By the time I turned one, I had finally built the muscle to walk without constantly toppling over. Looking back, I hadn't accomplished much in the first year, but I was still just a toddler.
During one of my strolls around the house, curiosity got the better of me. I dragged a bench over to a window, climbed up, and peered outside. It was a village. The houses were not the typical square shapes like in my old world; instead, they resembled the drawings of a child, all different. But despite their differences, all the houses were made from the same materials: wood and stone.
For a moment, I wondered if I had somehow landed in the Stone Age, but that thought quickly faded when something else caught my eye. It was a boy and a girl near a well in the center of the village. The younger girl was speaking to the older boy, though I couldn't quite make out their words or their faces. From the way they were standing, it seemed like they were arguing. Again, curiosity got the better of me, and so I decided to observe their little altercation. As the girl spoke, the boy began to approach her. This caused her to raise her hand out in front of her, motioning him to stop, but he didn't.
"Come on, man, just take the rejection and leave," I silently narrated, assuming the boy had just confessed his love.
Although the boy kept walking toward her, the girl never dropped her hand. She didn't run, nor did she yell. She just kept talking, and with her eyes closed at that. I began to realize how stuck-up this girl was, also suspecting she came from wealth given the way she carried herself during her rant. For probably close to five seconds, she continued her monologue, but when she finished her final sentence, the boy was sent to the ground, landing on his back. Yet, there wasn't a single person around that could've done that to him. The frantic boy scrambled to pull himself back together before he yelled something and fled.
Later that evening, during dinner, my father initiated a conversation with my sister.
"So, Cilia, did anything unusual happen today?" he asked.
"Actually, yes. This boy confessed his undying love to me," she recounted with a hint of sarcasm.
"Oh? Interesting. And what did you tell him?" He raised an eyebrow in displeasure.
"Well, at first, I told him I didn't like him in that way, but then he got mad and started getting closer. I told him to stop, but when he didn't listen, I had to use my all-powerful wind magic on him," she boasted.
Magic? No one has ever mentioned anything about magic before. Wait, that means my sister was the one I saw earlier today. As I processed these revelations, I found myself contemplating all the ways I could deal with that boy.
"Sounds like you had quite the eventful day," my father remarked, before Cilia started going on about what happened.
I tried paying attention, but my mind wandered to the idea of magic one too many times. I had to figure out how to use it myself. The problem was, I had no idea where to begin.
After dinner, my mother put me to bed, but sleep was the last thing I had in mind. Instead, I focused on trying to use magic.
"Okay, I put my hands up, and—" I stopped, suddenly remembering that I hadn't actually heard what Cilia had said earlier.
I spent the whole night trying different things. I even tried some of the cheesy incantations from video games in my previous life.
None of it worked.
The next morning, after that disheartening display, I decided to go for a walk around the house to clear my mind. It was when I strode past the library that I realized there was probably something in there that could help me.
"All right," I muttered as I entered the library.
I enthusiastically approached the first shelf in search of a magic book, skimming my hands over each of the titles, but I quickly noticed none of them were in my language. Although I could speak and understand it from birth, I couldn't read it. This world didn't have the same letters as the one I came from.
So, over the next six months, I gradually developed an understanding of Kon, this world's language. Half of what I learned came from the stories my father used to read to me before bed, and the other half from my own diligent study. I don't know when, but apparently, my father noticed me walking into the library, so he began reading to me every night before bed. At first, it was just children's fairy tales, but then he started to read folktale books.
During my own study sessions, I would revisit the stories my father had read the previous night, piecing together the words and sentences. I found a sense of thrill in deciphering the meanings on my own, so building a daily study habit came naturally. In my previous life, I had spent my days playing video games rather than studying. The only time I'd ever seriously applied myself was during the week leading up to my college entrance exams when I crammed in the fundamentals and key concepts.
One afternoon, I was lying on the library floor, idly kicking my feet while reading a children's storybook. It was then that I overheard a conversation between my mother and Regina.
"I'm worried about Zane," my mother was voicing her concerns to Regina about something.
"Why?" she asked.
"Well, he's already two and hasn't spoken a single word. I'm afraid there might be something wrong with him," my mother replied, setting the dinner table.
"Oh, I see. But some children just take longer than others. Just give him some time, Cynthia," Regina reassured.
Honestly, it's true. I hadn't spoken at all yet because I didn't know when the right time was. I had been isolating myself in the library.
As my mother and the maid's conversation continued, memories of my previous life flooded back, and a sudden wave of fear washed over me. I was regressing, doing the exact same thing I promised I wouldn't. At that thought, I jumped onto my two feet and decided to go to the kitchen in hopes of putting my mother at ease.
"M-Ma-Mama," I stammered, doing my best to imitate a baby's voice as I tugged on her gown. It was pretty embarrassing now that I think about it. I mean, technically speaking, it was a grown man doing that.
"He said something! He said 'mama'!" Cynthia yelled in excitement.
"Damn! I wanted him to say 'Papa' first," Ansel walked up to me, bent down, and started repeating "Papa." If I was in a better mood, I might've gone ahead and granted his wish. Too bad for him, though—I wasn't.
"C-Cilia!" I looked past Ansel, pointing toward my sister.
"Hold on, he can say 'Cilia' but not 'Papa'?" Ansel refuted.
"Maybe he just likes us more than he likes you," Cynthia made sure to rub it in his face.
"No way. I'm the one reading him bedtime stories every night!" Ansel responded. He wasn't lying, those stories were pretty fun to listen to.
From that moment on, I slowly added words to my vocabulary. By the time I turned three, I was speaking in full sentences. My mother was astonished by how quickly I was learning, but she chalked it up to early development. It was also around this time that I began reading complex texts. The library was divided into sections, with one for ordinary books, another for magic, and a third for theoretical studies. By the age of two, I had already mastered the normal ones, but it wasn't until I turned three that I gained the ability to understand the magic and theory texts. The concept of magic was never foreign to me, since I had played multiple magic games in my old life.
Eager to learn more, on the morning after my third birthday, I entered the library, scanning the shelves for advanced magic books. Although many seemed to contain valuable knowledge, most of the titles were uninteresting. I kept searching until one book, nearly hidden by the shelf's edge, caught my attention. I reached for it and, after some effort, managed to pull it out. It was enormous, but the title was barely legible. I could only make out two words.
"Magic…Royale? That doesn't seem right." Ignoring the out-of-place wording, I opened it up to the first page.
"Table of Contents: Chapter 1: Affinity; Chapter 2: Might Reservoirs," I quietly read its contents. It was informative but lengthy, so to sum it up: a child first figures out their affinity when they reach adolescence. An affinity defines a person's connection to a certain element. For example, if a child has burn scars from youth, they might have an affinity toward ice or water. Any experiences a child had could influence the outcome of their affinity.
A Might Reservoir refers to the amount of energy a person possesses. While some individuals are born with a greater capacity for might, the majority have similar amounts. What truly matters is how that energy is used.
"That's a rather difficult book for someone your age, Zane," a voice said behind me, accompanied by a firm hand on my shoulder.
I was so absorbed in my reading that I hadn't noticed anyone entering. A strange, ominous aura filled the room, and I felt a swirl of air around me, causing the pages to turn, even though the library had no windows. It's clear that magic was at play.
"Explain yourself." Judging by the voice, it was Regina.
How long had she been there? I thought. She kept her hand on my shoulder, squeezing harder for every second I waited to respond.
It was obvious this wasn't an initial response; rather, she'd been spying on me. I should've noticed sooner. She is my caretaker, after all. It only makes sense that she'd keep an eye on me.
"I just like looking at the pictures." It wasn't the best excuse, but it was all I could come up with on the spot.
"You're lying. I heard you read an entire chapter," she retorted, barely managing to contain her irritation. Her grip became almost unbearable.
"Ow!" I squealed in pain, which prompted her to let go.
"Arty! Dinner is ready, come eat!" My mother called for dinner from the kitchen. Regina flinched at this.
"We're not finished," she muttered, picking the book up from my lap before leaving.
I was unsure of where she was going with it, but it's clear I wasn't supposed to be anywhere near it.
"Ahhhhh," I irked at the pain in my shoulder. I should probably get that healed sometime soon.
My shoulder throbbed with pain as I made my way to the kitchen, where my mother greeted me with a frown.
"What took so long? Your food has gone cold."
"Sorry, Mom." I was still dumbstruck by what had just happened. In retrospect, the maid had just physically abused me, a child, and one that wasn't even hers at that. What kind of psychopath does that? Not only that, but she used wind magic, the same as Cilia.
I could tell my parents, but still, I had no idea what was in that book. For her to be so protective of it meant there was something I wasn't supposed to see, and I needed to figure out what it was.
Later that night, long after everyone had gone to bed, I crept down the hallway to Regina's room. She was lying in bed, seemingly undressed under the sheets. A few unholy ideas ran through my head at seeing this, but they quickly stopped when I remembered why I was there.
The floors were made of wood, often squeaky, so being careful was my top priority. I opened the door and slowly made my way to her closet. After a bit of searching, I found nothing.
Damn it. This woman is careful, I thought. The next place I decided to check was under the bed. I slowly made my way, crawling beneath it. It was pitch black, though, so I decided to use my hand to feel for the book.
It was a tedious search. The maid was about the same height as my father, so her bed was larger than normal, but around two minutes later, I found it. I dragged it away from the wall and crawled out from underneath the bed.
My heart was practically pounding onto my chest at this point. This was the first time in my life that I was genuinely scared, but for some reason, I also felt excited.
As I made my exit, I noticed the door, slightly ajar, move. At first, it was just an inch, but then, it swung shut, seemingly on its own. Remembering the last time something happened "on its own," I figured it was wind magic.
"I thought about letting you live, but it's clear you don't deserve that mercy."
A chill shot down my spine. I didn't have time to turn around; I heard it—the sharp whistle of something cutting through the air. My instinct was to duck, but it was too late.
A slash of air tore through my flesh, separating my head from my body.