"The only way to win is to learn faster than anyone else." ~ Eric Ries

  Alexilios spent the next several months caring for the fox. It was difficult for the first few days after she woke up, which happened about three days after they treated her. She had snarled as Lios moved to feed her by hand, so instead he put raw meat trimmings in a bowl for her along with some carrots and berries from their garden and foraging.

  On the fourth day after she woke he pet her for the first time, though she still snarled with uncertainty. Every day his mother would check on her “patient” and expend a bit of energy to heal her, even going so far as to set and heal the broken leg after a few sessions. It still pained her to walk on for a while but she could use it again after a mere week of waking.

  Lios named the fox just a few days in. He called her Brioche, a name that confounded his parents as it sounded similar to a word for a type of stone in their language while Lios intended to refer to the french bread instead. He called her this due in part to her tan and brown fur, and that inside she was really a big softy as he discovered once she warmed up to him.

  She was still recovering after a month, rottfang venom apparently being pretty tough to shake. About a month and a half after she woke up the guards found and put down a trio of rottfangs. There were some grumblings around town at the announcement, something about how rare it was to see the creatures this close to the edge of the Deepbloom, the massive forest that separated Jorial and Arwin, the elvish kingdom.

  After two months the fox could move just as swiftly as she could before her injury. At this point she would cuddle and play with Lios just about every day, but he could tell she was getting impatient to have her freedom again. Still, she didn’t just leave the house nor the people who had taken care of her.

  It wasn’t until Lios and his parents walked her to the edge of the forest, soft whimpers coming from the intelligent creature as she realized she had to say goodby. Her tail drooped the entire time, though her nose lifted, and she sniffed at the air when they got to the edge of the trees. She seemed conflicted to leave, a far cry from the reluctance when they first started treating her.

  “It’s okay BriBri, we’ll still be here you know!” Lios said with tears in his eyes. Goodbyes had never been his strong suit. He had imagined her wanting to stay with him even as he adventured, but understood that dream was too good to be true. He himself felt cooped up, he couldn’t imagine how an animal that was used to total freedom would feel.

  After a few moments of petting her and saying his goodbyes, temporary as they were, the fox trotted into the forest. Lios and his parents smiled as she looked back at them and they intuited she would come back, and not just for some treats. Brioche had become a member of their family, after all.

  A few months after that Elaine decided the time had come to explore her healing class more. To raise her level. She took a job at the temple two days a week, spending three days a week as a tailor. This meant that Lios spent much more time at the temple than he had before.

  He learned a lot, mostly that there existed other gods than those mentioned before. Seven “Malevolent” gods whose teachings had been outlawed within Jorial. One of the priestess’s, she worshipped Luma specifically, took a liking to him and taught him how to read and write while his mother saw patients.

  One of the greatest challenges he faced during these learning sessions twice a week was fixing his penmanship. He knew without a doubt that having accurate, neat and clear penmanship would be integral to writing runes in his future. Clean lines would be important, and unfortunately he was just about as bad at printing words as he had been in his past life. Once he had learned to read, about three months into it, and had read all the books the church offered, he spent most of his time at the temple writing. Writing until his fingers were sore, his hand cramped up, and his wrist ached.

  Near his sixth birthday he felt he had nearly perfected his writing. Muscle memory came easier at a younger age, allowing him to correct his imperfect form faster than if he were still an adult. It took a lot of effort, though. His inclination was to write at the speed of his thoughts, which were incidentally quite fast. His hands were not quite dexterous enough to write that fast without a bit of mess, so he had to mentally slow himself, process his thoughts slower while writing.

  He had told the Priestess, Mira, his goal at the moment was perfect penmanship so as he showed her his most recent attempt he bounced on his heels nervously. A single page long essay on the god’s, as he wrote every visit. He learned much about them, though he didn’t really care for most of their teachings. This one regarded his favorite of the gods though, Ertai. Essays crafted about him tended to be sloppier, he found. Something about focusing more on the words used than on the technique when writing.

  “Hmm... You have certainly improved, young man!” Mira said joyfully, she was always cheerful, Lios found. He figured one had to be positive to be a servant of Luma, the goddess of Light. “There are much fewer errors than usual today. Here, let me mark the ones I see.”

  With that she dipped her quill in some red ink, made from muddled berries and oil, and circled the specific letters that appeared imperfect. They were almost all letters with a swoop to them, things like s’s and c’s. He sighed wearily and went back to the little desk they let him use. Flipping the paper to the other side he dipped his quill in some black ink, made with charcoal and water, and returned to writing. He tried to choose words that contained his problem letters, challenging both his penmanship and his vocabulary.

  It took him another few weeks of practice before Priestess Mira gave him her approval, a proud smile on her face as she ruffled the young boy's hair. She, like many at the temple, Hammod included, thought Lios was a genius. A true genius. There was that scare when he was young, and they even examined him occasionally to be sure, but he was simply human. A very advanced human, for his age. The priesthood already placing bets on what sort of stats the boy would be born with, what rarity of class he would start with.

  __________________________________________

  Almost suddenly the boy was six. It was, in fact, his sixth birthday and he had made plans outside of his ‘special dinner’. Today was the day he started preparing for his class, or so he thought.

  In this world, at least among the peasantry, there were no traditions to give gifts on one's birthday. Some folks still did, but most families would simply celebrate with their children over a nicer than normal meal and perhaps a few extra sets of clothes. Something for them to use and grow into for the coming year.

  Lios’s family was no different. He had grown aware of this over the past six years, and truthfully he didn’t mind in the slightest. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t leverage his birthday to get what he wanted from his parents. If worse comes to worst, I’ll ask why they always seem to wrestle at night... he thought wryly, lately they seemed to have been trying for a baby. Granted, they had had sex since he was born but it really ramped up the past few months.

  “Mother, can I help with supper?” He asked from his spot at the table. He had just finished his latest essay, still taking to practicing his letters when he had the chance.

  Until the Brioche incident, Elaine had refused to let Lios help in the kitchen. It was a combination of “Boys don’t belong in the kitchen” and “Knives are too dangerous for children.” Somehow, though, after fixing up Bri his mother had relented and allowed him to help despite the cultural ramifications. He had finally convinced her a mere month after Brioche went back to the wilds.

  “Of course Lios, I’d be glad to have the help.” She smiled at him as he then climbed up on a step stool to find that she had already prepared a workstation. Today they would eat a hearty stew.

  Before him a small knife, some potatoes, onions and carrots rested on the countertop. His mother seared a side of beef - well it wasn’t actually from a cow but a creature called a delogia, but it was close enough of a comparison - the sizzle and smell of the seasoned meat wafting throughout the small abode. He spent the next dozen minutes cutting vegetables, knife clacking against a wooden cutting board.

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  Soon, tears sprang to his eyes from the freshly picked onion. He stoically blinked them away as they trailed down his cheeks, dirt from the days gardening coming off with the liquid. It didn’t take long for them to finish preparing dinner. A slab of meat with a hearty helping of veggies was thrown into a dutch oven and placed on a hook over the fire in their hearth.

  Eyeing the scraps of meat that were sitting on his mothers cutting board Lios turned to his mom. “Can I-”

  “Yes, you can take the scraps to Brioche.” She sighed, having expected the question. He asked a few times a week, after all.

  Grinning, he snatched up the scraps and fled out the door with his mother calling out behind him. “Be back before dinner or I swear you’ll have to do four times the chores!”

  He knew the drill by now. He rushed out to the clearing and then even past that, a few dozen yards into the forest where Brioche had made her den. It was in a clearing surrounded by trees, only a few minutes from his home. After releasing her, she wanted to stay close to them, and often visited when they were gardening or Lios was outside “playing” with sticks.

  When he arrived, he realized she must have gone out for a hunt. No matter, he had a big stick here too. One that was shaped adequately like a longsword, or at least that's what he used it for. He would build up the courage to ask his father to train him today, at supper. After all, his dad even had a class for it so surely he wouldn’t refuse.

  He practiced clumsily with the faux sword for a while, losing track of time. He had placed the trimmed meat near the entry to Brioches den and hoped she would return soon for her snack. Perhaps an hour after he had arrived she showed up and yipped in excitement. She immediately rushed to the scraps of steak, gulping them down as though she were starving. Lios knew better. She had just returned from a hunt, but he suspected she had starved before and would no longer deny food if she could help it.

  After she ate Lios sat down on the ground with her, wiping sweat from his brow.With no additional responsibilities the two played and wrestled for a while. Her claws and fangs, sharp and deadly as they were, posed him no threat. No, she was well in control as the roughhoused to the point where the worst injury came from scratches on his forearms. They were barely red.

  Lios and her played on the ground for hours. Both panting and over exerted, but they didn’t care, they were having fun. Lios rolled in the grass with her, staining his white rough spun tunic and dirtying his already brown pants. His hands and face took on an additional layer of dirt, something he expected his mother would chastise him for but it would come across endearingly. His parents would be mildly frustrated, but they’d laugh about it.

  They carried on playing until the sun crested the top of the trees, casting the clearing in shadow. Lios cursed as he realized the time, how soon it would be dinner time. He stood up, painfully ignoring Brioche’s yips of protest. “I’m sorry girl I have to go!” He said loudly and sadly as he rushed through the woods. She followed him until the edge of the tree, her eyes and nose and ears on the prowl for predators.

  She let out a mournful yowl as they reached the edge of the forest and paced behind him as he stepped away from the trees and underbrush. He turned back to her and waved. “See you tomorrow Bri Bri!” He called out before jogging the rest of the way home effortlessly.

  As soon as he entered the house, having scraped the soles of his boots against a slab of stone by the door, he heard his parents chatting idly about their days.

  “...and then we discovered it was Ernest, ya know Bragga and Lindsay's boy? Apparently he was the one sneaking into the library all this time at night. We never arrested him, of course, but got the library to agree to let him in during the day. Hopefully that’ll stop him from doing something so reckless again. Nearly burned the place down when he fell asleep and knocked over that candle.” Ezekiel finished his tale as Lios pulled up to the table, seating himself in his familiar chair.

  “I never would have expected him to - Lios! You need to wash up before we eat! How did you get so filthy?” It was a rhetorical question, he knew, but he still started to answer anyway before his mother thwacked the top of his head with a powerful flick. Grumbling, he took a few moments to take a cloth and bucket outside and wash up. The cloth came away coated in dirt, but after wringing it a few times the water dripped away clear again. Satisfied he returned to his parents who were still gossiping.

  He sat down and began eating, listening to his parents idle chatter. His heart thumped a bit, he was nervous. More nervous than he should be. Given his parents’ reluctance to tell him about the system he figured his father wouldn’t want to teach him sword work. He was preparing himself to convince them.

  He was about halfway through his bowl of stew, delicious by the way, when he finally worked up the courage to say something, a lull in their conversation presenting the perfect opportunity. “Dad, I had something I wanted to ask you...” His voice shook. He wasn’t afraid, but he felt this was a big ask, one with a lot of importance for his chosen path.

  His father shot him an amused look, taking a few moments to chew on some fresh bread topped with butter. After swallowing he chuckled and said, “Well get on with it, what did you want to ask?”

  “I want to learn how to use a sword. Please teach me!” Lios stated with all the seriousness he could muster, which incidentally looked quite humorous on a six year old.

  His parents exchanged a glance and started laughing, which did not help the boy's nerves. “Lios you're a bit too young for-”

  “Dad please! I know I’m still young but it’s not too early to learn!” He interrupted, knowing his father was going to deny him or push it back. “I know you guys want to protect me, to treat me like I’m just a kid. And I am just a kid, but I don’t have fun doing the things kids like to do. I want so badly to work toward my future, to develop my skills before the system changes me. So please, consider it seriously.”

  Both of his parents seemed shocked by the outburst. His father stroked his hairless chin. As far as Lios saw the man had never had a beard and yet seemed to always tug on a phantom one whenever he was thinking. The two adults exchanged a long look before Elaine looked away with a shrug. Your call, she seemed to express.

  “Tell me, Lios, tell me why you are so eager to abandon your childhood? You know you will never get to be this age again, why do you want to grow up so fast?” Zeke asked, setting his fork down and crossing his arms, giving their son his full attention.

  “I don’t think I have a choice, dad. I mean... I'm growing up so much faster than my peers, and have nothing really in common with anyone my age. That and... I really just want to get a head start.” He worried that his parents wouldn't take him seriously, on account of him being a small child still. While he couldn’t quite tell them the whole truth, he spoke only true words to them in the hopes they would pay him mind.

  “How sure are you that you will want to be a swordsman when you grow up? Everything you’re doing now can have an impact on your choices, but once made you can’t unmake them. At least not until your next evolution, which surprisingly few make it to the level one hundred one.” His father said after a moment's consideration. “I don’t want you to be limited by the choices you make as a child, but if you’re absolutely certain you want to be some type of warrior or swordsman, then I won’t be the one to stop you.”

  “I’m absolutely sure Dad. Literally, I have been sure since the first time I saw you sparring with Captain Max. Ever since I heard the stories of past kings and kind heroes, this has been what I wanted.” Lios said with conviction, hoping that his sureness would come across to his parents. It would also help that he appealed to his fathers ego a smidge.

  “Hmm... in that case, tomorrow morning I will wake you before I head to the barracks. Any complaints, though, at any time during your training and that will be the last time I train you. Understood?” Ezekiel added the last bit as a failsafe. His son was resilient, intelligent, and driven. He’d known it for a long time, and highlighted it when his son had brought home an injured fox. Zeek also knew Lios could be anything he wanted to be and as his father he wanted to support that, to support his son's dreams and imaginations.

  But he wanted his son to take on a safe profession perhaps more than anything. He didn’t want Lios to see combat. He didn’t want his son to die a painful death, the sort he had paid witness to during his days as an adventurer. So, he set himself and his son an out. A complaint would not a warrior make.

  “Don’t worry, I won't give up just because it’s hard. You won’t hear a single complaint from me.” Lios assured his father, which had the opposite effect of comforting him.

  After a moment of consideration he turned to his mother as well, biting the inside of his cheek. He didn’t want to take too much on at once but he was eager to get started. “Mother, do you know any languages other than... Well, what language do we speak exactly?” He asked, realizing that he had never learned the name for it.

  “We are speaking Joran, a dialect of Human.” She said matter-of-factly before twirling a finger through her long auburn hair. “And I do know some other languages, why?”

  “Could you teach me some of them? I mean, one at a time, but I think it may be helpful if I aim to become an adventurer.”

  “I don’t see any harm in it. How about I teach you Elvish, specifically Arwinian Elvish? If you are still interested after I teach you that, we can look into Marthisian Dwarvish.”

  “That would be amazing, please teach me!” Lios’s eyes seemed to sparkle as his mother agreed.

  The rest of the evening passed quickly and soon Lios found himself unable to sleep, restlessly tossing and turning. He spent a few hours of that night imagining his training, unsure what to expect from his dad. He had no idea that his father intended to make the training more brutal if only to get Lios to give up.