Four years had passed. Taryn von Harrow could now walk on two legs, though his stride was still unsteady. He stood in front of a tall mirror, admiring his noble outfit—a tailored tunic of deep blue with silver embroidery, the crest of House von Harrow stitched proudly over his heart. He adjusted the collar, his small hands fumbling slightly.
"Four years is but a number," Taryn muttered to himself, his voice low and measured. "But experiencing it is a different matter."
His mother, Seraphine, stood nearby, her sharp eyes watching him with a mix of amusement and curiosity. "Sometimes you speak too mature for your own age, Taryn," she said, her tone light but probing.
Taryn froze for a moment, then forced a sheepish smile. "W-well, I guess I'm just too smart, Mother."
Seraphine raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Taryn turned back to the mirror, his mind already racing. Four years of careful observation, of piecing together fragments of conversations, had given him a clear picture of this world—Aless. It was a world of magic and nobility, of shifting alliances and simmering conflicts. A world technologically inferior to the one he'd left behind, but no less complex.
He had learned much. The Kingdom of Havendar was on the brink of chaos. King Friedrich, old and ailing, had yet to name an heir. By law, the throne would pass to the first prince, Cramfeld, a military man in his late twenties. But the other princes—Gerhardt, Otmar, and two others—would never accept that. If the king died without a clear successor, the kingdom would fracture into five warring factions. A generational war was inevitable.
The Eastern lords were already choosing sides. The House of Schattenberg, a powerful duchy, backed Cramfeld. The House of Drachenfels, equally formidable, supported the third prince, Gerhardt. The barons in the west, including those bordering House von Harrow's territory, had thrown their lot in with the fourth prince, Otmar.
And then there was Count Aldric von Harrow, Taryn's father. A man of influence and ambition, he had yet to declare his allegiance. This made him a target. A year ago, Prince Cramfeld had visited, offering a tempting deal: support his claim to the throne, and House von Harrow would gain control of three baronies to the west. The strategic value was clear—von Harrow's territory could flank Drachenfels, weakening their defenses and tipping the balance in Cramfeld's favor.
But there was a catch. The western baronies, already aligned with Otmar, were separated from von Harrow's lands by a massive river. Crossing it would be difficult, risky. If Aldric accepted Cramfeld's offer, he would have to divide his forces to support the western frontline, leaving himself vulnerable to a preemptive strike from Drachenfels to the east. The baronies, though inferior, would be little more than a distraction—a thorn in his side.
Taryn's lips curled into a faint smile as he turned away from the mirror. The pieces were falling into place. The game was beginning, and House von Harrow was at the center of it. His father's decision would shape the future of the kingdom—and Taryn's own destiny.
Taryn's thoughts were interrupted by his mother's voice, sharp and commanding. "Lumina," Seraphine said, addressing the maid who had just finished helping Taryn into his outfit, "I'd like Taryn to be ready by the time Mage Kallian arrives."
With that, she swept out of the room, her gown trailing behind her. Taryn stared at the door for a moment, his mind racing. Ahhh... shit. I nearly forgot about the mage. He clenched his tiny fists, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. I have yet to adapt to this world's arcane system. Magic. It's nonexistent in my past, but I've read about it in fictional materials. Still, that's not the same as experiencing it firsthand.
He turned to Lumina, the maid who had been dressing him. Her hands were quick and efficient, her movements practiced. "Lumina," he said, his voice calm but curious, "what's the reason Mage Kallian is coming?"
Lumina smiled, her expression warm but tinged with a hint of excitement. "It's to test whether you have an aptitude for magic, young master."
Magic. The word echoed in Taryn's mind. He had spent the last four years gathering information about this world, but magic had remained a mystery. He knew it existed—how could he not, with the glowing crystals and the occasional whispered rumors?—but he had yet to understand how it worked.
If it was anything like the Climlathians' system, though, he might have a starting point. The Climlathians, an alien species from his past life, possessed a unique organ capable of storing and manipulating exotic energies from their home planet. They had been secretive about their anatomy, but Taryn had managed to uncover some details during his time as a spymaster. Their abilities were formidable, allowing them to harness energy for combat, healing, and more.
But was Aless's magic the same? Or was it something entirely different? Taryn's mind raced with possibilities. If he had an aptitude for magic, it could change everything. It could give him the power he needed to navigate this world's treacherous politics, to protect House von Harrow, and to carve out his own path.
"Young master?" Lumina's voice broke through his thoughts. She was holding out a small comb, her expression concerned. "Is everything alright?"
Taryn forced a smile, though it felt strange on his young face. "Yes, Lumina. I'm just... thinking."
She nodded, her hands returning to their work. Taryn stood still, his mind already planning ahead. Mage Kallian's arrival was an opportunity—one he couldn't afford to waste. Whatever this world's magic was, he would learn it. He would master it.
"I think you're ready, young master," Lumina said, offering her hand. "Let's go see your father. He's been waiting for you in the living room, downstairs."
Taryn nodded, his small hand gripping hers. Together, they left his room and made their way downstairs. The manor was quiet, the only sound the soft rustle of their footsteps on the polished wooden floors. Taryn's mind was still racing, his thoughts a whirlwind of magic, politics, and the upcoming test. But he pushed them aside, focusing on the present.
As they entered the living room, Taryn's eyes immediately landed on his father. Count Aldric von Harrow stood near the fireplace, his tall frame silhouetted against the flickering flames. He turned as they approached, his sharp features softening into a smile.
"You look spectacular, Taryn," Aldric said, his voice warm but carrying the weight of authority. He crouched down to Taryn's level, his hands resting on his knees. "A true von Harrow."
Taryn forced a smile, though it felt strange on his young face. "Your words honor me, Father."
Aldric's eyebrows rose in surprise, and for a moment, he looked almost amused. "You even know the ways of the noble now," he said, his tone a mix of pride and curiosity. He reached out, lifting Taryn into his arms with ease. "Where did you learn that?"
Taryn hesitated, his mind scrambling for a plausible explanation. "W-well, I learned from your conversations with the nobles, Father," he said, his voice careful. It wasn't a lie, exactly. He had been listening, absorbing every word, every nuance. But it was still embarrassing, being treated like a child when his mind was anything but.
Aldric chuckled, the sound deep and resonant. "You're a quick learner, my son. That's good. You'll need to be."
Taryn nodded, his expression serious despite the childishness of his body. He couldn't afford to let his guard down, not even for a moment. This world was dangerous, and the stakes were high. But as he looked into his father's eyes, he felt a flicker of something—respect, perhaps, or even affection. Aldric was a man of power and ambition, but he was also a father. And for all his flaws, he cared about his family.
Still, Taryn couldn't shake the awkwardness of it all. Being carried, being praised, being treated like a child—it was humiliating.
Taryn and Aldric were engaged in light conversation when Taryn felt it—a strange energy, almost like a wind, though the air in the room was still. He frowned, his sharp eyes scanning the room for the source. There was no breeze, no movement, but the sensation was unmistakable. It prickled at his skin, raising the hairs on the back of his neck.
His gaze shifted to the large window overlooking the manor's lawn. Outside, light particles began to appear, swirling in a circular motion as if drawn by an invisible force. They coalesced into a single spot, growing brighter and more defined until a figure emerged. A man in his fifties, dressed in robes of light purple, his long hair flowing as if caught in a breeze. In one hand, he clutched a staff topped with a crystal orb; in the other, he held a thick tome bound in leather.
Taryn's eyes widened. Magic. Real, tangible magic. He had read about it, theorized about it, but seeing it in person was something else entirely. The mage—Kallian, he assumed—stepped forward, his movements calm and deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world.
The butler, Alfreid, appeared at the door, his posture graceful and his head bowed. "Your grace," he said, his voice smooth and respectful, "Magister Kallian has arrived."
Aldric nodded, his expression unreadable. "I can see that, Alfreid. Thank you." He turned his gaze toward the door, where Kallian was now approaching, his staff tapping softly against the floor with each step.
Taryn watched closely, his mind racing. This was it—the moment he had been both anticipating and dreading. The test for magical aptitude. The chance to understand this world's arcane system. But it was also a risk. If he showed too much potential, he might draw unwanted attention. If he showed too little, he might miss his only opportunity to gain power.
Kallian stepped into the room, his presence commanding yet calm. His eyes, sharp and observant, swept over the room before landing on Taryn. For a moment, their gazes locked, and Taryn felt a strange sensation, as if the mage could see straight through him.