"Well then!" Grandpa said, clapping his hands together. "But before we start, there's something important we need to do."
"What is it?" I asked, tilting my head in curiosity.
"We need to ask your mom for permission. She's the real boss of this house," he said with a mischievous wink.
I froze for a moment, imagining her reaction. But then I smiled. If Gramps believed in me, I was sure she would too.
I nodded eagerly. "Let's go ask her!"
And with that, we descended from the attic, a new chapter of my life beginning. Little did I know, this was the start of a journey that would shape my destiny forever.
My mother started to scream in anger, her voice echoing through the room. My father and grandpa tried their best to calm her down, but she wasn't having it. Grandpa made several attempts to reason with her, but nothing seemed to work.
In this world, every living being—and even certain objects, like Grandpa's grimoire—contained Mana. Some were naturally more gifted than others, but with training, even those with less Mana could surpass the naturally talented. Mana was the lifeblood of magic, and while almost everyone understood its basics, mastery was another story. Farmers and villagers, mostly from the lower class, usually knew just a handful of simple spells. The middle and upper classes, who resided in the larger cities and towns, were far more proficient.
To my mother, the idea of teaching magic to a six-year-old child was utterly absurd. Traditionally, children began learning magic at a school around the age of seven or eight, even those from humble backgrounds. By the time they turned 14, most students had the chance to attend a prestigious magic academy.
There were only 12 major academies across the world, each located in a distant corner of the map. The nearest one to us was the Elder Academy of Magic in Elderfort. The thought of me moving away to attend an academy at 14 filled my mother with fear and worry.
As my mother continued to vehemently reject Grandpa's offer, my grandmother, who had been quiet until now, stepped forward. Her voice was calm and firm as she said, "I know how you feel, Leila… trust me, I do. But trying to hold your son back from his dreams will only make him resentful as he grows older. And one day, you'll regret not letting him pursue what he loves."
My mother's defiance faltered. She hesitated, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I just… I don't want him to leave us," she whispered, her voice trembling. "But I know you're right."
My grandmother smiled gently, as if communicating something unspoken—a kind of motherly telepathy that passed between them.
Finally, my mother let out a shaky sigh and said, "Alright… but on two conditions. First, I don't want him to go too far from home during his training. And second, we need to have a serious discussion about sending Arthur to a magic school. If you're going to train him, I expect him to be more than qualified by the time he's ready to attend."
Grandpa's face softened, a mix of confidence and emotion lighting up his features. "You have my word," he said solemnly.
With that, my mother's resolve crumbled, and she let the tears she had been holding back flow freely. My father and grandmother moved to comfort her, their quiet reassurances filling the room.
Though the tension had eased, I couldn't shake the feeling that this moment was a turning point for all of us. My journey into magic was about to begin, but it wasn't just my story that was changing—my family's world was shifting with it.
Some time later, I discovered that my mother was pregnant. She had been carrying the baby for months, and my parents were overjoyed. Their happiness was infectious, and I felt it too. I promised myself that I would be a good brother when the time came.
But that wasn't the only big change in my life. Around the same time, I began my training with Grandpa. It started with the fundamentals: understanding the structure of spells, learning how Mana worked, and discovering how to increase my reserves and channel them effectively.
The first few months were grueling. Even though my family often praised me for being bright for my age, it was still a struggle to grasp how magic truly worked. Magic wasn't just about waving your hands or saying a few words—it was a deeply intricate system, almost like a language.
Spells were constructed from magic codes, sequences of elements and symbols that had to be assembled perfectly to create a desired effect. Tiny adjustments in the sequence, elements, or even the flow of Mana could dramatically alter the spell's outcome. Over the centuries, mages had developed abbreviations—compressed codes, as they were called—that could streamline the process and reduce the Mana cost of a spell. Mastering these shortcuts was a game changer.
Once I had a basic understanding, the real work began. Practice. And by practice, I mean training six to eight hours a day. It wasn't exactly normal for a six-year-old to endure such intense routines, but I was determined.
Around this time, I began exploring the neighborhood on my own. I never wandered too far—my mother would have had my head if I did—but it felt freeing to have a little independence.
My neighborhood was full of kids my age, and I made a lot of new friends. But one stood out: Oliver. He had long brown hair, sharp brown eyes, and was unusually tall for his age. He always had a funny yet serious expression that made him seem older than he was.
Oliver quickly became my best friend. Unlike the other kids, he didn't laugh at me when I talked about my dreams of becoming one of the strongest magicians in the world. Most of the others rolled their eyes or outright mocked me, calling my aspirations foolish or impossible. But not Oliver.
He believed in me, just as much as I believed in myself. And it turned out, he shared the same dream. Like me, he wanted to be a magician, and together, we dreamed of becoming adventurers when we grew up. Those shared ambitions cemented our bond.
Time passed, and the days flew by like butterflies on a fresh spring morning. My grandpa didn't just teach me magic—he taught me so much more.
We would meditate by the waterfall, the sound of rushing water helping me focus as I worked to expand my Mana reserves and improve my Mana flow. On other days, we would hunt in the nearby hills, sharpening my stealth and perception. Gathering herbs became a regular activity too, as he taught me to identify their properties, healing benefits, and how to use them correctly to make potions.
In quieter moments, Grandpa would tell me tales of the world—stories steeped in myth, occult mysteries, and ancient legends. And then there was swordsmanship. We sparred in his backyard almost daily, and it quickly became one of my favorite parts of training. I didn't just enjoy it—I was good at it. Gramps, or "Gramp Sensei", noticed my talent and began teaching me even techniques he hadn't completely mastered himself. He didn't just prepare me to wield magic but gave me a foundation for survival and self-reliance.
But Grandpa wasn't my only teacher. My parents took on the role of preparing me for the practicalities of the world. They explained how the system worked, how the economy functioned, and taught me essential skills like math. Those lessons were often boring, but I knew they were important. My parents also included me in their daily work, taking me to the grain fields or teaching me how to pick fruit from the trees.
Grandma, on the other hand, taught me the art of cooking. She shared countless recipes, teaching me how to prepare meat, pastries, and pasta dishes that could make anyone's mouth water. She was, without a doubt, the best grandma ever.
In March, everything changed. The time had come—my mother gave birth to a healthy baby girl. She had dark hair, two big blue eyes, and a tiny upturned nose that made her look just like our mom. My parents named her Reina, which means "queen" in my mother's native tongue.
I was overjoyed. With Reina's arrival, I finally had the chance to step into the role of a big brother, and I promised myself that I'd do my best to protect and guide her.
My training continued, and by the time I was eight years old, I had mastered my first spells. I could conjure fire, even throw a flame at will. I learned to manipulate small amounts of water and move rocks, lifting and shifting objects with ease. I was also able to cast a Mana barrier, offering protection from minor attacks. But my favorite spell, the one that thrilled me the most, was the Phantom Step.
The Phantom Step was a type of fleeting teleportation—a spell that allowed me to move a greater distance in an instant, almost as if I were an apparition. It wasn't true teleportation, but it mimicked the effect by making it appear as though I had jumped or stepped a far distance in a flash. It became my signature move during sparring sessions. Grandpa found it difficult to track my movements, especially since it wasn't easy for him to perceive a child, even one with strong Mana like mine. I had become good at hiding my Mana during battles, using it to my advantage.
Grandpa often praised my progress, telling me that he was impressed by how quickly I had picked up magic and combat. He admitted that, at my age, he had not been nearly as talented. But with a serious tone, he reminded me to stay humble. "Don't overestimate yourself," he warned. "There are still many weaknesses you need to overcome."
During that time, I would often go out with Oliver and the others, hanging out around town and experimenting with magic spells.
One day, after a morning of intense training, I headed out. The sun was shining brightly, and the sky was a spotless blue. A cool breeze swept through the streets, carrying with it the scent of freshly baked bread. I had an appointment to meet Oliver near the Cilba Bakery.
When I arrived, he was nowhere to be seen. Assuming he was running late, I waited outside, watching as people bustled in and out of the bakery. The warm, delicious smell made my mouth water. Minutes passed, and I began to grow restless.
Deciding to take a walk, I wandered through the town, soaking in the lively atmosphere. As I turned a corner, I heard faint noises coming from an alley. Curious, I followed the sound. Near the entrance of the alley, I spotted Oliver. He stood there, his attention fixed on something ahead. He was so focused that he didn't notice me approach.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
Oliver jumped, startled as though he'd seen a ghost.
"Psssshhhh!" he hissed, holding a finger to his lips to signal for silence.
He leaned closer and whispered, "Do you see those older kids over there? The ones pushing that poor little elf?"
I squinted into the alley. "Uh… yeah," I replied cautiously.
"I saw them earlier near the bakery," Oliver explained, his voice low and tense. "They were following the elf and making fun of him. So, I decided to follow them. I didn't think it would escalate like this. I want to help him—I really do—but…" He hesitated, glancing down. "They're older than me. I wouldn't stand a chance. They probably know spells from school that would totally kick my ass."
His voice grew softer, laced with shame. "But maybe you could take them. You've been training with your grandpa, after all."
"Wait… me?!" I blurted out, my eyes widening in shock.
Oliver looked at me, hope flickering in his eyes, but I hesitated. Could I really handle this? My mind raced as I thought about the hours of sparring with my grandpa, the magic spells I had practiced, the hunting trips that had sharpened my instincts. Surely, I was more capable than I gave myself credit for.
I took a deep breath, steadying myself. "Alright," I said, my voice firmer now. "I'll help the elf, even if I walk away with a few bruises."
Oliver's face lit up with relief as I added, "It's time to put my training to the test.