Four years had passed since my rebirth into this world, and I had finally reached the age where I could abandon the exhausting charade of being a speechless infant. The relief was almost overwhelming—pretending to be mute while possessing the full cognitive abilities of an adult had been one of the most frustrating experiences of either of my lives.
The language barrier that I had initially worried about had proven to be a non-issue. Whatever force had granted me this second chance had been thorough in its preparations—I understood this world's tongue as naturally as I had once understood English, perhaps even more intuitively. The words flowed through my mind like water, carrying with them not just meaning but cultural context and emotional nuance that would have taken years to acquire naturally.
Our village of Millbrook sat nestled in a valley at the eastern edge of the Kingdom of Lorendia, so remote that most maps didn't bother to include it. With barely a hundred souls calling it home, we were what the more civilized parts of the kingdom would generously call a "frontier settlement" and less generously call "the middle of nowhere."
But isolation bred resilience. Cut off from regular trade routes and government support, Millbrook had evolved into a tight-knit community where survival depended on mutual cooperation. The hunters shared their game with the farmers, who in turn provided grain and vegetables to the craftsmen, who repaired tools and equipment for everyone else. It was a delicate ecosystem of interdependence that somehow managed to sustain itself despite—or perhaps because of—its separation from the outside world.
My mother, Isabella, occupied a uniquely vital position in this social structure. As the village's only healer, she was simultaneously the most respected and most essential member of our small community. Her cottage, which also served as her clinic, was easily the most well-appointed dwelling in Millbrook—not out of ostentation, but out of practical necessity. She needed space for her herb garden, storage for her medicinal supplies, and room to treat patients who required extended recovery time.
The steady stream of people seeking her help meant that we were, by village standards, quite prosperous. Farmers paid her with bushels of grain, hunters brought her choice cuts of meat, and even the traveling merchants who occasionally passed through would trade valuable goods for her healing services. We never wanted for food, fuel, or basic necessities, and Isabella was even able to afford luxuries like books and quality fabrics that were practically unheard of in most frontier communities.
But our relative comfort came at a cost that weighed heavily on my conscience. For four years, I had sat idle while my mother worked tirelessly to serve our community. I had watched her return home exhausted after long days of treating injuries and illnesses, her magical reserves depleted from healing everything from broken bones to mysterious fevers. She would collapse into her chair by the fireplace, her usually radiant face pale with fatigue, and I could do nothing but toddle over and offer the limited comfort that a small child could provide.
It had been torture for someone with my background. In my previous life as James Trevills, I had been pathologically unable to remain inactive. Every moment not spent advancing my goals had felt like time wasted, opportunity squandered. The enforced helplessness of early childhood had been a special kind of hell for someone accustomed to constant manipulation and scheming.
Fortunately, I had found ways to make productive use of my time that didn't reveal my true mental capabilities. Reading had become my salvation—first the simple children's books that Isabella kept for teaching purposes, then gradually progressing to her more advanced texts on healing, herbalism, and magical theory. When I exhausted her personal library, I began "borrowing" books from neighbors, always careful to return them quickly and without damage.
Old Henrik the blacksmith had an unexpected collection of historical texts that provided crucial information about the kingdom's political structure. Marta the seamstress possessed several volumes on magical creatures and their habitats. Even Tom the hunter had accumulated a surprising number of tactical manuals that detailed everything from tracking techniques to wilderness survival.
Through careful study and observation, I had assembled a comprehensive understanding of this world that went far beyond what any normal four-year-old should possess. But more importantly, I had been using every spare moment to develop my supernatural abilities.
The Omni-Essence Assimilation system had proven to be even more powerful than I had initially realized. Over the past two years, I had systematically observed, studied, and practiced dozens of different skills, building up an impressive repertoire of abilities that I kept carefully hidden from everyone around me.
My progress with water magic had been particularly satisfying, even if it had come at some personal cost.
[SKILL: Water Magic]
[Current Mastery: Rank 2]
[Progress to Rank 3: 8%]
[Abilities Unlocked: Water Manipulation, Basic Purification, Moisture Control]
The path to acquiring water magic had been characteristically dramatic. Six months ago, I had been exploring the banks of the stream that ran behind our cottage when I slipped on wet rocks and fell into a section that was deeper than I had realized. The current was stronger than expected, and my small four-year-old body had been swept downstream before I could regain my footing.
The sensation of drowning—water filling my lungs, panic clouding my thoughts, the world growing dark around the edges—had been terrifying in a way that even my previous death hadn't prepared me for. But it had also triggered something fundamental in my system. As consciousness faded, I felt an almost instinctive connection to the water around me, as if it were responding to my desperate need to survive.
When I finally washed up on the bank downstream, coughing up stream water and gasping for air, my system had presented me with a new acquisition:
[OMNI-ESSENCE ASSIMILATION TRIGGERED]
[Emergency Survival Protocol Activated]
[New Skill Acquired: Basic Water Magic]
[Mastery Level: Rank 1]
It seemed that near-death experiences provided a particularly effective method of skill acquisition, though I had no intention of testing that hypothesis further if I could avoid it.
Now, standing in the privacy of our cottage's back room, I extended my small hand and focused on the magical pathways I had spent months learning to control. A sphere of water materialized above my palm, drawn from the moisture in the air and held together by pure will and magical energy.
The orb wasn't perfect—it bubbled and wavered, occasionally shedding droplets that fell to the wooden floor below. My control was still too crude, my magical reserves too limited by my young body's constraints. But it was undeniably real magic, shaped by my intention and sustained by my power.
The sight of it filled me with a satisfaction that went beyond mere achievement. This was proof that I was no longer the helpless, manipulative parasite I had been in my previous life. I was becoming something new, something better—someone with the power to actually help rather than simply exploit.
"Harold, my cute little brother!"
The cheerful voice from the doorway made me jump, and my concentration shattered instantly. The water sphere collapsed, drenching me from head to toe as if I had been caught in a sudden downpour.
I turned around, dripping wet and trying to look appropriately startled for a four-year-old who had just experienced an unexpected soaking. Standing in the doorway was Rosaluna, my six-year-old sister, her face already shifting from surprise to concern.
Rosaluna was, without question, going to grow up to be one of the most beautiful women in the world. Even at six, she possessed an ethereal quality that drew admiring glances from every adult who met her. She had inherited Isabella's otherworldly beauty—the same lustrous white hair that seemed to glow with its own inner light, the same striking pink eyes that seemed to see straight into a person's soul, the same delicate features that appeared too perfect to be entirely human.
But more than her beauty, it was Rosaluna's character that had won my genuine affection over the past four years. She was everything that James Trevills had never been—kind, generous, selfless, and utterly devoted to the people she loved. She treated me not as a burden or obligation, but as the most precious thing in her world.
From the moment I had been old enough to crawl, Rosaluna had appointed herself as my protector and playmate. She would spend hours entertaining me with stories and games, always patient when I grew fussy, always ready with hugs and comfort when I needed them. When other children in the village occasionally teased me for being smaller or younger, Rosaluna would appear like an avenging angel, her pink eyes flashing with protective fury that sent the bullies scurrying away.
The love between us was entirely genuine on both sides. Despite my adult mind and cynical nature, I had found it impossible to resist Rosaluna's wholehearted devotion. She had somehow managed to reach past all my emotional defenses and claim a place in my heart that I hadn't known existed.
"Oh no! Did you have an accident?" She exclaimed, rushing toward me with obvious concern. Her small hands were already reaching for me, ready to scoop me up and provide whatever comfort I might need.
I had to think quickly. How would a normal four-year-old react to suddenly being soaked by water that had appeared from nowhere? Confusion and upset seemed like the most appropriate response.
"I... I don't know what happened," I stammered, allowing my voice to waver with the uncertainty that a child my apparent age would naturally feel. "There was water, and then I got all wet!"
Rosaluna's eyes went wide with alarm. "Water? From where? Did a pipe burst? Is there a leak in the roof?"
She looked around the room frantically, searching for the source of my unexpected drenching. When she couldn't find any obvious explanation, her concern deepened.
"We need to tell Mama right away," she decided, reaching for my hand. "Maybe there's something wrong with the house, or... or maybe it's magic! Sometimes magic can go wrong, right?"
Her suggestion was closer to the truth than she realized, but I couldn't exactly confirm her suspicions without revealing abilities that no four-year-old should possess.
"It's okay, big sister," I said, trying to project the kind of simple acceptance that children often showed toward confusing situations. "Maybe it was just... rain? Through the window?"
She looked skeptical—there wasn't a cloud in the sky, and the windows were all closed—but she seemed willing to accept that there might be an explanation she didn't understand.
"Well, we need to get you dried off before you catch cold," she declared, her protective instincts taking over. "And we should probably change your clothes too. You're completely soaked!"
She began fussing over me with the kind of maternal care that seemed to come naturally to her, despite being only six years old herself. As she helped me out of my wet clothes and wrapped me in a warm blanket, I found myself once again marveling at the profound difference between this life and my previous one.
In my first life, I had never experienced this kind of unconditional care from anyone. Even in my earliest memories, I had been alone, unwanted, forced to rely entirely on my own cunning and manipulation to survive. The concept of someone caring about my wellbeing simply because they loved me had been completely foreign.
But here, in this small cottage in this remote village, I was surrounded by people who would do anything to ensure my happiness and safety. Isabella worked herself to exhaustion partly to provide for our family, but also because she genuinely believed that her children deserved the best life she could give them. Rosaluna had appointed herself as my personal guardian, ready to fight dragons if necessary to protect her little brother.
It was overwhelming in ways that I was still learning to process. Part of me—the part that had been James Trevills—wanted to analyze their devotion for weaknesses I could exploit. But increasingly, that voice was being drowned out by something else: genuine gratitude and reciprocal love.
"There," Rosaluna said with satisfaction, having gotten me into dry clothes and settled comfortably by the fireplace. "Much better. But Harold, if something like that happens again, you need to come find me or Mama right away, okay? We want to make sure you're always safe."
I nodded solemnly, touched by her earnest concern. "Okay, big sister. I promise."
She beamed at me, apparently satisfied with my response, then settled down beside me on the rug in front of the fire.
"So, what do you want to do today?" She asked, her earlier worry already forgotten in favor of planning our afternoon activities. "We could go pick berries by the stream, or visit Henrik's forge, or maybe help Mama in her garden. Or," she added with a conspiratorial whisper, "we could sneak into the old barn and look for treasure like pirates!"
The suggestion made me smile despite myself. Rosaluna had recently become fascinated with stories of pirates and buried treasure, probably influenced by one of the adventure books that occasionally made their way to our village. She was always proposing elaborate expeditions to search for imaginary hoards hidden by fictional buccaneers.
"Pirates sound fun," I agreed, knowing that her version of pirate adventures involved mostly harmless exploration and lots of imaginative storytelling.
"Excellent!" She declared, jumping to her feet with enthusiasm. "But first, we should probably tell Mama that you had a water accident, just in case it happens again. She might know what caused it."
The suggestion made me nervous—Isabella was far more perceptive than Rosaluna, and I wasn't sure I could convince her that my sudden soaking had been entirely natural. But refusing would seem strange, and besides, I was genuinely curious about whether she might have any insights into magical accidents.
"Okay," I agreed. "Let's go find Mama."
In the end I managed to bury Isabella's suspicions by bursting out in tears making her forget everything.
Truly a manipulative man I am.