(Lexo's Point of View)
I woke up with that glorious, slightly disoriented feeling that follows a deep, uninterrupted sleep. It had been so many nights since I'd slept like that—probably not since the six-armed beast redecorated our courtyard (and how beautiful that place was before its visit).
Leaving the nostalgia for later, I stretched on the rather hard inn bed, feeling my nearly-six-year-old body recharged. The sunlight streamed enthusiastically through the window, promising a day… probably filled with more weird, absurd happenings. I'm a magnet for that sort of thing.
In one fluid motion, I got up and angled my pocket watch toward the hallway so its reflection widened my peripheral view. Kael's door was ajar—I saw him yawning, his hair tousled, and dressed in white pajamas decorated with pink bunnies. I blinked. The master of stealth, the silent assassin, sleeping in adorable animal-print pajamas? My respect for him skyrocketed—although for completely unexpected reasons. I definitely want a pair like that, maybe with little bears, for myself.
Just as I was processing that priceless mental image, a soft yet firm knock echoed on my door. It wasn't a harsh rap; it was the unmistakable sound of a wooden cane tapping a wooden frame. Reluctantly, I had to rise from my floor-level sleeping spot and answer the visitor.
When I opened the door, there stood my grandfather Gustav, as impeccable as ever—no gray hairs out of place—and his eyes already appraising my morning state. Despite his typically grumpy expression, I didn't sense any ill intentions, so I offered him my best childish smile.
"Up and at 'em, dear grandson," he said, his tone both gentle and slightly suspicious. "The sun's at its perfect peak, and the Trades Fair awaits us today." Unfurling an ancient papyrus as if it were his itinerary, he added, "Today I'll be your personal guide. I'm going to show you the wonders of local craftsmanship, and we'll also visit my Guild office here in Four Roads—it's the most technologically advanced in the region," he said proudly. "At least until they finish building the new headquarters… around your house." He winked. Great—nothing like a little extra supervision for Lexo.
The "Trades Fair" turned out to be less a school and more a chaotic, noisy open-air market, set up in an enormous stone building that looked as if it had swallowed a small city and was suffering from severe architectural indigestion. It dominated the main square and spilled into the adjoining streets.
Outside, dozens of makeshift stalls competed for attention. Sweaty blacksmiths hammered red-hot metal with varying success, carpenters displayed chairs that looked designed by someone who despised human backs, painters offered portraits that made their subjects look like victims of an unknown disease, and a dusty vendor tried to sell "rare books" that looked suspiciously newly printed.
It was pandemonium—a riot of activity, families from nearby villages dragging along crying or overexcited children, nobles and peasants mingling in a desperate tapestry of optimism from small merchants.
My grandfather Gustav guided us through the throng with the ease of a great white shark navigating a school of sardines. Mom and Dad walked beside me, their gazes scanning the crowd for masked assassins or distant relatives. Borin looked like a kid in a candy store (or axe shop), marveling at the local blacksmith's work. Lyra eyed the herbs at an alchemy stall with a touch of elven disdain. Kael, as usual, had disappeared—probably "assessing the security" (or the pockets) of those around. And Urso… Urso simply existed behind me, a silent, masked void that made people instinctively step aside, creating a little bubble of personal space. Quite useful, really.
Lila was in paradise. She squealed at a stall full of brightly colored fabrics, marveled at a poorly carved wooden puppet, and nearly caused a diplomatic incident by trying to hug a particularly grumpy pink pony. Dad had to intervene before the tired equine decided to retaliate.
Pietro, who'd been "teleported" by Urso from his room (still with tousled hair and clutching an empty teacup), observed everything with his usual analytical detachment. "The layout of these stalls is suboptimal," he commented as we passed a potter whose wheel seemed about to fall apart. "The density of visitors creates bottlenecks in sectors C and D. And the alloy used by that blacksmith," he added, pointing to Borin—who was now animatedly discussing tempering techniques—"shows an inherent fragility above 800 degrees." I sighed. Even at a fair, Pietro found a way to be exasperatingly precise.
His eyes lit up when he spotted a dusty stall selling ancient maps and relics—a style he adored. In a split second, he dashed off, muttering something about "pre-Guild cartography."
"Yeah, go ahead, buddy—no one's stopping you," I said to the empty air, sighing dramatically.
The one who seemed to enjoy the spectacle was my grandfather, although his eyes never stopped scanning and analyzing. He even showed us where the Guild headquarters was—an elegant, futuristic building hidden behind the fair's chaotic façade. The structure was clad in polished metal with colored crystals displaying vital information and multiple entrances through which dozens of adventurers flowed.
"State-of-the-art technology," Grandpa explained proudly. "Long-range arcane communicators, magical detection systems, digital archives—everything you need is here, dear Lexo." It was impressive and slightly intimidating. I wondered how many of these outposts he had scattered throughout the realms—and if I might ever see one.
Unable to enter, because they said it wasn't finished yet (and honestly, I preferred not to know what they were preparing for), we spent the morning wandering through the Fair. I saw kids my age trying to hammer crooked nails into wood covered in mysterious symbols, mixing potions that let off suspiciously colored smoke, or weaving scarves that looked more like fishing nets. It was… endearing, in a "look at all these kids struggling before the harsh reality of magic hits" kind of way. My inner cynic was unusually quiet that day—I must have been coming down with a cold.
Just as we were about to leave, the inevitable incident occurred. I asked Urso to bring me an apple juice and then sat in a spot where I could watch the show. This was pure cinema.
Borin, mesmerized by a small stone statue of an imposing boar ("It speaks to my spirit!" he declared moments earlier), tried to haggle with a cunning old vendor with a single tooth. The negotiation quickly spiraled into a shouting contest that attracted a small crowd.
"I'll give you three coppers and one of my pet dragon scales!" Borin finally offered. (Mental note: ask him about that scale later.)
The vendor squinted. "Dragon scale? Is it one of those shiny ones?"
"Of course it's shiny!" Borin lied shamelessly.
Before Dad could restore order, Kael reappeared beside me, chewing something with an innocent look. He held out his hand to Lila. "Wanna see a trick?" Lila nodded excitedly. Kael produced a copper coin, made it vanish—and then pulled out, from behind my friend's ear, a raw egg. The egg slipped from his grasp and crashed on the head of a grumpy passing pony, which neighed and kicked back, sending Kael tumbling toward the pottery stall in a clatter of shattered terracotta.
Dad covered his face with his hands. Mom sighed deeply. Lyra simply shook her head. My grandfather smiled, and Urso—ever efficient—caught Kael mid-air just before he hit a pile of expensive vases, gently depositing him on the ground. Perhaps having Urso around wasn't so bad after all.
After the chaos subsided (Dad settled the bill for the broken pottery; Borin continued arguing about the boar; Kael wiped egg yolk from his hair), I took a moment to reflect. The Trades Fair had been an experience. I saw kids learning and interacting, preparing for "normal" lives—a world of tangible skills and realistic expectations. I liked the idea of structure and learning new things… but I also felt a disconnect. My path was different. This fair was for those who followed the rules. I, it seemed, was destined to break them.
The return trip to Serena Village began that same afternoon. This time, Mom, Dad, Lila, and I traveled in our own carriage, leaving the "Intrepid" to Borin, Lyra, Kael, and Urso.
"Lexo, champ," Dad said after a long silence as the familiar landscape came into view, "about the school… we'll talk when we get home. There are rules even we must follow, and things you need to understand about your place and what's expected of you."
Mom nodded, her expression serious. "It will be a challenge, my little one. But we'll be with you every step of the way."
I sighed inwardly. Rules, expectations, challenges—it seemed that normalcy would have to wait a little longer. At least, I hoped our return trip would be quieter. Although, knowing my family, I was probably wrong.
Then, as if on cue, I saw a cow fly past.
Yeah—the world is complicated.