The two suns above left little room for cold. The teenage girl hunched over a shattered stump, gasping for both air and water, attested to that. She wiped away the pools of sweat flooding her face and reached for the wineskin tied at her waist. With the lethargic movements of her weakened flesh, she brought the wineskin to her lips and drank. Her trembling hands betrayed her, sending drops of water splattering everywhere around her. She didn't care, though. The sweet taste of life flooding her lips and tongue swept away all notion of logic or caution.
"That isn't very ladylike," a baritone voice spoke, yanking her out of her bliss and into the frying pan of reality.
She whipped around, locking eyes with a man who appeared to be in his mid-twenties. His short black hair curled into an impeccable style, and a trimmed beard framed his sharp features. But it was his dull grey eyes that froze her—calm, unyielding, and heavy with something she couldn't name. Her gaze lingered too long in those eyes, and fear gripped her chest like a vice.
"It's not my fault you're the only 'girl' I know," the young woman spat back, an insult laced in her defiant tone.
"Beth, don't you dare start," Lariat said, his voice honed to a blade's edge.
Beth stepped back, frantically wiping the water clinging to her face. Her exhale came sharp and unsteady. She grabbed the axe beside her and turned toward the tree stump again, though her movements were stiff and deliberate.
"How many times must I tell you to leave this menial labor to me?" Lariat said, stepping closer. "I don't need you getting hurt. What would your mother think of me if she saw this?"
Before she could react, he reached for her hands. His fingers—softer than hers despite their strength—brushed over the bruises and splinters embedded in her palms. She flinched, pulling away from his touch, her fingers curling into fists.
"I'm fine," she said, rolling her eyes. Her lips moved silently, mimicking his words with exaggerated defiance.
Lariat sighed, his patience thinning. "I just came to tell you dinner's ready," he said, stepping back. "But if you'd rather play around with tree stumps, be my guest. In fact, you have my blessing."
He turned and began the slow journey down the hill. His boots crunched against the dry grass, the sound harsh in the stillness. It lulled him into a trance, his mind wandering. Beth often reminded him of her mother—the defiance rolled off them in smoldering waves of molten iron, stubborn and unyielding. If only Beth had taken after his features instead of hers.
Glancing back, he saw Beth still standing by the stump, lost in her own thoughts. He guessed it had something to do with his comment. Friends had often warned him that his loose tongue would get him into trouble. Their words always rang true. He just hoped he hadn't been too harsh on her.
---
The simple cottage appeared after several minutes of meandering down the hill. Lariat had never wanted the lavish mansions he once dreamed of in his youth. No. The cottage sufficed—small, enough for two, and far less maintenance. No servants, no complications. He liked things simple.
Two orbs of swirling blue light illuminated the humble home, casting soft shadows against the walls. Lariat hung his coat on the rack by the door, brushing past the short hallway adorned with paintings of his wife. Her face greeted him in every frame, her smile frozen in time. It only took two left turns to reach the dining room.
A small, pristine table greeted him, set with a modest meal of vegetables and riot lizard skin soup—Beth's favorite. He knew she preferred the outdoors, the freedom of it, but he didn't fault her for that. Still, he had plastered the cottage walls with too many portraits of her and her mother, an attempt to make the place feel warmer. Even he felt stifled by it sometimes. But that was his punishment, and he would live with it.
Lariat sat down and offered a quiet prayer to the spirits. Afterward, he switched on the old radio, ensuring the mana batteries still had enough juice to last a few more days. The light-hearted melody that crackled to life filled the somber silence of the dining room, softening the edges of his solitude.
"Dad, I'm home! And famished. And exhausted. And what's for dinner?" Beth's voice broke through the quiet as she burst through the door.
Lariat smiled. "You should've thought of that question when I came to get you an hour ago," he said, pulling her chair out. "It's a surprise."
"Surprise? I can smell the riot lizard all the way from here," Beth called from the kitchen.
"Don't ask questions you already know the answer to. It's not polite," he quipped, his smile never faltering.
The claustrophobic weight of being alone vanished under the energy Beth brought into the room. Lariat, at ease, picked up his fork and knife, slicing into the lizard meat. Moments later, Beth appeared in the doorway, her golden eyes wide with hunger.
"You started without me?"
"Take a seat," Lariat gestured to the chair. "There's something I want to discuss over dinner. And besides, the food was too good to wait for you to finish playing with stumps."
Beth frowned as she sat, but the expression melted away the moment the riot lizard touched her tongue. A hum escaped her lips, a short burst of joy that filled the room.
"It's good as always, Dad," she praised. "But… it's missing something."
Lariat had stopped eating long ago. His dull grey eyes softened as he watched her savor the meal. When she caught his gaze, he coughed and stabbed his fork into his plate, pretending to focus on the food.
In his baritone voice, he began, "You're getting older. By the end of the week, you'll be sixteen."
Beth stilled, processing his words. He let the silence linger, giving her time to chew on them. Her golden eyes narrowed slightly, glowing with the intensity of a student determined to decode the assignment.
Satisfied, Lariat continued, "Have you thought about what you want to do? There are plenty of institutions to choose from. Don't stress about the Awakening. Even if you end up with something like an E-grade Talent or Affinity, you'll still be useful."
The words hung in the air longer than they should have. The flame in Beth's golden eyes flickered, dimming as her expression faltered.
"I'll get an S-grade Talent," she said, her voice trembling as she tried to reignite her confidence. "Watch me."
Lariat's heart ached. Sorry, love. I honestly hope you don't.