One day, Dad suggests something different.
"Champ, how would you like to see where your amazing dad works?" My eyes light up. Spending the day with the Captain sounds way more exciting than sorting herbs with Mom (though that has its own charm). Mom hesitates a bit, but Dad convinces her: "He'll just be in the office with me, Elara. What could possibly happen at the Serena Village guard post?"
The guard post is… modest. A small office with a sturdy desk (covered in papers that Dad looks at with resigned amusement), a notice board with town updates, a couple of rustic chairs, and a weapons rack displaying a few functional-looking spears and swords. There's another guard on duty—Thom—who snaps to attention awkwardly when we enter.
"Captain. Little Lexo," the balding young man with a mustache greets, trying not to stare at my height.
"Relax, Thom," Dad says as he hangs up his cloak. "I have a special assistant today." Winking at me, he settles me on one of the chairs beside his—far too high for me, leaving my feet dangling.
Eager to be helpful, I push some papers around on Dad's desk to "organize" them. (He puts them back in their place with a barely concealed sigh.) I even try to polish the hilt of a short sword lying on a table—only for Dad to gently confiscate it, saying, "This one isn't wooden, champ."
Resigned, I return to my chair and watch Thom carefully sharpen an ornate silver spear adorned with tribal carvings all the way to its base. He hums contentedly as he works and occasionally glances at the window at the front of the post.
The morning drifts by in a nearly hypnotic calm, broken only by villagers coming in to ask trivial things: "Captain, have you seen my hen Berta?" or "Captain, do you know if the baker will be back soon?" Dad answers each query with infinite patience, though I sometimes notice a twitch in his eye.
Then, the real entertainment begins. Two neighbors burst into the office, talking over each other. There's old Hemlock—a grumpy farmer with eyebrows like hairy caterpillars—and Widow Periwinkle, a dramatic old lady whose hat is so brimming with flowers you could plant a garden on it.
"Captain Garen, you've got to do something!" Widow Periwinkle cries, waving a handkerchief. "That… that barbarian Hemlock has moved the fence again! His turnips are invading my rose garden!"
"My turnips have a right to grow!" Hemlock grumbles, slamming a knobbly finger on the desk. "And it was her cat that dug up my prize-winning potatoes! That demon kitty!"
"Fluffy would never do that! He's a sensitive soul!" the widow sobs. "You scared my poor roses, and now they've wilted!"
"Scare flowers? Roses are plants, lady—they don't get scared!" Hemlock bellows.
Dad massages his temples. "Alright, alright, calm down, you two. Thom, bring the plot map." Pointing toward a shelf stacked with rolled-up maps, Thom retrieves one and unrolls it completely on the desk. "Hemlock, when did you first notice… the feline?" he asks, then turns to Widow Periwinkle, "and exactly where are the… invading turnips?"
While Dad mediates the "Vegetable War," I notice a boy who has quietly slipped in behind Widow Periwinkle. He's about my size, wears round glasses that slide down his nose, and clutches a thick book with a serious air. He studies me with intelligent eyes behind those lenses.
Eventually, Dad manages an armistice: Hemlock will repair the fence, the widow will keep a closer eye on Fluffy, and the invading turnips will be donated to the next town festival. As the widow says goodbye, she introduces the boy. "This is my grandson, Pietro. He came to visit from the city. Isn't he a bright boy, dear?"
Pietro adjusts his glasses and nods solemnly. "The conflict resolution was pragmatic, Grandma, though it sidesteps the jurisprudence on cross-border root growth rights."
Hemlock snorts and leaves. Dad blinks. "Rights of… what?"
"He's reading an old law book he found," the widow sighs. "Don't mind him, Captain."
Pietro approaches me as his grandmother wraps up her chat with Dad. "Are you Lexo?" he asks, his voice clear and precise.
"Yes," I reply.
He glances at the small wooden sword Dad had let me keep. "That sword isn't ideal for thrusting—it should be more curved to protect the knuckles."
I blink in surprise. No one had told me that. "You… know about swords?" I ask.
"I read about them," he shrugs. "And many other things. Next year, I start at vocational college. I'll learn blacksmithing, maybe even alchemy."
"Vocational… college?" My interest is piqued.
"Yes," Pietro explains. "All children begin at six. They teach you a trade, just in case you don't Awaken. They also say it's good for spotting early magic, so you don't accidentally blow anything up." He looks at me intently. "Will you go?"
The idea hits me hard. A college! Learning systematically with other kids! I could learn blacksmithing, alchemy, maybe even history or magic in a more structured way. And yes, the idea of being with other children, of having a more "normal" experience, is strangely appealing.
I run to Dad and tug on his pants.
"Dad… can I… go… to college?" I ask, flashing my best forlorn puppy eyes—a trick I've perfected watching Lila get extra treats.
Dad looks down at me, then at Pietro, who waves goodbye with a polite nod. He sighs deeply. "Uh… college? Already? Champ, you learn so much here with Mom and us." He looks clearly uneasy.
"Please, Dad! Pietro's going! I want to learn things!" I insist, adding a dramatic little tremor to my lower lip.
Dad—our legendary hero, the Captain of the Guard, the man who once faced a millennia-old White Tiger and countless other beasts—melts. "Alright, alright," he concedes, ruffling my hair. "But…I don't know what your mother will say, champ. College is for everyone, and you're… special. I'll have a serious talk with her, I promise."
I know that convincing Mom will be the real battle. But for now, the possibility is open. College! The idea bubbles with excitement as I start to imagine a future filled with new lessons and adventures.