The smell of breakfast hit him before he even opened his eyes.
Jacob blinked against the morning light spilling through the window and sat up slowly. He wasn't tired, but his limbs felt heavy in a different way. Like the weight of the day had already settled in before his feet even touched the floor.
He dressed in a groggy silence and made his way to the kitchen.
The table was already set. Eggs, sliced tomatoes with salt, hot bread torn into chunks, and a small dish of berry preserves that May only brought out on special days.
'Seems tense here, they must be worried . . .'
Arthur sat at the head of the table, nursing a cup of tea, a serious look on his face as he seemed lost in his thoughts. Caleb chewed on a piece of bread, staring off like he had already checked out for the day. May hovered near the stove, hands busy but eyes distant.
Jacob took his seat and started eating. The food was perfect, as always. Crisp edges on the eggs, the bread warm enough to melt the jam into it. But the silence around the table hung heavily, a little awkward to Jacob.
Arthur cleared his throat once Jacob had finished most of his meal.
"Well, son. Today's the day."
Jacob nodded, mouth full.
"You're eleven now," Arthur said plainly. "That means your Trial Year has begun."
May glanced over, lips pressed together. She gave him a small smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.
Arthur continued. "From this point on, you've got no daily chores, no scheduled work, no expectations. This year is yours to use however you see fit."
Jacob set his fork down.
"I can do anything I want?"
Arthur nodded. "Within reason. You still need to show respect as you were raised. You still need to use your head . . . But if you want to spend all day in the village square or walking the hills or tinkering with enchantments in the barn, that's your call."
Caleb snorted. "Wish I could do it again. I spent half my Trial Year trying to build a raft that never made it past the pond."
Arthur smirked at that but didn't lose his focus. "You're not expected to sleep at home every night, either. If you end up in someone's hayloft or camp out near the creek, that's fine. Just be smart about it, be safe. You can go as far as Thornhold, but not past it. That's the edge of what we consider safe for someone your age."
May finally spoke, voice low. "We trust you, Jacob. Just remember you're always welcome here, no matter what you find out there."
Jacob looked around the table. His plate was empty, the air still tense.
"So that's it? I just go?"
Arthur gave a single nod. "That's it. The rest is up to you. But, would you like to hear my advice on how to best use this year? It's fine if you don't . . . your brother wasn't interested."
Arthur smirked a little bit again as he glanced over at Caleb, who looked like he wanted to say something, but seemed to be cut off by his own thoughts.
Jacob nodded, sitting straighter.
Arthur leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing just a little. Not in judgment, but in thought.
"Walk further than you think you should. Talk to people who don't usually get talked to. Try things that make you feel stupid at first. If something catches your interest, chase it until it runs out. And if nothing does, help someone else chase theirs."
May stepped in quietly with a big chocolate cake and a mug of warm milk, placing it near Jacob's hand and the cake where his plate had been before resting a palm on his shoulder.
Arthur continued. "This year is not about finding a job. It's about finding a reason. What pulls at you, what drives you, what makes you feel like you have to see something through even when no one's watching."
Caleb snorted again, but this time it wasn't dismissive. More like he was remembering something.
Arthur gave him a glance, then looked back at Jacob. "And don't be afraid to fail. You will. But that's part of the whole thing. Part of the point."
Jacob sat with that for a moment.
"What if I already have some ideas?" he asked.
Arthur smiled. "Then you're ahead of where I was."
May gave his shoulder a small squeeze. "Just be careful."
He nodded.
Arthur stood and reached into a drawer near the stove, pulling out a small coin pouch and a folded scrap of parchment.
"Map's not fancy, but it shows the local roads and paths out to Thornhold. And there's a few of your gold and silvers in here. Use them wisely. Barter when you can . . . trade when it's fair. Save some coin for the road home."
Jacob took the items with both hands.
"Thanks," he said.
May then brought out some wax sticks with small wicks on the end, placing them in the cake. She then lit them with a snap of her fingers.
Jake was surprised and looked to his mother, who had a sad look on her face. As if the small bit of magic was all she could do, and then it turned into a sad look a mother makes as one of her children leaves the nest.
But she didn't let her apprehension ruin the moment; she began to sing his birthday song, with the rest of the family joining in. Even his baby sister tried to hit a few notes.
When they were done, he blew out the candles, and May cut him a big slice of the cake.
After cleaning up, Jake sat back in his chair with his hands on his belly.
Arthur spoke up again.
"Now, about what that merchant was talking about."
Jacob sat up, listening intently.
"If you would like, I can show you Thornhold for your first time. I have some business with the butcher, and it never hurts to put up a booth in the square for the day."
This caused Jacob to smile.
"Then I will get a few pairs of clothes put together. I know they sell stuff in the village square this time of the year. I don't want to put too much stress on mom."
May nodded to them in appreciation as she gathered the plates and leftovers from the table.
"Then," Arthur replied, "I can take you with me in three days. Think you can whip up some worthy enchantments by then?"
Jacob nodded as he got up, with Arthur following him.
Arthur clapped him lightly on the back. "Now get out of here. The day won't wait."
Jacob stood, stepped outside, and squinted into the morning light.
The whole world was waiting. He just had to choose where to start.