THE FARMER
[10-odd Years Ago, a city far from Stardew Valley]
Hazel thought about dragons often. Perhaps more often than most children her age, even as inclined to imagination as her peers were.
She thought not just about dragons, of course. Her mind was often abuzz with the fantastical and mythical creatures and lost lands and grand heroes of past ages. For reasons she never quite understood, her father hadn't been particularly keen on her fondness for fairy tales and fantasy. He had gently nudged her towards reality with soft pats on her shoulder and reminders that the beings in her imagination were just that, imaginations, and perhaps she was getting a bit too old to believe they were real?
His remarks were ignored by the girl, who nodded dutifully without actually listening and promptly ran outside at the first opportunity to search fruitlessly for fairy rings or goblin dens or werewolf tracks in the concrete jungle that the two called home. Eventually the man gave in and allowed Hazel to partake in her interests without the constant reminders.
Not far from her face laid one such library book. Hazel was in her living room, laying on her belly with her head cradled in her palm and her feet swinging back and forth behind her. The air was thick and rancid with summer heat, the only respite the slowly circling ceiling fan above her. The girl licked her pointer finger and thumb – she wasn't sure why exactly, she had just seen her father do it and assumed it was an important aspect of the ritual that was doing important reading – and flipped the page of a text that was well above her reading level.
"Blech!" Her hand tasted slightly of dirt, and she recoiled a bit at the taste.
Then, she began to read.
According to most beliefs, dracones quadrupedia (dragons of the four-legged variety) are ectothermic poikilotherms; therefore, they may be found most commonly in warm-weather climates, with the exception of those of the argentum dracones variety, which are found exclusively in colder climates.
"Hmm," Hazel hummed to herself, rubbing her chin in an attempt to act as thoughtfully and scholarly as possible. She had read this passage before and still didn't know a good handful of the words but figured that didn't matter since she got the gist of it – dragons like hot weather.
That day was hot. Very, very hot. Surely that meant there would be many dragons out?
From the kitchen (which was not very far away, given how small the apartment was), her father poked his head into the living room. "Hazel, sweetheart, can you please remember to put your plate into the sink when you're done using it? We're going to get ants."
"I like ants," Hazel affirmed innocently, not really hearing the first half of his sentence.
Her father, a paragon of patience, sighed. Hazel heard a clink as he placed dishes in the sink, followed a click of the small radio in the kitchen being turned on (they weren't able to afford a television or cable, but Hazel was outside so often it hardly made a difference to her). A local station crackled to life, the signal perpetually poor.
"…and a reminder to residents," a radio personality spoke too-cheerfully from the speaker, "that there is a high air pollution advisory for the area today. Keep your windows closed and avoid going outside if you can."
"That's the fourth day in a row," the co-host pipped up.
"Think of it as the price of progress," the host returned before going on about what good the newly constructed production plants were doing to the local economy.
Hazel's father murmured something angrily to no one in particular, his words drowned by the sound of the running faucet and the clank of dishes as he cleaned the remnants of their small breakfast of nearly-stale bread and overly-sour jam.
"Hazel?" Her father called to her.
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry sweetheart, but we won't be able to go the park today. The air is too bad."
"Again?" Hazel whined, sitting up from her book and facing the direction of her father. He was turned towards the sink, his back facing her but his face angled so he could see her in his peripheral vision. "But dad, you promised! Since we couldn't go yesterday you said it was gonna be one of my presents!"
"I know, I know…" He dried his hands and turned off the sink and the radio before walking into the living room. "I know I promised, and I know it's your birthday, but if we go out today you could get really sick," he explained, lowering himself onto their worn fake-leather sofa.
Hazel's lower lip jutted out. "Pollution is stupid."
Her dad smiled lovingly at his daughter. "There's my little environmentalist," he joked, leaning forward to ruffle her hair. "We can go out and do… whatever it is you wanted to do at the park when the air quality improves."
"Birthday promise?"
"Birthday promise."
"Good." She nodded, satisfied, before turning back to her book.
"What was your plan for the park anyway, sweetheart?" She had been very insistent on having a plan, though she had not told him the details of it just yet. Just that there would be no swing-set or jungle gym time for her, and that she had more important things to do.
"I wanted to search for dragons." Hazel flipped through her book, not really reading anything but stopping now and then to trace her fingers over the colorful illustrations that filled some of the pages.
"Uh-huh. Didn't you do that last weekend?"
"No, those were dragon eggs. I want to find a living dragon this time. They like the heat."
"I see."
Hazel's father barely tolerated her magical interests. He wanted to raise her far away from that world, but his parenting books had said that children were drawn to things that were forbidden to them. So, he allowed her to indulge... Luckily for him, most of the information she had gotten ahold of was wholly of inaccurate conjecture written by non-magical humans. While he was also a non-magical human, he, at least, knew better.
Three years ago, Hazel had been fixated on horses. The man wondered briefly if horses were ever going to make a come-back in his household. He sighed and supposed that dragons were still a bit safer, and consequently a bit more preferable, of a topic than last month's. She had somehow found a book on elemental magic – though she had refused to tell him where – and unknowingly caused a week's worth of acid rain that flooded two highways.
Regardless, Hazel's magical-obsession of that month was dragons. During her father's day off last week, the two of them had gone to tend to their small plot at the local community garden. Quickly finishing her portion of the weeding, Hazel had turned to looking for dragon eggs amongst the code-violating decorations of the other plots. She had returned with a collection of small painted rocks, which her father convinced her to return by telling her it was wrong to steal dragon babies.
One of her collection of rocks, much to his immense surprise, had been a dragon egg – highly illegal, given they were a protected species. He, of course, did not tell Hazel that. He did write a letter about it that night, once his daughter had fallen asleep, reporting it to the proper authorities.
The man figured the young girl didn't need to know about dragons. Or anything mystical or magical, for that matter.
Really, he didn't want her to know.
Magic could manifest within someone through a variety of ways: some were born into it, some stumbled upon it, and some were gifted it. Legacy magic, the kind of magic that buzzed within his unknowing daughter, referred to magical ability passed down from one magical being to another not by birth or by chance but by choice. And the sliver of Legacy magic the little girl carried within her, however minuscule, was powerful… and incredibly chaotic, though that was common for one whose magic was of the Legacy variety – especially when the Legacy was bestowed incompletely. Still, she was untrained, and magic always tended to cling stronger to children. She would grow out of it, he assumed, and in her adulthood would reflect upon this part of her life as being the result of an overly active imagination.
The man's phone ringed, breaking the relative silence that had settled upon the living room.
"Hello? Yes, this is James." Hazel looked up from her book. "No, I'm sorry, I can't come in today. I-. Yes. Yes. But I took the day off, it's my daughter's- Yes. Yes, of course. Of course, sir. Of course, sir. Yes. I'll be right there."
He hung up, and sighed.
"Hazel, I-"
"I know," she pouted.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart."
"I know." She would be lying if she said she wasn't already expecting it. The production plants worked her father to the bone most days, but the small family needed the money.
He sighed yet again, before standing up and going to change. Hazel kept flipping her pages, this time without much focus. She wasn't in the mood anymore.
"Hazel?" Her father called from behind a closed door.
"Yeah?"
"How about we open presents early?"
Hazel head shot up from her book. "Yes! Yes yes yes! But, don't you be at work?"
"It'll be fine. I'll be on time," her father stepped out of his room in his uniform. "…Probably." In his hands were two packages, one square one wrapped in colorful multi-colored paper with BIRTHDAY GIRL patterned on it and one a long rectangle one wrapped in powder-white linen. "One from me," he held up the colorful present, "and one from grandpa," he held up the present wrapped in linen.
Hazel wiggled in her seat on the floor, small grabby hands reaching upwards for the birthday goodies. "Presents!"
"Just remember to save the paper," he laughed. "Which one do you want to open fi-" His phone rang again. He answered. "Yes, this is James. Hello again, sir. Yes, I was just about to leave. Sir, with all due respect, you've only given be a few minutes to.. yes. Yes, sir. My apologies, sir. I'll hurry, sir." He hung up, sighed, and called his superior a name that was not suitable for children. Hazel stifled a giggle, upset at the situation but delighted to have heard a forbidden word.
He apologized again to his daughter and kissed her on the forehead, then produced a bandana from his pocket and began to tie it around his mouth and nose. "I'll be back for dinner," he said through the cloth. "What should I pick up for your birthday meal?"
"Strawberry cake!"
"For dinner?"
"Yes."
"And for desert?"
Hazel paused. "Chocolate cake?"
"I'll see what I can do," he chuckled, before stepping into the smog-filled outside world and locking the door behind him.
Hazel waited only a moment before pouncing on the presents like a starved lioness. Her father's gift was a tiny box bursting with goodies – a small set of colorful chalk, a small bottle of bubble soap (bubble wand included! yelled the packaging), and a few off-brand chocolate bars.
One chocolate bar was chosen and quickly devoured. The wrapping fell to floor, never having had stood a chance against the ravenous and unbeatable hunger of a child who wants something sugary to eat.
To Hazel's delight, the sweet had caramel filing.
She opened her grandfather's next, unintentionally wiping her chocolate-coated fingers on the linen wrapping. Inside was a cardboard box and two envelopes stacked on top of each other. Both letters were as powder-white as the linen they were wrapped in (though sans the chocolate stains). Both letters also had her name written messily on the front, though one included a footnote proclaiming she should "open me first!". The second was sealed shut purple wax, which itself was stamped with a pattern so intricate that it was hypnotizing. Curved, organic imprints swirled around what looked like an apple. When stared at for too long, the design appeared to move and dance like tree branches in the breeze.
It made her a bit dizzy.
Fueled by childish rebellion and a good amount of sugar, Hazel tried to open the second letter first by sliding her finger under the seal. She tugged and pulled, and yet…
She couldn't get it to open.
Not one to quit when the going got rough, Hazel tried instead to tear the letter in half. It would not tear. She grabbed a butter knife from the kitchen, but that would not go under the seal, either. She briefly toyed with the idea of trying to set the letter on fire to see if she could get the envelope to burn away, but shoved that plan to the back of her mind when she realized that she: one, didn't know where her dad kept the matches, two, did not want to get in trouble with her father, and three, did not want to risk accidentally burning down their home.
Instead she simply opened the first letter, unfolded the plain parchment, and read.
"Happy birthday, my little poppy! I wish I could be with you to celebrate, but I will try to visit soon!"
Her grandfather always visited them; she wasn't allowed to visit him in turn. In fact, Hazel didn't even know where he lived. Somewhere bad, according to her dad.
She read on.
"Since you're basically a young woman now -" Hazel giggled with childish delight "- I've given you two presents! The one in cardboard, you're free to open now. I hope you enjoy it!
The other envelope, however, you will have to be patient with. That one can only be opened at the exact time you need it, when you feel crushed by modern life. You won't understand that now, but one day, you will, and my second gift will help you.
Until then, have a great birthday!
I love you very much,
Grandpa Connor
P.S. Don't tell your dad about the second letter. You know how he gets!"
Hazel folded the letter back into its envelope and slipped both of them into her pocket with a level of excitement that can only come with being a child that was let in on a secret. Ready for her other gift, she turned her attention to her cardboard box.
She ripped the thing open and was immediately greeted by an overwhelming floral smell. It was a box of fresh fairy roses – her favorite flower. Hazel cooed happily. They didn't grow in the city! A rare and precious treasure, indeed. There was also a small leather pouch placed by the stems, which when opened revealed a small trove of dried fruits and candied nuts.
Hazel spent most of her day with her presents, weaving her flowers into a mighty birthday crown, eating her small hoard of sugared snacks, and sketching out ideas for chalk art to make when the air allowed her to go outside. Eventually, the world outside darkened. As Hazel flipped on the light switch to combat the growing gloom her father came home, a bag from the bakery in one hand and a pizza box in the other.
Hazel, crowned in fairy flowers, dined like a queen on her meal of plain pizza with cheese-filled-crusts. Afterwards her father pulled out her cake – split down the middle: half chocolate, half strawberry. He sang to her, and she smiled. The flames on the colorful birthday candles swayed like ballroom dancers on their wicks, like a proper court performance for birthday royalty. The young girl closed her eyes so tightly she saw stars, took a breath so deep her lungs ached, and blew out her candles with all aplomb she could muster.
"What did you wish for?" Her father asked as he served the cake.
"That's a secret," Hazel reminded him, then took the biggest bite of cake she could.
She never did tell her father about the letter.