The air was cool when they entered the forest. The wind moved between the trees, and the light passing through the leaves split their faces into lines. The ground was damp; with every step, there was a faint crackle.
Old Vaen walked ahead, pushing aside fallen branches with his cane. "Do you know," he said, "that there is a forest this vast behind your kingdom? At the end of this forest, Elves live."
Lane was surprised. He had read it in books, but he had never heard they were this close. "I knew the Elves existed," he said, "but I didn't know they were in our kingdom."
Vaen smiled, barely. Lane carved this information into his mind. One day I will need this place, he thought. The essence of the Great Tree — it was said to increase vitality and delay aging. For Lane, it was an indispensable ingredient for his future plans. Vaen's saying this openly made his job easier.
But it wasn't the time now. If I enter Elven lands now, they will kill me, he thought. They do not welcome humans. I need to get stronger. I can only go to get that essence with Master. Lane sealed this quiet decision in his mind. Dark days awaited the Elves.
After a while, he saw movement among the trees. "Master, there's a white rabbit ahead. We can hunt it."
Vaen did not turn his head. "Go and hunt it," he said. "But without using magic, without using a sword. Only with your mind."
Lane understood what the old man meant. "So you're telling me to use my head," he said to himself. He smiled slightly. Looks like the old man is underestimating me.
Yet Lane was, by nature, someone who thought strategically. He quietly began to observe the rabbit. His first move was to hide; he slipped behind thick trees and started watching every movement of the rabbit. He measured its feeding habits, walking direction, intervals of standing still.
Every detail was taking shape in his mind like a map.
Fifteen minutes passed, then thirty. Vaen watched him from a distance. He was surprised by the child's patience. Even in the fourth quarter, he was still waiting. At the forty-fifth minute, Lane finally moved.
He gathered a few branches from the ground, peeled tree barks. Then he found three different mushrooms from the depths of the forest. Each had a different color, shape, and smell. Lane examined them carefully, then dug a shallow pit about two meters wide in an area close to the path the rabbits used.
He arranged the mushrooms in a circle. He covered them with grass, sliced two of them, and placed them in the center of the trap. As he prepared the snare, the scent of the mushrooms spread lightly around. Meanwhile, he laid a line of dry grass along the edge of the circle; these grasses were sensitive to fire.
Everything was ready. Lane took a step back and drew a breath.
The rabbit sensed the smell and approached. The moment it stepped into the trap, the snare engaged. Lane fixed the mechanism with the stone in his hand. The plan had worked. But he did not stop there.
With the first rabbit captured, he moved to the second stage of his plan to lure the others into the trap. The scent released by the mushrooms had begun to disturb the rabbits. They were coming out of their burrows. Lane was using the rabbit inside the trap as bait. The nature of rabbits was curiosity; if one was stuck, the others would gather around it.
Within minutes, eight rabbits came to that area at once. Lane thought, This much is enough. Too much is harmful.
He set the dry grass on fire. The mushrooms at the edge of the circle suddenly began to release a poisonous smoke.
The smoke was sharp, suffocating, but not lethal — only paralyzing. The rabbits panicked both from the light of the fire and the smell.
The two mushrooms inside the trap delivered the final blow: they released spores that completely paralyzed emotions. Within a few seconds, the rabbits grew numb. They could neither run nor cry out.
Lane stoked the fire a little more; because when a rabbit died, the toxins in its body needed to be burned. He had calculated everything.
Vaen was watching him from afar. There was a surprise mixed with tears in his eyes.
The plan had worked perfectly.
Lane collected the rabbits. Most were burned, but he threw a few back onto the fire again.
Vaen approached him. "The plan you made was very good," he said. "Using the rabbit to lure rabbits into a trap… good thinking."
Lane bowed his head, unresponsive. Amid the silence, the crackle of the fire could be heard.
After a while Vaen asked, "How did you know one of those mushrooms was poisonous, another had a numbing effect, and the last released an irritating smell?"
Lane answered, "I read it in a book. When I was in the castle, I devoted most of my time to books. Reading was pleasant. There are many hidden treasures on this continent; they need to be discovered."
The old man laughed. "Good, child. Good."
They sat together by the fire. The rabbit meat was cooking; its smell spread through the forest.
When Lane took the first bite, he grimaced. The meat was completely burnt.
Vaen took a piece, paused. "Everything is fine, child," he said with a mocking smile, "but do you not know how to cook? You make plans this deep, but you can't manage to cook. We will have to teach you cooking as well."
Lane was embarrassed; he blushed. "I'm sorry, Master. I've always been too lazy to cook. That's why I can't."
Vaen shook his head, laughing. "Alright, child, I've got this."
Using flame magic, he cooked the rabbit meat again. This time the meat turned golden, with hot steam rising from the surface. Lane grew impatient.
Vaen handed the cooked rabbit. "Here, taste it. Tell me how it is."
Lane bit, his eyes widened. It was as if the world was his. "Master," he said eagerly, "this meat is very good! It might be the best rabbit meat I've ever eaten in my life."
"Alright, don't talk," Vaen said, laughing. "You'll choke. Eat your food."
Lane continued eating with a childlike smile.
After a while, the old man put his cane beside him and sliced the air with his hand. A thin slit opened in space and a bottle of liqueur came out.
He opened the cap and tipped it back.
"Ahhh," he said with a deep breath. "It still tastes wonderful. These southerners really know the craft of liqueur. When I was the head of the Aetheryn Mage Tower, they used to bring a lot. Good thing I stocked up, otherwise I couldn't enjoy it now."
Lane looked with curiosity. "Master, may I taste it too?"
Vaen tapped Lane's head lightly with his cane. "You are six years old; what alcohol? At this hour you should drink milk and go to sleep. But… you don't look like a child anyway."
He paused for a moment, then handed over the bottle. "Alright, just taste it."
Lane took a sip. The weight of the taste burned his throat, but he liked the warmth inside. It went well over the rabbit meat. He took a second sip.
"Child," said Vaen, "don't finish it all. I'm going to enjoy this liqueur."
But Lane couldn't stop. For the first time in six years, he had tasted such a drink. Soon his cheeks flushed and his eyes sparkled.
As Vaen took the bottle from his hand, he smiled and shook his head. "That's enough. Now let's return to the cabin before the fire inside you burns you."
Lane stood up, but his feet were wobbling. He was drunk. Vaen walked leaning on his cane, and Lane staggered after him.
They did not speak along the way. The moon had risen in the sky; the darkness of the forest had turned into a soft blue.
The cabin appeared from afar. The light seeping through the windows trembled in the mist. When they entered, Vaen took a deep breath. "That's enough for today. Night has fallen."
Lane nodded with half-closed eyes. "Good night, Master."
He went to his room. He undressed and stepped into the shower. As cold water hit his face, he sobered a little.
But when he looked in the mirror, the redness on his face was still there. The drunkenness was not only in the body, but in the mind.
Amid the sound of water, he muttered to himself:
"I will make no place for emotions in this life. I need to taste life. No one's experiences will affect me, and I will not affect anyone. Life is a film; you sit and watch it, but you are the director of the film. Emotions are the color of the film; reactions are its motion. What makes a human human are emotions… but I will have fun and be without emotion."
Lane looked into the mirror and grinned at his own reflection. A vow was burning behind his eyes.
"Love is the adorned form of loyalty toward the opposite sex," he said to himself. "The only difference between them is that one is respect, the other is addiction. And in my understanding, addiction is a weakness. This weakness is no different from a knife resting against a person's back; you cannot know when and how that knife will be driven in." "It is said that love binds people to one another, but the real contradiction is this: lovers bind each other with a contract through their emotions. It is a journey, but at the same time it is addiction. An emotional contract. There are no such bonds on my path."
The water slowed to a stop. Lane pulled his hand from his face and dried his hair with a towel.
He was drunk, but his mind was unusually clear.
Having fun is good, he thought, but your own interest must come before everything else.