Dream Wizard

Arthur was pulled out of his thoughts by his mother's soft voice:

"What are you looking at? Watching the stars?" Martha approached him, carefully wrapping him in a warm woolen blanket.

He flinched, as if waking from a dream, and glanced at his mother uncertainly. There was a gentle concern in her eyes. She always noticed when he withdrew into himself for too long.

"Just thinking," he murmured, lowering his gaze.

"What could my little boy be thinking about?" Martha sat beside him, her warm hand resting on his shoulder. "Will you tell me?"

Arthur hesitated. What could he say? That he was remembering a life before his rebirth? A life where there was no warm voice, no cozy home, no smell of freshly baked bread? It would frighten her. Instead, he said:

"About what's next."

Martha smiled and chuckled softly.

"Oh, my little philosopher. 'What's next'… You don't even know how to read yet, and you're already thinking about the future? It's too early for such thoughts. Do you know what you need right now?"

He looked at her with mild surprise.

"What?"

"You need to just be a child," she said with a gentle smile. "Don't worry about what the future holds. Tomorrow will always come, but you'll never get today back."

Her words struck Arthur more deeply than he expected. He realized how much his thoughts about the past and the future distracted him from the present.

Martha continued, taking his small hands in hers:

"You're special, Arthur. I can feel it. But for now, you need to enjoy your childhood. Play with other children, run around, help your father in the workshop, listen to my bedtime stories… You know how much your father and I love you, don't you?"

Arthur nodded, feeling a warm wave of gratitude fill him. In his past life, he'd never had anything like this. All he'd known was work. But here, he had a real family.

"I know, Mama," he said quietly.

She leaned down and kissed the top of his head tenderly.

"Good. Now off to bed with you. Tomorrow, your father promised to show you how to carve ornaments."

Arthur obediently stood, but before leaving, he lingered at the door and cast one last look at his mother.

"She's right," he thought. "It's too early to search for goals and answers. I should just live. Be a child."

He blew out the candle in his room, smiling for the first time in a long while. Tomorrow seemed free of threats. It was simply tomorrow, and he was ready to face it with a smile.

The next morning, Arthur woke to bright sunlight streaming through the wooden shutters of his room. Birds were singing outside, and in the distance, the soft tapping of a hammer could be heard—his father was already working in the workshop.

Arthur stretched, yawned, and sat up in bed. The room smelled of wood his father brought home and freshly baked pies. His mother, as always, had risen before everyone else to prepare breakfast.

He dressed quickly: a warm linen shirt and pants that were starting to get too short. His mother had promised to sew new ones soon, but for now, these would do.

When he descended the wooden stairs, he was greeted by the aroma of morning tea brewed from strange red fruits and the smell of freshly baked buns. In the kitchen, Martha was bustling by the hearth, adjusting a pot of hot porridge.

"Good morning, my little sleepyhead," she greeted him with a smile. "I thought you'd sleep the whole day away."

"Good morning, Mama," Arthur replied, sitting at the table. "I wasn't sleeping; I was… resting."

"Of course, resting from yesterday's dreams about your future wife," she teased, placing a steaming bowl of porridge before him. "And do you know who else rests? Your father. But only at night. In the morning, he's already hard at work in the workshop. Sometimes I think that workshop is more important to him than I am," she added, feigning annoyance.

"You wanted to help him today, didn't you?"

Arthur nodded, digging into his food with appetite.

"Yes, he promised to show me how to carve ornaments today."

"Good," Martha said, sitting across from him and pouring herself a cup of tea. "But first, help me with the firewood. I need more to bake bread for lunch."

"Of course, Mama," he replied eagerly, feeling a surge of enthusiasm.

After breakfast, he stepped outside. The morning was cool but sunny. The grass near the house still sparkled with dew, and the air was fresh and crisp. In the yard stood an old stack of firewood, neatly arranged by his father. Arthur selected a few small logs he could carry and headed back inside.

When the wood was stacked by the hearth, Martha praised him and saw him to the door.

"Run along to your father," she said. "And don't forget to listen to him."

Arthur nodded and ran toward the workshop, feeling the warmth of her smile linger with him.

He crossed the small yard leading to the workshop. The smell of wood shavings and fresh resin grew stronger, and through the half-open door, he could hear the steady sound of a chisel gliding over wood.

"Papa, good morning!" he called, peeking inside.

Tom looked up from the workbench, smiled, and set aside his tool. His strong, calloused hands were covered in fine dust.

"Good morning, son," he said, wiping his hands on his apron. "Ready to learn?"

Arthur nodded enthusiastically and stepped closer. His eyes lit up as he admired the workbench: a thick wooden board lay there, already beginning to take shape. A pattern of intertwining leaves and flowers was emerging under his father's skilled hands, as if coming to life.

"Today, you'll try carving a simple ornament," Tom said, sliding a small piece of wood and a chisel toward Arthur. "See this line? Try guiding the chisel along it, slowly and carefully."

Arthur picked up the tool. His small hands made it feel heavy, and as he began to carve, the chisel slipped, leaving a jagged scratch on the surface.

"Oh!"

Tom smiled and leaned closer.

"No worries. Every master makes mistakes at first. Let me show you how to hold your hand."

He gently guided Arthur's hand, showing him how to control the tool. His movements were confident and smooth, his voice calm.

"See? The key is not to rush. Wood doesn't like haste. It's soft and pliable, but you need to feel it."

Arthur tried again. This time, the chisel moved more smoothly, leaving a clean line behind. He felt a surge of pride—it was his first small success.

"Good job!" Tom praised, patting him on the shoulder. "You're doing better than I did at your age."

Arthur beamed. Hearing his father's praise filled him with joy.

"And when did you start carving wood?" Arthur asked, continuing to work.

Tom gazed thoughtfully at the piece on his workbench.

"I was a little older than you. My father was a carpenter too. He showed me how to work with wood and said that every piece of timber hides a shape inside—it just needs to be freed. Back then, I didn't understand what he meant, but now… Now I know he was right."

"Does that mean I can become a master like you?" Arthur asked hopefully.

Tom laughed warmly.

"Of course, you can. But it takes time, patience, and a lot of practice."

They continued working together. Tom demonstrated how to create simple patterns and explained how to handle the wood carefully to avoid splitting it. Arthur listened attentively, savoring every moment.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, Tom finally set his tools aside and said:

"That's enough for today. Go and play now."

Arthur wiped his hands on his apron, trying to look as confident as his father, and proudly examined the small lines he had carved into the wood.

"Thank you, Papa," he said, hugging his father.

Tom chuckled and ruffled Arthur's hair.

"You did great."

After the morning lesson in the workshop, Arthur headed home. His arms were a little tired from handling the tools, but a pleasant sense of accomplishment filled him. When he stepped through the door, the house smelled of freshly baked bread and herb soup.

Martha greeted him with a warm smile and invited him to the table. As always, she lovingly added a second helping to his plate, even though he insisted he was full. During lunch, she told him something that made his eyes widen in surprise.

"Arthur, you've already turned five years old. That means you'll start school next year."

Arthur looked at her curiously.

"What's school?"

Martha smiled and began explaining.

"School is where all the children go to learn. It's mandatory for everyone. The Council of Wizards, which governs not only our kingdom but many others, ensures that each generation is educated. Education gives children many opportunities—and it also increases the chance of awakening a rare magical talent."

Arthur listened intently, his imagination running wild. The thought of school, of learning new things, intrigued him. But the mention of magic? That left him both excited and uneasy.

"Does that mean I could become a wizard?" he asked hesitantly.

Martha laughed softly.

"Perhaps. Every child is tested for magical abilities when they turn sixteen. Those who pass can become apprentices to wizards. Those who don't find their own path in life, doing what they love."

Arthur thought about this, his mind swirling with possibilities. In his past life, magic had existed only in stories and myths. But here? Here it was real, woven into the very fabric of the world he now lived in.

After lunch, Arthur spent the rest of the day outside. The sun was warm on his back, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the old apple tree in the yard. He found a quiet spot beneath a sprawling oak tree, settled down comfortably, and let his imagination take over.

He pictured himself as a powerful wizard, capable of performing incredible feats. With a wave of his staff, he turned ordinary stones into towering stone giants and barren lands into lush, vibrant meadows.

He soared above the clouds, visiting mythical creatures in enchanted forests. Arthur could create entire worlds in his mind—worlds where anything was possible, where there were no limits.

Yet, as much as he dreamed of the extraordinary, he couldn't shake the quiet happiness he felt in his current life. The warmth of his mother's smile, the strength of his father's hands, and the simplicity of a sunny day in the yard—these were the moments that grounded him.

For now, Arthur decided, it was enough to simply be a boy. Tomorrow, the future, and all its mysteries could wait.