The peaceful domestic scene of me peeling roots exploded instantly.

  ?"VIVIAN!"

  ?Nora’s scream pierced my eardrums. She moved with the speed of a striking viper, snatching the knife from my hand before I could even blink.

  ?"What do you think you are doing?!" she shrieked, checking my fingers for blood. "Sharp! Dangerous! Do you want to lose a finger? Do you want to give Mama a heart attack?"

  ?I stood there, stunned, watching her hyperventilate. I opened my mouth to explain...

  ?Sniff. Sniff.

  ?"The stew!" Nora gasped.

  ?Black smoke was billowing from the pot behind her. She flew to the stove, frantically stirring, but the smell of charred meat filled the kitchen. Dinner was dead.

  ?She slumped, defeated, and turned back to me to continue the lecture. But the door opened.

  ?Oliver walked in, saw the smoke, saw the knife in Nora's hand, and saw me looking guilty. "What happened?"

  ?"Your son," Nora said, pointing the knife at me accusingly, "was playing with the knife! And the dinner burned!"

  ?Oliver blinked. He looked at me. "Vivian? What were you doing?"

  ?I pointed at the pile of turmeric roots. "Prep. Cook later." I tried to keep my speaking toddler level.

  ?"It's that merchant," Nora fumed. "Kael! Giving a baby roots and putting ideas in his head. I should have thrown them out."

  ?"Now, Nora," Oliver said, his voice calm. He looked at the knife, then at me. "If he wants to go to the jungle edge with the kids next spring... he needs to know how to use a blade. It's a survival skill."

  ?Nora looked ready to argue, but the logic, twisted as it was, stopped her. She sighed, defeated by the ruined dinner and Oliver’s hunter logic. "Fine. But you watch him. Like a hawk. I have to salvage something for us to eat."

  ?She went to the pantry, muttering about men and their dangerous hobbies.

  ?Oliver grinned at me. He handed the knife back, handle first. "Show me, son. Careful."

  ?I gripped the handle. It felt heavy in my tiny hand, but my dexterity was good. I picked up a root and began to slice. Thin. Precise. Consistent.

  ?Oliver watched, his eyes widening. By the time Nora returned with bread and cheese for a makeshift dinner, I had processed all six roots into a pile of thin golden discs.

  ?"Look at that control," Oliver beamed, showing Nora. "He's a natural."

  ?Nora stared at the orange pile. "But what now? I am not putting those bitter things in my food."

  ?"Dry," I commanded. "Then smash. Powder."

  ?"I'll dry them," Nora sighed, taking the bowl. "After dinner."

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  ?True to her word, she toasted the slices in a pot over a low fire until they were brittle. Then Oliver took the mortar and pestle and crushed them into a fine, vibrant yellow orange dust.

  ?I stared at the jar of powder. Turmeric. Finally.

  ?The next morning, I was on a mission.

  ?"Mama," I said, tugging on Nora’s skirt as we prepared to leave for the hut. "Bring yellow dust."

  ?"No," Nora said.

  ?I deployed the Puppy Eyes. I quivered my lip. I held my breath.

  ?"Fine!" she groaned, grabbing the jar. "But I am not cooking with it."

  ?"Deal," I thought.

  ?At the hut, the day began with the usual torture. Alicia lectured on the political structure of the Northern Elf Clans. I nodded, drooled, and internally screamed.

  ?Mid lesson, I couldn't take it anymore. I needed to prep lunch.

  ?"Break?" I asked, raising my hand.

  ?Alicia stopped mid sentence. She looked at me, surprised. I had never asked for a break before, I usually endured her lessons with stoic, adult like patience.

  ?Amusement danced in her eyes. "A break? Very well."

  ?I scrambled down and ran to Nora in the main room. "Mama! Help cook!"

  ?Nora looked down at me. "Cook what, sweetie? We have bread."

  ?"Yellow dust food," I insisted. "Easy."

  ?She hesitated, then sighed. "Okay. What do I do?"

  ?"Boil potatoes," I ordered. "Then smash."

  ?Nora blinked. "Boiled mashed potatoes? Alright."

  ?She set the pot on the stove. Satisfied, I ran back to Alicia. "Back."

  ?Alicia chuckled. "Efficient."

  ?When the lesson ended, I rushed back. The potatoes were cooked and mashed. I checked them, cool enough.

  ?"Eggs," I said. "Alicia owes eggs."

  ?Alicia grumbled but produced three eggs from her preservation box.

  ?"Crack on potatoes," I instructed Nora. "Put yellow dust. Put salt. Mix."

  ?Nora looked skeptical as she sprinkled the turmeric into the white mash, turning it a vibrant, sunny yellow. "It looks... bright."

  ?"Fry," I commanded. "Oil. Hot."

  ?We made small patties. As they hit the hot oil, a smell filled the hut, savory, earthy, and warm. It wasn't complex. It wasn't fancy. It was Kuku Sibzamini. A simple Persian potato pattie. Ingredients I knew existed, a technique a toddler could supervise, and a flavor that tasted like home.

  ?Lunch was served.

  ?Alicia took a bite. Her eyebrows shot up. "Oh. That is... surprisingly good."

  ?Oliver, who had joined us, devoured three in seconds. "It's crispy outside, soft inside... and that flavor! It's not bitter at all!"

  ?Nora ate one, then another. "We should use this," she admitted, looking at the jar. "Just a little. In the stews."

  ?Oliver nodded. "We'll keep the jar in the kitchen."

  ?"No!" I shouted, snatching the jar and hugging it to my chest. "Mine! Buy your own!"

  ?The table erupted in laughter. I didn't care.

  ?When we returned home, the sun was setting. I immediately went to the corner of the main room where I had left the log with the runes.

  ?I touched the air around it. It was noticeably cooler than the rest of the stuffy house.

  ?'It works,' I thought, a thrill shooting through me. 'The copy worked.'

  ?I wanted to Gloss it immediately to decode the specific meanings, but I had a better idea. This enchantment was useful. We needed it.

  ?'I'll copy it onto the house itself,' I decided. 'But secretly.'

  ?I couldn't write on the walls, too visible. I looked around. Under the table. Under the bed. Places where gum stuck and dust bunnies lived.

  ?'Perfect.'

  ?It would take three nights per rune sequence to write it properly with the stylus. I wanted four in the main room and two in my parents' new room.

  ?That night, after the house fell silent, I grabbed my stylus and magic ink. I crawled under the heavy dining table.

  ?It was dark. pressing the nib into the wood above me. It was much harder than writing on a log, my arm ached, and the ink threatened to drip.

  ?I worked for an hour, sweating, pushing the mana flow carefully.

  ?'One fifth done,' I thought, exhausted. 'This is going to take weeks.'

  ?I capped the ink and prepared to crawl out.

  ?Suddenly, a feeling washed over me. A cold, prickling sensation on the back of my neck.

  ?I froze.

  ?From my vantage point under the table, I could see the bottom half of the window.

  ?There was a shadow there. Someone was standing outside, looking in.

  ?I held my breath, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

  ?The shadow didn't move. It was just watching.

  ?'Who is that?' I thought, panic rising. 'Did they see me?'

  ?Then, from the corner of the yard, a deep, menacing growl rumbled. Milo.

  ?The shadow flinched and vanished instantly.

  ?I scrambled out from under the table and sprinted to my crib, diving under the covers just as I heard the door's creak.

  ?I lay there, staring at the dark ceiling, clutching my stylus.