My fingertips were burning.

  It wasn't real burning: no blisters, no smoke. Just that electric tingling crawling up from the tips and fading into my wrists, insistent as an itch beneath the skin.

  I stared at those hands: small, soft, chubby. A knot tightened in my chest, sharp and nearly suffocating.

  Okay. Let's recap. Tattoos? No. Stupid idea. What was I thinking? Insane.

  Creating... no, wait. What had Mom said? Moving, not creating? Right, right.

  The wooden horse lay on the floor, clean and gleaming. Mom's magic hadn't just cleaned the wood, the toy itself shone like new.

  I shifted one hand in front of my body. Then the other.

  Easy now... don't fall!

  For a moment, the balance slipped away and my legs wobbled. My left hand found the table leg and gripped it. I steadied myself.

  Look at me. Getting pretty good at standing.

  The horse stared at me. Mocking me, obviously.

  "Itto u." Shut up. My words and my thoughts still misaligned but I was getting closer.

  I just need to... move it.

  My fingertips twitched, shifted. I could feel the energy flowing.

  Move. Go right.

  Nothing.

  The horse remained motionless: a chunk of dead wood that didn't understand what I was asking. Damned horse!

  I clenched my fists. My face grew hot, burning, and I pushed harder. The tingling in my fingers increased, grew larger, became something that almost hurt.

  Come on… come on…

  The stubborn wooden horse didn't move.

  The only thing that shifted was my balance, which wavered, and I had to spread my arms to avoid falling this time. But I bumped the toy and it fell over.

  The silence after felt heavier than it should have. The horse, at least, seemed perfectly fine with the outcome, flat on its side and all.

  Why isn't it working?

  I have to make this work.

  I huffed, a frustrated sound that came out like a grunt. Tears burned behind my eyes but didn't fall.

  I didn't cry anymore, ever. I didn't know why.

  I reached out and grabbed the carved mane, righting the horse with a jerky motion that nearly tipped it over the other way.

  "Ho–rse!"

  The words came out crooked, too high-pitched, but they came out. I made it gallop across the polished floorboards, and the wood slid beautifully across that freshly washed surface. I launched it into a furious charge toward the table leg.

  "Clop, clop, clop!"

  I made the hoofbeat sounds with my mouth, and for a moment the tingling in my fingers faded. The horse swerved sharply, I made it rear up against the air.

  It has to jump or the rider will fall and…

  The magic slipped away. The water flowed, the suspended bubbles, everything retreated to a dark corner of my mind where I couldn't reach it.

  There was a rider to save. There was a wooden prairie to cross.

  I was Arek. I was a child playing.

  For now, that was enough.

  The evening chill came too soon, biting at my skin and creeping under my cotton dress.

  Dad's knees creaked as he rose from his chair.

  "Aahh." He arched his back, cracking that too. "Never get old, Arek."

  Must be exhausting sitting around all day, Dad...

  His footsteps clicked on the wooden floor as he approached the lantern on the wall.

  "Bit chilly tonight, and I've got a lot of work tomorrow." He rubbed his hands together and peered at me, his expression unreadable. "Champ, do you think your mom did well with the water this morning?"

  Of course.

  I rotated my head sideways even though I wanted to nod.

  Traitorous body.

  As he spoke, he'd rolled up his shirtsleeves around his arms.

  "Should I take that as a yes?"

  "Y-yeah."

  "Good, but now get ready to be amazed… no, Arek, wait until I do this before you open your mouth."

  I snapped my lips shut immediately.

  His expression changed: intense, dark. He turned toward the feeble torchlight and opened the small window that allowed the wick to pass through for lighting.

  He extended his hands and brought them around the flame without touching it. Lips parted, teeth clenched. Small beads of sweat began forming on his forehead glistening in the torchlight.

  The flame was steady, a golden point that didn't even waver.

  He's messing with me. I thought, unimpressed.

  I turned away, but then my shadow on the floor began to shift and split.

  I whipped my head back right away.

  The lantern flame was oscillating, vibrating. Dad walked toward the fireplace with heavy steps, hands clawed as if holding an invisible sphere, and at the center: a tiny yellow spark that swayed and drifted as if pushed by the evening breeze. Another flame.

  One step.

  Two steps.

  Dad? Y-you too? You have magic, too?

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  His breathing was heavy, labored. Under his armpits, small sweat stains had begun to darken his shirt. His hands trembled, just for a moment, but they trembled.

  The spark wavered. For an instant it seemed about to go out and vanish.

  Dad's fingers clenched in the air, and the flame held at last.

  He reached the fireplace he'd prepared that afternoon, wood carefully stacked. He cupped his hands and the spark flew slowly toward the wood like a firefly on its own dancing lazily in the air.

  For an instant nothing happened.

  Then smoke rose from the logs. Tarin's fingers quivered, small nervous twitches urging the flames on, and the wood caught fire. First a timid little blaze, then larger, then real. The heat reached my face, a pleasant warmth that carried the smell of pine and char.

  "Phew." Dad dragged himself toward the chair. "Need to sit down..."

  I watched as he collapsed into the chair, breathing hard.

  Him too. Mom with water. Dad with fire. Everyone here can use magic. Everyone except me.

  A knot tightened in my chest as I stared at my useless hand, empty of magic and strength alike.

  I have to learn. I can't fall behind.

  "Dad?"

  Is this my first word? Dad did you hear?

  No answer. I turned around to see his eyes were already closed…

  Dad…

  ***

  Spring had truly arrived. The window was open and the air that entered no longer bit like it had the evenings before. Birdsong filled the room.

  "Sweetie, what's wrong? Are you going potty?" asked Mirina, setting the clay bowl in front of me.

  No Mom, I'm angry. I'm concentrating.

  I sat at the table, feather cushions under my bottom to give me height, staring at the porridge in the bowl. The sweet heat rising from it was rich with the smell of the apple bits my mother tucked into the mush to flavor it.

  Mirina turned with her back to me, not waiting for an answer, and began fussing with the copper-colored pot. Tarin was at his usual spot, tools in hand, his gaze absorbed by something that wasn't working as it should.

  All normal. All routine.

  I at least need to start talking. I need to ask. I can't do this alone.

  The lips. I'd practiced them. Every day. Every night. In the darkness, when the others slept. "Mo-mmy. Da-ddy. Wa-ter."

  Sounds that came out clearer and clearer. More and more right.

  Today. YES! Today's the day.

  I could feel it. I didn't know how, but I could feel it. Like when you know it's about to rain even though the sky is still clear.

  I'll say "mommy." I'll say "daddy."

  And then... Fire and ice churned together inside my chest.

  And then I'll ask... I'll ask to learn.

  And everything... everything will change.

  I didn't know if for better or worse. But it would change.

  Mirina turned with her usual tired smile on her face. "Eat your porridge, sweetie. It's getting cold."

  I nodded absently, grabbing the spoon.

  Not yet. Not now. Wait for the right moment.

  I ate slowly, chewing the apple-flavored mush with my toothless gums. Each spoonful was time gained. Time to prepare myself.

  But time ran out anyway.

  When I reached halfway, I decided there were no more excuses.

  Now!

  My throat burned. Dry, bone-dry.

  I inhaled and focused on my tongue. The word was there, perfectly formed in my mind. I just needed to push it out.

  My lips parted. The tip of my tongue positioned itself on my palate.

  "Mommy."

  The word came out small but clear. Without hesitation. My tongue had finally obeyed.

  I did it.

  The silence that followed was different from all those that had preceded it.

  Mirina had frozen with her spoon suspended mid-air, a thread of porridge dripping slowly. Her eyes too wide, too bright, as if she'd just witnessed something magnificent, a miracle.

  Her hands trembled.

  Did I say it right? Did I say it correctly? Could you understand?

  My throat still burned, but differently. No longer dry: hot. As if the words had left a mark coming out, a trace of fire that said you did it, you really did it.

  "Tarin." Mirina set down the spoon, slowly, as if every movement required concentration. "Tarin, did you hear?"

  There was quick movement and I found myself lifted, pressed against a chest that smelled of oatmeal, the heartbeat hammering against my cheek.

  This is Mom's heart beating hard.

  I felt a swelling under my sternum, warm and light, as if I'd won the most important thing in the world.

  Another one. A different one. I want to say a sentence now. Something more.

  "Daddy."

  I was still in Mirina's arms but turned toward him, and the word came out easier than the first. He laughed, a big, full laugh that filled the entire room and made the floor vibrate beneath us.

  "Mirina, do you hear? Our baby…" His voice broke halfway. He coughed, dragging a hand over his face.

  Mirina brought me back down, onto the chair. The feather cushions were soft under my bottom and gave me the necessary height to reach the table. Her fingers lingered on my shoulders, a moment longer than necessary, then withdrew.

  The warmth in my chest expanded, dissolved the knot I hadn't known was tight, and for a moment everything was simple and right.

  Finally. My lips are stopping being enemies. My tongue responds to my mind.

  "Our baby is talking."

  Mom bent down and kissed my forehead. Her lips warm, her breath shifting my hair: warm and slightly humid.

  "You're so good, Arek. So good."

  I did it. I spoke. Words work. Finally I can talk!

  "Wait until we tell the others. 'Our Arek said mommy AND daddy on the same day!' Will they believe us?"

  "Probably not," said Mirina, laughing. "They'll think we're exaggerating, like parents always do."

  They laughed together. And for a moment, just a moment, everything was perfect.

  I can finally ask. Now I want to try a whole sentence.

  I want to try.

  I saw the clay cup with water and even though I wasn't thirsty, I pointed at it.

  "Can I... water?"

  The words still clear. Maybe with a bit too long a pause in the middle, but it didn't really matter. After all, they were only the third and fourth words I'd said since... ever.

  But the silence that followed this time seemed different.

  Mirina was frozen, her hand suspended toward the cup. Her eyes fixed on me, wide open. No longer just surprised. Something else.

  Tarin stared at his plate as if it contained gold.

  "Yes, of course." Mirina cleared her throat. She took the cup and handed it to me. Her hands trembled, barely. "Of course, sweetie."

  The cup was heavy between my fingers, the cold of the terracotta biting my palms. I brought it to my lips and drank, tasting iron and victory.

  I set it down. A trickle of water slid down my chin, but I didn't move to wipe it. I was smiling. Everything seemed to be flowing in the right direction, finally.

  Don't stop now. Do it. Come on Arek!

  I inhaled deeply, the air filling my lungs with an almost painful pang. It wasn't fear: it was my body tensing like a bowstring ready to release.

  "Mommy. Teach me water magic, please."

  The silence that followed wasn't just an absence of sound. It was a vacuum, a chasm that swallowed the warmth of the room. Four blue eyes stared at me. Four shards of glass piercing my skin.

  Why aren't they saying anything? Where's the "good job" now?

  Mom and Dad had turned to wood, rigid as the carved toy horses Tarin left on the edge of my bed.

  Mirina's fingers loosened. The cup slipped from her grip, slow, like she'd forgotten it was there.

  The crash of terracotta exploding at my feet seemed to last an eternity. Red shards danced on the wood while water spread in a glossy puddle, like faded blood trying to reach me.

  No one looked at the mess. Mom and Dad's eyes were nailed to mine, cold blades that pinned me in place.

  What did I do? Why are they staring at me like I'm a creature from a nightmare?

  "Mirina..."

  Tarin's voice was a whisper, glass cracking. He reached for Mom's arm, but she was elsewhere. Her fingers were claws dug into her own flesh, white knuckles that seemed ready to pierce the fabric of her dress.

  "He's just precocious," Dad murmured, with a voice that didn't belong to him. "Very, very precocious."

  "Y-yes," she replied, but the sound was hollow, devoid of conviction.

  I forced a smile. I tried to make my eyes shine like a child who'd just discovered a new game.

  "So precocious you'll teach me magic?" I asked.

  The screech of chairs on the floor was like a scream. They rose in unison, an abrupt movement that made the air shudder. Silence returned immediately after, heavier, more suffocating than before.

  I wanted to say more. I wanted to explain. But my throat closed, and the words died before they were born.

  The pure terror I read in their faces hit me like a slap, throwing me back into a dark corner of my own mind.

  Mom? Dad?

  The porridge in the bowl was still lukewarm. Steam rose almost invisibly, thin.

  But I couldn't move. Couldn't look away from those two petrified faces.

  From that love that had transformed into fear.

  “Don't abandon me, please.”