Autumn had come, painting the riverside in brilliant shades of amber and crimson. Through Brigid’s eyes, I watched the fallen leaves dance across the meadow, swirling in the crisp wind like tiny golden sprites.

  For me, this was a rare sight.

  Most of my former life had been spent in an equatorial country, where the seasons were little more than a calendar formality—a constant cycle of sun, rain, and unbearable humidity. Which was why I loved travelling and working in foreign cities.

  But here—

  I could see the change. Feel it. Smell it.

  The afternoon sun cast long, dappled shadows through the half-bare trees, their skeletal branches stretching against the pewter sky. A faint woodsmoke aroma drifted from village chimneys, mingling with the sweet scent of apples from a nearby orchard.

  And then—

  "Catch me if you can!"

  Ennie’s gleeful voice rang out, her golden braids bouncing as she dashed between the scattered hay bales.

  Brigid’s body reacted on instinct, our shared muscles springing into motion.

  We chased after her, keeping just enough distance to make the game exciting.

  I had grown accustomed to these moments—both participant and observer, following Brigid’s natural rhythm.

  Our lungs filled with the crisp, autumn air, and I almost forgot, for a moment, that this wasn’t my own body.

  "Got you!"

  Brigid swooped forward, catching Ennie in a laughing tackle.

  With a whirl of motion, the two of them tumbled into a pile of leaves, the rustling explosion of reds, oranges, and yellows swallowing us whole.

  "Again! Again!" Ennie demanded, her cheeks flushed pink with excitement, leaves sticking to her hair like little golden crowns.

  Brigid chuckled, brushing some off. "We have to go help Mother prepare lunch, remember?"

  And they started home while inventing a silly song about eating a river for lunch. I chuckled at the odd phrasing.

  "Lucas, what’s so funny?" Brigid asked internally.

  "That depends," I mused. "Do you know what noodles are?"

  Brigid paused. "...What are they?"

  On the way home, I described them. Long, thin strips of dough, cooked in hot broth. Simple, comforting, and best eaten freshly made in hot soup.

  Brigid found herself intrigued, especially when I mentioned a specific noodle dish from my world—Ban Mian, literally ‘Board Noodles.’

  "So… it's like eating a river?"

  Ennie overheard, blinking curiously. "Wait, sister! Are we actually going to eat a river?!"

  Brigid laughed, playing along. "Yes! I’ll make you a river! A delicious one!"

  "Yes! Yes!" Ennie hopped excitedly, clapping her hands.

  Ennie ran to her mother as soon as they rushed into the house. "Mother! Mother! Let us make a river and cook it for lunch!"

  Rowena gave her a bemused look. "A river? For lunch? Ennie, dear, you do realize rivers are full of water, not food?"

  Brigid quickly explained the dish, describing the process of making noodles, the soup, and even the toppings.

  Rowena, dotingly indulgent as ever, finally relented with a smile. "Alright. Let’s see if this ‘river’ of yours is truly worth eating."

  And so—

  We got to work.

  The first step was preparing the dough.

  Since modern, refined flour wasn’t a thing here, the wheat flour from the miller was a bit coarser, but it would do just fine.

  I guided Brigid through the process.

  A cup of water to four cups of flour. Knead it until smooth.

  Ennie, naturally, had the most fun with this part. She pounded and squished the dough, giggling at the sticky texture between her fingers.

  While the dough rested, we started the broth.

  Brigid chopped and fried some small onions and dried anchovies, filling the kitchen with their savoury aroma. Half were set aside as garnish, while the rest were crushed into a fine powder with a mortar and pestle.

  We added minced wild boar bacon, blanching it first to remove any gaminess. This actually surprised Rowena, since people here were simply used to it, and she had never heard of first boiling the meat briefly to remove the gaminess of the meat.

  With the broth simmering, it was time for the main event.

  The noodles.

  We rolled out the dough, dusted it with flour, folded it, and cut it into thin, even strips.

  Ennie’s eyes sparkled as she watched the process.

  Brigid stretched the strips carefully, making them long and silky-smooth.

  "So this is a river!" Ennie giggled, lifting a strand dramatically.

  I guided Brigid through the final steps.

  The soup was brought to a boil, and the noodles were gently dropped in, swirling like golden ribbons.

  Once they were nearly cooked, we added the greens and eggs, stirring gently.

  To adjust for taste, we even stirred in a little cream—to match the local tastes better.

  And finally—

  We ladled the soup into wooden bowls, topped it with crispy fried anchovies, and stepped back to admire our creation.

  I froze.

  Wait.

  Something was missing.

  "Lucas," she asked. "What’s wrong?”

  [Illustration Request]

  Illustrate Brigid eating noodles, using the handles of two slender spoons as chopsticks. Ennie is bawling in laughter and Rowena is face palming. Both Ennie and Rowena have forks in their hands.

  “We eat noodles with chopsticks, and we don’t have any here.”

  “Is that how do people in your world eat these?"

  "Yup!"

  Brigid accessed my memories, "...They eat with sticks?"

  I laughed. "It’s easier than you think."

  After a quick scavenge, Brigid found some long, slender wooden spoons. They were hardly ideal, but…

  "Watch this, Ennie!" Brigid grinned, while I expertly used the spoon handles as makeshift chopsticks to lift a strand of noodles.

  Ennie burst out laughing.

  Rowena sighed, watching her daughters’ antics. "Brigid, dear, let’s not teach your sister strange eating habits."

  At last, the moment of truth.

  Brigid lifted a forkful, blew gently, and took her first bite.

  Her eyes widened immediately.

  "Lucas! This is amazing!"

  "Glad you think so," I chuckled. "This is just one dish. I have plenty more where that came from."

  Rowena took a careful sip. Her expression softened in surprise. "It’s… so different from anything I’ve ever had before. But it’s delicious!"

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Ennie, meanwhile, was enthusiastically slurping her way through her bowl.

  "Wow, big sister! This is so tasty!" she cheered. "And look! I really am eating a river!" She lifted her fork, the long strands dangling like streams of water.

  However—

  "...They’re kinda slippery," she added. "Forks don’t work too well with these…"

  I laughed. "That’s why different noodle shapes exist. We can make ones shaped like cat ears, seashells, or ribbon bows next time."

  Ennie gasped in delight. "I want cat ears!"

  Rowena let out a deep sigh, shaking her head in resigned amusement.

  Brigid, still savouring her noodles, perked up suddenly.

  "Mother! Can we make this again for Father?"

  Rowena smiled, nodding. "Yes. I think he’d love it too."

  And just like that—

  Brigid had unknowingly introduced her world to its first noodles.

  That afternoon, Brigid suggested they play by the riverbank, where flat stones lay waiting to be skipped across the water’s surface.

  She had learned the art of skipping stones years ago, right in this very spot. Their father had taught her with the same patient guidance she now extended to Ennie.

  "Like this, Ennie."

  Brigid demonstrated the proper technique, wrist flicking precisely as the stone danced across the water’s surface—one, two, three, four skips before it disappeared beneath the rippling current.

  Ennie gasped, clapping her hands excitedly. "Again! Do it again!"

  Brigid smiled, watching as her sister eagerly selected her own stone, mimicking the movements as best she could.

  Plunk!

  It sank immediately.

  "Oops…" Ennie pouted.

  Brigid suppressed a chuckle. "You’re getting better!"

  She adjusted Ennie’s grip, gently correcting the angle and force. It would take time, but Ennie was nothing if not persistent.

  Watching them, I mused to myself, It’s amazing how skipping stones is universal across every world and time period. Flat stones, water, and the pure joy of making something seemingly impossible happen.

  That’s when Brigid froze mid-motion.

  The loud rustling of branches came from not far away.

  Her eyes snapped toward the source of the noise—three boys gathered under a hawthorn tree, throwing sticks into its ancient, gnarled branches to knock down its bright red fruits.

  The moment she realized what they were doing, I felt it—

  A sudden, sharp surge of righteous indignation—so intense, it nearly caught me off guard.

  What the—?

  Brigid never got angry.

  Not like this.

  Before I could even ask what was wrong, the ancient lore of the hawthorn tree flooded our shared mind.

  Ah… I see.

  Hawthorns were sacred.

  They guarded the entrances of the faerie world, and disturbing them might bring misfortune to the whole village.

  And those three idiots were asking for it.

  “Ennie, go get Mother, quickly.” Brigid’s voice was low, firm, unwavering.

  Ennie hesitated only for a second before nodding and running off.

  And then—

  Brigid strode toward the boys.

  Oh no. Oh no no no. This is not going to end well.

  The three boys turned as she approached, and Brigid recognized them immediately.

  Blaine.

  The village bully.

  Gawin and Domnall, his tag-along lackeys.

  They were older, taller, and far stronger than Brigid.

  And she was walking straight into them without a single ounce of hesitation.

  Brigid, what are you thinking?!

  "It’s the three of you again." Her voice was calm, but sharp as a dagger. "Are you looking to get an earful from Bodhmall? You know the lash awaits those who harm the hawthorn trees."

  Blaine’s face twisted into a smirk.

  "Well, well, if it isn’t Daddy’s little squealer girl."

  Domnall snickered. Gawin crossed his arms, mocking.

  "Tattling again? I don’t think your daddy’s here to save you."

  Ah.

  So that’s why they looked so confident.

  Brigid’s father had been summoned to the castle two days ago. He wouldn’t be back for at least another few days.

  And these thugs knew it.

  Blaine stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "Looking for another lesson on how to mind your own business?"

  His grin widened.

  "In fact… I think you’re about to ‘accidentally’ fall into the river and smash your ugly face in. Here, let me show you how it happens."

  He lunged and grabbed—

  Brigid—!

  His fist caught her hair, yanking her violently toward the water.

  I felt the sharp sting at the roots, the sudden jerk of pain, and—

  I snapped.

  "Sorry, Brigid. I’m taking over."

  [Illustration Request]

  Brigid has locked Blaine in a sankyo hold, Brigid has a fierce determined expression with mouth open as if shouting. Blaine is shocked and pushed off balance, on the verge of falling, with his hand trapped in an awkward posture due to Brigid twisting his hand to maintain the lock.

  Pain.

  Annoying, but manageable.

  The real problem? Blaine was far stronger than me. I was never trained to fight with a child’s body.

  But—

  I was trained to neutralize bigger opponents.

  His grip tightened, dragging us closer to the river—

  I moved fast.

  My left hand shot up, fingers digging deep into the pressure point between his thumb and second finger.

  At the same time, my right hand clamped down hard on the tendons beneath his wrist.

  Pressure—apply. Tighten grip. Twist—

  "Owww!" Blaine gasped, his hold weakening as his hand spasmed open.

  Freed.

  I instantly recognised that this is the textbook setup for Aikido’s third technique, sankyo, but since I wanted to keep him pinned down between me and the other two bullies, I decided to forgo the throw at the end.

  So now—

  Redirect.

  Twisting his arm, I shifted my stance, pulled him off balance, and—

  Flipped him face-down onto the grass.

  Blaine let out a guttural groan, his arm pinned behind his back.

  His two friends gawked in disbelief.

  I yanked Blaine’s arm higher up his back.

  Blaine let out a pained scream.

  "Back off. Or I’ll tear his arm off and club you to death with it."

  Gawin and Domnall looked at each other. This little pushover floored Blaine and is now threatening them. HOW?!

  The boys took one step backwards—

  And then bolted.

  Just then, Rowena came running onto the scene, breathless.

  I immediately let go, allowing Brigid to regain control.

  She scrambled to her mother’s side for safety.

  “What have you done to my daughter? How dare you hurt her, you brute! My husband will hear of this!”

  Blaine got up, dusted himself off, and shot me a ferocious glare.

  But he said nothing.

  Just turned away and stormed off.

  Somehow… I don’t think this will be the last we see of him.

  As soon as Blaine stormed off, Rowena pulled Brigid into a tight embrace, her worried hands combing through her dishevelled hair, checking for injuries.

  "Are you hurt?" she asked, her voice tight with concern.

  Brigid hesitated. Should she tell her mother?

  “I’m fine, Mother.” She smoothed out her clothes as best as she could, but there was no way to hide the fact that Blaine had yanked her around by the hair.

  Rowena frowned deeply. “That boy! I won’t stand for this. We’re going straight to his mother.”

  And that was exactly what happened next.

  The rest of the afternoon turned into a flurry of escalating tempers as Rowena marched into the village square, dragging Brigid along. Word of the fight had already spread, and by the time we reached Blaine’s home, half the village had gathered to watch.

  Blaine’s mother, Muire, crossed her arms, unimpressed. “Rowena, boys will be boys. It’s not like she’s some helpless little girl if she managed to fight back, is it?”

  “Your son grabbed my daughter by the hair and tried to throw her into the river!” Rowena snapped, her eyes blazing. “Is that your definition of ‘boys will be boys’? Because I call it bullying!”

  “That’s not what happened,” Muire scoffed. “He said the girl—”

  Before she could finish, Bodhmall appeared.

  The elderly bandrui strode toward us, staff tapping lightly against the ground as the crowd parted before her presence. “Now, what’s all this noise?”

  “Bodhmall!” Rowena turned to her, relief flashing across her face. “Brigid was attacked by Blaine and his friends—”

  “She attacked me first!” Blaine cut in angrily. “I was just defending myself!”

  Bodhmall was no fool. She had already been filled in by the villagers on her way here, and she had dealt with Blaine’s gang more than a few times before.

  “Oh?” Bodhmall arched a wrinkled brow at the much taller boy. “So you’re telling me that this little girl”—she gestured lazily at Brigid—"managed to beat you single-handedly?”

  The villagers murmured among themselves.

  “That does sound far-fetched,” one man muttered.

  “Blaine, are you telling stories again?” an old woman snorted.

  “She—she—” Blaine scowled, his face darkening.

  Bodhmall smirked knowingly. “So you’re saying you, a strong, healthy fourteen-year-old boy, got beaten up by a twelve-year-old girl?” She laughed—a short, sharp chuckle. “In that case, maybe I should congratulate Brigid instead of punishing her.”

  The villagers laughed.

  Blaine’s mother looked horrified. “That’s not—”

  "You know what else is funny?" Bodhmall’s expression darkened, her voice sharp as a needle. "I hear you lot were throwing sticks at the hawthorn tree. Do you think the fae will simply overlook such an insult? Are you trying to invite disaster upon our village?"

  A hush fell over the crowd.

  Even Blaine flinched, his bravado crumbling slightly.

  Bodhmall intoned, “You three will seek forgiveness from the fae themselves.”

  She lifted her staff.

  The gathered villagers held their breath.

  Blaine and his friends stiffened.

  “You will go to the tree,” Bodhmall ordered, her voice carrying the weight of law, “and apologise. Now.”

  The three boys looked disgruntled—but they didn’t dare refuse, especially with the village watchmen marching over to enforce Bodhmall’s order.

  With that, the matter was settled.

  We finally returned home as the sun dipped low, bathing the village in warm amber hues.

  Rowena sighed heavily, rubbing her temples as she prepared dinner.

  "Where did you learn to wrestle like that?" she finally asked, casting me a sideways glance. "Even though I didn’t want to admit it in front of everyone earlier, I did see you pin Blaine down."

  Brigid hesitated. “I learned from watching Dad teach the other soldiers.”

  Rowena arched a brow but said nothing more.

  At that moment, the front door swung open.

  “Father!” Brigid beamed, immediately rushing into his arms.

  Gus Ahearn, knight of Bryn Massan and village head, was home.

  And when he heard about the incident over dinner, he was livid.

  “I’ll talk to that brat myself,” Gus gritted his teeth, pushing his plate aside. “I should have had a word with him long ago.”

  “Gus.” Rowena placed a gentle hand on his arm. “It’s been settled. Bodhmall handled it.”

  He frowned. “Did she now?”

  “She even made the boys apologize to the fae.”

  Gus blinked. Then let out a booming laugh. “Hah! That old woman never ceases to amuse me.”

  Still, his gaze softened as he looked at Brigid. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

  Brigid shook her head. “It’s fine, Father. Really.”

  As a peace offering, she got up and hurried to the kitchen.

  Minutes later, she placed a steaming bowl in front of him.

  “Here. Try this.”

  Gus sniffed the broth curiously, then lifted a spoonful to his lips.

  The moment the flavours hit his tongue, his eyes widened.

  "Brigid, what in the world is this? This is incredible!"

  Brigid grinned proudly. “It’s a new kind of soup I made.”

  Her father took another savouring bite, then nodded approvingly. “Well, whatever it is, you should make this again. It’s the best thing I’ve eaten in weeks!”

  Brigid beamed.

  And just like that, the troubles of the afternoon were forgotten—replaced by warmth, laughter, and the simple joy of a family meal.

  That night, after the chaos of the village scuffle, Brigid spoke to me in the quiet of our shared mind.

  "Lucas. Thank you."

  Her voice was soft, thoughtful.

  "You’re a good fighter. I believe now that you really were a warrior. But… your movements were different from my father’s. You barely used any strength."

  "That was Aikido," I explained. "It’s about using your opponent’s strength against them. Redirecting force. Controlling balance."

  "But father says that winning a fight means striking hard and fast," Brigid mused, her thoughts tinged with curiosity. "Your way seemed... different. Gentle, almost."

  "I was only going easy on Blaine because I didn’t want to get you into trouble for seriously hurting him.”

  Brigid laughed, “I guess it would be a crime if you really tore Blaine’s arm off.”

  “There are many ways to fight, and I do very much believe in striking hard and fast like your father does, but some of the most effective methods don't rely on brute force at all.”

  Brigid fell into deep thought.

  And then—

  "Could you teach me?"

  I blinked.

  "I thought you weren’t interested in fighting?"

  "I’m not!" she said quickly. "Not to fight. But to defend. Like today. So next time, I won’t need you to take control."

  I considered her request carefully.

  "Your father might not approve of these foreign fighting methods."

  "Then we'll practice in secret."

  But—

  "Alright."

  Brigid beamed.

  "Thank you, Lucas."

  As she drifted into sleep, I couldn’t help but feel…

  We had just set something in motion.

  Something that might change her fate forever.