Lian's first days as a baby were rather unremarkable, considering the lack of control over his own body.
There wasn't much to do other than the basics: eat, sleep, cry when he needed to be changed, and occasionally entertain himself by grabbing the fingers of whoever came near. But deep down, he knew this was just the tip of the iceberg.
With no responsibilities, there was plenty of time to think. And for Lian, thinking was an indispensable pastime. He knew children learned quickly, so he decided he would use this phase to absorb as much as possible. After all, this was a new world, full of things he still didn't understand.
The first step? Observe. His new family seemed human – at least, as far as he could see. No horns, tails, or pointed ears. His body didn't seem so different from a normal baby, with lungs working, constant heartbeats, and... well, the "parts" in the right places.
But what really broke the mold was the magic. The magic that the old woman had used the day before left him extremely curious. If she could do that, maybe he too had an aptitude for it.
With this in mind, Lian set clear priorities. First, he needed to learn the language of this world. Without communication, there was no way to understand anything.
Second, he needed to figure out how magic worked – or at least its basic fundamentals. There was no time to waste. If he grew up without mastering it, what would be left? A limited life, with no prospects for something grand.
Between naps and feedings, he stayed attentive to the conversations around him. When his mother spoke to him, he analyzed every sound, trying to catch patterns. "Does this mean food? Or maybe it's just a way of calling me cute." It was a puzzle he had plenty of time to solve.
Lian spent his first day in the new world quietly in bed, next to his mother, while his father rested in the boys' room.
Time seemed to drag on, as if the hours were stretching, and he took advantage of every moment to pay attention to the voices around him. Every word spoken, he listened with growing curiosity, trying to understand its meanings, looking for patterns in the tones, the sounds that repeated.
In moments when he wasn't eating or trying to get attention so they would change his wet cloth diaper, Lian dedicated himself to what, in his mind, he called "his heroic attempts." He did the best – and the impossible – to cast two spells he'd seen Yana use: Purificatio Totalis and Manus Invisibilis.
But it was like trying to water a plant without a drop of water. No matter how many times he gestured or mentally rehearsed the words, the result was always the same: total failure. He didn't feel even a spark of power inside him, as if his magic was trapped somewhere distant, out of reach.
Comparing what he saw with the rules he remembered from old RPG games, it became clear that these spells required verbal and gestural components. But... this couldn't be all. It didn't make sense. Something was missing, something he just couldn't understand.
And what if speaking was actually necessary to use magic? This thought troubled him more than he wanted to admit. After all, he wouldn't be able to articulate clear words for many months – or even years. The idea of waiting so long was suffocating, a burden that his small and still-developing mind could already feel.
After a few more failed attempts, he realized the anxiety was growing. The fear of the unknown and the uncertainty of the future seemed bigger by the minute. He knew how to deal with failure – his past life was full of them – but something about failing to access his own magic was deeply discouraging.
And as if that weren't bad enough, there was the physical side of being a baby. Pooping and wetting himself uncontrollably was undoubtedly one of the worst parts of this new life.
The feeling was awful, almost desperate, and relying on crying to get someone to fix it made him even more frustrated. It was humiliating, and he hated every moment.
But fortunately, not everything was suffering. Amidst this chaos, there was a point of light: his mother, Lia.
She seemed tireless in her effort to comfort him. Every time he cried, she picked him up with impressive patience, rocking him with a tenderness he hadn't expected to find. Lia murmured soft words, like a song without melody, that he still didn't understand, but that seemed full of warmth and love.
Although Lian carried a certain prejudice toward mothers, stemming from his previous life – memories of an absent and indifferent figure – he couldn't deny that Lia was different. She made him feel loved, protected, as if he were the most important thing in the world.
As the day came to an end, the firelight cast soft shadows on the walls of the small room. Lian, exhausted from his failed attempts and the whirlwind of emotions, reflected on what he had accomplished.
Zero progress in magic. Zero progress in language. But, surprisingly, something good had happened. For the first time in a long time, he truly felt safe, as if the world outside could wait.
And he had also learned something new.
As Lia settled him in bed, she gently leaned over him, adjusting the blanket with a caring gesture. And, with immense tenderness, she whispered a name in his ear, one that sounded sweet and welcoming.
"Christian..."
The sound of the word was simple, but it carried something deeper, something he couldn't understand yet. It was a name. His new name. A bond he could barely grasp, but that, somehow, already seemed to belong to him.
The second day was undoubtedly a turning point in Chris's world.
He could hardly believe what he was seeing. His mother, Lia, seemed to have regained all her strength in an instant. She woke up early, with an energy that surprised even her. She, who had just given birth, didn't seem tired at all; on the contrary, she was full of energy, as if rest had never been needed.
Chris watched curiously as Lia got dressed. His mother was young, beautiful, with long brown hair tied in a simple knot. As she moved through the room, her presence seemed to light up the space, with the lightness and grace of someone used to hard work.
With a tired but satisfied smile, Lia dressed Chris in a piece of soft cloth, creating an improvised belt. He lay there, snuggled against her, like a little monkey safely on his mother's back.
Upon leaving the room, Lia found Zaira, her youngest daughter, in the kitchen. The girl, with her eight years and brown hair – almost identical to Lia's, but with lighter strands – was busy with her hands full of flour, trying to prepare breakfast.
"What are you doing, Zai? I've told you not to mess with the food if you don't know how to make something!" Lia said with a firm voice, but with a loving tone, trying not to wake Lilia, the older sister, who was still asleep in the room next door.
"I wanted to make a surprise... you seemed so tired yesterday, mom," Zaira replied, her wide eyes worried about the potential scolding.
"Honestly..." Lia sighed. "It's okay, you little rascal. Come on, pass that here," Lia said, running her hand through her daughter's hair, messing it up. Lia then approached the fireplace and, with a fluid movement of her fingers, lit the fire with a precise gesture.
"Ignis!" Lia whispered, and a flame sparked in the air, spreading soft light that danced on the walls and warmed the room with a comforting touch.
"Holy shit, no way... fire magic!" Chris thought, stunned. A smile almost escaped his lips as he watched the spectacle. It was something completely new, different from the magic he'd seen Yana conjure before.
"Honey, could you open the window for me?" Lia said with a smile, as Zaira obeyed, running to open the patched curtains.
Lia took several vegetables from a small greenhouse. On the wooden table, she began to chop them. Among the vegetables, Chris recognized some, like tomatoes and cucumbers, but they had different colors and textures. Others, however, he had no idea what they were.
Lia finished chopping everything and poured the pieces into a small copper cauldron. She then hung it over the fire using an iron hook. Next, with a simple snap of her fingers, she summoned water directly into the cauldron, filling it with precision.
Chris stood still, his eyes shining. "She... conjured water effortlessly!" he thought, excited. Watching his mother manipulate the elements so naturally reignited hope in him. Maybe he could master magic sooner than he imagined, without needing words or complicated gestures.
Zaira, on the other hand, was amazed, her eyes glowing with a mix of pride and enthusiasm. "Wow, you're amazing, mom!" she exclaimed, clapping. "One day, I'll be just as good as you, you can believe it!"
Lia smiled warmly, her affectionate gaze filling the kitchen with a comforting warmth. "Of course you will, of course you will. But remember, it takes time, practice... and lots of vegetable dishes," she added with a playful tone, making the little one laugh.
Soon, the smell of stew began to spread, calling the rest of the family like an invisible spell. Tomy, their father, was the first to appear, rubbing his sleepy eyes, followed by Lilia and Willy, the younger brother. Finally, Caliste, the eldest, appeared with his usual grumpy expression but remained silent as everyone gathered around the table.
During the meal, Chris stayed alert to every movement, especially when he saw his father filling the empty clay cups with a simple "Aqua!" He didn't know why, but hearing that magical command made his heart race. It was like fitting another piece into the vast puzzle unfolding before him.
After breakfast, everyone in the house resumed their usual routine. Lia, however, stayed close to Chris, carefully carrying him while starting the day's tasks. Nestled in an improvised hammock, he observed everything around him, absorbing every detail.
With a simple gesture and the word "Vortices!", Lilia summoned small currents of air that began to circulate through the house, carrying the accumulated dust outside. To Chris, it was like watching a daily magic show, where every act, no matter how simple, seemed extraordinary.
He also noticed something curious. While Lia and the others frequently used magic, Lilia remained indifferent to any spell. This piqued his curiosity. Why didn't she cast anything? Was it incapacity or a deliberate choice? Well, he kept the question to himself, certain that he'd figure it out in time.
When bedtime came, Chris was overwhelmed with unbearable anxiety to try magic. He had spent so much time waiting for this moment when his little hands and feet would finally be free to attempt something new.
Lia fell asleep almost immediately, but Chris stayed awake, feeling that each minute dragged on like hours. His excitement kept him from closing his eyes.
After contemplating all day, he decided to start with wind magic. It seemed like the safest choice for a beginner, since fire was too risky, water could wake his mom, and he couldn't find any trace of earth to manipulate in the dark room.
With determination, he waved his little arm and murmured, "Uuh...". Nothing happened.
Chris repeated the attempt countless times, but the result was always the same: silence and frustration. He began to doubt whether his tiny baby body could resist the exhaustion for much longer. He decided then to pause his efforts and reflect.
Magic was something natural in this world. Whenever he heard an elemental magic word for the first time, he felt something inside him connect, as if a link were being created with that energy. It was a promising sign, but it only made his failures even more frustrating.
He knew he shouldn't expect immediate success, but he imagined that at least he would get a small sign: a light breeze, a whisper of wind, any demonstration of magic. But so far, nothing.
Then he remembered the magic Yana had used to clean him. It was something pulsating, like a living energy.
He didn't exactly know how to describe it, but it felt like a connection being formed and, at the same time, slipping out of his reach. That memory brought new hope—maybe the secret was in that sensation.
Chris took a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs, and as he exhaled, he felt the tension slowly dissipate. He allowed a serene calm to take over him, as if he were connecting to something greater, something invisible around him.
This time, he didn't repeat words or gestures aimlessly; he focused on the idea that magic wasn't just something external, but something that already was a part of him.
Carefully, he extended his hand and thought inwardly: "Just a little... just enough, please."
Suddenly, he realized the air around him felt different. It wasn't just static; it was as if something in it were alive, responding to his will. He extended his arm again, this time with a softer gesture: "Come on... there has to be something!"
There was a slight tremor in the air. First almost imperceptible, but then... a shy breeze swept through Chris's hair, making it sway. It was so weak that it could easily have gone unnoticed, but he knew at that moment: he did it, he finally did it.
His eyes opened wide, shining with surprise and joy. A laugh escaped his lips, a strange, choked sound, typical of a baby, but to him, it sounded like music.
He laughed as he hadn't in centuries, but soon stopped, covering himself with care. He couldn't risk waking Lia or Tomy, fearing they might interpret his happiness as some kind of collapse or something like that.
It wasn't much. Just a little breeze. But it was enough.
Chris looked at the small hand stretched out in front of him, a soft smile lighting up his face. "I did it. Finally, I did it."