Bonus Short Stories

About Nicknames

“Can I leave it to you, Anessa?”

“Sure, I’m on it.”

Belgrieve handed Anessa a basket of seed potatoes, which she comfortably tucked under her arm before walking off. The snow had melted, exposing the black soil of the field. It was still damp enough that the soles of her shoes sunk and stuck with each step, but it was good enough for sowing. Anessa planted the potatoes in rows along the tilled dirt. For each potato, she scattered a handful of fertilizer mixed from manure, fallen leaves, and ash, and piled dirt over it. With one mound after the next, the field of Turnera’s second most prevalent staple crop—after wheat—was born.

The sky was blue and perfectly clear, and while the wind caressing her face was still chilly, it was brimming with the essence of spring. She took a deep, refreshing breath, letting it permeate through her body. Had she felt that this labor was imposed on her, then perhaps the farmwork would have seemed more onerous, but she actually quite enjoyed it so long as she took some time to look around and take in the sights.

After every row, she stood up and stretched her back, taking the opportunity to watch the birds fly over the hills as she did so. She would never experience this sense of peace working as an adventurer. It went without saying that Angeline was fully at home doing this, but the same could now be said for Anessa and Miriam as well.

“I’ve finished up over here, Mr. Belgrieve.”

“Oh, thanks... Looks like we’ve got room for some more. Give me a sec.”

Belgrieve took the empty basket and left to replenish it. While Anessa waited there, empty-handed, Miriam came up to her with a puzzled look on her face. Anessa ignored her as long as she could, but it began grating on her, and she eventually turned with a frown.

“What?”

“You’re kinda still acting like strangers, you and Mr. Bell.”

Anessa blinked. “You think so?”

“I totally do. It’s been over a week, right? Why not just call him Mr. Bell like everyone else? Even if he’s still using our full names too.”

“What does it matter what we call each other?”

“That’s not—”

“Wah?!” Anessa cried out as Angeline suddenly appeared behind her.

“You’re putting up pointless barriers with your needless concerns.”

“I-I’m not really concerned...”

Miriam prodded her, “I got it: you’re embarrassed! Our little Anne’s all grown up.”

“What?! Wrong, fool! Don’t be crazy!”

“That’s right... You will never be my mother...”

“I’m saying you’re wrong!” Anessa yelled, her face a bright red.

Angeline and Miriam chuckled. That was when Belgrieve returned with the basket.

“You sound like you’re having fun.”

“Hey, Mr. Bell. Why do you talk to us like that?”

“Hm...? What do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s like you don’t know us. Just call us by our nicknames. How am I supposed to calm down with you calling me Miriam?”

Belgrieve placed the basket on the ground with an awkward smile. “You think so? I think you’ll get used to it pretty quickly.”

“That’s not true, dad...” Angeline hopped onto Belgrieve’s back, and he carefully shifted his weight to compensate. “I would feel distant if you called me Angeline...”

“No, you’re my daughter...”

“Yes, I am your daughter... Hee hee.”

Angeline gleefully buried her face in Belgrieve’s hair and took a whiff. With a resigned sigh, Belgrieve adjusted her position so she wouldn’t fall off.

“What are you girls trying to do? Good grief...”

“No fair, Ange!” Miriam stamped her foot and pouted with puffed-up cheeks. She quickly circled around Belgrieve, and began tickling Angeline’s sides. The girl’s wriggling and thrashing only made her struggle to keep holding onto her father, which in turn made it more difficult for Belgrieve to keep his balance.

“Hey, come now, Miriam.”

“There you go again!”

“Got it, got it. Give me a break, Merry.”

Miriam let out a satisfied laugh, turning to Anessa with a grin.

“How about that, Anne?”

“What’s your problem? Quit bothering Mr. Belgrieve...”

“You mean Mr. Bell! Ah, you just don’t get it!”

Miriam’s cheeks were now fully inflated as she jumped at Anessa this time. She reached a hand for her side.

“Whoa, quit it! Gah!”

“It’s my time to shine,” said Angeline as she gallantly jumped down from Belgrieve’s back and sprung upon Anessa.

“There, how about that?”

“Had enough yet, Anne...?”

“S-Stop! Argh! Ah... Erk...”

The girls raised a ruckus as they tussled left and right. Belgrieve watched them anxiously, muttering to himself, “I just wanted to plant potatoes...”

Ghost Stories

As the orphanage was joined with the church, it was situated close to the graveyard. The clergy had a duty of maintaining the graves and chanting daily prayers for the dead. Though it wasn’t directly adjacent, it was well within walking distance.

The children who lived there were often dragged along by one of the sisters to clean the tombstones. They would sweep away fallen leaves, scrub away moss, and replace withered flowers for new ones. As a devout follower, the sister would make sure to be mindful and meticulous with her work, but the kids in their mischievous years would run off to play more often than not, provoking the sister’s pious wrath.

“Enough already! The ghosts will come for naughty children like you!”

“Ghosts?”

“We’re fine, sister. Mighty Vienna protects all.”

“Oh, but you see, the Great Goddess punishes bad little girls who don’t listen. Now hurry up and rake those leaves.”

And like that, they were cleaning the graves yet again. After evening prayers came dinnertime, then bed. There was a rule against staying up late, but it was never so easy for the children to fall asleep. They would gather in secret, whispering stories under their breath.

With her blanket pulled over her head, nine-year-old Miriam giggled.

“A ghost, they say!”

“An undead, right? The adventurers will deal with it.”

If these children without relatives were not adopted, they would eventually have to pick up some trade to stand on their own. Most often, they would enter an apprenticeship with a craftsman or merchant, but becoming an adventurer was also quite enticing. After all, they were at that age where they longed for adventure. The sister would make a sour face whenever they brought it up.

In any case, the children recognized adventurers as the people who exterminated bad fiends. Surely they could protect small children from ghosts as well.

One of the older girls cracked a mischievous face. “You really think so? Ghosts aren’t the same as undead, you know.”

“Huh? Really?”

Nine-year-old Anessa shifted under her blankets. “Yep, I’ve heard about it before,” she said. “You know Mr. Will’s house downtown? They heard footsteps in the dead of the night.”

The children pricked up their ears and swallowed their breath.

“At first, they thought it was a cat or something, but it sounded too big for that. Even half asleep, Mr. Will knew something had to be up.”

“And then? And then?” Miriam leaned in, exhilarated.

“The steps got closer and closer. They stopped right by his bedside, and he could hear breathing in his ear.”

“Th-That’s just a bandit!” a seven-year-old boy said, putting up a strong front.

“Shh,” the surrounding children chided, holding their index fingers to their lips.

Anessa chuckled. “It wasn’t a bandit. There was no one there when he looked up. He closed his eyes again, but still heard it. ‘Pant...pant...’”

“Eep!”

“Finally, he leapt to his feet. He jumped up and screamed, ‘Who’s there?!’ and then, behind him...”

Anessa’s words were cut off as Miriam jumped in with a startling “Boo!” sending the rest of the children reeling back.

The kids who had yet to turn five were already teary-eyed before the story reached the scary part, and that was the finishing blow. Their wails put the older kids in a panic.

“Hold on, wait, wait, you can’t cry!”

“The sister’s gonna come!”

“What are you doing, Merry?!”

But it was already too late. Frenzied footsteps traced the hall before the sister burst through the door in her pajamas. Looking at all the children nestled together, she scowled.

“Ah! It’s past your bedtime! What are you doing?!”

“Um, umm, this isn’t what it...”

On top of the small kids who wouldn’t stop crying, the ones who knew they would be scolded had started sobbing as well, and the situation was getting out of hand. The sister was exhausted by the time everyone had finally calmed down, but she still had enough in her to become enraged once she heard what had happened.

“Anessa,” she sighed. “I thought you were a good girl.”

“Erk... I-I’m sorry. But Merry, she—”

“No! I did nothing wrong.”

“Quiet down. You all told stories when you’re supposed to be sleeping, so you’re all bad.”

The kids were astir.

“I-Is a ghost gonna come?”

“Will it ‘boo’ at me from behind?”

“I’m scared...”

The sister panicked, seeing a few small ones about to cry again. “Calm down! Anessa’s story was completely made up! Those kinds of ghosts don’t exist!”

“Huh? Then what kind of ghosts are coming, sister?”

“Um... Yes, well, you see...”

After much thought and some dithering, the sister told a heartwarming ghost story. This was far more enjoyable than prayers, lectures, and sermons, and the children’s eyes sparkled. This didn’t feel bad at all to the sister, and she began to grow quite invested in spinning her tales. By the time another sister’s curiosity prompted her to drop by, the sister had already begun telling a new one.

Treading Wheat

The white frosted stalks of wheat regained their verdant hues under the light of the sun. The ground was somewhat muddy after the snowmelt, but not bad enough to hold up work.

Belgrieve walked down the path with five-year-old Angeline by his side. The skies had been clear since early morning, but that only made the weather feel even colder—there was nothing to insulate them from the heavy cold air from the atmosphere. The sun wasn’t nearly strong enough to warm their bodies.

Angeline crouched down. Her cheeks were red.

“Are you all right, Ange?”

She thought for a moment. “I’m a little cold.”

She restlessly gripped Belgrieve’s hand.

Early spring work consisted of planting potatoes and treading wheat. There was still some time to go before the potatoes needed to be planted; treading the wheat was the first job of the year. The seeds suspended in the frost needed to be stomped to the ground, which would cause the stalks to branch off more and produce more kernels.

Turnera sowed wheat in both the fall and the spring, each of which was a different cultivar. In terms of taste, fall wheat was preferred and thus harvested in greater abundance. The spring wheat was mainly grown as feed for livestock during the lean winter months. Though there wasn’t a great difference in labor involved for either, it was only the fall wheat that would be tread in the cold.

They headed out to the misty field and saw several people already hard at work. Belgrieve noticed children among them. He made his way to the edge, planting his artificial leg on firm ground. He could not treat wheat with his peg leg.

Breathing a white haze, Angeline stepped on the nearest bundle.

“You can put in more strength. But you can’t rub your foot against it, or you’ll tear the leaves.”

“Okay.”

Angeline raised her leg and somewhat awkwardly moved it down the bristle of wheat. Belgrieve chuckled to himself as he got to work on the one next to it. The wind was gentle that day; sometimes, cold wind would bellow against their exposed faces, and when that happened, the simple job became incredibly taxing.

However, Belgrieve quite enjoyed treading the wheat. It was a job consisting of nothing more than walking carefully, but it was strangely relaxing. It put him in a frame of mind similar to meditation.

He lined up next to Angeline as she unsteadily made her way down the line and took her hand. She shifted her weight against him, and her steps became surer and more relaxed.

At times, she would stop to watch her breath waft away. The blue sky made the white puffs stand out all the more, and she could see the distinct shapes they formed.

“Dad, carry me...”

“Hmm? Hey now, we’ve only just begun.”

“It’s fine. Carry me...”

Belgrieve begrudgingly hoisted her up. She would plead for pampering at the strangest times. She was young, and sometimes she would grow tired of work halfway through. Belgrieve didn’t intend to force her to keep working, so he lifted her up as demanded.

Just like that, he walked a while with her in his arms, with some difficulty, before he had to put her down. “Daddy is having a hard time, Ange. Is a piggyback ride okay?”

“Yeah.”

He stooped down, and Angeline hopped onto his back. “You’ve gotten pretty heavy.”

Belgrieve softly chuckled, and began walking again. His steps had grown heavier with Angeline’s additional weight. He could feel the wheat leaves being crushed underfoot. Even squished to this degree, the wheat would come back healthier in the end. How sturdy they are, Belgrieve reflected with a degree of respect for the crop.

Angeline shifted and squirmed. “Does it hurt...?”

“Hmm?”

“The wheat. When we step on it.”

“Right... Maybe it hurts, but they grow up healthier because of it.”

“I don’t...like pain,” Angeline said, reaching her hands around his neck and hugging him tightly. Belgrieve chuckled, getting a better grip on her as she started sliding down.

“Yeah, daddy doesn’t want to see you in pain either, Ange.”

“But... Do adventurers get hurt?”

“They do... Sometimes, it hurts.”

“Then I’ll put up with it,” she said, after a moment’s thought.

Angeline wriggled out from his arms and landed on the ground. She rushed to the next line over and began stomping on the wheat. By now, she already had a vague longing to be an adventurer. Belgrieve suspected the stories he told to put her to sleep had played a part. He was happy his daughter set her sights on the same goal he had once pursued himself, but worried about the danger that would come with it. He folded his arms contemplatively.

“What should I do...” he wondered to himself.

However, the future was the sort of thing for which no amount of navel-gazing would ever be enough. He could only do what he could do in the present. Belgrieve began shuffling on again.

The sun was high, its rays shining down on the damp earth below.

Pastries

The stately streets of Bordeaux were lined with low structures built out of sturdy stone. They carried the strong will of the old pioneers who had intended to set up the city as their stronghold. Those pragmatic men and women had settled here, cut down the forests, and spread vast fields across the land.

That was in the past, though. Now, there were rows of gaudy, cheerful stalls, with adventurers and merchants energetically coming and going. Stationed at the center of an open plain with sprawling wheat fields surrounding it, Bordeaux was the greatest producer of grain in the north. This wheat, passed down and improved upon generation after generation, was known for its high quality. It traded not only in the northern regions, but in Orphen and Estogal City as well.

Perhaps, then, it was natural that Bordeaux was also famous for its wheat-based cuisine. Their main alcoholic beverage was ale, while their bread took on various forms based on the wheat cultivars, grain types, dough shapes, and baking methods. Their baked pastries ranged from crunchy to soft, and everything in between.

When lunch was over, Sasha led the party to a pastry shop. The smell tickled everyone’s nostrils the moment they had set foot through the door, while the baskets of breads and sweets lining the walls were a sight for sore eyes. Belgrieve could feel saliva welling up despite having just eaten.

The girls’ faces lit up, their eyes sparkling.

“Amazing...” said Angeline. “Just what I needed.”

“What to do, what to do... I should have skipped lunch if I had known I would come here.” Miriam stomped her foot in frustration.

A thin smile formed on Angeline’s lips. “It’s all right... You can do it, Merry.”

“I see... You’re right. I need to challenge my own limits! All right, this is nothing!”

“That’s why you’re gaining weight...” Anessa said, sighing.

However, Miriam was not the only one mesmerized by the sweets. Angeline and Anessa were also shifting their eyes frantically, picking out sweets from the various baskets. The format was the same as Orphen, and they would have to place any items they wanted on wooden trays and take them to the counter. Belgrieve was not as predisposed to sweets as the girls, so he began to space out and gazed distantly into the back of the store.

Soon, a new basket of freshly baked goods was carried in with a sweet, yet astringent scent. The slightly thin bread had been shaped into a cone, each piece dripping with what looked to be melted cheese. Belgrieve plucked one out, thinking it would be nice to have a freshly baked treat.

“Ooh,” Sasha cried. “What good eyes you have, master! That’s the most popular item in the shop.”

“Oh really? That’s not why I picked it out.”

The girls, having overheard, each picked one out for themselves. Their trays were full, and Belgrieve worried if they would be able to eat everything.

“Will you all be fine with eating that much?”

“I have a second stomach for sweets.”

“That’s simply common sense for a lady, dad...”

“I see... I think?”

The girls gave one glance back at Belgrieve’s puzzled expression before going to pay at the register. The pâtissier was connected to a café where they could bring their sweets to eat.

There, they ordered floral tea and began their onslaught on the pastries. There were hefty ones with chewy consistencies, thin ones as crisp as pie crust, and super sweet ones with dried fruits kneaded into the dough.

Belgrieve nibbled on the pastry he had picked out. It was freshly baked and gave off steam from where he bit into it. He thought he might have burned his mouth if he hadn’t taken in a great breath of air with it. It was filled with dried fruit and cheese. It seemed the dough had been stretched thin, then wrapped around its fillings. Sugar was then sprinkled over its surface after it was baked. Belgrieve thought that the way the cheese melted was a big part of why it was so delicious, precisely because it was freshly baked.

“If they switched out the filling, it could be served as a meal...”

It seemed it would make a splendid dish if instead of dried fruits, it was stuffed with meat or fish—though that would be difficult to make without an oven at home.

While Belgrieve was carefully appraising his lone purchase, the girls stuffed their satisfied-looking faces full with pastries. Do they actually have another stomach? Belgrieve wondered, amazed.

With a mouthful of tea, Angeline took a deep breath.

“It’s delicious... And the dough is playing a big part. I can taste the wheat...”

“I’m glad you noticed! Heh heh, it’s nice to hear that from you, Ange.”

“The sweets from Orphen were nice, but the taste was all from the sugar and fruit. It might be the first time that the wheat’s taste came through so clearly,” Miriam happily munched down. Anessa seemed more restrained than the other two, but her hands were not stopping either. She seemed just as enthralled.

Seeing that Belgrieve had finished and was sipping on his tea, Angeline pinched one of her pastries and held it out.

“Here, dad.”

“Hmm? Oh, I’m good,” he said, to which Angeline puffed up her cheeks.

“You’re not. Say ‘ahh.’”

“Yeah... Okay, fine.”

He let her feed him the offered sweet. Angeline gave a satisfied nod, then without another word opened her mouth in return.

“Ah.”

Good grief, Belgrieve shook his head. He picked a random sweet from her pile and placed it in her mouth. His daughter was on cloud nine. Thinking back on it, he would often feed her cowberries like that when she was a child, and he felt a sense of nostalgia.

Once the plates were empty, Angeline stood. He thought she was getting ready to leave, but instead, she took up her tray.

“Round two...”

“Here we go!”

“What?!” Belgrieve stared at the girls in complete disbelief. Just watching them seemed to give him heartburn.