27. Kal: Four Years Later

  Four years had passed since Azmira came to help his father with the barley crops, and Kal hadn’t seen her since.

  At first, with the help of his parents, they exchanged letters frequently. Together, they created a secret code – a made-up language and phrases that allowed them to discuss Azmira’s findings in the academy library without Reinar and Elara suspecting anything – Ukreus and Gartan being their most talked about subjects.

  But despite the vast knowledge the library contained, Azmira found nothing meaningful on either of them. She told Kal she suspected that any information about Ukreus or Gartan was locked away in the Classified Wing, a restricted section of the library accessible only to the highest-ranking archmages, advisors, or government officials.

  Even so, she had promised him. She would get in, no matter what it took.

  But over the last year, the letters from her side had dwindled.

  The last one arrived six months ago.

  Kal tried to convince himself that she was busy – that the Wise Fox guild was pulling her in all directions, or that getting into the Classified Wing was harder than she had initially anticipated. But deep down, a colder realization took residence in his heart: She had forgotten about him.

  ‘I mean, why wouldn’t she?’ He always thought. ‘I was just a kid she got to know on a quest she’ll forever want to forget.’

  It still hurt more than he expected.

  Before she left, she’d confessed something to him. That she had lied about her age – that she was actually sixteen and a half when they met, not eighteen. Kal had been ecstatic at the time. It meant their age gap wasn’t so wide after all – just ten years. It meant that – maybe, someday – they could…

  But now, with her silence, all those thoughts, all those silly dreams, were ash.

  So he buried them.

  She wasn’t his first crush, and she won’t be his last. But life moved on. And there were much greater things that bothered him than love.

  Now, he focused on his studies in the 9 to 12 class, where he was already finishing his third year – three years ahead of schedule. His mind was set on continuing to middle school in Estenford with its set high school and university pathways – and a possible shift to Dalina’s magical academy.

  He wasn’t sure what his parents – especially Reinar – would think of that. But frankly, he didn’t care. He knew, deep in his soul, that to learn the truth about his twin’s sacrifice, he would have to leave Terenhill. Staying in the village meant standing still.

  And Kal couldn’t afford to stand still.

  He didn’t want to leave. He loved the village, its chill rhythm, its people. He loved his parents. But he had to.

  Mrs. Keller had already spoken to Elara and Reinar during the quarterly parent-teacher conference.

  “He’s a genius.” She kept telling them with the same mixture of pride and urgency. “We need to push him into higher education. He has the mind of someone born once in a generation. We might be raising one of Stulan’s future greats. We can’t hold him back just because he was born here.”

  His parents were proud – it was clear by their expressions and words. But they had no idea how to process this news. It was clearly hard on them.

  Lucas was five now – curious, talkative, bursting with questions and mischief.

  If at first, Kal hadn’t been sure how to feel about him, fearing that if he accepted Lucas fully, he would forget his twin completely – forget the brother who had paid a heavy price for this new life of his, whose name still hovered out of reach in his memory - that fear had faded long ago.

  Now, he cared for Lucas deeply. He didn’t just love him – he modeled himself after the brother he lost, mimicking every kind gesture, every patient word, every protective instinct he remembered receiving.

  He did everything he could to be the best older brother he could be.

  He remembered one afternoon, in the winter. It had been a quiet day – cloudy, just after rain. Elara was busy at the kitchen table, chopping vegetables for dinner, her face tired from the market trip earlier that morning.

  Lucas had been running around barefoot again, as usual, eager to jump into the puddles outside. Again.

  “Lucas, your boots.“ Kal had said, already kneeling by the door, holding the small pair – his own just a few years ago, and a pair of socks – in his hands.

  Lucas groaned. “Do I have to?”

  “You cried for half an hour last time because you got wet from a puddle.”

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  Lucas grumbled but plopped down beside him anyway.

  Kal knelt and helped him put his socks on. Then, he put on his boots and laced them.

  Elara glanced up from the table. “You didn’t have to help.”

  “I know. I wanted to.” Kal had said. But it felt natural to him. "I'll keep an eye on him outside."

  Meanwhile, Elara was pregnant again – another sibling, or maybe even siblings, on the way.

  Kal was excited by the news, but also concerned as it meant he would eventually leave behind another family member.

  His magic training was also progressing well – far better than he himself could’ve imagined considering he didn’t have a teacher anymore.

  Still practicing in secret, hidden from the rest of the village, Kal had reached full control of his third Emotion Magic Cognition Thread. He could now influence the mood of conversations – calming fear, bringing excitement and joy, muting anger, or softening sadness – without saying much. But he had rarely used it – more like never, afraid that someone might notice.

  He practiced only in solitude, usually in the early morning before he had to help Reinar, and then leave for school.

  Though he focused most of his effort on Emotion Magic, Kal didn’t neglect his other Threads. He could now use the rest of his magic disciplines with some reliability – enough to complete some mundane tasks around the house.

  But weaving new Threads? That still escaped him.

  Magic, as Azmira and his Inner Eye had explained to him, wasn’t just a wish granting experience. It was intention shaped by understanding. And Kal, for all his curiosity, still lacked resources. He only had his own relentless experiments.

  Rhythm Magic, as well, remained an utter mystery to him.

  Azmira didn’t understand it, and after she left Kal had no one to help him figure it out. He knew he would have to find out about it on his own whenever he reached some semblance of knowledge like a library.

  And the music? Oh, the music.

  Kal was finally able to play his father’s voutar, his limbs just long enough now to stretch across the instrument’s long neck and reach the notes he couldn’t before. He practiced constantly, often for hours after finishing his studies or work in the fields. By now, he had surpassed both Reinar and Bertan in skill, though he never flaunted it.

  They even played together on many occasions – in the village’s inn. Kal was stealing the show, showing off the skills he had mastered on Earth.

  He even managed to adapt some of his favorite metal riffs from his past life, translating their intensity into the voutar’s warm, acoustic tone. At first, he tried to avoid taking credit, insisting he hadn’t written them. But eventually, he accepted there was little else he could do – Terra had never heard these melodies before. In this world, playing them for the first time had made him the composer by default.

  Bards rarely passed through Terenhill, but when they did, they often stopped in their tracks hearing Kal’s music. His haunting, raw style – especially his favorite Winds of Ruin – caught their ears immediately. Some asked for lessons. Others begged for permission to perform his songs elsewhere.

  Slowly, Kal Varren became a name that grew in prominence around the music lovers of the kingdom.

  And unbeknownst to him, the acoustic Winds of Ruin was spreading across Stulan, becoming a cult hit in taverns, guild halls, and city squares.

  Kal also spent much of his time in the fields, working alongside Reinar. Though still only ten, the labor was no joke – pulling weeds, hauling water buckets, carrying bags of grain. Day by day, the work strengthened him. His arms, once thin, began to show lean muscle. The soft boy from before was long gone. He was toughened by soil, sun, and constant repetition. Reinar never said it out loud, but Kal could tell – his father was proud.

  And for Kal, every sore muscle was a reminder that he was becoming someone his twin brother would be proud of too.

  The afternoon sun dipped low over their golden rye fields when Kal finally made it back from his extra classes in school. He immediately joined Reinar, helping in any way he could.

  He was barefoot, like his father, the earth cool beneath his feet. The two of them continued working in near silence for hours – cutting, gathering, binding the rye into bundles together with the other farmhands close by.

  Reinar stood a few meters away, inspecting the edge of a planting row where weed had grown along the base.

  “Already on it.” Kal said before Reinar could even open his mouth, kneeling at the row with a hand sickle and a small fabric sack to collect the pulled weeds.

  Reinar blinked, then smiled faintly. “You read my mind.”

  “You always check the northeast rows first at this time of year.” Kal said, grinning proudly without looking up. “Something about the way the slope drains water too slowly, I believe?”

  Reinar chuckled, in disbelief. “You remembered that?”

  “Of course.” Kal nodded. “And you also said that if we didn’t pull early weeds before harvest, they’ll leach of our golden rye.”

  Reinar nodded slowly, watching his son work – quick, efficient. Kal was ten. But not really. Not anymore. Not ever.

  They worked side by side until the evening arrived, then Reinar spoke.

  “You’ve got good hands, Kal.”

  Kal smiled, dusting his palms. “You think so?”

  “For sure.” Reinar paused. He looked out at the field, at the tied crops set in neat rows. “You’re better at this than I was at your age. Your grandfather – may he rest in peace – always used to scold me. But me? I can’t find a single fault in your work.”

  Kal said nothing, just glanced at his father.

  “I’m proud of you.” Reinar added after a moment. “Every day. Not just for how you work here with me, but how you think…how you are.”

  His voice shifted suddenly. Kal noticed as this wasn’t how his father spoke often.

  “I’d keep you here forever if I could.” Reinar said, his gaze set on the horizon. “Keep you close. Safe. You’d be a better Lead Farmer than I could ever dream of being. But that…that wouldn’t be fair, would it?”

  Kal’s heart pounded.

  He thought about having this conversation with his father for years. He believed it would be eons before it actually happened. Yet here it was, initiated by Reinar himself.

  Reinar turned to him fully. “You’ve got too much talent to rot in these fields with me – “

  “It’s not really rotting” Kal interrupted. “I like it – “

  “Let me finish.” Reinar cut in in response. He cleared his throat before he continued. “You have so much greatness within you, sometimes I struggle to understand how you are my son. You could be a famous bard, a renowned scholar, or the greatest mage in history. There are so many things you could achieve…”

  Reinar sighed deeply. “I just hope that when the time comes to go…you’ll still want to come back and visit us. Even if it’s just to work a few rows with your old man or helping your mother bake something.”

  Kal’s voice caught in his throat, but he nodded. “Of course, I’ll come back. I love you both so much!”

  Reinar pulled him in for a hug. Despite the fact that Kal wasn’t leaving any time soon, it felt like he was already readying himself for what’s to come beforehand.

  “I love you, Kal.” Reinar whispered into his son’s ear. “Whatever greatness you reach, please don’t ever forget about us.”

  “I love you too, Dad.” Kal said, slowly tearing up. “I’ll always be here with you.”