6. Kal: Happy Birthday

  For his sixth birthday, Kal’s parents gave him a lyroca – a small instrument that resembled a lute. It was crafted perfectly for a small frame of a child.

  The body was carved from rich, dark wood, polished to perfection – so much it gleamed under the sunlight that came from the window. The strings were stretched over a gently curved bridge, and the tuning pegs were wooden.

  It wasn’t an electric guitar – it wasn’t even his father’s voutar – but it was his own, and it was perfect.

  Kal stared at it, wide-eyed, his small hands trembling as he ran his fingers over the curves and the strings. His first instrument in this new life of his.

  “Happy birthday, son.” Reinar said warmly, ruffling Kal’s already messy hair. “We know how much you’ve wanted your own instrument.”

  Elara smiled softly, kneeling beside him. “We always see you trying to play melodies on your father’s voutar, but your little hands can never quite reach all the notes.” She chuckled, brushing a hand over his cheek. “Now you have one just your size and you can keep sweeping us off our feet, you little musical genius of ours.”

  Kal blinked rapidly, but it was too late – his vision blurred with tears.

  He clutched the lyroca tightly, his breath hitching.

  The warmth of his parents’ voices, the kindness in their smiles – it all overwhelmed him.

  It was happening again.

  He recalled his father – his first father – and how he taught him to play the guitar. How he gifted him this love for music. How after he died in that car crash, Kal kept playing the guitar – his way of holding onto someone he loved so dearly.

  He just broke into tears.

  Elara’s smile faltered, her expression shifting to concern. “Kal? What’s wrong, baby?”

  Reinar frowned, brow furrowing. “Do you not like it? We – “

  Kal didn’t let him finish.

  Without thinking, he threw himself into their arms, wrapping his small arms tightly around them both.

  Elara let out a startled gasp, while Reiner staggered slightly before catching him.

  “I love you.” Kal whispered, his voice trembling. “I love you both so much.”

  Elara’s body relaxed against him, and she let out a soft, relieved laugh as she held him tighter. “Oh, my baby…”

  His father chuckled, ruffling his hair again. “You scared me for a moment.”

  Kal sniffled, burying his face against them. “Thank you.”

  Just then, a sharp cry rang out from the next room, making both parents stiffen – Kal’s baby brother, Lucas. Barely a year old.

  He had been asleep when Kal had woken up to his parents giving him his gift, but now, clearly, he had decided to make himself known.

  Elara sighed, closing her eyes for a brief moment. “Your turn.”

  Reinar groaned, rubbing his face. “I checked on his last time. It’s your turn.”

  “That was during the night. It’s morning now. That makes it your turn.”

  “Oh, come on, love.”

  Kal pulled back slightly from their embrace, and watched his mother cross her arms and stare at his father expectantly.

  Reinar sighed in defeat, shaking his head as he walked toward the other room. “Fine, fine. I’m going.”

  Kal watched his father leave, and a feeling of uncertainty gnawed at his mind again.

  He still didn’t know how to feel about his new brother.

  On the one hand, he was happy having a little brother. And he always helped his parents take care of him. But on the other hand, he felt that by accepting this new brother into his life, he would be betraying the memory of his twin brother – the one he couldn’t even remember the name of.

  His hands tightened around the wooden frame of the lyroca.

  “Well, will you play something for us?” Elara’s voice broke through his thoughts, gentle and warm.

  She smiled at him, and it melted all of Kal’s worries away for that one moment.

  “Of course!” He called out excitedly.

  He climbed onto his bed and adjusted the lyroca in his lap.

  It wasn’t the first time he played one – he had practiced on Bertan’s lyroca whenever he visited the woodcarver’s house with his parents. The man had taken a liking to Kal’s passion for music – like every other villager in Terenhill – and let him play as often as he wanted. It had taken some time to adjust – as the lyroca was much different than the guitar – but the transition had been easier than expected.

  Unlike the guitar’s six-strings, the lyroca had double-coursed strings, meaning he had to pluck two strings at once instead of just one. It had taken some practice to adjust his picking technique, ensuring both strings in a pair resonated perfectly.

  The shorter fretboard also thrown him off at first, and he had needed to retrain his muscle memory for proper hand placement.

  And the tuning was different too, so his instinctive knowledge of chords didn’t fully carry over. He had spent hours figuring out where each note actually on the lyroca’s fretboard, too proud to ask Bertan or his father.

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  But that was months ago.

  Now, the lyroca already felt natural in his hands.

  He took a deep breath, placing his fingers on the frets.

  And then, he began to play.

  The song was a simple folk melody – one he had heard his parents play many times over the years. As first, folk music had felt so different from the fast-paced, heavy riffs he had loved in his past. But the more he listened, the more it grew on him.

  There was something raw about it. Something honest.

  And that was what music was all about to Kal.

  As he played, he glanced up at his mother.

  Elara had closed her eyes, swaying gently, a soft smile on her lips.

  Then, the door creaked open, and Reinar stepped back inside, carrying Lucas in his arms.

  The baby had calmed completely since his earlier cries. Now, he was staring at Kal with his wide, sleepy eyes.

  Rainer smiled proudly. “He stopped crying as soon as you started playing.”

  Kal played a few softer notes, watching as Lucas’ eyelids dropped slightly, his body relaxing even more.

  Elara chuckled. “I think we might have found a new way to put him to sleep.”

  Kal let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “I’ll have to ask for more allowance money then.”

  Reinar snorted. “You mean your nonexistent allowance?” He then smiled warmly at his eldest. “Get ready. We have errands to run today.”

  “Don’t stay out for too long, Reinar. We still have the birthday dinner planned. My parents told me they’d be coming.” Elara interjected.

  Reinar nodded, tensing slightly. “Of course.”

  With that, he stepped out of the room, carrying Lucas back to his crib, while Elara followed after him, likely to help settle the baby before she started her own chores.

  Now alone, Kal set the lyroca gently on his bed and moved to get dressed.

  His clothes were simple.

  Just a loose, brown tunic, slightly worn, and sturdy trousers that had been patched up plenty – even before Kal wore them for the first time. His leather boots were well-made but scuffed from use. Elara told him once that these boots belonged to her father, and yeah, they sure looked like it.

  Kal had never gone hungry, never been without a roof over his head, but it was clear that his family wasn’t rich.

  Memories of his past life attacked him all at once, filling his heart with fear. He knew life was similar no matter if it was on Earth or on Terra – in the end, money ran everything. One year of drought may affect the village’s income drastically, hurting everyone in the process. Kal knew he was just six, but he already wanted to help provide for his new house – to fight for it.

  All of this thinking about poverty made his stomach twist as his eyes drifted back to the lyroca on his bed.

  ‘How much did they spend on it?’ He thought, growing worried.

  It was very well-crafted, and his father was a good friend of Bertan who Kal assumed had built it, but surely it couldn’t have been cheap.

  ‘Had they sacrificed something just to get this for me?’

  Kal took a deep breath and swallowed down his worry.

  The only thing he could do now was make sure it wasn’t wasted – that he practiced, that he played, that maybe he became a famous musician and make them all rich.

  Taking a deep breath, he tied his belt, laced his boots, and ran a hand through his already messy brown hair.

  Just as he finished, his father’s voice called from outside the room.

  “Kal. Let’s go.”

  Kal moved toward the door, ready to leave, but as he stepped outside, Reinar raised a questioning eyebrow and stopped him.

  “Aren’t you taking the lyroca with you?”

  Kal blinked. “Huh?”

  Reinar’s lips curled into a grin. “Might as well show it off a little, don’t you think?”

  Kal’s eyes widened slightly. Then, he smiled, ran back into the room and grabbed his very own instrument.

  ***

  Reinar Varren came from a long line of farmers who had worked Terenhill’s fields for generations. In the summer they grew golden rye, a hardy grain that thrived under the warm sun. When the seasons turned, they rotated to barley, a crop suited for colder months.

  Yet despite their history, the fields didn’t belong to his family alone.

  When Terenhill was founded, the original families – the Varrens included – had invested heavily to establish the village. Transforming the surrounding wilderness into fertile farmland had been one of their greatest expenses, requiring years of effort to turn the land suitable for crops.

  As a result, the fields were jointly owned by the founding families, rather than any single household.

  That didn’t mean wealth, however.

  All earnings the village made each month were shared evenly among Terenhill’s families. No one grew rich, but no one went hungry, either.

  If Reinar ever decided to sell his share of the land, he could make a decent sum – but that was never an option.

  Farming was his life. His ancestors’ life.

  Reinar’s father – Kal’s grandfather – had died a year before Kal was born, taken out by pneumonia after a harsh winter. His mother had passed even earlier – in childbirth, when giving birth to Reinar’s younger sister, Leia.

  But Kal had never met his aunt.

  From what he had heard, Leia had left the village one night when she was just sixteen, supposedly choosing to chase her own dreams in the capital and far away from Terenhill.

  Which meant that by eighteen, Reinar had been left alone to carry his family’s legacy. By then, he had already inherited his role as Terenhill’s Lead Farmer – a position he had been preparing for since childhood under his father’s guidance.

  And now, he was subtly preparing Kal for it too.

  It was clear to Kal that his father envisioned him following in his footsteps. Taking over the fields one day, tending the land, ensuring their crops fed families across the kingdom.

  Kal respected that. Even in his past life.

  Farming was honest work. His father’s and his farmhands’ hard labor created something real, something everyone depended on. It was an important job – a monumental one, in fact – and he could even see himself enjoying it, in a way.

  But…

  Could he really do it for the rest of his life when he had…music?

  To Reinar, music was just a hobby – a pastime, something to be enjoyed but never pursued. He was glad that Kal had taken interest in it, but he saw it as nothing more than a small pleasure in a farmer’s life.

  Kal knew that, as he grew older, he’d have to make his father see differently.

  Because one day, when time came to choose – whether he became farmer or a musician – he wanted to make sure he actually had a choice.

  Reinar led the way as they left their home, stepping onto the dirt path that wound through the village.

  Their house sat on the outskirts, closest to the golden rye fields and barley that stretched beyond the village’s borders. It made sense – farmers needed to be near their land.

  Their closest neighbors – also shoved away to the outskirts – were the poultry farmers – the Clayton family, who raised chickens, ducks, and the occasional goose. The constant clucking of hens echoed through the morning air as they passed their premises.

  Beyond them were the families responsible for dairy. With tall, wooden barns housing cows. Kal spotted buckets of milk lined near the barn doors, waiting to be taken to the market by the Berell family.

  Right next to the barns, still under the Berells, were wooden pens flanking wooly sheep.

  The mixture of smells used to make Kal sick when he was younger, but now? It just smelled like home.

  As they made their way to the village square, Kal was still strumming his brand new lyroca. His fingers plucking at the strings as he played some cheerful melodies he recalled.

  It wasn’t a performance, but even so, it didn’t go unnoticed.

  All of Terenhill had heard about the little musical genius that at the age of five could already play some – albeit simple – melodies on the voutar.

  Most of the villagers offered them warm smiles and friendly nods, while a few others called out greetings, clapping their hands in excitement. Someone even attempted a short folk dance before they passed them.

  Kal grinned, playing more cheerful notes in response.

  It was small, but moments like this made him feel alive.

  At the village square the market stalls were mostly empty this early, but a few vendors were already setting up their goods – all handmade. A large well sat in the middle – Terenhill’s literal center – and around it stood modest homes and shops.

  The structures were simple, one-story houses made of timber and stone, their roofs covered by red clay tiles. Some of them had flower baskets standing on their windowsills.

  As they crossed down into the square, accepting a few more friendly greetings, Reinar glanced at Kal.

  “Are you excited to start grade school next week?”

  Kal’s fingers stilled on the strings.

  His stomach twisted.

  His birthday and his parents’ gift had actually made him forget all about it.

  God, he hated school.