The door creaked as it swung inward.
A wiry, silver-haired physician stepped into the room, carrying a satchel of clinking glass and dried herbs.
He paused at the sight of his young master standing by the window, posture too composed for a boy who had been bedridden most of his life.
"Young Lord Caelum," the doctor began carefully, "you summoned me?"
Caelum turned, his gaze sharp despite the fragile body it occupied.
"Yes," he replied, voice smooth as polished steel. "Let's see what can be done about my body. It's past time this body kept up with my will. Don't you think?"
The doctor hesitated — for who was this boy who spoke with a measured authority beyond his years? — but eventually gave a bow and began to unpack his tools.
Caelum moved to the chair by the window, hands braced against its arms as if testing his strength with every movement.
He already felt the weakness in these bones, the softness of a boy rarely allowed outside.
That would change.
As the doctor prepared a tonic, Caelum's thoughts drifted inward — to the years before, to the throne room awash with blood and firelight.
He had been Aldric Vyne then, a sharp sword, a tactician, an assassin and a loyal servant in a corrupt king's hands.
And they had cast him aside like a rusted blade.
Never again.
This second life would not be spent bowing to another man's whims.
The physician held up a vial — a bitter, green liquid that steamed faintly in the light.
"Your health has been fragile since birth, my lord," the old man said. "This draught will help with stamina and appetite."
Caelum accepted the glass without hesitation and drained it in one measured motion.
The taste was foul.
He set the empty vial on the table and gave a curt nod.
"Do you have more?" he asked.
"More, my lord?"
"Yes," Caelum replied. "I'll need a list of tonics and Stretches. A diet fit for my body. Begin immediately. And," he paused, his grey eyes sharp, "you will report only to me. Understood?"
The doctor blinked — then nodded, bowing quickly.
"Yes, my lord. Right away."
When the physician finally departed, closing the door with a gentle click, silence settled over the chamber once more.
Caelum listened to the fading footfalls until he was sure they were gone.
Only then did he draw a chair up to a small writing desk tucked in the corner of his room.
A blank sheaf of parchment and a sharp-tipped quill lay waiting.
He paused for a moment, flexing his fingers as he summoned memories from another lifetime.
The Northern Border Rebellion — Year 783
The Terravoss famine — Year 784
Daemar's coup in House Rhenhart — Year 786
The Red Plague — Year 792
The King's assassination — Year 799
Line after line, date after date — battles, betrayals, alliances, disasters — poured onto the parchment.
Memory is a fragile thing, he thought grimly. But ink lasts.
He would not squander this gift.
The parchment filled quickly, and when one page ran out, he reached for another.
By the time the dawn sun had climbed high enough to warm the floor beneath his feet, he had compiled a ledger of the next twenty years — as much as he could recall with clarity.
Caelum stared at the pile in quiet satisfaction.
Knowledge was a blade sharper than any sword — one that he would wield ruthlessly.
He tucked the papers into a locked drawer, then stood and closed his eyes.
It was time to address the most immediate threat — this feeble body.
He eased himself onto the floor, legs folded beneath him as he let his eyes slip closed.
He felt it immediately — the discordance inside him.
Two separate currents of energy swirling like oil and water, never mixing, forever at odds.
That is what makes this body so feeble, he thought.
In this world, most trained warriors awakened a mana core, a vessel of condensed energy centered near the gut — stable and focused.
Mages cultivated a mana heart, a spinning reservoir nested close to the chest — flexible and fluid.
But he, born with the gifts for both, carried both.
And the two clashed endlessly, weakening him like two fists locked in combat.
In his past life as Aldric, this condition would have crippled a child forever.
Few survived past ten years of age.
And those who did rarely had the strength for sword or spell.
But in the decades before his death, a researcher had uncovered the secret.
There was a way to weave the heart and core together —
And Aldric as the kings advisor— had learned that method.
"Can't believe something I never used could come in handy"
He exhaled slowly, feeling the currents dance through him.
First, he guided the energy of his mana heart down into his belly.
There, the dense reservoir of his mana core pulled and pushed — raw and unrefined.
Breathe in.
A breath of sunlight, pulling the lightness of the heart into the weight of the core.
Breathe out.
Expelling the stubborn rigidity of the core into the gentle currents of the heart.
Pain sparked across his chest and belly as they began to move together —
but this time, they did not repel.
Sweat slicked his brow.
He held the flow.
Thread by thread, breath by breath.
And then… something shifted.
When he finally opened his eyes again, the light through the window was golden.
His hands still trembled.
His muscles ached.
And yet, a quiet warmth thrummed beneath his skin — one that felt stable for the first time.
Caelum rose slowly to his feet, breath leaving him in a short, shaky laugh.
"This should do for now," he murmured.
His body was far from healed — that would take days, weeks of practice.
But the most important part had begun.
And this time, he would set the pace.