Since the moment he shot that arrow, Lane’s day had gone consistently downhill. From tiresome skinning of a huge beast to a scamming old man. From a clash and fall with a stranger girl to a fall and bash inside a shady store. Now, Lane was sure that if there was a point in the day he would rate as the worse this was it.

Once, when he was little, Lane had gone out of the castle with Dahlia and his sister in the middle of a storm. The girls had wanted to watch the lightning and Lane, refusing to look weak, helped them get out in secret.

Their little escapade ended shortly, and with much more than they had bargained for when a bolt of lightning landed right by their side just as they reached the backyard. He still remembered the blinding light and the deafening thunder. Still, what surprised Lane the most that day was the smell.

The next day, after a good scolding from his father, Lane had asked Joanna, their tutor, about the smell of lightning. She had looked down at him, her eyebrows rising and considered a moment before answering.

“That’s the scent of burning manna,” She had said, “its’ not that common but you can smell it on some group rituals at high tiers; Hmm, rarely on a natural phenomenon here and there.”

“Like the Lightning!” had said a smiling Lane.

“Yes,” answered Joanna rubbing her chin, “We will end this lesson here today.” And like that, she went away. After that day, his father had been strangely happier, and their lessons had changed from boring math and grammar to the lore of the spirits.

Lane had never forgotten the scent of burning manna even if he had never smelled it again. Be it in the rituals on the castle, the demonstrations of their tutors, and even the sparrings between the Lord and his father, the scent refused to appear. Until this day.

Here, in this shabby store, Lane finally found again the scent of burning manna and the power of thunder. Instead of his father or the Lord, the scent came from a wrinkled old man that clasped him down with an iron grip.

“That skin boy, did you kill that yourself?” But before Lane could answer the old man spoke again, “No, of course, you did. Now tell me, when you killed it, did it stood still?”

“How, how did you know?” asked Lane with widened eyes.

“You idiot! You killed a beast rising in a reveal! You’ve cursed yourself!” said the old man, “Do you know what that is? That is an omen of unfulfilled potential!”

“Cursed?” Lane asked. But for an answer the old man let go, his eyes turning dull once more. In an instant the store seemed to dim, the scent of manna vanishing as if it was never there, to begin with.

The old man turned his back at Lane and started limping with his staff until he reached a shelf packed with jars and bottles of different colors and shapes. Now, watching him walk away, Lane realized the elder spent hunched the whole time and that if he were to stand straight he could easily tower above him.

Mumbling, he went through the bottles until he found something he wanted, took it, and threw it at the desk. It landed with a thud and Lane saw it was a brown pouch. But the old man didn’t stop there. When Lane was inspecting the pouch, and throwing sideways glances at Maggie, a bunch of other stuff landed on the desk.

Seeing the old man focused on his shelf, and Maggie pretending to be a statue, Lane decided he might as well check some of the stuff scattered over the desk. However, when he reached for the first pouch he saw, a staff landed on his hand.

“Ouch!” Said Lane.

“Don’t touch what you don’t understand! Have you learned anything yet?” Complained the old man.

“So what?” Asked Lane, “Why do you care? Cursed, pff. I won’t buy your weird stuff, only children believe in curses.”

“That’s why I said you are an idiot, idiot!” Said the old man, “You think I need your stupid money? As for buying it, heh. You are not going to buy a single thing,” laughed the old man, “You are going to drink it!”

“No! Of course not, absolutely not!” Said Lane as he started walking backward.

“No?” Asked the old man, and his eyes flared once more.

“W-wait!” Said Lane stopping, “Let’s talk about it yeah? At least explain better that curse or whatnot!”

Seeing Lane stopping, the old man calmed down and stared at him, rubbing his chin, and saying nothing. As he could not escape nor dared to interrupt the old man’s musings, Lane felt awkward and began looking around the shop.

At some point during their discussion, the amount of incense decreased enough for Lane to see the complete room. In front of the door, there were towers of books reaching up to his knees. Some of the piles had taxidermy mounts at the top including a raccoon, a cat, and small farm birds, much like the tragic chicken that stopped his fall.

Framing the entrance, was the bear opposed by a whole set of armor that had seen better times. Passing the piles of books and reaching the walls, the stuff started becoming a little more random and Lane saw drums, shields, swords, and hammers.

From the walls hanged rolls of pelts, an anchor, and an incense pot. Then, there was the desk in which Maggie still stood frozen among whatever ingredients the old man had picked. Finally, the wall behind the desk was covered in shelves, packed to the top with glass containers, linen pouches, and small wooden boxes.

Only then occurred to Lane that, while he could see perfectly the whole room, there was not a single source of light visible in the place.

“Who?” Asked the old man startling Lane out of his daydreaming.

“Uh? Eh, I’m Lane, sir. It’s a pleasure?” Answered Lane.

“Idiot!” Said the old man, “Who sent you here? There is no way you found my store on your own. Who told you to come here?”

“Err, Rolf?”

And for an answer, the old man grunted and sized Lane with a squint. Then as if not satisfied, grunted again.

“Very well kid,” said the old man after a moment, “You don’t believe in curses but you know what a reveal is right?”

“Em, yes. It is when I’ll get my spirit?” Answered Lane.

“Idiot! Is that all you know? Not even everyone gets a spirit! Think, where do they come? How do you get one?” asked the old man.

“Of course I know more! Everybody knows! You are just angry because your question was dumb!” Said Lane crossing his arms.

“Well then, answer the dumb question smartass.” Said the old man waving his staff.

“The spirits are in another world,” said Lane with a scoff, “At the winter reveal we are ready to pull them into our world and form a link. It is by our will that they come and that’s why they obey us.”

“Idiot! You pull nothing on your own;” Said the old man, “the spirits are already trying to get here by themselves. The only thing you can do is give them a beacon and act as an anchor. Where do you think spirit beasts come from? Do you think they are as smart as humans are? Well…” Then he stopped, eyeing Lane up and down once more, “I won’t deny that in some cases it may be true.”

“…” Lane. “Then where do they come from, uh?” asked Lane with a twitching eye.

“Think of the spirit world, full of spirits that want to come here, but they can’t, they are too small, too young, too weak,” said the old man, “Their only choice is to wait for the winter when the young humans step into the path of growth. When the barrier between worlds is thinner when the kids turning into adults shine brighter. Then, the spirits can see us, follow us, and reach us.”

The old man stopped, licking his lips and watching Lane. After a moment he continued.

“Now picture a spirit old enough, big enough, and strong enough to reach on its own. To take a beast as its vessel and enjoy everything our world has to offer. Just that, when it was about to succeed, comes a young, meddlesome idiot, and ruins it all.”

By then, Lane was pale, breathing roughly, and staring silently at the old man without daring to interrupt again. He remembered himself, standing alone in the forest, and feeling a chill as his arrow flew away.

“Now tell me you idiot,” Asked the old man, “What do you think that spirit will do?”