Souta sat beneath the shade of a towering oak tree just outside their cozy little house, the thick history book in his hands making him feel like he was trying to decipher ancient hieroglyphs. The pages, slightly weathered from overuse, were filled with complex drawings, mystical symbols, and carefully written descriptions that had more than once made his brain feel like it was about to short-circuit. He squinted at the golden designs on the cover of the book, its brownish maroon hue dulled with time, but the golden lines still shimmered faintly as if trying to remind him that they were important. Maybe one day, he'd understand why. Right now, though, all he could think was, Well, this sure isn't as fun as cake.
For now, the warmth of the afternoon sun and the steady rustling of leaves above were far more inviting. Elena, who had fallen asleep on his lap, snored lightly in peaceful slumber, her maroon hair spilling over his legs like an untamed waterfall. He was sure she had some sort of magic that ensured he would remain perfectly still while she took her naps. It wasn't like he had a choice in the matter. If he so much as twitched, she'd whack him with one of her random, nonsensical comments about how "any movement is a sign of weakness." She'd probably been raised by some ancient order of sleep ninja warriors or something, because it was practically a superpower.
His legs were beginning to feel like they had turned into stone, but he wasn't about to wake her up. She was peaceful for once. Let's just savor this moment, he thought. Besides, she had worn him out again in one of their impromptu races down the hill earlier. He had already learned the hard way that challenging Elena to anything physical, whether it was a race or a "friendly" arm-wrestling match, was like challenging a mischievous gremlin that could somehow bend the laws of physics to her favor.
This time, her barefooted, wind-swept speed had caught him off guard. "Only the strong survive, Souta," she had declared, her tiny fists clenched like she was about to deliver the secret of the universe. The only strong thing about their race had been the sharp rock that tripped him up at the perfect moment, causing him to tumble down the hill while Elena dashed ahead with a victorious laugh. It wasn't even a race. It was a trap, and he had walked right into it like a fool. Classic Elena.
"Five years old," he muttered aloud, his fingers gently tracing the spine of the book. It was a strange thought that it had been five full years since his untimely demise on Earth. Five years since he'd been reborn into Arthea, a world so vastly different from the one he had left behind that sometimes he half-expected to wake up in his old bed, staring at his old ceiling, wondering if the last five years had been nothing more than a very vivid, very strange dream. But nope, here he was—still in Arthea, still five years old, still surrounded by his parents and a world of magic, cake, and random adventure.
And still, most importantly, here was Elena, who had been with him from the very beginning. Best friends, through thick and thin (and an occasional accidental slap to his father's face during a very serious family meeting). That slap, by the way, had been purely accidental, of course, but it had forever become a family legend. His mother had nearly choked on her tea when it happened, laughing so hard she had tears streaming down her face. "Our little warrior!" she had exclaimed, as if the slap was some kind of ancient rite of passage.
If anything, it had taught him one thing: you never, never try to lecture a kid who just learned how to smack things. Especially when that kid's brain was filled with a cocktail of childlike innocence, stubbornness, and a little bit of the bizarre confidence that only a five-year-old can muster.
He chuckled to himself as the memory played out like a sitcom. It wasn't just the slap that made it funny—it was the way he had done it, so seriously, like he was an ancient warrior following a code of honor that no one else could understand. His father had been in the middle of delivering an important lecture about "maturity" or something equally dry and boring, and the next thing he knew, his little warrior self had smacked him right across the face. His father's confused expression had been priceless, though. He'd probably been too busy lecturing about things like "growing up" to realize that his own son had taken things a bit too literally.
As Souta stared down at Elena, who was now drooling slightly on his lap (and he would never let her live that down), he sighed contentedly. Five years. It had been full of small, yet significant milestones: learning how to stand, learning how to walk, and of course, the pinnacle of all human achievement—learning how to talk.
Words like "Papa" and "Mama" had been his first monumental achievements, which, of course, led to his parents acting like he'd just won an Olympic gold medal. It didn't help that the first time he said "Mama," he did it with such dramatic flair, his arms raised triumphantly like he was announcing the start of a new era. His mother had nearly melted in pride. If only I could get that kind of reaction every time I burp, he mused with a grin.
Now, at five years old, he was starting to grasp more complicated things. He could walk without tripping over his own feet (mostly), speak a few sentences that weren't just a string of nonsense syllables, and—get this—he could even read. Well, sort of. He was definitely still working on it, but his reading abilities were enough that he could understand at least half of what was in the book he was holding now. He wasn't exactly deciphering ancient runes yet, but he was getting there. "The Great Lands of Arthea," huh? More like "The Very Long and Not-So-Exciting Story of Arthea," he thought with a smirk.
He adjusted his position slightly to avoid crushing Elena, who shifted but didn't wake. It was almost impressive how deep a sleeper she was, and if he were honest, it was kind of a superpower. She could nap through anything: loud noises, thunderstorms, and even his worst attempts at singing.
Maybe I should start making her learn a new spell. Something practical like "Wake Up Instantly When I Need to Use the Bathroom." It was important to have priorities, after all. He grinned at the thought.
One day, he might even learn how to cast spells himself, and when he did, the first thing he'd do was figure out how to summon a perfect slice of cake, just for the fun of it. Maybe he'd even make Elena his taste tester. She'd probably fall asleep mid-bite, though.
Souta flipped through the history book again, carefully rereading the sections on the world he now found himself in, and trying to wrap his head around everything. His eyes scanned the dense text as his mind raced with possibilities—if there was one thing he could count on in this world, it was the endless potential for chaos, adventure, and, most importantly, cake. Honestly, if he didn't figure out how to make some of this cake magic work for him, he'd consider his whole new life a failure. That was the most important lesson he'd learned from his first five years: everything, no matter how magical or dangerous, could be made better with cake.
"So, Arthea," Souta muttered to himself, tracing a finger over the map in his book, "three massive continents: the Human Continent, the Demon Continent, and the Beast Continent. Kind of like a big, magical buffet. And I'm right here in the Human Continent. Honestly, this feels like the safest place to start, unless, of course, I end up wandering into the Demon Continent by mistake and accidentally start a war over a misunderstood cake recipe. That could happen."
The image of him single-handedly starting an international conflict over a dessert was so ridiculous that he almost chuckled out loud. What a way to go: "Souta Laurent, the boy who brought the world to the brink of destruction… with cake." It had a certain ring to it, didn't it?
But no, he wasn't going to let that happen. He had a much better plan: to become the greatest adventurer this world had ever known. And the first step was mastering the cake culture of Arthea. Sure, adventuring came first, but when the world handed you magical cake, you didn't let it pass you by.
Souta's eyes lingered on the book again, shifting through the familiar sections that outlined the key regions of the Human Continent, where he'd spent his first five years. Ardentia, the region he called home, was part of the Kingdom of Solstara. "Solstara," Souta mumbled, rolling the name around in his mouth. It sounded like it was named after some sort of mythical sun god or, at the very least, a very fancy bakery. He could already picture it: the Solstara Sweets & Café, where all the best adventurers took a break between battles and gobbled up pastries the size of their heads.
"Solstara is the biggest kingdom on the Human Continent," Souta read aloud, nodding like he was in a classroom. "And it's home to the largest university for magic and adventurers' guilds. So, this is the place to be if I want to level up my adventuring skills. First day there, I'll walk into the university and be like, 'I'm ready for some magic and some cake. Who's in charge of snack time around here?'"
Souta imagined himself striding through the university gates, a cape billowing dramatically behind him, though he wasn't entirely sure where the cape would come from. Maybe he'd find one on the way. After all, if he was going to be an adventurer, a cape was a requirement, even if it wasn't practical. He'd always wanted to be the kind of guy who could dramatically sweep it behind him like a wizard in a high fantasy movie. Maybe he'd even toss in a good "BAM!" sound effect whenever he pulled off some insane move. He was going to be a legend—and have really cool snacks.
But no time to get lost in the dream of capes. The first step to becoming an adventurer was understanding the lay of the land. And the book was doing a pretty good job of laying out the details, even if some of it was a bit dry. The Human Continent, he learned, was split into four major regions: Northern Land, Eastern Land, Western Land, and Southern Land. These regions were separated by the Celestial Spine, a towering mountain range that sounded like the stuff of legends. In his mind, those mountains weren't just big rocks—no, they were the bones of a sleeping dragon, the kind that looked like it could crush a castle just by yawning. Much cooler than the regular "mountain range" explanation. "Celestial Spine" was basically the title of a blockbuster fantasy film. He was living in a legend already.
"Celestial Spine," Souta mused, "I bet if you climb high enough, you can see the world's most epic sunsets. Or maybe you find a dragon's skeleton and use it as your new home. I don't know. It just feels like the kind of place that has dragons." He paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "And if dragons are real, then I'm going to ride one. Obviously. No questions asked."
The thought of him riding a dragon across the skies made him grin. "And maybe I'll befriend a few along the way. I mean, every hero needs a dragon buddy, right? I'll have a dragon sidekick, and we'll get into hilarious adventures, like trying to find the best bakery in Arthea. Because obviously, that's the most important quest."
Souta's smile grew as he imagined himself and his imaginary dragon (who would, naturally, have the name 'Fluffypaws') battling evil wizards and saving kingdoms, all while occasionally stopping to indulge in some local treats. The idea of a giant dragon trying to fit into a cozy bakery, knocking over tables and chairs, was too funny not to entertain.
But let's not forget the Voidsea—the vast and dangerous ocean that separated the Human Continent from the Beast Continent. "Voidsea," he muttered. "Sounds ominous. I bet it's full of monsters that are just waiting for some unsuspecting adventurer to sail into their territory." He squinted, trying to picture the creatures in his mind. "Giant sea serpents? Kraken? Probably. And if I'm sailing across, I'd better hope I have a sturdy ship. Maybe a crew of wizards who can also bake. That'd be a good team." He smirked. "I'd be like the 'hero-in-training' who accidentally gets tangled up in a sea monster fight while trying to get a snack. The world's most under-prepared adventurer, everyone!"
At this thought, Elena shifted in his lap again. This time, she murmured something that sounded like "Cake… cake… cake…" in her sleep. Souta blinked down at her, trying to hide a grin. Maybe she's secretly an adventurer in training too, and we're both going to go out and conquer Arthea's greatest culinary wonders.
"You know what, Elena?" Souta whispered, leaning down toward her sleeping form. "We are definitely going to be the most overpowered adventurers in the history of cake."
He closed his book, grinning ear to ear as the soft breeze continued to rustle through the leaves above him. A world full of magic, cake, and endless adventures lay ahead, and he was ready for all of it. Whatever came his way—be it dragons, dungeons, or some weird magical disease that could only be cured by cake—he was going to take it on.
Souta stretched his arms wide, feeling the warmth of the sun and the peace of the moment. He took a deep breath and spoke aloud, almost daring the universe to hear him.
"Bring it on, Arthea. I'm ready to take on everything you've got. And don't forget—there's always room for cake."
And with that, he closed his eyes, allowing the world to continue its gentle turn as he dreamt of dragons, adventures, and the endless possibilities of a life filled with cake.