(Lexo's Point of View)
Returning to Serena Village after the traveling circus that those days at Four Roads had been was like taking a warm, comforting bath—right before being doused with a bucket of ice water filled with responsibilities and family drama.
But hey, at least the house smelled good. It reeked of Mom's herbs, Dad's "honest guard who doesn't take bribes from his son (probably)," Borin's subtle aroma of stale mead, and—most intriguingly—a faint touch of "space vacuum with possible bitter notes" that seemed to follow Urso. Yes, this was home sweet home—a relative version of normalcy, like an old, comfortable blanket full of holes that you still love.
And then the universe reminded me that nothing here was ever truly normal: I had turned six. Six laps around the sun on a planet filled with magic, bizarre monsters, and relatives wielding cosmic powers with dubious intentions.
The "party" was a modest, homemade dinner—less crowded than the one interrupted by my grandfather—set up in our backyard under the afternoon sun. There we were: Dad, Mom, Borin (looking suspiciously proud, as if he'd managed not to offend anyone that day), Lyra (studying a bee with scientific interest), Kael (whose presence was more suggestion than fact), Lila—a whirlwind of pigtails and endless questions about why trees didn't talk—and Pietro, lost in a scroll that looked as old as the Bronze Age. And, of course, Urso, standing motionless against the wall like the most elegant (and probably lethal) masked monolith in the world.
The mayor and his wife made a brief cameo to drop off a gigantic cake—apparently Magnus the baker was still working to keep Borin away from his daughter (and perhaps to offload a surplus of his finest production)—before retreating discreetly, likely sensing that our family celebrations tended to spiral unpredictably.
The atmosphere was… pleasantly tense. It was like a family meal where everyone knows someone is about to bring up an old debt or debate grandma's land, yet for now, everyone smiles and passes the salad. Borin regaled us with his epic (if highly exaggerated) version of defeating bandits—where he alone, armed with nothing but a twig, scared them away (curiously omitting the incident with the man in the pink apron and the ladle). Lila tried to explain the complex social structure of her dolls to Pietro, who mumbled something about "matriarchal patterns in low-complexity simulated societies." It was almost endearing—and it brought a smile to my face.
Then, the parade of gifts began, each one perfectly reflecting the giver's personality (or lack thereof):
Dad: He handed me a child-sized copper short sword bearing our makeshift "family crest"—half a drawing of a flame on one side, and rays of light on the other. "So you learn to use it properly, champ," he said, his paternal pride momentarily softening his usual threat that he could split me in two with a dessert spoon. "And remember, safety first. We don't need any more axes in the kitchen," he added, shooting a meaningful look at Borin.
Mom: She gifted me a pale blue crystal on a cord. "For your meditations, my little whirlwind," she murmured as she brushed my hair. "It will help you focus that wild energy of yours—maybe even clean up that core, which looks like the bottom of a forgotten fireplace." Her smile was gentle, but her eyes said, "You'd better put it to use."
Borin: He presented the stone boar he'd managed to procure during his latest escapade (apparently his final deal in "barbarian pest control" for a vendor's shop). Along with it, he gave me a small sharpening stone. "So you're always ready! A warrior without an edge is like a cake without mead!" His logic, as always, was impeccable.
Lyra: She handed me a beautifully polished seashell. "The ocean holds ancient secrets, little Lexo," she said serenely. "Listen to its echo and remember how vast the world is—and how easily you can get lost if you neglect the currents." It was a poetic gift and probably a subtle warning about my own tendency to wander.
Kael: He offered me a small, suspicious package. Inside were practice lock picks made of wood and bone. "For mental and digital agility," he winked. "They open doors—and, with a bit of luck, that cookie jar Mom hides on the cupboard." Accompanying them was a hand-drawn map. "Treasure?" I asked hopefully. "The best apple tree in the kingdom," he replied. "Almost as valuable as gold if you know when to harvest." Practical, as always.
Pietro: He gave me a thick notebook and several charcoal pencils. "Documentation, Lexo. The key to reproducible scientific and magical progress," he stated, adjusting his glasses. "Record every parameter of Chronos—its duration, cost, subjective effects, even its strange smell… everything. And I've given you 'Tractatus magico-philosophicus, Volume I'—light reading to get you started."
Lila: She presented me with a vibrant drawing made from crushed berries. It depicted a tall, masked figure (I guessed Urso) striking a cluster of stick figures while two smaller ones applauded. Modern art at its finest. She also handed me a smooth, shiny stone. "It glows when you wet it!" she exclaimed. Probably my favorite gift.
Urso: Finally, Urso stepped forward with a gleaming silver tray bearing a mountain of my favorite oatmeal cookies, baked to perfection. The heat radiating from them was intense, and the tray glowed with a faint orange light—as if it had just emerged from a volcano's forge. Urso, ever impassive behind his mask, held the red-hot tray without a sign of discomfort and nodded, offering me the very first cookie. A bit hot, I thought, but deliciously so. Having a superpowered spatial assistant with absurd thermal resistance certainly had its perks.
Later, the "official" packages arrived. Uncle Valerius sent a manual on "Strategic Defense Against Extraplanar Entities" (bedtime reading, for sure) with a note: "Rope. Every. Night. –V." Grandfather Gustav was more direct—a set of training wristbands made from heavy metal that absorbed mana, and a card reading, "Dear Grandson: Power is a tool. Master it or it will master you. I expect results. –G." Motivation through intimidation—a classic family method.
As the sun set, Mom and Dad finally broke the news about school with the gravity of a carefully negotiated sentence: I was to go. But I would travel with a full escort—Kael and Lyra as "cultural exchange students," Urso as my "Guild-assigned personal tutor," and Borin watching from a safe distance (probably from the nearest tavern). It was a compromise—a way to follow the rules without leaving me entirely alone. I accepted. It was better than perpetual house arrest.
That night, once the house had finally quieted (with only Borin's snores lingering in the background), I slipped out into the yard. The full moon watched me, a silent witness to my strange life. I looked at my peculiar family through the glowing window—protectors, mentors, friends, and eternal sources of chaos and love. They were my anchor in this mad world. Still, I knew my path was diverging from the village where I was born. School, secrets, power… all loomed ahead.
I walked toward the dark path trailing out of Serena Village—toward the six years to come. What would I truly learn there? How would I hide my secrets? Would I find answers or only more questions? Nervous excitement warred with my usual ironic humor. Six years of pretending to be a normal kid while learning to weave baskets and avoid accidental temporal explosions—sounds like a foolproof plan. Here I go, world… prepare to be underwhelmed.
Then, an intense vibration jolted me. It came from the pocket watch Grandpa had given me, hanging under my shirt. I instinctively pulled it out. It was strangely warm—as if it had basked in the sun all day. Its hands, always a model of punctual precision (thanks to my nightly winding), now spun wildly in a golden blur that defied physics and reality. The metal burned in my palm as the vibration grew, a buzzing that reverberated in my bones. Suddenly, the world lost its solidity. Colors faded, sounds silenced, and everything melted into a blinding, oppressive white.
I was floating—again—in a white nothingness. Great, I thought with an annoyed sigh. Another unsolicited divine intervention? Does Eos need more cookies?
Then, a figure materialized before me. Not the playful goddess I might have expected, but something entirely unexpected. It looked like a rabbit—tall, thin, clad in a harlequin suit of pink and black diamonds that clashed violently with its fur. It wore tiny glasses on its pink nose and eyed a pocket watch with profound boredom.
"Well, finally," the rabbit said in a sarcastic hiss, with an air of existential weariness. "It's about time. Some of us have schedules to keep, you know? Not everyone can afford to float through existence all day after a birthday party." It scanned me with shrewd pink eyes. "You must be the 'Anomalous Legacy.' Frankly, I expected something more imposing—or at least less cookie-crumbed."
I blinked. "A talking, sarcastic, harlequin rabbit?"
"Observer," it retorted with a dramatic sigh. "Yes, yes—rabbit, harlequin, talking, and irresistibly sarcastic. And currently very behind schedule, thanks to someone's tardiness. (I'd rather not name names—though it took forever to activate this contraption.) Anyway, less talk, more action. There's a universe out there waiting, and the Smiling Cat hates to wait. Come along!"
It spun around in a ridiculous pirouette and hopped toward a tear in the white void—a hole pulsing with impossible colors and smelling vaguely of chamomile tea and confusion.
I looked at that peculiar distortion with suspicion, then at the white nothingness from which I'd emerged and back at my still-cookie-dusted hands. I smiled ironically. A pink harlequin rabbit. A Smiling Cat. More cosmic craziness. I sighed—the chaos following me had just leveled up. I guess trade school will have to wait. Priorities, Lexo.
And with the resignation of someone who already knew life had taken another turn toward the completely bizarre, I jumped after the rabbit, plunging into that lysergic hole.
"ALIIIIICE!!!"
(End of Volume 1)