smiling, cradled the tiny, squirming bundle in her arms.

  “It’s a girl,” she whispered, her voice trembling with joy and exhaustion. “Meet your sister, Juliet.”

  Juliet. The name sounded perfect. She was beautiful—more beautiful than I could have imagined. Her hair was a soft chestnut brown, just like mine, but her eyes were strikingly green, the color of emeralds shining in the sunlight. Even as a newborn, her gaze seemed alive, curious. She had my heart from the very first moment.

  The first month of Juliet’s life passed in a blur. Time seemed to move faster, as if the world itself revolved around her now. Darrik and Eleonore were exhausted, of course. My father was used to physical labor, but it turned out that long nights of crying and constant diaper changes were a challenge of a very different kind. Eleonore, though radiant with love for her new daughter, looked like she hadn’t slept in weeks. They joked that I must’ve been an easier baby, though I wasn’t so sure.

  Still, the "grown man" in me did what I could to help. I took on every chore I could manage, gave Eleonore space to nap, and even tried my hand at calming Juliet when she fussed. I’d rock her gently in my arms, humming lullabies I remembered from when I was small. When she finally fell asleep, I’d press a soft kiss to her tiny forehead and marvel at how peaceful she looked.

  But despite the joy Juliet brought, life felt lonelier than ever for me. With Maren gone and Edna too deep in her sorrow to spend time with anyone, I had no one to share my afternoons with. My father could no longer train me; I’d surpassed everything he could teach me in swordsmanship, and sparring with him now felt almost unfair. Even magic, which had once thrilled me, had become a challenge. I struggled to branch into other elements. Fire still burned brightly in my soul, but perhaps I’d pushed myself too far too fast. Without a Factor to guide me, learning new magic felt like trying to grasp water with my bare hands.

  One crisp afternoon, I decided to practice under the oak tree at the edge of the village. The tree had become my retreat—a place where I could lose myself in the rhythm of spells and swordplay. The ground was littered with scorch marks and deep cuts, scars of my relentless training. I was midway through casting Ember Barrage when I heard voices behind me.

  “Look at him,” one of the boys sneered. “Playing with fire like he’s some kind of big-shot mage.”

  I turned to see three boys from the village, older than me by a couple of years. They weren’t unfamiliar; I’d seen them loitering near the square, laughing too loudly and causing trouble when they thought no adults were watching.

  “Maybe he thinks he’s special,” another boy said, his tone dripping with mockery. “He’s not even got his Factor yet, and he’s already pretending he’s some kind of hero.”

  “Careful, Ronan,” the third boy added, grinning cruelly. “Wouldn’t want you to burn yourself. Or the whole village.”

  I clenched my fists, trying to keep my temper in check. “What do you want?” I asked evenly, turning back to the tree.

  One of them laughed. “What, we can’t stop to admire the great fire mage? Come on, show us something impressive. Or are you out of tricks?”

  I ignored them and focused on my breathing. Fire magic required control, and I wouldn’t let these idiots push me into making a mistake. But they didn’t leave. Instead, they stepped closer, circling me like wolves. One of them kicked my practice sword, sending it skittering across the ground. Another stomped on the embers of the fireball I’d just conjured.

  “Oops,” he said mockingly. “Did I ruin your little show?”

  Something inside me snapped. I whirled around, flames sparking in my hands. “Leave me alone,” I said, my voice low and firm.

  They laughed, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in their eyes now. The fire in my palms burned hotter, brighter, and I took a step forward. “I said leave.”

  For a moment, I thought they’d back off. But the leader—the tallest of the three—narrowed his eyes and stepped closer. “What are you gonna do, Ronan?” he said. “Burn us? Go ahead. Show the whole village what a freak you are.”

  The fire flickered in my hands. My instincts screamed at me to fight back, to teach them a lesson they wouldn’t forget. But then I saw Juliet’s face in my mind, her innocent smile, her tiny hands grasping at my fingers. What would she think if she saw me like this?

  I closed my fists, extinguishing the flames. “Not worth it,” I muttered, stepping back. I bent down to retrieve my sword, but one of them shoved me hard, sending me sprawling into the dirt. Laughter echoed around me as I pushed myself up, my cheeks burning with anger and humiliation. But I didn’t fight. I picked up my sword and walked away.

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  The next day, I returned to my usual routine, heading out to train under the oak tree as the sun climbed into the sky. The cool breeze carried the faint scent of autumn leaves, and the rhythmic clink of my sword against the tree trunk was oddly soothing. I hadn’t told my parents about the boys. I was sure they wouldn’t come back. Why would they? They’d had their fun.

  But I was wrong. The same voices cut through the stillness, sending a chill down my spine. I turned to see them again—the same three boys, smirking as they approached me.

  “Back at it already, fire mage?” the leader called out, his tone as taunting as ever. “Guess you didn’t learn your lesson yesterday.”

  I tightened my grip on the hilt of my practice sword, my jaw clenching. “Leave me alone,” I said firmly.

  “Or what?” another boy sneered, stepping closer. “You're gonna throw a fireball at us? Go ahead—try.”

  I took a deep breath, my mind racing. I thought about Juliet, about the way she smiled when I rocked her to sleep. I thought about my parents, who’d already been through enough. But most of all, I thought about myself. Yesterday, I’d walked away, hoping to avoid trouble. All it had done was make me look weak. And weakness, in this world, only made you a target.

  No. Not today. Not anymore.

  The leader of the group lunged toward me, his fist swinging for my face. But I was ready this time. I sidestepped the blow and caught his wrist, twisting it hard. He yelped in surprise, and before he could recover, I slammed the hilt of my sword into his stomach. He doubled over, gasping for air, and I shoved him to the ground.

  The second boy charged at me, his face red with anger. I dropped into a low stance, my training sword held steady. When he swung wildly at me, I ducked under his arm and swept his legs out from under him with a sharp kick. He hit the ground with a grunt, clutching his knee.

  The third boy hesitated, his confidence wavering as he glanced at his fallen friends. “Y-you think you’re tough?” he stammered, trying to save face. “You’re just a—”

  I didn’t give him the chance to finish. I stepped forward, swinging my practice sword in a wide arc. The flat of the blade caught him on the side of his thigh, hard enough to sting but not to injure. He yelped and stumbled backward, tripping over a root and landing in the dirt.

  Panting, I stood over them, my training sword steady in my hands. “I told you to leave me alone,” I said, my voice cold. “Don’t come near me again. Understand?”

  The leader glared at me, his pride clearly wounded, but he nodded grudgingly. “Fine. Let’s go,” he muttered, scrambling to his feet. The other two followed, limping and clutching at their bruises as they retreated into the trees.

  I stood there for a long moment, my heart pounding in my chest. The rush of adrenaline made my hands tremble, but I kept my grip on the sword until I was sure they were gone. Slowly, I lowered the blade and let out a shaky breath. I didn’t feel triumphant. I didn’t feel proud. But I felt... steady.

  As I packed up my things and headed back to the village, I thought about what had happened. I hadn’t hurt them—not really. I’d shown restraint, even when I’d wanted to do more. But I’d made my point, and I hoped it was enough.

  As I walked through the door, my parents were waiting for me, seated at the table. My mother looked up first, her sharp eyes immediately noticing the dirt smeared across my tunic and the faint scuff marks on my arms. My father followed her gaze, his brow furrowing slightly.

  “Ronan,” my mother said, her voice a mixture of concern and curiosity. “What happened?”

  I hesitated for a moment, debating whether to downplay it or tell them the truth. But I knew better than to lie to them—especially my mother. Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward and explained everything. I told them about the boys, the taunts, and how I’d walked away the first time. I described how they’d returned and pushed me again, and how this time, I’d decided to stand my ground. I apologized, my voice heavy with guilt, for not telling them sooner and for any trouble my actions might bring to our family.

  When I finished, the room fell quiet. My mother looked troubled, her hands wringing the edge of her apron. My father, however, leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face.

  After a moment, he spoke. “Ronan,” he began, his voice steady and calm. “Sometimes, walking away is the right choice. But there are times when you have to stand and defend yourself. Not out of anger, or pride, but because letting others think they can push you around will only invite more of it.” He met my eyes, his gaze firm but kind. “What you did today… I’m not angry about it. You didn’t hurt them unnecessarily. You stood your ground, and that’s what matters.”

  My mother sighed softly, her worry melting into reluctant acceptance. “I don’t like the idea of you fighting, Ronan,” she said, her voice gentle. “But your father’s right. If they come back, you tell us. We’ll deal with it together, as a family.”

  I nodded, a weight lifting from my shoulders. “I will,” I promised.

  “Now,” my father said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “go get yourself cleaned up. You look like you wrestled a pig in the mud.”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle at that, and I made my way to the washbasin. After scrubbing off the grime and changing into clean clothes, I walked over to Juliet’s cradle. She was awake, staring up at the ceiling with those curious green eyes. When she noticed me, her tiny hands reached out, grasping at the air.

  “Hey there, little one,” I whispered, gently lifting her into my arms. She cooed softly, her small fingers curling around one of mine. I smiled, rocking her gently as I hummed a lullaby under my breath. For a moment, all the worries and tensions of the day faded away, replaced by the warmth of her presence.

  After a while, I placed her back in her cradle and kissed her forehead. “Goodnight, Juliet,” I murmured. “Sleep well.”

  I made my way to my room, exhaustion finally catching up with me. As I lay down, I thought about my father’s words and the events of the day. I still didn’t feel proud of what I’d done, but I understood now that sometimes, standing your ground wasn’t about proving strength—it was about protecting your dignity.