Ronan learned quickly that hiding was harder than growing.
Strength was simple. You pushed, adjusted, repeated. Hiding meant stopping yourself. It meant pretending not to notice things. Pretending not to understand.
It was exhausting.
Grandmother taught him how to keep his mana folded inward, like hands clasped behind his back. When he did it right, the world felt quieter. When he didn't, she tapped his forehead with a finger and told him to start over.
"Again," she'd say. Not angry. Just firm.
Some days he got it. Some days he didn't.
On the days he failed, Elena noticed.
"You're grumpy," she said one afternoon, sitting beside him under the apple tree.
"I'm fine."
"You say that when you're not."
She tore a piece of grass and twirled it between her fingers. "Do you want to play knights or explorers?"
Ronan hesitated. Training had been rough that morning. His head hurt. His chest felt tight.
"Explorers," he said finally.
Elena grinned. "Good. Knights are boring anyway."
They spent the afternoon pretending the garden was an uncharted land. Elena named rocks. Ronan kept track of supplies. At some point, she handed him a stick and declared it a "magic compass."
It was stupid.
It helped.
That evening, Ronan sat with Maria in the kitchen while she prepared dinner. He liked these moments. She didn't ask questions. Didn't expect answers.
"You know," she said casually, "you don't have to be serious all the time."
Ronan watched her hands move. Steady. Familiar.
"I know."
She smiled softly. "Just making sure."
He thought about saying more. About explaining things he couldn't explain. In the end, he stayed quiet.
She kissed the top of his head anyway.
Later, Grandmother joined him in the study.
"You handled yourself well today," she said.
"Because I didn't do anything?"
She chuckled. "Exactly."
Ronan leaned back in his chair. "When did you know?"
"When you stopped crying like a normal baby," she replied without missing a beat.
"That early?"
"I hoped I was wrong," she admitted. "I wasn't."
Ronan looked at her. "Are you scared of me?"
She met his gaze. "No. I'm scared for you."
That sat heavy in his chest.
That night, Ronan lay in bed listening to Elena breathe through the wall. Slow. Peaceful.
He raised his hand, just slightly, and let the tiniest spark of mana warm his palm. No light. No glow.
Just warmth.
He closed his fist and smiled.
For the first time since waking up in this world, he didn't feel like he was rushing toward something.
He felt like he was allowed to stay.
And for now—
That was enough.
The days that followed settled into a quiet rhythm Ronan hadn't realized he needed.
Mornings began with lessons, but they no longer felt like tests. Grandmother spoke less, watched more, letting him find his own balance. When he succeeded, she nodded. When he failed, she corrected him with a calm that somehow stung more than anger ever could.
"Control isn't about force," she reminded him as he struggled to keep his mana folded. "It's about patience."
Ronan learned that patience was a skill all its own.
By midday, the house came alive. Footsteps echoed through the halls, Elena's laughter cutting through the silence as she ran from room to room. Ronan often tried to retreat into the study, but she always found him.
"You're hiding again," she accused one day, hands on her hips.
"I'm studying."
"You said that yesterday."
"And the day before."
"And the day before that," she said smugly. "That means it's hiding."
Before he could argue, she grabbed his hand and pulled him along. This time, instead of the garden, she dragged him to the edge of the market street. Maria followed at a distance, pretending not to watch too closely.
Elena pointed at everything—vendors, animals, strange trinkets—and asked endless questions. Ronan answered when he could, stayed quiet when he couldn't. People smiled at them. Some stared a little longer at him than was comfortable.
He kept his mana buried.
That alone took effort.
That night, Luden returned late, tired but cheerful. He ruffled Ronan's hair as he passed.
"You're growing fast," he said casually.
Ronan stiffened. "Am I?"
Luden laughed. "Too fast for my liking. Soon you won't need me to carry you."
Ronan watched him walk away, chest tightening for reasons he didn't fully understand.
He didn't want to outgrow them.
Not yet.
Grandmother found him later, sitting alone in the study with a closed book.
"You're thinking too loudly," she said.
"I don't want to be noticed," Ronan replied.
She sat across from him. "Being unseen forever isn't possible."
"I know."
"But being unremarkable for a while is," she added.
That helped.
She slid a thinner book across the table. "Read this. No spells. Just theory."
Ronan opened it. The diagrams were messy. The explanations incomplete.
"It's wrong," he said.
She smiled. "Most people's understanding is."
Ronan looked up. "Then why read it?"
"So you remember how others think."
He nodded slowly.
Later, lying in bed, Ronan listened to the sounds of the house settling for the night. A door closed. Footsteps faded. Silence returned.
He thought about the inspectors. About the way Grandmother had stood between them and him without hesitation.
About Elena, who didn't care that he was strange.
About Maria, who loved him without needing answers.
His mana stirred, instinctively reaching outward, then stopped.
He breathed out and let it settle.
'I'll grow,' he thought. 'Just not all at once.'
Outside, the wind brushed against the windows.
Inside, Ronan slept—no plans, no calculations, just a child wrapped in warmth, learning that strength didn't always come from moving forward.
Sometimes—
It came from staying exactly where you were.
Ronan dreamed that night.
Not of explosions or cold rooms or white lights.
He dreamed of the garden.
The apple tree stood taller than it ever had, its branches heavy with fruit. Elena was there, older somehow, sitting on the lowest branch and kicking her legs.
"Hey," she called. "You're late."
Ronan opened his mouth to answer—
—and woke up.
The dream lingered longer than most. He lay still, staring at the ceiling, feeling that faint ache behind his ribs again. It wasn't fear. It wasn't regret.
It was attachment.
He didn't push it away.
The next morning, Grandmother took him out of the house.
Just the two of them.
They walked slowly through the quieter parts of Lasfal, away from the markets and noise. Ronan watched everything—the way people carried themselves, the small wards carved into doorframes, the way some streets felt heavier than others.
"You feel it," Grandmother said without looking at him.
"Yes."
"That's ambient mana. Cities have their own pulse."
Ronan considered that. "This one feels… guarded."
Grandmother smiled faintly. "It is."
They stopped near a small shrine tucked between two buildings. Worn stone. Faded symbols.
"Why bring me here?" Ronan asked.
"So you understand something early," she replied. "Power attracts power. And power attracts trouble."
She placed a hand on the shrine. The mana around it shifted, subtle but real.
"Lasfal survives because it keeps its teeth hidden."
Ronan nodded.
'I should do the same.'
That afternoon, Elena refused to leave him alone.
"You promised," she said, arms crossed.
"I don't remember promising."
She narrowed her eyes. "You promised in my head."
That logic was impossible to argue with.
They sat in the grass again, this time closer than usual. Elena leaned against him, watching clouds drift by.
"What do you want to be when you grow up?" she asked suddenly.
Ronan hesitated.
Strong. Safe. Free.
"I don't know," he said honestly.
"That's okay," she replied. "I want to be someone who goes everywhere."
Ronan smiled. "Then I'll make sure you can."
She laughed, not understanding, and that was fine.
That evening, Grandmother watched Ronan practice concealment.
He folded his mana inward, slower than before. Cleaner.
She nodded once. "Better."
Ronan exhaled. "Will it always be like this?"
"Yes," she said. "And no."
He looked at her.
"You'll hide less," she continued. "But only when you're ready to deal with what comes after."
Ronan thought of the men at the door. The way the air had felt when they entered.
"I'll be ready," he said.
She believed him.
That was the dangerous part.
As night settled, Ronan sat by the window, watching lantern light flicker along the street below. The city breathed. Lived.
He rested his forehead against the glass.
'I won't waste this,' he promised silently.
Not the power.
Not the time.
Not the people.
Somewhere down the hall, Elena laughed in her sleep.
Ronan closed his eyes.
And for the first time, he didn't dream of the future.
He dreamed of staying.