Polly had left the house, Anna and Zia were in the kitchen cooking, and Jack was tiptoeing towards Polly’s room with an old jerky bag filled with spider egg sacs. Despite still feeling sore from the previous day’s fights with a goblin and a rogue, he had a happy bounce in his tiptoes.

  Finally, time to enact my revenge. With a child like chuckle, he pushed open the door to Polly’s room. “Still as messy as ever,” he muttered, closing the door behind him.

  Chaos had spread across the room, clothes littered the floor like incapacitated drunks at a party that got out of hand. One of the tailoring supply boxes lay overturned on the bed, its contents spilling across the blankets. The three costumes Polly had made for her and her friends’ play were missing in action.

  “I guess they’re rehearsing in costume today.” He smiled, glad he’d bought his own valet uniform from the washhouse; without it, he wouldn’t be able to anonymously sell spell scrolls.

  He scanned the room. “Where should I hide them?” he whispered, stifling a chuckle as he recalled his sister running past his room screaming because she had a few tiny spiders in her hair. He had over a dozen spider eggs, which could take anywhere from a few days to several weeks to hatch. “Ooh, there’s a good spot for a couple.” He moved towards Polly’s neglected bookshelf above her bed.

  “Urgh,” he groaned, after almost stepping on a pair of his sister’s underwear. “Gross. Put your stuff in the wash,” he complained, stepping around the offending garment like it might lunge at him if he ventured too close.

  He paused to glance over his sister’s so-called book collection; that is, if a dozen unloved books could be called that. Most were on tailoring, and a few looked like they’d never been opened. Polly had never been one for reading. Her strategy for becoming a royal-level tailor was to learn by doing. Jack shook his head at the sheer absurdity of her ‘plan’. Extensive research first, then practice once you understand the subject, he thought with academic disdain.

  He pulled a few of the books forward to create a hiding space for the eggs. “Polly won’t find them there.” He couldn’t help but chuckle as he remembered all the times his sister fled from her room due to a harmless spider. “She was such a drama queen. Baby spiders are harmless. This is going to be even better,” he whispered, eyeing how many egg sacs he had. The image of his sister waking up to dozens of tiny spiders raining from the shelf above played in his mind like a beautiful scene from a play. I’ll hide six here. That will be so hilarious.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  After the awful time he’d had the day before, this distraction was what he needed to feel normal again. As he reached to place the egg sacs behind the books, he noticed a small cot on the other side of the room. It was child-sized. “Zia’s bed?” He hadn’t considered where the newest addition to the family had been sleeping.

  “Shit!” Jack’s shoulders sagged. He couldn’t hide spiders in here; it might traumatise the girl. “Damn it!” With a deep sigh, he sat down on the bed, only to jolt back up when he realised his hand had landed on one of Polly’s bras. “Urgh!” he gasped, wiping his palm on his trousers like it had been dipped in acid.

  Disappointed, frustrated, and grossed out by Polly’s room. He tucked the half dozen egg sacs back into the jerky bag and trudged back to his room, defeated. With a heavy sigh, he placed the bag on his bookshelf to deal with later.

  He gave the jerky bag a forlorn look. So many potential memories wasted. Shaking his head, he sat at his desk and turned to something relaxing. He began inscribing a [Chronos Sphere] spell scroll.

  Less than an hour later, he leaned back and admired the completed scroll, a smile tugging at his lips. “This feeling never gets old.”

  His ink-stained fingers lifted the silver pen again. The gift from his father, perfect weight, balanced like a part of him, an extension of his craft. He held it for a little longer, reluctant to let it go, as if setting it down would break the moment.

  “I love this feeling,” he whispered, running his fingers along the edge of the scroll. Good quality paper, smooth as silk yet firm beneath his touch. The scroll was still warm from being inscribed. He leaned in and inhaled, letting the scent of drying ink fill his senses. It was sharp, earthy, and laced with a hint of something alchemical.

  To Jack, it was the second-best smell in the world. Of course, nothing compared to his mom’s cooking. The smell of ink was fresher than rain, richer than any spice, and more comforting than any hearth. Just breathing it in brought a sense of calm, purpose, and quiet pride.

  This is who he was. This is who he wanted to be… a scribe. I wish I could do this all the time, he thought, the joy of creation clouded by the grim reality of his obligations. His thoughts lingered on his class choice. One of the mage classes for the sheer joy of discovery, or a complimentary combat skill? He had to grow stronger to face the Baron. “Four more years,” he whispered while hoping for a better future, “and maybe I can give up archery… and focus on my craft and magic research.”

  Jack studied the scroll anew, taking in the elegant sweep of each rune, the measured spacing, the curling flourishes of his calligraphy. Every mark was placed with precision, every syllable a dance between art and form. The words of the spell, now bound to the page, seemed to hum beneath the surface. Alive, waiting, ready to be imbued with magic and unleashed like a whisper waiting to become a roar.

  This is what I was made for. Jack tapped the scroll. Not slaying goblins or fleeing adventurers, afraid for my life! This was his true calling, crafting order from chaos, beauty from knowledge, power from ink. A simple scribe… not a vengeful one. He blinked away a tear and stored the completed scroll inside a book before beginning another [Chronos Sphere] scroll.