The Garden of?
Chapter six:
Little mischief 1:
Leif was fourteen now, taller and stronger than before, though still carrying the boyish look in his face. His hair was white like snow, shining under the sun, and his blue eyes were calm, just like his mother Ferexia. People in the village often said that Leif looked like her in almost everything—the shape of his eyes, the soft expression, even the way he smiled sometimes. When he stood near his mother, it was almost like looking at two reflections from different times, the mother and the son connected by the same features. Rufius, on the other hand, was a small ball of energy at only four years old. His black hair was soft and messy, and when the wind played through it, he looked exactly like Airen when he was young. But his eyes were blue, not green like his father's. The pale skin was the same, though, and whenever people saw Rufius walking with Airen, they whispered about how alike they were. It was as if the family had split itself in half—Leif being his mother's child, and Rufius being his father's.
Airen, with his strong build and sharp green eyes, carried the air of a warrior even when he was just walking through the village. His black hair had a natural shine to it, and his pale skin made his green eyes look brighter, like emeralds under the sun. He was admired by the villagers not only for his skill with the sword but also for his calm, quiet confidence. Rufius had inherited much of that aura, even though he was only a boy. His black hair framed his pale face, and his blue eyes always looked lively, full of curiosity and mischief. It was a strange but perfect balance—Leif resembling Ferexia's gentleness, Rufius carrying Airen's strength in his looks, and together they made the family whole.
Leif's training had grown harsher with age. At fourteen, he was no longer treated like a child holding sticks. His father now sparred with him using real, though blunted, swords. The clang of steel against steel often echoed in the fields outside the village, drawing curious looks from the villagers passing by. They admired the boy's dedication, how he moved with focus, sweat dripping down his face yet never breaking his stance. But what most people did not see was the way Rufius sat nearby, legs crossed, eyes wide with admiration. To Rufius, Leif wasn't just a brother—he was a hero. The little boy would sometimes cheer loudly, "Go Leif! You're gonna win this time!" His voice would make Leif smile even in the middle of training, though Airen would scold him for losing focus.
But Rufius wasn't always just an innocent cheerer. Mischief was his second nature, and Leif, despite being older, often found himself dragged into it. The two brothers together were like a storm in the peaceful village of Tern. One time, Rufius got the idea of tying little ribbons on the chickens near old Maren's farm. He had found Ferexia's sewing box and stolen a few bright red ribbons. "Come on, Leif, it'll look funny!" Rufius had whispered with a mischievous grin. Leif had tried to resist, saying he was too old for that kind of game, but Rufius's pleading blue eyes reminded him too much of their father's. He gave in. Soon, half the chickens were running around the yard with ribbons bouncing behind them. When Maren came out and saw the chaos, she shouted so loud that even Airen heard it from the fields. Leif ended up doing chores as an apology, while Rufius just smiled and said, "But they looked so pretty, didn't they?" Ferexia, of course, tried to hide her laugh.
There were other days when Rufius's mischief reached even further. Once, he and Leif went to the market together. Leif was carrying a small basket for groceries, serious as always, while Rufius bounced around beside him, asking a hundred questions at once. "Why is that man selling so many apples? Can we buy some? Why is that lady looking at me? Leif, can I have candy? Please?" Leif answered calmly, keeping his tone gentle. When people asked about Rufius, Leif always spoke with pride. "This is my brother," he would say. "He's a little troublemaker, but he's smart. He'll grow strong too." Villagers smiled at the sight, saying how lucky Leif was to have a brother like him, and Leif never argued. He adored Rufius more than anything, even when the boy tested his patience.
The training and the mischief often clashed. Leif wanted to focus on improving, to become stronger with every passing day, but Rufius wanted to pull him into games. Sometimes, after hours of sparring, Leif would lie on the grass, exhausted, only for Rufius to climb on his back and declare, "I've beaten the great Leif!" Airen would cross his arms and scold Rufius for disturbing his brother, but Ferexia would smile and say, "They're boys. Let them play." It became a rhythm in their lives—discipline in the mornings, laughter in the afternoons, and peace in the evenings when the family gathered for meals.
The mischief didn't stop with chickens or games in the field. Rufius was clever in a way that sometimes even Airen admitted he couldn't predict. Once, Rufius painted Leif's practice sword with berry juice, and during sparring, the blade left purple stains on Airen's tunic. Airen was furious at first, but when Rufius innocently said, "Now you look like a king with royal colors," even Airen couldn't hold back his laughter. Leif, however, had to scrub the stains off, grumbling all the while, though inside, he couldn't be mad at his little brother.
At night, the family would sit together, the house filled with warmth. Ferexia often read stories aloud, her voice soft and clear. Rufius curled up beside her, eyes wide as he listened, while Leif sat quietly, sometimes sharpening his training sword, sometimes just staring at the flames in the hearth. Airen, too, would listen, though he rarely said much. He often just looked at his two sons, one resembling him and the other resembling Ferexia, and in those moments, his stern face softened. It was easy to see how much he loved them, even if he showed it more through discipline than words.
One spring evening, Leif and Rufius were walking back from the market. The air smelled of fresh flowers, and the sun was just beginning to sink. Rufius skipped ahead, waving to everyone he passed, and people called out, asking about him. "Your little brother looks just like your father," one woman said. Leif nodded, pride in his voice as he replied, "Yes, but he's even brighter than him." Rufius laughed, not really understanding, and ran back to hold Leif's hand. Leif looked down at him and thought about how different they were, yet how perfectly they fit together. His brother gave him strength in ways no training ever could.
Their mischief, their laughter, their bond—it became the heartbeat of those years. Leif was growing into a strong young man, but Rufius made sure he never grew too serious, never forgot the joy of living. And though Airen scolded, and Ferexia worried, deep down they knew that both sons were shaping each other, one with discipline, the other with play. The village of Tern may have been small and ordinary, but within its quiet streets and simple homes, the story of two brothers was being written—one of strength, love, and endless mischief.