"I mean, in retrospect, this isn't half bad. It isn't bad at all."
It was a strange thing to think, even stranger to say out loud. But honestly, compared to where Mika came from, this life wasn't too awful. Sure, things weren't perfect, but they were better than the last moments of his previous life. He had no idea how or why he ended up here, but at least it wasn't Earth anymore. That place had been a mess with all the pollution, disasters, insecurity and wars. This world had something more, and it was in its own way, alive.
Michael was spending his 15th year in this world, and as fate would have it, he was given the same name all over again, Mikhail, sounding less refined, like much of this world.
He laid prone on a roof, overlooking the meadow in the distance, trying to recall all the knowledge of this world he had amassed from the old, half-forgotten library in the village a few hours over. He was beginning to remember less about his past life maybe due to the weathering of time, but it was still strange to him. But for someone who didn't have a lot to hold onto in the first place, that was enough.
The orphanage was a far cry from any royal-funded institution. The House of Dawn, Verida's Royal family, had given money to support it once, ages ago, about two generations back. The building was crumbling, the roof leaked in places, and the floors, creaky, the walls cracked. Rodents made the building their home just as much as the original inhabitants.
The only lasting effect the royal funding had left was the building and land itself.. Corruption had made sure of that. A large percentage of the original funding had disappeared into the pockets of successive caretakers once the last king had passed away about 50 years back, and whatever good intentions remained were lost to time. The children here didn't know that, though. They didn't care about politics. They cared about surviving every day.
There were no fancy tutors or magical instructors here. No one came by to offer training or knowledge. Miss Sarah, the middle-aged woman who ran the orphanage, did her best to keep them fed and cared for, but it was always a struggle. She was kind, and strict when she needed to be, warm when it counted. She was the closest thing the children had to a parent, considering none of them had a semblance of same.
Then there were the other kids. All orphans, all from different places and backgrounds, but united by shared misfortune. Michael wasn't the strongest or the smartest, but he wasn't the worst either. Some older kids had talents in martial arts, some had begun the journey of their career in the army.
Michael had spent countless hours observing. He watched the older kids train in the courtyard during their leave from the Military camps, practicing forms and strikes they'd learned from their drills. Periodically, when it was needed, Miss Sarah who happened to be a healing mage, retired from the frontlines, helped the kids to recover faster from what would ordinarily be ghastly wounds, playful as they were. That was the extent of what commonfolk were allowed to learn and practice.
The more he learned, the more he realized how detached this orphanage was from the rest of the kingdom. The House of Dawn might have funded it once, but now it was forgotten. Still, Michael couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else. That he was somehow tied to all of it in a way he didn't yet understand.
The kingdom itself ran on Might. A meritocracy, in theory. The Strong trampled on the weak with no recourse.
People could born with potential for magic or could painstakingly hone their bodies into weapons. Both paths were respected. Tales were told of battle mages who could rewrite the laws of nature, and warriors who crushed steel with bare hands.
But above all, sat the House of Dawn, The King himself—rumored to be the strongest battle mage of this generation, The closest thing to a deity.
The nobles wielded some power, but ultimately, the King made the decisions. The Imperial Legion, the most powerful military body on the continent, answered only to him.
For most of the populace, the ultimate dream was to join the Royal Guard or study at the Arcane Academy. Few made it. The requirements were strict, almost impossibly so. For many, it was a ticket out of poverty. For others, it was a burden, the pressure of carrying a family's hope for wealth and prestige.
Michael knew he couldn't stay in the orphanage forever. He wasn't a slouch. He'd gathered knowle dge, read every book he could find, trained quietly when no one was watching. All he lacked now was power—and the methods to obtain it were jealously guarded by the elite. If he left now, he would be like a baby gazelle thrown into the wild. Still, maybe that was okay. He had time. For now, he just had to survive.
As he stood lost in thought, a shadow suddenly blocked the meadow view in front of him.
"Mika, what are you always spacing out about? It's always either a book or the damn city," came a familiar voice.
It was none other than Aamon, the first friend he'd made in this life.
"Come on, it's time for brunch. Miss Sarah says it's time for prayers."
Michael got up slowly from his prone position and followed Aamon back inside the house, where the rest of the children were already gathered around the long wooden table with their heads bowed.
"Crap, we're late."
His vision jerked suddenly as Aamon smacked the back of his head and pushed it down.
"Quiet. Show respect," Aamon whispered.
The prayer had already begun.
"…may the benevolent Alioth protect and keep us as He always has…"
Religion in this world was complicated. To some, it was sacred. To others, a tool of oppression. Alioth, the Supreme God of Life, was the patron deity of humanity, and almost every public event or communal meal began with a prayer in His name.
"And the House of Dawn be praised forever."
The Royalty was worshipped nearly as devoutly as the gods themselves.
Michael sipped the broth slowly. It was thin, watery, and almost tasteless, but it was all they had. As he finished, he felt a familiar gaze on him. Turning his head, he met the eyes of Hazel.
Named for her warm, striking eyes and radiant skin, Hazel was another close friend. One of the few in the orphanage who shared Michael's quiet nature and curiosity.
"You were up there thinking again, weren't you?" she asked softly.
"Yeah," he replied, giving a small smile. "Just... thinking."
Hazel glanced around, making sure no one else was listening, then leaned in. "have you heard the rumors? about the coming aptitude tests?"
Michael raised an eyebrow. "The magic aptitude test? i thought that was for next year or something. and besides we cant afford to go to the capital for that."
Hazel leaned in closer, voice low. "No, not this time. There's word going around that the tests will be extended to every corner of the Empire. All kids aged fourteen to sixteen take the tests. It should happen in the next eight months."
Michael blinked, trying not to look too interested. "Why would they do that?"
"Orders from above, i suppose. The King wants to find untapped talent. Someone said they're sending evaluators even to the most remote regions."
The room was buzzing with chatter now. Somehow, the word had already begun to spread.
Michael's heart began to pound. Was this it? Was this the break he'd been waiting for?
"Hey, Mika," came a voice, low, a bit gruff but not unfriendly. It was Billy, one of the older boys. He was sixteen already and due for the awakening ceremony as well.
"You've read all those books, right?" Billy asked, scratching the back of his head. "Any idea what to expect? What should I even be focusing on? I don't wanna screw this up."
Michael glanced at him. Billy wasn't the studious type, but he was strong, faster than most, too, and dedicated in his own rough way.
"Focus on your breathing during the ceremony," Michael said after a beat. "They say how well you focus determines how deep the test goes. And get some rest the night before — most don't."
Billy blinked, surprised. "Huh. Alright. Didn't think about the breathing thing... Thanks."
Before Michael could return to his seat, Aamon clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go," he said, grinning. "You promised a rematch, and I'm not letting you dodge me today."
Outside, behind the orphanage, there was a patch of dirt and grass worn smooth from years of games and mock fights. This was their usual sparring ground.
Aamon rolled his shoulders as they squared off. "I hope you brought more than books with you today."
Michael didn't respond. He simply adjusted his footing, tracing a semi-circle with his toes, lining it adjacent to his leading foot, hands relaxed but ready.
The fight began as it always did: fast. Aamon was instinctive, aggressive. He flowed like a brawler, all knees, elbows, and unpredictable swings. He had a natural rhythm, like someone who was born fighting in alleyways.sa
Michael, in contrast, was deliberate. Every step he took felt placed with purpose. Each movement sought to minimize waste of energy. His strikes came in short bursts; efficient, precise and intended. He wasn't strong enough to overpower Aamon, but he didn't need to be.
He'd borrowed what he could remember from his memories. Techniques meant for self-defense, for balance, for survival. Here, they were largely unknown, the best he had seen was a pale, struggling imitation of what it was supposed to be. And he capitalized on that, although his execution was clumzy at times and lacking in real time expereience.
Aamon lunged in, overextending.
Michael pivoted, stepped to the side, and swept Aamon's leg out from under him.
Thud.
Aamon groaned from the dirt. "You always do that you know…. what if tennese were here."
Michael extended a hand, smiling faintly. "I'm sure she'd give us an earful about not playing roughly so often."
Aamon grabbed his hand and laughed as he was pulled up. "One day, I'm going to figure out how you do that thing with your feet."
Michael only shrugged. "Maybe you already have."
As they walked back toward the orphanage, the setting sun bled gold across the cracked walls. Neither of them said it out loud, but the rumor about the aptitude test hung heavy between them.