At first, an intense light came accompanied by a soft sensation of floating—a brief respite. A gentle warmth filled me, along with an almost unbearable desire to lose myself. Lose myself? Yes... I've forgotten something. But what could it be?
Before I could dwell on these new thoughts, my body began to tremble. The cold rushed back in an instant, sending a shiver through my skin—the nature of a newborn who has left behind the comfort of the womb to face a new life.
Now, I felt only an overwhelming need to breathe. An almost unbearable pain prevented me from maintaining the calm necessary for rational thought. All I could do was thrash about.
My senses, overwhelmed and raw, devastated by agony, left me no choice but to writhe in pain. Soon, my own muffled sobs filled the entire room. The initial shyness of crying gave way to an unexpected relief—tears I had held back for so long, releasing emotions I'd hidden away since who knows when.
But soon, consciousness faded along with my sense of self, leaving behind all the resistance I still clung to.
When I awoke, my vision was still blurry—or rather, it was as if the world itself refused to let me recognize it. It was impossible to discern any shape, even if it were clearly right in front of me.
After nearly three years of a time I couldn't quite grasp, I had finally begun to recover a sense of myself. The confusion was overwhelming. I didn't understand what was happening to me.
I couldn't hold onto all my memories vividly, only noisy, very blurry scenes accompanied by the cries of a baby. I felt them with a sense of shame, without even knowing why.
The last thing I remembered clearly was walking to work, waiting for the train at Kyoto Station. But now I saw only stone walls and ornaments that seemed plucked straight from a medieval castle. There was a girl dressed like a maid standing very close to me.
Am I in a hospital? Was there an accident? That would explain the blurry vision…
But my eyes, slowly adjusting to the light that seemed to come from candles or gas lamps, told me that none of this was what it appeared to be.
"Lady Gabriela, say 'Ahh.'"
I tried to look around, desperate to understand where I was. Maybe I'd been kidnapped. There were no electronic devices, and the room was clearly anachronistic compared to modern society—reminding me of the Amish lifestyle I'd seen in a documentary. But what a strange room… What am I doing here?
"Lady Gabriela."
"Come now, come now. It's not so hard, is it?"
I didn't understand and only had more questions filling my head—so many that I hadn't even noticed the wooden spoon the maid was holding. But of course, that food must be meant for this "Gabriela." I needed answers, and lying here wouldn't give them to me.
"If you don't eat your food, the spirits will take you."
It was only when the spoonful entered my mouth, and a strong taste of vegetable porridge flooded my palate, that I understood: That Gabriela… was me.
The taste of fava beans and carrots was the missing piece, the clue that had been hidden in plain sight, leaving me with a single question: Why?
Several years have passed since I awoke—or rather, reincarnated into this body. Though I still don't understand the reasons behind this strange event, I have managed to figure out a few important things.
My name is Gabriela von Hergia. I am six years old and the third daughter of the Duke of the Hergia Duchy, which in turn belongs to the Kingdom of Florestia. This world is comparable to medieval Europe, but with the classic trappings of high fantasy: magic, mythical creatures, and intelligent species other than those of my native 21st-century world.
One thing I still can't understand is why this world and its rules, so different from my own, feel so familiar. But those are things I'll discover in time. My memories of my past life are still somewhat hazy; I can only recall a few scattered things that betray my original origin from a world so different from this one.
Although I've adapted well enough to the social norms of this new world, I've had difficulties because I am, in fact, a 29-year-old woman, which has made it hard to match the expected demeanor of a six-year-old girl.
This has earned me some strange looks and a great deal of whispering behind my back. But it has also gained me a reputation for my 'paternal' bearing and attracted the attention of numerous tutors and scholars from the duchy, who have called me a genius.
"My lady, the table is served."
One of the several maids in charge of my care says this as she enters. It still feels strange to me—especially since in my small apartment, I used to do everything on my own. Here, maids even dress me.
"I'll be right there."
As I head to the dining room, I enjoy looking at all the paintings and decorations in the hallways. Today, they are simply artworks of fixed value, but in the future, many of these pieces will hold great historical significance.
My favorite is the large portrait of me over the grand hall, painted for my fifth birthday. It reminds me of European masterpieces like the Mona Lisa or those of some important king.
Since the palace is so large, I have to walk a long way to reach the main dining room. But whenever I arrive, the food is always ready and prepared—a grand and ostentatious meal that doesn't quite compare to the dishes of my home country. Still, it is delicious.
Today at lunch, I am alone. It is customary for the Duke to tour the vineyards and the duchy's production facilities, so he is rarely around the palace. My view of the Duke is not similar to the image I had of medieval rulers; he is a just and honest man.
After lunch, I have multiple lessons. As a noble's daughter, I am taught basic things like manners, history, and writing. These subjects haven't been difficult for me; after all, I hold a bachelor's degree in civil engineering. But today will be a little different.
This world has magic—not elemental magic, but one of spells and incantations, like what you'd expect in a role-playing game. I'm not sure if magic is universal, but I know that to become a great mage requires extensive study and practice.
So, if you want to advance, you need either a great mentor or an innate talent. And after an incident yesterday, where I accidentally burned down vineyards with magic I didn't know I possessed, the Duke has decided to hire me a teacher who should be arriving soon.
I was never a fantasy geek, nor was I ever particularly interested in this sort of thing, but the excitement of being able to master magic is a feeling that makes my heart race a thousand times faster, and I'm growing more and more eager to learn it.
When my teacher arrived, I was even more excited. I had imagined a white-bearded old man, very much in the style of Gandalf. But she turned out to be a beautiful elf—tall, with long, silver hair. Containing my excitement, I gave a slight bow and introduced myself to her.
She did the same. Her name is Viktoriya Estregoi, and she is an elf who has lived for thousands of years. Without wasting any time, she took me to the palace courtyard. She wants to test how strong my magic is; apparently, she's already heard about the vineyard incident.
With both of us in a vast courtyard, and no one else nearby, we can begin the test. I still don't know how I produced that blaze, nor what the rules are for using magic, but I hope not to disappoint my teacher.
"Magic comes from the soul. You must be calm and free of thought."
"When you're ready, imagine the magic flowing through your body and let it flow."
That means nothing to me. It's normal in this world; they haven't yet had the foundational thinkers who would change their worldview. Their alchemy, though more potent and advanced than in my native world, is still very rudimentary and basic.
This world is still rigidly bound by Aristotelian thought, with its four elements: fire, air, earth, and water. These are the foundations that govern everything. I wonder what will happen in this world when they discover the composition of each element and realize that fire is a reaction, not an elemental state.
I close my eyes and try to think of nothing—to empty my mind and isolate myself from my surroundings. Though my teacher's instructions weren't very precise, I manage to feel a sensation of flow, or rather, a cascade surging through my entire body. I try to channel it to my hands, which results in a large magical explosion not far from here.
"I... Impressive."
I hear my teacher's hesitant voice and her uneven applause. I turn to look at her and flash a wide smile. I'm not sure if I've made a good or bad impression, but for now, that felt fun.
According to my teacher, I am an exceptionally special user, possessing a vast amount of mana and a fascinating affinity for magic. She is both excited and a little frightened to teach me and see what directions my learning can take.
But the studies are much more complicated. It's impossible for a six-year-old girl to learn so many topics in alchemy from an immense number of books and magical treatises, which are only the foundation for understanding and making my magic coherent—turning it into something truly functional.
I'm fortunate to already know these subjects from my past life. I wonder if having more advanced knowledge of the basic elements that make up the world will grant me a greater magical affinity or turn me into an influential figure of this era.
Though I would feel quite bad if I used the theories of scientists from my time to force this new world to advance. For now, let's focus on understanding how magic works, and then I'll see what I can do with my knowledge.
I spent the entire afternoon until nightfall with my teacher. I've managed to learn a great deal about magical principles, biting my tongue many times to avoid speaking up or correcting their errors about the elements and how chemical reactions work.
When night fell, my teacher bid me farewell. The next magic lesson will be tomorrow at the same time. For today, I am exhausted. Reading so many books and using so much magic has drained all my energy, so I'll go to sleep soon. This was just the first of many similar lessons.
Weeks passed, turning into routine. Little by little, I grew accustomed to using magic, and my teacher has not ceased to express her astonishment. Apparently, she has never seen anyone learn so quickly. I'm not sure if I should feel flattered… or uneasy.
I've managed to grasp the basics. From what I understand, it all stems from the soul. From there, all branches emerge. The 'Aether', as alchemists call it, is an invisible force present in all beings—living and non-living. Through centuries of study, those who manipulate it have learned to shape it, making it respond to their impulses. In theory, it's a basic science… though in this world, no one treats it as such. There is no rigorous research into the Aether or mana; only dogmas repeated as absolute truths.
From my perspective, however, magic adheres to principles I know well: the conservation of energy, thermodynamics. It is a transformative mechanism, and the body acts as the reactor that processes it to manifest a spell. Of course, this wasn't my field—I only have basic notions of engineering and chemistry—but even so, I am fascinated by understanding how it works.
A few days ago, my teacher asked me to give a presentation before my father and the nobles of the duchy. When she told me, she seemed… pitying. It's logical: I'm a six-year-old girl. I'm supposed to feel shame, nervousness, shyness.
But what she doesn't know is that in my past life, I managed projects, negotiated with politicians, and defended budgets before businessmen. For me, a presentation begins with preparation: mastering the subject, anticipating questions, and eliminating inconsistencies.
The challenge was to choose a spell that would impress… but that would also be appropriate for a young noble.
I wanted to use explosive magic. Something massive, impactful.
"That's not suitable," my teacher told me firmly.
So I had to find something more subtle… yet just as memorable.
I remembered the fireworks from Japan's summer festivals—but those memories carried a tinge of sadness, like the ache of losing something. I only recall how beautiful it was to go see them with...
That's it. It'll be fireworks.
"I don't know what you're referring to," Viktoriya said, intrigued.
"Could you show me these 'fireworks' you speak of?"
Perfect. To surprise a mage who has lived for thousands of years, this is the only way. There is no such magic in the records. I could try it with gunpowder and chemistry… but I must use magic.
The theory is clear: combine three spells.
First, a controlled explosion to provide size and dispersion.
Second, magical pyrolysis to create colored flames.
And third, a variant of earth magic, infused with salts, to generate brilliant shards that mimic sparks.
I close my eyes.
I concentrate the three flows into one, guiding them toward the palm of my hand. As I do, memories flood my mind: summer nights, laughter under a dark sky, the silent burst of colors over tranquil rivers. It's a beautiful image… but it brings with it a deep sadness, a void I didn't know I carried.
When the spell is ready, I open my eyes and raise my hand.
A thin line of fire ascends into the sky.
Then… a soft explosion.
And from it bloom shapes, flashes, colors that expand like ephemeral flowers.
It looks… simply beautiful. Though I know it still needs perfecting.
"Very lovely… it looks magnificent," my teacher whispers, her eyes shining.
Watching the fireworks explode in the sky, I simply let out an affirmation.
"That's right… Mio…"
Mio…
That name strikes me like lightning.
It's familiar. Too familiar.
I don't know why, but upon hearing it, my whole body trembles. An ancient, visceral fear pierces through me. Tears stream down uncontrollably.
There was only one person who was ever called that…
Before I can react, before I can even wipe the vomit staining my dress, dizziness overcomes me. My vision clouds.
And I collapse, fainting onto the cold stone of the courtyard.