The moment we got home, I was vibrating with excitement.

  I clutched the wooden case to my chest, barely registering Oliver’s comforting bulk. Inside lay the stylus, my training partner, my cheat sheet, my secret key to the future.

  As soon as Nora set me down in my crib, I opened the case. The crystalline nib glinted. I dipped it into the clear, viscous ink and touched it to the scrap paper Alicia had slipped me.

  "Okay," I whispered. "Let's write the first rune."

  I focused, trying to channel mana into the pen.

  Nothing.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, pushing harder. Flow. Just flow!

  Still nothing. The ink remained stubbornly invisible.

  "Vivian!" Nora’s voice startled me. She snatched the paper and stylus away. "It’s nap time, sweet boy. No doodling in bed."

  She tucked me in, humming a soft lullaby. I lay there, frustrated but patient. 'Fine. You win this round, Mom. But the night is mine.'

  I waited. It took an eternity for their breathing to deepen into the rhythmic snores of deep sleep.

  Finally, silence.

  I slipped out of my crib, retrieved my hidden book from under the floorboard, and performed my nightly ritual on Oliver's axe. [Primordial Gloss] flashed in my mind, revealing the structure of another rune: [Impact]. I scribbled its meaning into my book with my charcoal, my hand cramping but steady.

  Then, I retrieved the stylus.

  'Now,' I thought, sitting in a patch of moonlight. 'Let's try again.'

  I held the stylus. I imagined it was a sixth finger. I pushed mana from my core, down my arm, into the wood.

  It was exhausting. My mana flickered and died before it reached the nib. I tried again. And again. For what felt like hours, I sat there, straining until my head throbbed.

  By the time the first yawn hit me, I had nothing to show for it but a headache and a bone deep weariness.

  'I can't do it yet,' I realized, defeated. 'I don't have the control.'

  I crawled back into my crib, hiding everything just as Nora stirred.

  The next morning at the Healer's Hut, I was groggy but determined. I asked for my "toys" immediately.

  Nora, cooing over my scholarly habits, handed me the stylus and paper. I sat on my mat, ready to try again.

  But the sight of a new toy was a beacon.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  "What's that?" Finn demanded, abandoning his block tower.

  "Let me see!" Freya snatched the stylus before I could protest. She scribbled furiously on the paper. Nothing happened. "It's broken!"

  "It doesn't write," Clara observed, peering over . "It's just a pretend pen. Alicia probably gave it to him so he wouldn't ruin real paper."

  Satisfied that it was useless, the children lost interest and wandered off to play tag.

  Alicia watched the whole scene, her lips twitching with amusement. She walked over and scooped me up.

  "Time for class, Vivian," she said, carrying me to the private study room.

  "But... practice?" I whined, pointing at the stylus.

  She chuckled softly. "Don't fret. I'm a genius, remember? By giving you a disguised magic stylus, I've made it so you can practice your mana flow right under everyone's nose. You don't need class time for that. Now, sit. We have Geology to cover."

  She started the lesson, leaving me frustrated but grudgingly impressed. She had played me again.

  Lunchtime arrived, and the children were dismissed. Oliver walked in to join us, but he wasn't alone.

  Sitting at the table, looking pale but alive, was Kael, the Spice Merchant.

  My heart soared. 'He's alive! My spice connection lives!'

  "Good to see you sitting up, Kael," Oliver said, clapping him on the shoulder.

  "Are you feeling any discomfort?" Nora asked gently, serving him a bowl of stew.

  "I'm fine, really," Kael said, his voice raspy. "Thank you for saving me."

  "You're lucky," Oliver said, tearing a piece of bread. "What happened out there? You look like you fought a bear and lost."

  Kael sighed. "It's a long, stupid story. My guards... one of them was from the town nearby."

  At the mention of the town, Oliver’s face shifted. It wasn't sadness, it was a deep, complex wave of nostalgia that washed over his features. 'Interesting,' I noted.

  Kael continued. He explained how his guard wanted to visit home, how Kael hired replacements to stay on schedule, and how, a spider bite sidelined one of the new hires.

  "That night," Kael said quietly, "the guards woke me up. Bandits. Scouts, they said. They told me to run. They stayed behind to stall them."

  He looked down at his stew. "I ran. I grabbed the most expensive pouch I had and I ran. I didn't stop for days. I didn't eat. I didn't drink. I just ran until I saw your village lights."

  "You're lucky you didn't meet monsters," Oliver said grimly.

  "So, what now?" Alicia asked.

  Kael shrugged. "I think I'm done with spices. It didn't bring much profit anyway. My main income is from a shop I own in the city. The traveling... it was just a young man's dream. To see the world, taste the food and help it spread. But I'm okay letting it go."

  He reached into his belt and pulled out a small leather pouch. "Here. I meant to pay you, but this is worth more than coin. It's a dye, but very expensive. Please, take it."

  I knew what it was from the smell. Saffron.

  'NOOOO!' my internal voice screamed. 'My future! My biryani! Don't quit the spice trade!'

  Alicia opened the pouch. The red gold threads gleamed. I stared at them, mesmerized.

  "I will go tomorrow," Kael said. "If I can find an escort that is."

  "I'll take you," Oliver said instantly.

  "No," Nora cut in, her voice sharp. "That trip is two months. And... the thing with that city..."

  Oliver’s face fell. The nostalgia crashed into a wall of sudden, painful memory. He looked away. "Right." He cleared his throat. "I'll ask the patrol. They can take you."

  "That works," Kael said.

  "You can't leave for at least a week," Alicia interjected, checking his pulse. "You'll collapse before you hit the tree line. Rest first."

  Later that afternoon, Alicia held up the saffron pouch. She dangled it like a lure.

  "Vivian," she purred, catching my desperate stare. "If you can write a single, perfectly formed line with that stylus before Kael leaves next week, I will give you some of this."

  My head snapped up.

  "You see," she said, eyeing the pouch, "I need a new dress. And I might just give this to Kael to trade for the finest silk fabric in the city. Unless... you earn some of it."

  'No silk dress! Saffron rice!'

  "So," she smiled, "do we have a deal?"

  I looked at the pouch. I looked at the stylus. This was it. The fate of my culinary future rested on my mana control.

  I nodded, my two year old face set with grim determination.

  Challenge accepted.