"My cute little brother!"
I crashed into her embrace with the enthusiasm of a genuinely excited brother, and Rosaluna hugged me back with fierce affection. Her arms tightened around me as if she was reluctant to let go, and I could feel the lingering warmth of magic that always seemed to radiate from her skin these days. She smelled of woodsmoke and the crisp scent of winter air that clung to the forest around Isadora's tower.
"Did you miss me?" She asked, pulling back just enough to look down into my eyes with a grin that was both affectionate and slightly mischievous.
"I missed you, yes," I nodded earnestly, allowing genuine warmth to color my voice. Despite everything else, my feelings for Rosaluna were uncomplicated—she was my sister, and I really loved her, present in my very short list with Isabella.
She laughed delightedly and lifted me bodily from the ground, her strength enhanced by months of magical training. Then she settled onto my abandoned stool, pulling me onto her lap as if I weighed nothing at all. At eight, Rosaluna was growing rapidly—not just physically, but in magical power and mental acuity as well. The shy girl who had accidentally set fire to the barn was becoming quite a girl under Isadora's teachings.
"You're quite late, Rosaluna," Isabella observed mildly, not looking up from where she was carefully wiping down her worktable. The day's preparations were finally complete, dozens of small vials and pouches arranged neatly on wooden shelves for future use.
"Master Isadora kept me longer than usual," Rosaluna explained, unconsciously straightening her shoulders at the mention of her mentor's name. There was respect there, but also a hint of wariness that hadn't been present when her training first began.
I tilted my head back to look up at her, making my eyes wide with curiosity. "Did you learn new magic today?"
Rosaluna's expression shifted, becoming more guarded even as she maintained her smile. "I did learn quite a lot, actually," she said carefully. "Master Isadora has been teaching me advanced flame manipulation techniques."
"Can you show me?" I asked, injecting just the right amount of eager anticipation into my voice.
"No, no, no," Isabella intervened quickly, finally turning away from her now-spotless worktable. "No magic demonstrations at home, and certainly not right before dinner. We've talked about this."
The memory of the barn fire was still fresh in everyone's minds, even months later. Rosaluna's control had improved dramatically, but Isabella wasn't taking any chances with their modest home. The wooden walls and thatched roof would provide little protection if something went wrong.
Rosaluna chuckled and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead, her lips warm against my skin. "Another time, little brother. When mother isn't watching so closely."
"I heard that," Isabella said dryly, but there was amusement in her voice.
As if summoned by the mention of dinner, my stomach chose that moment to rumble audibly. Both women laughed, and Rosaluna ruffled my hair affectionately.
"Come on," Isabella said, moving toward the small kitchen area that occupied one corner of our main room. "Help me get dinner started, Rosaluna. Your brother has been very patient today."
I slid down from Rosaluna's lap and watched as my mother and sister began their familiar dinner routine. It was a dance they'd perfected over the years—Isabella handling the more delicate tasks while Rosaluna took care of the heavier work. They moved around each other with unconscious grace, reaching for ingredients and utensils without getting in each other's way.
The kitchen, though small, was well-organized and functional. Dried herbs hung in bundles from the low ceiling, filling the air with their complex fragrance. Clay pots of various sizes lined wooden shelves, containing everything from flour and salt to more exotic spices that traveling merchants occasionally brought through the village. A small but efficient wood-burning stove provided both heat and cooking capability, its chimney drawing smoke up and out through the thatched roof.
I perched on a three-legged stool near the kitchen area and waited patiently.
Rosaluna peeled potatoes with quick, efficient strokes while Isabella prepared the rabbit that had been hanging in their small cold cellar since yesterday. The meat was fresh, hunted by one of the village men who occasionally paid for Isabella's healing services with game instead of coin. It was a fair trade—we ate better than many families in the village, even if we had little in the way of material wealth.
"How are your studies progressing with Master Isadora?" Isabella asked as she sectioned the rabbit with practiced movements.
Rosaluna's hands paused for just a moment before resuming their work. "Well enough," she said carefully. "She's... demanding. But I'm learning things I never imagined possible."
There was something in her tone that made me pay closer attention. Rosaluna had always been enthusiastic about her magical training, excited to share what she'd learned each day. This new guardedness was unlike her.
"Is everything alright?" Isabella asked, echoing my own concern.
"Of course," Rosaluna said quickly, perhaps too quickly. "Master Isadora just has very high standards. She says I have potential, but that potential means nothing without discipline and proper control."
The conversation continued as they worked, but I noticed that Rosaluna deflected most questions about her training with vague responses or changes of subject. Whatever Isadora was teaching her, it was clearly more complex—and possibly more dangerous—than simple flame manipulation.
An hour later, the three of us sat around our small dining table, the simple wooden surface laden with the fruits of their labor. The rabbit had been roasted to perfection, its skin crispy and golden while the meat remained tender and flavorful. The potatoes had been fried with wild onions that Isabella gathered from the forest, their earthy sweetness complementing the rich meat. A pot of carrot soup rounded out the meal, its vibrant orange color brightened with herbs from mother's garden.
The food was simple but satisfying, made with care and love rather than exotic ingredients. It was certainly a far cry from the elaborate meals I had once enjoyed in my previous life—the five-star restaurants of New York City with their artistic presentations and complex flavor profiles seemed like something from a dream now. But there was something deeply satisfying about this humble meal shared with two people I loved.
"This is delicious," I said sincerely, savoring a bite of the perfectly seasoned rabbit.
"Your sister did most of the work," Isabella said with a smile, reaching over to squeeze Rosaluna's hand. "She's becoming quite accomplished in the kitchen as well as with her magic."
Rosaluna blushed slightly at the praise. "I had a good teacher," she said, glancing meaningfully at our mother.
I had to admit, both of them were excellent cooks. Over the years, I'd picked up quite a bit of culinary knowledge myself simply by watching and occasionally helping. In fact, I had obtained even the Skill for it.
As we ate, the conversation flowed naturally between topics—village gossip, plans for the next day, stories from Rosaluna's childhood that I pretended to find fascinating even though I'd heard them dozens of times.