Blossoming Beginnings

Syrus replayed the events of the previous day again and again. Meeting someone who didn’t look at him with disgust felt surreal. More than that, she’d seen him for who he was, just another child, not a monster. He couldn’t stop a small smile from creeping across his face.

“Syrus.” The boy snapped out of his thoughts and looked up at the burly man, their eyes meeting. “Did you hear a word I said?”

He shook his head. “No, sorry,” he murmurs, then gently rolled up the scroll he’d been reading.

“I need help yield the crops today. I can’t have you reading all day.” Syrus nodded, standing and taking the scroll back inside to the little library in the main room.

Alexandros watched him place it neatly on the shelf. Over the two years, Syrus had devoured half the books, tomes, and scrolls in that small collection, always reading until late at night and never stopping until he understood every word. His questions about the gods, new lands, and the musings of old philosophers were unending, but his hunger for knowledge impressed Alexandros.

“You can return to your reading once we’ve finished. We only have so much time till winter.”

Syrus nodded again and went to work in the fields. Under the afternoon Sol, he gripped a wooden hoe and focused on the steady motion of tilling. Sweat dripped from his brow, and the rhythmic scrape of metal against dirt filled his ears.

He paused, leaning on the hoe, and takes a break as he hears melodic songs of birds. A faint rustle in the bushes made him glance over, but he assumed it was just the wind and kept working.

“Psst.”

He froze mid-swing, and the hoe’s momentum pitched him onto his backside. Grimacing, he scanned the trees and bushes. Only the thick greenery appeared, until a giggle echoed through the forest.

“Syrus.” a feminine voice called.

Standing, he peered around. A loud sigh came from the nearby shrubbery, then a mop of long brown hair rose into view. Syrus let out a startled yelp and fell back onto the dirt mound he’d just cultivated.

Giggling again, the girl reached out her hand. Overhead, Sol’s light seemed to bless her with a bright halo. Syrus swallowed, then gingerly took her hand as she helped him up.

“I came to see if you wanted to play,” she says, smiling. “But it looks like you’re busy.”

“W-well, I, I need to help Alexandros. He said I could do what I want once I finished.”

“Well, that’s boring. Where are your servants?” She glanced around the field.

“We don’t have any.”

“None? Who teaches you? Who cooks your food? Do you clean your own clothes?”

“Ahhhh.” He couldn’t muster a response, her flood of questions left him tongue-tied.

“Do you have to do all of this? I want you to come play.”

A sudden shadow fell over both of them. Syrus felt his stomach drop.

“What is wrong?” she asks.

“Syrus has important work to do,” came Alexandros’ rough voice. Annabeth spun slowly, her head dipped and fingers twisting together.

“I just wanted to play,” she whispers. Alexandros glanced at Syrus, who also looked down at the ground.

“It’s best if you go home, Annabeth.” She turned to Syrus, her lips trembling. “It’s not a good idea to be around, ”

“Go and have fun,” Alexandros interrupts. Syrus’ eyes widened. “You’ve been working hard. You deserve a break.”

The boy’s relief and gratitude flooded him in an instant.
“Let’s go!” Annabeth seized his hand and sped off, dragging him away before Alexandros could change his mind.

“Don’t leave the woods!” Alexandros called after them.

Annabeth led Syrus back to the familiar clearing. “I have this cool new game we can try out!”

Dropping to the ground, she spread a handful of small bones in a rough circle on a flat stone. Syrus hesitated, then settled across from her, watching curiously.

“So, here’s how it works,” she began, scooping the bones into her palm. “Each side has a unique value. The best throw is the ‘Venus’, one of each face. The worst is the ‘Canis,’ when all the bones land the same. By throwing and catching them in the air, the goal is to achieve the highest score.

She tossed the bones lightly and caught them with surprising skill. Syrus stared, impressed by her dexterity.

“Let’s see you try,” she says, passing him the bones.

Day by day, Annabeth returns to Syrus’ home. At first, she brings toys or games she sees other children play. But as time goes on, her curiosity about Syrus himself grows.

Sol hangs low, sending golden light through the forest canopy. Syrus sits cross-legged on the dirt ground, hunched over an unrolled scroll. His dark hair partly shields his concentration as he traces the inked letters, oblivious to the gentle rustling of leaves around him.

Annabeth lounges nearby, chin in her hands, her curls fanning out on the ground. She studies him with a mix of amusement and fascination, tracing idle patterns in the dirt as she finally speaks.

“Why do you spend all your hours with these scrolls, Syrus? Are they truly so captivating?”

He pauses, his finger hovering above the parchment. “They are,” he says softly. “This one tells of a distant land in the north. Its people sail in ships carved like dragons, and their gods wield thunder and chaos.”

“Dragons?” she repeats, sceptical. “You mean to say there are beasts like that in the north?”

“Not actual beasts, carvings on their ships’ bows. Their gods are fierce, their battles fiercer still. Reading about them is like stepping into their world.”

Her eyes widen. “Their world? You mean to say you feel as though you’ve travelled there?”

He nods, gaze drifting back to the scroll. “It feels like I’ve left this place. That I’m somewhere far away, where no one knows me.”

Annabeth’s voice softens. “You wish to leave?”

Syrus’ jaw tenses, and he offers a small nod.

“You’re an odd one, Syrus,” she remarks, though her tone is warm. “But I think I like it. The other boys spend their days pushing each other into streams or chasing rabbits. At least you play with me.”

A faint smile touches his lips. Her expression brightens. A spark of mischief lights her eyes. “Why do we never leave the woods? You could come to the city with me, or even visit my house.”

Syrus freezes, fingers tightening around the scroll. “I prefer the woods,” he whispers.

She folds her arms. “You’re a poor liar, Syrus. What keeps you here? What are you so afraid of?”

He opens his mouth but hesitates, words catching in his throat. “There are… many stories here,” he manages. “Stories you won’t find in the city.”

Annabeth’s features soften, though she still looks frustrated. “But only you can read them. My father insists I must learn the duties of a household: how to manage it, how to serve it. Only then will I be allowed to learn bigger things.”

Syrus frowns, meeting her gaze. “Duties of the household? What does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s how things are,” she answers sharply. “I must learn to be a wife, to keep a house. Then, perhaps, Father will let me learn to read.”

“That’s foolish,” Syrus mutters, voice low but certain. He sets the scroll on the ground, his hands trembling. “If it pleases you, I could teach you.”

Annabeth stares, surprised. “You, Syrus? Do you think yourself a scholar now?”

He blushes but nods. “I can try,” he says. “If you want to learn.”

She takes the parchment, fingers brushing his. She studies the lines of text with knitted brows. “They look like a tangle of lines,” she murmurs. “How can you tell one from another?”

Syrus moves closer, pointing at the first symbol. “This is ‘A.’ See how it curves here? It’s different from the others.”

“I see it now,” she mutters. “But what comes after?”

He guides her carefully, his voice steady and patient. A quiet confidence seems to replace the usual shadows in his eyes.

As Sol dips lower, the forest glows with amber light. Alexandros makes his way through the trees, footsteps muted on the moss. Voices drift towards him, drawing him to a stop.

He edges closer, pushing aside the underbrush until he spots the children in a small clearing. Syrus and Annabeth sit side by side over a spread-out scroll, Syrus’ calm, measured voice echoing in the hush.

“This one begins with ‘A-R-M,’” he explains, pointing to a cluster of letters. “See how it repeats here?”

Annabeth frowns, squinting. “It still makes no sense to me,” she grumbles, pushing a stray curl behind her ear.

“Look closely. Do you see the curve here? It’s small, but it matters. Try again.”

From the shadows, Alexandros watches. A faint smile tugs at his lips. Syrus’ patience surprises him, so different from the fear and turmoil that usually weighs the boy down.

“‘A-R-M-A,’ I did it!” Annabeth suddenly exclaims, her face lighting up with delight.

“You did,” Syrus replies, a quiet pride in his voice.

Alexandros leans against a tree for another moment, listening to them read. Syrus, often burdened by his worries, seems lighter now. Annabeth, usually bursting with energy, is focused and determined. It is a moment of unexpected harmony.

“You are more than they believe you to be, Syrus,” Alexandros whispers as he turns to go, his voice barely louder than the rustling leaves. “Perhaps one day, you will see it too.