Departure - Chapter 1

The decision was made that night. My promise was too heavy to be brushed aside, and though my Mother’s eyes stayed clouded with worry, the others began laying down plans almost immediately. Father decided I would spend mornings in his workshop, learning how to handle material, catalog goods, and most importantly—observe the different properties of herbs, metals, and stones with my appraisal. Luisa, eager as always to put her teaching mind to work, drew up a schedule to cover everything else, from reading, writing, and numbers to even practical lessons about the world beyond our small town. Even Gil found himself dragged into the orbit of my promise.

He agreed to teach the boy, the one who’d suddenly become my silent shadow through this time. He’d taught him how to hold a spear, defend himself, and move with purpose. Even taking the time to teach him how to fish in his free time, in his eyes it was probably like having another younger brother. Though, I wasn’t too sure how much Lance would like that thought. And the boy…well, it took some time before he had a name. He didn’t respond whenever we asked if he had one. So we decided to come up with one to call him by. The others tried—Myles, Eren, Jonas—but he never so much as blinked at them. But when I caught sight of him staring blankly at the fish in the water one day while fishing, I laughed loudly and said, “You look like a Herring,” noting his blank and wide-eyed stare. His ears twitched, tail swishing after. He even gave a faint grunt. From then on, his name was Herring.

As for my little crustacean friend…well, you couldn’t expect me to go an entire year without naming him, too. Reginald fit him perfectly. Dignified, a little silly, and just odd enough to stick. Whenever I said it, he’d wave a claw like he approved, which only made Father chuckle fondly. The year passed in a blur of work, mistakes, and little triumphs along the way. My book was filled with cramped notes, sketches, and failures I’d written over and over. I burned more herbs than I can count, brewed mixtures so foul even Herring refused to taste them, and once nearly set fire to Father’s workdesk. But slowly, with the help of my ability, Father’s patient guidance, and my will to continue. I began to learn. To see.

With appraisal, the world opened itself to me piece by piece. In ways I’d never expect it to. A common weed revealed medicinal properties if it had been properly steeped carefully. A mineral overlooked in the market turned out to be a purifier when ground to dust. I began comparing, testing, refining, until after nearly a year of fumbling through trial and error, I crafted a medicine that soothed my breathing and quieted the ache in my chest better than anything my Father had brought back. It tasted significantly better as well.

My Father’s pride shone through every time I tried something new. Whenever I succeeded or failed, he’d be there ready to support. His hand would be warm, placed on my shoulder in praise or support. Luisa teased me endlessly but was always there to help me recheck my notes or drag me out for fresh air when I buried myself too dep into research. Gil said little, but his nod of approval meant more than words. Even my Mother, though she hovered constantly, her lips would be pursed in a quiet worry. She began to soften when she saw me walking with less strain, smiling more freely, and my health steadying with each passing season.

Herring trained, getting stronger every week under Gil’s watch. Silent as ever, but always near, as though he’d decided I was worth guarding. And Reginald, well…he remained at my side, perched on tables, cupboards, and occasionally on my shoulder, his jeweled shell glowing softly like always. When I looked back on that promise I’d made a year ago, it felt less like a child’s reckless declaration and more like the first step being taken toward something real. Something much bigger than just me.

When the years’ time had finally closed in, I sat with my book. It was the constant companion though every stumble and breakthrough I went through. I decided it’d be best to give it a proper entry. A summary of all I’d done up to this point. In the workforce, I’d typically call this a “progress report.”

Goal: Become A Merchant!

Health - I’ve made a medicine that works better than my father’s. It isn’t perfect since I still feel tired here and there, and sometimes the pain comes back. But it’s mine. Something I made with my own hands! The thought alone helps me breathe easier in the long run.

Studies - Numbers are my strongest suit, thanks to my background in my past work experience. Luisa says I add faster than most grown traders she’s seen converse with Father, and much faster than the children she’d teach. Writing is coming along; my hand shakes whenever I hurry, but my letters are much neater than when I first arrived. Reading…well, I still struggle with old words, but I’ve learned enough to understand most records that my father keeps.

Appraisal Blessing - Appraisal has become less of a trick and more of a second sight of sorts. I can spot the rot in an apple, the faintest shimmer of metal in a stone. (If I focus hard enough.) Or the tiniest change in color that shows an herb’s potency. It feels like the world whispers to me a lot more now than before.

Family - Father beams proudly whenever I hand him a new note or mixture. Luisa says I drive her mad sometimes, but she still quizzes me through the night, so I know she cares. Gil acts the same as ever, but I’ve seen a sense of pride whenever Herring lands a good strike on their training dummy. (Or him, for that matter.) Mother…she still worries. I catch her staring when she thinks I’m not looking, as if she’s weighing whether the path is truly safe for me. I’ll prove it to her.

Herring - Silent, steady, and surprisingly stubborn. He only listens to me, though he tolerates Gil’s training. I think he trusts me. I don’t know why, but I’m glad he does.

Reginald - Best crab in the world. Likes to sit on my shoulder when I work. Father swears he understands words. (I wouldn’t be surprised at this point.)

When I finished my writing, I tapped the page and whispered. “Keeper of the Pond…if you really did choose me, if you’re really watching, then I hope this is the right road. Because I don’t want to fail them—or myself…!” The ink glistened in the candlelight, and for the first time since I made that promise, I felt the year wasn’t just survival. It was the beginning of something special.