Chapter 2 - Damn Arm
They say children learn fast. Whoever "they" are, I would like to formally apologize for ever doubting them.
A year had slipped by since I first discovered my father's hidden study room. I was four years old now, at least according to this world's bizarre calendar. Birthdays here were not a single day of cake, candles, and awkward singing. Instead, the entire month you were born in was your personal time to shine.
Birth-months. It was a strange tradition, but honestly, I didn't hate it. I didn't have to awkwardly smile through one grueling afternoon; instead, I could awkwardly exist in the spotlight for thirty straight days. The catch was that this luxury only applied to kids fourteen and under. I had recently discovered that fifteen was considered the legal age of adulthood here, at which point your grand birth-month was unceremoniously demoted to a standard, single birthday.
But let's be real for a moment. Growing up in a pseudo-medieval world had some serious downsides, specifically, the bathroom situation. Taking a plumbing-free shit in this era was an absolute nightmare, if I'm being honest. We had a small, drafty outhouse located deep in the backyard. The only saving grace was a heavy iron deep-well pump nearby, which let you fetch freezing water with a bit of manual labor. I missed modern toilets with a burning passion. I missed hot showers, temperature dials, and electric heaters. Gosh, I missed modern civilization.
At least our house featured a massive wooden tub in the main washroom, which was decent enough in my taste.
During this past year, I had made it a strict habit to sneak into the study at every available opportunity. Eventually, my parents caught on to my stealth missions. But instead of locking the door or scolding me, they did something that caught me completely off guard: they started reading to me every single night.
My mother, Reyna, possessed a beautiful, melodic voice. She could read a dry encyclopedia about soil composition and make it sound like a soothing lullaby. My father, Thorskil, read to me like he was briefing a battalion before a bloody siege. Every pause was dripping with heavy drama, and every noun was delivered like a grand declaration of war.
Night after night, they introduced me to the literal building blocks of this world's language. Piece by piece, my adult brain stitched the phonetics together. One word became two. Two words became full sentences. Within months, the complex syntax clicked, and I no longer needed their theatrical help to decipher the books I had been obsessing over.
Since there was absolutely nothing else to do on an isolated farm, reading became the only thing that kept my internal spark alive.
Finally, after nearly twelve months of wrestling with unfamiliar cursive, I closed the final page of the hunter's guide. It was the very first book I had pulled from the shelf. It wasn't a grand historical epic, just a highly practical manual on wilderness survival. It detailed how to track migratory beasts, how to forge basic tools from flint, and how to identify edible wild herbs versus the malicious ones that would make your intestines twist in agonizing regret. It covered long-distance navigation, campsite security, and how to pack a deep wound with tree bark and damp moss. Raw, practical knowledge.
Apparently, that thick tome was only Volume 1.
Back in my old life as Paul Gapor, adventurer guilds were a dead piece of ancient history, preserved only in romanticized museum exhibits and fantasy novels. Earth had been peaceful for so long that the need for blade-wielding rogues and monster-hunting mercenaries had entirely dissolved into fiction. But here, the wilderness was lawless, and those professions were very much alive.
The last page of the hunter's guide didn't contain another survival checklist. It held a detailed map.
I sat cross-legged on the creaking wooden floor, the bright morning light pouring through the open window, and stared at the parchment in absolute silence. A cold sensation of vertigo washed over me.
This was not Earth.
The continents were entirely alien. Vast landmasses twisted across the globe like shattered puzzle pieces. The northern territory resembled a jagged crescent moon, violently bisected by a massive, shadowy mountain range. To the west lay a fractured continent, split cleanly in two by a long, winding inland sea. The southern hemisphere was dominated by a colossal ring of tropical islands surrounding a dead, expansive central desert.
There were no familiar boundaries. No United States, no Europe, no Asia. Instead, names like the Kingdoms of Varellos, Zintar, Querradia, and Template. There are also geological places that have names such as Great Thunder Vein, Great Dragon Mountains, Heroes Tombs, and the Spine of Gorrath were sprawled across the thick paper in elegant, looping script. They were a lot of names of places within the map, It would probably take forever if I mention them all.
I tilted my head, squinting.
Could this be another planet?
That thought had always lingered since I woke up as a baby, surrounded by fantasy-looking people. Maybe I was reincarnated in a completely different world?
Or maybe...
Maybe this world came before. The book mentioned Beastfolk & Beastkin,[1] so naturally, I would wonder if this world is the far past of my modern time. It was a stupid thought, and I brushed it aside. No tectonic shift could transform this map into the one I knew. Right?
I sighed, letting the idea drift away with the breeze slipping in through the window. I had more important things to think about anyway. Like the three other books collecting dust in this study room. If one book taught me how to skin a squirrel and pitch a tent, then who knew what secrets the rest held?
I turned away from the map, wiping my sweaty palms on my oversized trousers. My eyes locked onto a thick, red leather-bound book resting on the middle shelf. Its spine was heavily creaked and faded to the color of aged wine. Dust clung to the surface like a protective shroud. I reached out, using both hands to lift it, half-expecting the ancient binding to whisper forbidden secrets the moment my skin touched the leather.
Humming a soft tune to break the heavy silence of the room, I carried the book over to the sunlit desk. The golden light bathed my snow-white hair, reflecting off the dark wood of the table.
I traced my small fingers across the embossed cover. "Source of Power," I read aloud, my voice high and small. Just below the main title, written in sharp, elegant ink, was the author's credit: Written by Kalaum Jade.
The name felt heavy. It had an undeniable theatrical flair to it. It sounded exactly like the type of ancient wizard who walked around with glowing eyes, wearing robes woven from starlight and carrying a staff carved from a dragon's ribcage.
With a surge of genuine anticipation, I cracked the heavy tome open to skim through the chapters.
My excitement died instantly. As I flipped through the pages, my scientific mind groaned. The book was a mechanical disaster. Large sections of the text were entirely unreadable, ruined by ancient water damage, dark mold, or literal pages that had been violently ripped from the binding.
I flipped to Section 1, titled Mana Introduction. I looked for the sub-sections explaining how to actually use magic, but the page was a jagged ruin. Topics like Grimoires and Glyphs were nothing but torn fragments. Only one solitary method remained fully intact: Word Casting.
I skimmed further, finding a legible chart regarding Mana Natures Affinity. According to Kalaum Jade, every human was born with a natural alignment, and most mages could harness up to two or three basic elements. And these basic elements are: Fire, Geo, Water, or Wind. If you tried to cast a spell outside your natural affinity, the universe penalized you, forcing you to expend a massive, draining amount of extra mana just to manifest a simple spark.
It also mentioned everything has mana. The rocks, the plants, the water, everything. Even if its a faint amount, there are traces.
The book listed advanced evolutions of these elements. Fire branched into Lightning and Blaze. Geo branched into Metal and Nature. But right at the intersection of Fire and Geo sat Lava, a unique dual-affinity element that bridged both worlds. Water evolved into Cryo and Blood magic, while Wind unlocked terrifying concepts like Soul Manipulation and Seals.
Section 2 was dedicated to the Aura of Humanity, defining it as a spiritual shield generated by raw human vitality, a divine protection granted exclusively to humans by the God of Shield. Elves, dwarves, and beastkin were entirely excluded from this evolutionary grace.
Section 3, Glyphs, was completely rotted away. Section 4 explained Grimoires, distinguishing standard textbooks from rare, sentient Live Grimoires that could actively think and assist a clumsy mage in channeling their power.
Past that, the rest of the book was a hollow shell, completely gutted by time.
"Magic," I whispered, my heart rate spiking. "Real magic..!"
I flipped back to the very beginning of the legible text, my eyes devouring the words. The book explained that mana was an omnipresent force. It didn't just exist inside living beings; it saturated everything. It was inside the soil, the wooden desk, the air, and even the annoying people outside.
According to the author, anyone could technically use magic, but your control depended entirely on your internal mana capacity. It can be trained to perform better and costing you less mana per spell.
My mind ignited with raw, chemical possibilities. Then, my eyes caught a specific passage regarding the interaction between internal and external forces: The Distinction Between Aura and Mana.
I leaned forward, my nose nearly touching the aged paper.
"Though both energies may reside within the human vessel, Aura and Mana are fundamentally distinct. Aura is an internal armor. It shields, bolsters, and sustains the physical body, a gift of divine design. Mana, however, is external and elemental. It shapes reality, commands the environment, and constructs spells. With advanced mastery, a rare few have learned to layer Mana directly atop their Aura, forging a double barrier: a shield of divine origin, reinforced by the raw forces of nature."
"Oh wow," I breathed, a genuine shudder of excitement running down my spine. This was the exact kind of dense world-building I used to obsess over in light novels during my long nights of isolation. But this wasn't pixels on a monitor. This was real. This was my life.
A small, ambitious smile tugged at my lips. This world lacked modern medicine, convenience stores, and internet access, but it possessed magic. And I was going to figure it out.
A few minutes later, the grand academic ambition dissolved into pure, undiluted embarrassment.
"EURGHHHH!"
The thick veins in my neck bulged like overinflated worms. I stood in the center of the study room, my right arm locked straight out toward the wall, my face scrunched up so tightly I looked like a toddler trying to pass a kidney stone.
"C-C'MON!" I yelled, my voice cracking comically on the vowels. "MAGIC! FIRE! SPARKS! SOMETHING!"
Absolute silence greeted me. There was no majestic burst of flame, no mystical ambient glow, not even a pathetic puff of smoke. The only sound was the distant, cheerful chirping of birds outside the window, practically mocking my existence.
Exhausted, I collapsed back into the wooden chair, panting heavily as if I had just completed a full sprint.
"Damn it," I muttered, staring down at my small, unblemished palm. I willed it to spark, to glow, to do literally anything out of the ordinary.
Nothing. It was just a sweaty, weak child's hand.
I turned back to the text, running my fingers down the faded lines until I hit a vital clue. In order to guide one's Mana, the energy must be given a precise direction. For beginners, this requires an incantation, a vocalized spell phrase to anchor the intent.
"A verbal trigger," I murmured, blinking. "I have to actually say the cheesy lines."
It felt entirely ridiculous, but the sheer motivation to escape my own human limitations overrode my pride. I rested the heavy book on my lap, using the edge of the desk to keep the pages pinned open. I scanned the list for the absolute simplest spell available under the Beginner Affinities section.
"Verdant Touch: A basic Wood-affinity spell designed to encourage minor cell growth or movement in dead timber. It was the standard litmus test for checking a child's natural connection to nature." I read outloud.
I paused, my eyes narrowing as my analytical brain immediately flagged a structural discrepancy in the text.
"Wait. Wood?" I muttered.
I flipped a page back, double-checking the elemental chart. The book had explicitly stated that the four absolute foundational, basic pillars of magic were Fire, Geo, Water, and Wind. Nature, which clearly governed plant life and wood, was supposed to be an advanced evolution branching off from Geo. If it was an advanced, secondary element, why on earth was a Wood spell sitting here in the entry-level section?
I skimmed the footnotes, my old academic habits kicking in as the underlying logic slowly clicked into place.
Ah, I get it now.
It wasn't that a novice had to completely master the entire foundational tier of Geo before touching its offshoots. Rather, this was a low-level, low-risk application designed to detect if a child possessed a latent, natural affinity for that specific branch right from birth. In gaming terms, it wasn't a high-tier master spell; it was an entry-level test for a sub-class. It was an efficiency filter. If a child cast this and it cost them barely any mana, it instantly proved they were naturally aligned with the Geo-to-Nature evolutionary path.
Nice.
If I wanted to learn how to walk in this magical world, I had to stop overthinking the grand architecture and start with these specialized basic tests. If I could pull off a Wood spell, it would give me a definitive answer on my own genetic affinity.
"Alright," I whispered, taking a deep, stabilizing breath. I extended my hand again, keeping my posture dignified this time, omitting the screaming. I focused entirely on the grain of the wooden floorboards. "Let's try this. Verdant Touch, bring forth nature's gentle push."
I peeked one eye open, and nothing. The wood remained stubbornly dead.
"Maybe it lacks a little flair?" I muttered to myself.
Determined, I stood up from the chair, throwing both arms forward with all the dramatic, theatrical weight a four-year-old in oversized socks could possibly muster. I channeled my inner anime protagonist, pitching my voice as low as it would go.
"Oh, verdant winds and whispers of the ancient woods, heed my mortal call and answer with rapid growth! Verdant Touch!"
A long silence followed. Out in the yard, a solitary leaf wiggled on a branch.
I squinted through the window, my heart leaping. "Was that me?"
Then a massive gust of wind roared through the trees, rustling the entire canopy.
"Nope," I slumped onto the desk, my face burying into my crossed arms. "Definitely just a normal weather pattern. Ugh, my chants sound like terrible, low-tier poetry."
Defeat tasted bitter. I spent the next hour desperately cycling through every single beginner spell listed in the chapter, my voice growing hoarser with each failed attempt.
"Verdant Touch." Nothing.
"Kindle Spark." Not a flash.
"Stone Set." The dust didn't even move.
"Gentle Breeze." The air stayed suffocatingly stagnant.
Each chant felt more pathetic than the last, a desperate performance delivered to an empty room. With every single failure, a heavy, familiar weight began to settle deep into my chest. The childish excitement drained away, replaced by a cold, dark realization.
I stared blankly at my empty hand, my white hair sticking to my sweaty forehead.
Of course it didn't work, a cruel, familiar voice whispered from the depths of my old memories. What made you think you were special here? Back on Earth, you were a useless, middle-aged loser who spent decades rotting away in a locked bedroom, running away from reality. You couldn't handle real life then, and a change of scenery isn't going to magically turn you into a genius now. You are exactly the same.
I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted copper, my chest aching with a raw, familiar agony. I didn't want to be that ghost anymore. I had been given a second chance, a blank slate.
"I refuse to be that same pathetic loser," I whispered fiercely to the empty room, my knuckles turning white.
"HEY!"
"WAAAH!" I shrieked, my adult soul briefly leaving my toddler body.
My knee slammed violently into the underside of the desk with a loud crack. The red leather book flew out of my lap, launching into the air like a startled bird, and I flailed my limbs in a panic, completely losing my balance.
I spun around with a racing heart, and there was Lyra, perched precariously on the second-story windowsill like a feral goblin spy. She was grinning from ear to ear, resting her chin on her crossed arms.
"Gotcha!" she chimed. "Haha!"
"What?!" I gasped, clutching my chest as my heart hammered against my ribs. "You scared the absolute mittens out of me!"
She let out a loud, mocking laugh. "You were so completely locked into whatever you were murmuring about, I just had to climb up and see it for myself!"
I blinked, looking from her to the sheer drop outside. "Wait, you climbed up to the second floor? How?!"
She pointed a dirty thumb over her shoulder. "Used the garden trellis. It was super easy."
I cautiously peeked past her over the ledge. The wooden trellis was old, rotted, and barely wide enough to support a stray cat, let alone an unhinged eight-year-old girl. "You are completely insane, Lyra."
"And you sit in dark rooms talking to papers," she countered instantly.
"Touché," I muttered.
She giggled, swinging her legs over the sill. "I don't know what that word means, but it sounds funny. Are you trying to do magic?"
"Uh, modern science dictates that I am failing at it, yes," I mumbled, my cheeks burning with embarrassment as I gathered the scattered pages from the floor.
"Cool! Did you explode anything?"
"No."
"Did you at least almost explode something?"
"Also no."
Lyra let out a dramatic, disappointed sigh. "Wow. That is incredibly lame, you wuss."
"Thank you for the family support, sister."
Then, her eyes locked onto mine, and her expression shifted into a massive, predatory grin. It was the exact type of look that made my survival instincts scream.
"How about we try a real exercise?" she suggested, practically vibrating with chaotic energy on the narrow sill. "Something your incredibly amazing older sister just unlocked yesterday."
"You mean your Aura?"
"Yep!" she beamed, proudly throwing her hands onto her hips and puffing out her chest. Just next to her skin, I faint glow of blue showed for a brief moment. "Do you want to awaken yours early like me?"
I paused, my intellectual curiosity piqued despite the danger. "You actually know how to trigger the awakening? How?"
"Of course I do!" she declared confidently. "I got mine yesterday when one of my underlings tried to bean me in the face with a rock the size of a large potato. Figured you get Aura when your life flashes before your eyes or something."
I stared at her, my eyebrow twitching. "That is an ominously dangerous methodology."
"What are you even saying? Will you stop saying those deep words? You're weirding me out." She raised a brow, "Whatever, the point is, it worked perfectly!" she chirped, her yellow eyes flashing with a terrifying, devilish amusement as she leaned closer into the room. "Which is exactly why..."
Before my brain could think any further, her small, surprisingly powerful hands shot forward, locking onto the collar of my shirt in a vice grip.
"Wait, Lyra, what are you doing—"
"Which is why I'm throwing you out the window now!"
...
WHAT?!
"No, wait! Stop—!"
She didn't hesitate for a single second. With the absolute, reckless confidence of a child who possessed zero concept of mortality or consequences, she threw her body weight backward, dragging me out into the open air.
"LYRAAA!!!" I screamed, the ground rushing up to meet us.
"TRUST THE LIGHT OF THE GOD OF SHIELD!" she cackled as the wind howled past us. "ARM TWIST SLAM!"
"AHHHHHHHH—!"
Crack.
[End]
[1] Difference explaination:In this world, Beastkin, and Beastfolk are completely different species. Beastkin are what people typically referred to Demi-humans where most parts are humans and showed minor signs of Animal traits.While Beastfolk are those people who had their entire body look like an animal. An example of which are Orcs,Lycans, etc.