“Father!” The man’s daughter, Violetta of Blueport, was absolutely mortified. Not only did her father promise her hand to a random passerby, but she also recognized the little girl the boy was with. Couldn’t her father see that they were way out of their league just by how they were dressed? He would surely get offended at being offered a lady such as herself without a drop of noble blood in her veins. Ah! The family was ruined!

  “Okay!” The boy answered with joyful sincerity, causing Violetta to choke on air in surprise. “You have really pretty hair!” He smiled, showing off the gap between his front teeth. It made him look more human, in a way. Even in such opulent clothes, he still had imperfections.

  “You can’t just say okay!” The taller boy scolded him in a much higher voice than Violetta anticipated. He looked the most like a noble out of the three of them. Not that the others looked like commoners, far from it, but the oldest one had a certain aura about him. “I’m sorry, sir, those things aren’t up to us to decide.” He lowered his head briefly before halting the other two children further down the street.

  “Why not? She’s pretty!” Violetta could hear the blonde boy ask before they got lost in the crowd. She would be lying if she said that being called pretty by a noble didn’t boost her confidence. Still, she would apologize for her foolish father’s actions when she met Primrose again.

  “Listen, you can only marry who Uncle tells you to marry,” Shimri explained as they navigated through the busy street. Arranged marriages were the norm amongst the upper class and even more so for nobles. Love is life’s pity to the poor, was a common saying among women of all social ranks. “It’s a long process, not something you agree on in the street.”

  Paien didn’t really understand, but Shimri knew a lot about these things, so he was probably right. “So when do we get to eat meat?” He asked, already over the topic in favor of all the tasty food in front of him. The fact that it was raw didn’t matter, he had eaten way worse before. When he thought about it, he hadn’t eaten anything raw in almost a year, hadn’t he? Or at least he thought it had been a year; he hadn’t learned the calendar yet.

  “We need to perform a blessing to get an offering. Walk up to anyone hollering and I’ll tell you how to do it.” Shimri watched as his little brother, cousin, whatever, sprinted off to a nearby booth. It was small and ran by what looked like a farmer's family. The farmer seemed to be overjoyed, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of the bountiful harvest that would surely come from being blessed by luck itself.

  “Alright, since the man has said okay, we can begin. There should be a basin somewhere with water from where the pigs were slaughtered. Go wash your hands in it, really thoroughly.” Paien obliged and submerged his hands in the cold water of the basin, perched on the edge of the booth. After a moment of splashing around in the water, he looked back at Shimri for further instruction.

  “Alright, now channel mana into your hands. Just focus on making your hands tingle, the mana will understand.” Getting the attention of mana was easy, anyone could channel it into their hands. Making mana do your bidding was the hard part. You had to form an accurate image in your head of what you wanted to happen, and then the mana had to agree. You could imagine the impossible or try to cast spells of other elements, but the mana would almost always deny the request. “When your hands tingle and glow white, confidently tell the mana what blessings you want these people to have this winter. Only during the winter, no more than that. You have to be sincere about it and not ask for too much. Mana doesn’t like greedy people.”

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  Paien focused on gathering the tingling sensation of mana into his palms, sticking out his tongue in concentration. It took a moment, but eventually, his palms lit up with a dull white color. The power looked weak, but it was on par with how much mana a child his age could contain without hurting themselves. He didn’t have any secret power or huge mana pool; he was a completely regular child, and that was okay. Because that’s the kind of story this is.

  “Dear mana! Please make this meat taste good and not run out in winter! Make them warm and happy until spring! Please and thank you!” He spoke confidently, talking to the ancient power of mana in the way his Papa had taught him to speak to a teacher or authority figure. When the final word was spoken, there was no spectacle. The white glow fizzled out with little fanfare, but everyone could feel the air around them deliberating whether to grant the request.

  After a moment, the heavy sensation of contemplation was replaced by one of kind approval. Nothing happened beyond that, but the farmers knew they would be helped. They may not be given fire powers or a golden touch, but their stack of firewood would magically never diminish until spring, as long as they only took what they needed. That was the kind of being that mana was. It would help the honest and abandon those who wanted to abuse its powers.

  The farmers thanked them profusely and offered their fattest cut of meat as per tradition. Paien was just about to sink his teeth into the chunk of meat when it was snatched away from him. “Uncle will smoke this tomorrow, so you can’t eat it!” Shimri gently bonked him on the head, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make his point. Paien sighed heavily, dragging his feet as the other two did their blessings.

  “Dear mana, I humbly ask that you warm these people’s home until the snow thaws. Please find it in your heart to let their infant make it through the winter to see the glory of spring.”

  “Hello, Mr Mana! Can you make their winter food tasty and make their animals happy until they can go out and eat grass in spring? Please and thank you very much!”

  By the time they returned to Norman, they had netted themselves three large chunks of meat. Paien held the largest piece above his head in triumph when he spotted his Papa, eager to show off their haul. “Behold! Meat!” He laughed, seemingly full of energy. As soon as he sat down on the bench, though, he fell asleep.

  “Alright, I think it’s time to head home. Did you have a good time?” Norman asked as he picked the sleeping boy up into his arms. He had perfected the art of carrying him without getting a face full of feathers, a skill he would get absolutely no use out of in a few years' time. Soon, he would be old enough to find being picked up embarrassing. It would be good for Norman’s back, but bad for his heart. When did he become so sentimental?

  “Yeah, it was fun! Thank you for taking us out, Uncle.” Shimri, who was holding an equally knocked out Primrose, said in the middle of a yawn. It seemed that the festival was exhausting for the big kids, too.

  Everyone fell asleep in their festival garbs that night, clutching whatever trinket or half-eaten candy they bought.