Now that I could crawl, the world had opened up to me.
Not the whole world, of course just the little kingdom that was our home. But for someone who'd been stuck lying in place for months, that was more than enough.
The floor creaked beneath my palms as I explored, room after room. Dust motes spun in yellow sunlight filtering through the windows, comforting against the small of my back. Yeasty bread and a hint of baking wafted from the kitchen, and occasionally I heard Mother singing a soft and steady hum, like the beat of a heartbeat.
She always fed me every morning, then put me down with a fond smile.
"There you go, little adventurer. Don't get into trouble, hmm?"
Trouble, of course, was the very first thing on my agenda.
That was the way I discovered the door. A cool draft of air tickled my face as I crept closer, the door wide open, as if daring me to enter. The room inside was different... still and quiet, with a light scent of dried herbs and parchment.
A study Room.
My eyes drifted over a large wooden desk, the chair pushed up against it, and piles of leather-bound books with cracked spines from frequent use. Interest was stirred.
I moved quietly to the chair, put my small hands on the leg, and pushed myself up. My arms shook with the effort, but I held on. I did it. I heaved with a grunt and hooked my fingers over the seat and started to climb. The wood was cool and smooth under my hands, each push a struggle.
At last, I climbed up onto the chair, breathing hard with exertion. The desk towered in front of me. I stretched to the closest book, its cover frayed, its heft full of promise. My small hands pushed.
It shifted hardly at all.
"Ngghh…" My arms trembling, I exerted myself. Finally, it glided... further than I had hoped.
And so did I.
My equilibrium was skewed. The world turned upside down.
Thud.
Pain erupted along my side where I landed on the floor. A moment of shock immobilized me. Heat then flooded to my eyes, and everything was a blur. A small whimper escaped before I could swallow it back in.
Footsteps thundered against the floorboards.
"Lucian!" Mother's voice was cutting with fear. She moved into a crouch in a flash, picking me up into her arms. "Oh, sweetheart… are you hurt?"
I buried my face against her shoulder, hiccuping against the tide of tears. Her smell... soap and flour and something warmly floral—closed around me, holding me level. Her hand passed over my temple, soft, questing.
Then... light.
A warm light spilled from her hand, green and living, enfolding me in heat. The air rippled softly, as sunlight ripples on water, and a shivery feeling traveled under my skin, sinking deeper, until the pain in my side melted away to nothing. Vanished, as if it had never existed.
I stared up at her, eyes wide. The light gleamed off her black hair, catching like dew on threads of silk. Magic.
My small hand went out, pointing, back to myself. My voice cracked into demanding, wondering babbles. "Mama! Mama!"
She smiled weakly, sweeping a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Not yet, Lucian," she said softly. "You still have time."
Time?
The light receded, leaving the heat of her arms. But my head seethed hotter than ever with questions I couldn't yet shape, much less speak.
After that, Mother started instructing me in the language of this world.
It generally began with her drawing me onto her lap beside the hearth, a big book propped on her knees. Her voice was gentle but firm as she read aloud, stopping every now and then to lead my finger over the twisted symbols. When I mumbled a sound incorrectly, she'd say it again slowly, her lips shaping the form until I did the same. Occasionally, I swear she was more thrilled than me when I finally got it.
"Again," she'd tell me, pointing to the word for 'fire.'
"Fah… feer…" I muttered, giving it a try.
"Fire," she'd say softly, eyes sparkling.
"Fiiir!" I bellowed, and she applauded as if I had won the world.
I learned things quicker than my parents anticipated though, of course, I had technically done these things before. Words turned into sentences, sentences turned into pages, and then I was reading alongside her instead of merely repeating words.
The books she loaned me were like treasures. Their aged, cracked spines had the light scent of old candle smoke and ink and every page held a secret. I'd steal them from the table and haul myself into the study, crawling up onto the chair with the agility of a baby goat. Mother would always catch up with me in the end, smiling like I'd eaten sweets, and let me "discover" the book that I had in my hand.
It was on those pages that the image of this world started to take shape.
Three mighty kingdoms... Humans, Elves, and Dwarves... each ruled by their own and occupied by their own lands. Our home, Brightvale Town, lay in the human kingdom, surrounded by cobblestone streets and towering walls of stone. Beyond that was the Great Mist Forest, extending far and wide, caressing all three kingdoms like a gigantic, collective heartbeat. And at the edge of the map, beyond mountains as jagged as shattered blades, dwelled beings powerful enough to destroy a city. Mana beasts, they were called.
I leaned back once, gazing at the picture of a great wolf with eyes that glowed. "Perhaps there are beast women as well," I grumbled, lips curling. "Sexy beast women."
Mother, who had been standing close by sorting herbs, stood stock still. "What was that?"
"Uh—beast… uh, wisdom! Yeah. Perhaps they possess ancient wisdom," I stuttered, turning the page too rapidly.
Father, walking through with a mug in his hand, laughed. "He's certainly your son," he remarked with a pointed glance at Mother.
She scoffed, but the smile betrayed her. "At least he's picking up the language. Flirting can wait."
One afternoon, when I was digging around the shelves that I wasn't allowed to... (the ones Mother referred to as "dust museums"), I found a book that seemed to have lasted through three wars, two floods, and possibly a dragon sneeze on it. Its leather binding was dry and cracked, the gold lettering so worn that it might as well have been in "Guess-the-Title" letters.
Of course, I opened it.
The pages rustled and whispered like desiccated leaves, filling the air with that scent of old books that somehow always seems to be both fantastical and like the start of a sneeze.
Words within? Odd. The syntax warped in ways even my previous life's English instructors would have wept about, and half the glyphs resembled someone doodled them while dozing off. Nevertheless, due to all the hours that I'd spent reading novels, video games, and manga, I was able to work out the sense.
Magic. And swords. These two columns held up this world.
The book says that each child Awakens to magic at the age of twelve, when their body automatically pulled in the world's power... Mana. Awakening was comparable to being handed a key, a gate pass to warp that power into spells.
I looked down at my small three-year-old hands.
Nine years. Nine years until I could technically touch magic.
…Yeah, no. That was far too long.
My fingers cramped with anticipation. I wasn't particularly known for patience in my previous life, and this one wasn't getting off to any better a start.
So I sat down on the floor, cross-legged like some wannabe monk, and closed my eyes. In my mind's eye, I saw the diagrams from all those wuxia novels—the energy flow curling inward toward a central dantian.
I calmed my breathing. Concentrated.
At the beginning, nothing. Just me, standing very stern while most likely looking like a kid faking a nap.
And then… on the periphery of my perception… something sparkled.
It wasn't sound, or vision, or feeling, but somehow, it was all three simultaneously. Like sunbeam sparkles on dust motes, but clearer, sharper.... Mana.
My heart pounded.
Gently—like not spilling water from cupped hands—I reached out and tugged. The motes fought back at first, escaping my mental grasp like wayward noodles. I was not having any of this, however. I continued to breathe, to attempt.
Gradually, they started to cluster.
And then, within me, something flared.
When I opened my eyes, the room seemed the same: cracked book, sunlight filtering through the curtains, dust on the shelves. But within me… there was a spark.
A smile crept over my face.
Years went by, but not in a haze. Each day etched its mark, a memory sewn into the fabric of my life.
Some mornings smelled of warm bread and honey. Mother would catch me sneaking another honey cake from the kitchen, her laughter bubbling like sunlight through the windows. "Lucian! You're going to turn into a cake yourself at this rate," she scolded, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. I'd grin, crumbs on my cheeks, and dart away, her laughter chasing me down the hall.
Fridays were for Father. He'd scoop me high into the air so my tummy flipped and laughter spilled out of me in huge, helpless waves. I would kick my legs, scream, and attempt to wriggle free, but his hold was firm, as solid as the mountains outside our town. "Not yet, little man," he'd joke, lowering me so just enough air rushed past me before he'd toss me up again.
Trips into Brightvale Town became their own adventures. The baker would wave from behind his stall, calling out, "Lucian! The sweetest boy in town!" I'd return a shy wave, balancing carefully on the edge of the cart to peek at rows of bread and pastries. The blacksmith always let me lift his hammer, though it barely budged under my small hands. "Almost, almost," he would encourage, and I'd puff out my cheeks and try again.
And the streets were not merely for running errands... approximately, they were tracks. Thin alleys became courses for dashes with other kids. Our feet stirred clouds of dust as we weaved around squawking chickens and rattling wagons. I tripped, fell, and scrambled up again, always energized by the adrenaline of racing, the wind whipping my hair, the scent of hay and newly baked bread in the air.
But it wasn't all fun. In quiet, secret places, I trained. Cross-legged on the floor of my bedroom, under the broad limbs of the oak tree in the backyard, Breath in. Breath out. Reach out. Draw the small motes of light nearer. Hold them firm. Nourish the increasing fire in my heart.
At first, the light was hesitant—a flash that flickered and vanished like a timid firefly. But gradually, over months and years, it became more confident. When I was Six, the sparkle in my dantian had become a glowing sphere that throbbed like a small sun, warm and persistent.
I could sense it in my fingers, in my fingertips, in the pounding of my heart. It reacted to my mind, tiny but alive. On Earth, every effort at this had been mere childish daydreams, fantasies cobbled together from too many books and games. Here, it worked. And it worked too well.
Occasionally, I would sit under the oak, gazing at the motes dancing in circles around me like miniature stars, and question how much further I could test it. The breeze whispered through the leaves above, bringing whispers of promise. And I smiled, dreaming of what lay still beyond the gates of Brightvale.
It began on a still morning. I sat cross-legged on my bedroom floor, the gentle sunlight seeping through the curtains and dust motes dancing sluggishly in the air. My palms lightly touched my knees, eyes closed, breathing measured and controlled. The familiar thrum of mana swirled about me, seeping into my dantian like water filling a waiting cup.
At first, everything was perfect. Comfortable. Predictable. My pulse was in sync with the rhythm of the flow.
Then… it shifted.
The mana didn't cease. It didn't abate when I attempted to stabilize it. It burst, increased in power and influx, as if being sucked by some force I couldn't regulate. The little star within my chest started to expand, growing brighter, turning with increased speed. My skin tingled, a crawling, low heat that moved up my arms and across my face. A harsh pressure assaulted my chest, solid and unyielding.
Stop. Stop! I instructed, anxiety gripping like a vice in my belly. Stop!
It didn't listen. The light within me blazed, throbbing roughly, a near-tolerable brightness. My hands shook, my fingers curling and uncurling over my knees. My breath caught.
Fear gnawed at my head. I'd read enough in this world to know... what would happen if the Mana core overloads and burst.. it wasn't merely painful. It was dangerous. Fatal. One misstep, and all I'd labored for… everything… might be gone.
The room itself reacted. Darkness stretched and danced abnormally across walls. Floorboards beneath me hummed slightly, and air was thick with the power I no longer could control.
And then... before I could call up control, before I could even blink...
BOOM!!!!!