Morning mist clung to the cobbled paths of Mistgrove as the sun broke over the horizon. Lyra had already finished her morning chores by the time she gently called out to her son.
"Ready, Arin?"
The boy nodded eagerly, walking beside her with proud eyes. Together, they made their way toward the heart of the village— Mistgrove's marketplace.
As they walked, familiar voices greeted them.
"Lyra, that FeverEase tonic worked wonders! My daughter was up and running by sunset— thank you!"
Another waved from across a food stall. "Bless you, Lyra! That cough syrup cured my father's wheezing."
Arin puffed out his chest a little with each passing compliment, silently beaming. He walked taller, determined never to stain the reputation his mother had earned.
---
Mistgrove's Market
The market square buzzed with life, even in the early hours. Stalls lined the space in uneven rows, roofs covered with moss and mist-damp leaves. The air was thick with the scents of herbs, fresh bread, metal, and smoke.
Near the entrance was a pottery stall, where rows of clay jugs and flower-painted cups glistened in the sun. An old potter, hands blackened with soot, shaped a bowl with fluid, practiced motions.
Beside it was a utensil shop. Metal ladles, copper pans, and wooden spoons hung neatly from racks. A stout woman polished a large iron pot, laughing as she bartered with customers.
At the far end, Kael's father's smithy roared with fire and clanged with metal. Sparks flew as iron was hammered into shape— today, a farming sickle. The shelves held everything from swords and ornamental knives to hinges and nails.
Across from it stood the agriculture stalls, filled with hoes, hand-ploughs, and seedling baskets. A young boy showed off a new hay-cutting tool to a skeptical farmer.
A section of food stores offered barrels of grains, dried berries, pickles, and root vegetables. A vendor laughed heartily while handing out samples of roasted sunflower seeds to children.
Near the food section was the bakery, its shelves stacked with honeybread loaves and mistberry tarts. A young apprentice rang a bell every few minutes to call more customers in.
Among the miscellaneous traders were peddlers with colorful scarves, carved wooden toys, leather-bound journals, dyed cloth, and glass vials of fragrant oils.
Shoppers paid mostly with copper coins, occasionally silver. Gold and mana crystals were a rare sight in Mistgrove's simple economy, reserved for trade with outsiders.
To Arin, who had visited the market many times, the place never lost its wonder. It wasn't just a marketplace— it was Mistgrove's lifeline, where coin and kindness flowed alike.
---
Lyra's Herb Stall
Nestled between two traders was Lyra's herb stall, made of humble wood with a slanted roof. The scent of dried herbs, bark, and healing roots wafted from within.
As they arrived, a small crowd had already gathered.
"Just a moment, everyone!" Lyra called out, picking up her pace.
She quickly unlocked the wooden counter and settled into her seat behind the desk. Her voice rang out clearly.
"If you know the medicine you need, just say so. If not, tell me your symptoms— I'll prepare the right remedy."
A worried mother stepped forward first. "Lyra, my son came down with a fever last night. I couldn't find your tonic yesterday— it was sold out. Please, I need one bottle. I have ten copper coins ready."
"Arin," Lyra said calmly, "Fetch the red-toned bottle from the lower shelf— the one labeled FeverEase Tonic."
Arin turned quickly, scanning the rows. He found it—a glass bottle with ruby liquid shimmering faintly in the morning light.
"Here, Mama!" he said proudly, handing it over.
Lyra nodded in thanks, poured a measured dose into a smaller leaf-stoppered vial, and handed it to the mother.
"One drop, twice a day," she said gently. "He'll be fine, Sally."
Sally looked visibly relieved as she took the bottle. "Thank you, Lyra."
Next came a man with singed sleeves.
"Morning, Lyra. That burn salve from last week... could I get more? Daren scorched his hand again," the man sighed.
Arin blinked in surprise. "Again, Uncle Peter? Isn't Daren good at basic magic?"
Peter chuckled wearily. "That boy... always experimenting, never listening. It's a wonder he hasn't burned down the house."
"Sorry to hear that," Arin said softly.
"It's alright, lad."
Lyra called out again. "Top shelf, brown bottle, Arin."
He grabbed a stool— being just four feet tall— and carefully climbed up. Finding the right bottle, he handed it to his mother.
Lyra scooped a bit of the salve into a rolled-leaf container. "Here's the Burnleaf Salve, Peter. Fifteen coppers, but since Daren's Arin's friend, I'll give you a discount."
"Appreciate it," Peter smiled. "I hear weapon practice gets a new curriculum tomorrow. Do well, Arin!"
"I'll try my best, Uncle!"
More customers came— asking for cures for coughs, stomach pain, body aches. Arin watched his mother work with grace and calm, never once faltering.
---
For the first time, Arin understood something he'd never truly grasped.
He rarely got sick. He never truly worried about injuries or ailments. Not because of luck— but because of her.
His mother had always been his quiet shield.
He stood by her side like a little apprentice, pride swelling in his chest as he realized how many people depended on her.
One day, he thought, I want to help people like this too.
---
As the last customer left, Lyra turned to Arin, gently ruffling his hair.
"Thanks for your help today. We finished early thanks to you."
"You're welcome, Mama," Arin beamed. "That's my duty!"
She raised a brow, teasing, "What's with that expression you've been wearing all morning?"
He looked away shyly. "I'm just... proud of you, Mama."
Lyra chuckled and knelt to his level. "Do you know why I brought you with me today?"
"To help at the stall?" he asked.
"That's part of it. But also, I want you to learn. These herbs, these medicines— they're knowledge. Useful knowledge. Someday, you may travel far, and not everyone has a healer or a herb store nearby."
She tapped his chest lightly. "If you know what heals, you can protect the people around you. Do you understand?"
Arin nodded solemnly, his young face serious.
"Yes, Mama."
"Good. Later today, I'll take you to the forest's outer ring. I'll show you the herbs, the bark, and the leaves that can treat illnesses. You'll learn with your own eyes."
Arin's face lit up. "Really?!"
"Really. But first— why don't you go find Kael at the smithy? Didn't you say he was helping his father today? I have a few purchases left to make."
"Okay!"
Arin took off down the path, full of energy.
"Slow down!" Lyra called after him. "You'll trip again!"
"Sorry, Mama!" he shouted back, slowing to a jog.
---
To the Smithy
The smithy was easy to spot— thicker smoke curled from its vented roof, and its sturdy stone frame stood taller than any other building nearby. Metalwork lined its entrance: polished blades, spiked tools, and decorative shields.
Arin knocked gently at the side door.
"Can I come in?"
Inside, the rhythmic clang of metal stopped briefly.
Kael peeked out and grinned. "Hey Arin! What are you doing here? Come in!"
Arin stepped inside, eyes wide with awe at the glowing forge, tools hung like relics on the walls, and the pulsing heat that made the air shimmer.
"Didn't I tell you yesterday— I helped my mama at the her stall today," Arin said. "Just came to see you!"