Aras's small shoes clicked against the ancient cobblestones of Silverhaven. Though his three-year-old body clung to his mother's skirt, the sharpness in his gaze and the precision of his movements betrayed something far beyond childhood. The combat instincts from his past life still lingered, manifesting even in this fragile form.
"Mother, look!" Aras suddenly stopped, his eyes locking onto the grand building at the city center. "The soldiers guarding the council hall... their formation is sloppy."
Elira blinked in surprise. "Little warrior, how do you know such things?"
Aras caught himself. Foolish mistake. I need to act like a child. But the trained soldier within him refused to stay silent. "It just... looks messy," he mumbled, forcing innocence into his voice.
As they walked, Aras analyzed everything with a veteran's eye:
The gaps in the soldiers' defensive positions
Weak points in the city's fortifications
Weapon shipments hidden among merchant carts
Suddenly, the street erupted in commotion. "The General is coming!" voices shouted.
Aras looked up. A stern-faced officer rode at the head of a column, his golden crescent insignia gleaming. The man's posture, the way his eyes scanned the crowd—Aras recognized a strategist, not just a soldier.
"Father..." Aras whispered.
Elira explained softly, "Your father is Chief of the Royal General Staff. Every military strategy in the kingdom comes from his mind."
The revelation struck Aras like lightning. A general's son. This changes everything. With his past-life experience and his father's knowledge combined...
As they continued down the boulevard, a soft melody drifted through the air. On a side street, a trio of elven musicians played delicate stringed instruments, their fingers dancing like whispers of wind. One of them looked at Elira with a knowing smile and gave a respectful nod. Elira returned it with grace—too gracefully.
She gently tugged Aras toward another street. But Aras, ever observant, caught everything.
A flicker passed through his eyes. Why would Mother greet elves like that? With such familiarity?
Just before turning the corner, Aras glanced back—and his sharp eyes caught something astonishing. One of the elves lifted his hand and traced a glowing, silvery line through the air—a delicate rune suspended for only a second before fading.
To his greater shock, Elira subtly mirrored the motion with her fingers, drawing her own glowing arc. It shimmered faintly before vanishing like morning mist.
"Ana... were you casting a spell?" Aras asked softly, trying to sound merely curious.
Elira paused, a shadow of hesitation flickering across her face. Then she smiled gently.
"Yes, little one. I know a bit of elven melody magic. But it's a secret, alright?"
"You're an elf?" Aras asked, eyes wide—not in childish wonder, but in analytical calculation.
"Half-elf," she said, her voice barely audible. "It's why I can understand their magic. But you mustn't tell anyone. In this city, bloodlines still matter."
Aras didn't nod, didn't blink. He was thinking. So I carry elven blood... and in this world, only elves can wield spirit magic. That means... I might be able to use it too.
That night, moonlight spilled over Aras as he sat awake, fists clenched. Scratched into the floorboards was his plan:
1. Study military treatises from his father's library
2. Secretly observe soldiers' training drills
3. Develop a regimen to strengthen his small body
4. Learn the foundations of spirit magic—if it's truly in his blood
At dawn, Kalen woke him. "Come, son. I'll show you something."
In the courtyard stood a training dummy. Kalen handed him a wooden sword. "Being a general's son isn't just a title," he said sternly. "It's responsibility."
As Aras gripped the practice blade, an old fire burned in his eyes. This time... this time I'll become more than just a warrior. I'll be a strategist worthy of legend. And maybe... a spirit mage unlike any before me.
But in the velvet shadows of Silverhaven, unseen eyes had already taken notice of the child who moved like a seasoned soldier... and now glowed faintly with something more.