"Oh… so I've reincarnated, huh?"
That was the first clear thought Ethan Ford had after opening his eyes in the new world. He had no idea where he was, and the body he was in felt strange—small, soft, and weak. He couldn't move properly. He couldn't even speak.
He soon realized he was a baby.
At first, everything was confusing. Sounds were loud and blurry. Colors were too bright or too dark. But over time, he began to understand his surroundings. People came and went. Some were dressed in fine clothes and called him "young master." Others bowed and called a kind woman "Lady Elira."
She had soft brown eyes, warm hands, and a gentle voice. She always held him close, kissed his forehead, and whispered to him.
"You're my little Rowan," she would say. "My precious son."
That was when Ethan learned his new name: Rowan Vexlaar. He was the child of a noble house called House Vexlaar. The family lived in a grand estate filled with marble halls, glowing lamps, and silver decorations.
As time passed, he noticed something important—his father was never around. No one spoke about him much. When Ethan overheard servants whispering, he picked up words like "the duke's second son" and "vanished before the boy was born." From what he could gather, his father had gone missing not long before Rowan's birth.
Still, life was peaceful. His mother loved him dearly. She spent most of her time with him—feeding, playing, singing, and reading old storybooks. She sang lullabies from Nirathal, her homeland, and brought warm tea and soft cakes to share in the afternoons. Her world revolved around him, and his around her.
By the time he turned one, Ethan could walk and speak a few words. But it was when he was two that he began to pick up the Common Tongue, the universal language spoken across the continent. He listened closely to every servant, every guard, and every passing noble. He repeated the words quietly at night until they made sense. His mother helped him as well, reading to him slowly, pointing to each word with patience.
By the age of three, he could understand almost everything spoken around him. He kept his intelligence hidden, pretending to learn at a normal pace. He didn't want to attract attention.
His daily life was simple but warm. Servants looked after him, meals were filling, and the gardens of the estate were a beautiful place to explore. The flowers shimmered like stars, and the fountains sparkled with clean water. His mother would take him there, letting him run barefoot while she hummed quiet tunes.
But when he turned four, things began to change.
First, their room was moved. The grand nursery filled with soft sheets and warm sunlight was replaced with a cold, narrow chamber in the lesser wing. No explanation was given. His favorite toys vanished. Their meals became smaller. Servants he had known since birth were dismissed and never replaced.
He noticed how the smiles faded. How voices grew colder. Guards no longer nodded when they passed. Some servants ignored him altogether. Even his mother, always so calm, started looking away when he asked questions.
One day, while hiding near the kitchen hall, he overheard two maids speaking in hushed tones.
"They've pushed her out of the main wing. Did you see? Even her steward's been reassigned."
"What do you expect? She's Nirathali. They only tolerated her because of the political marriage."
"Exactly. And now that the marriage failed, and with that mana mine near the border stirring trouble…"
"They don't trust her. Not because she's done anything. Just because of where she's from."
Ethan stood still, heart pounding. So that was the truth. It wasn't that his mother was a spy. She wasn't scheming or dangerous. They simply hated her because she was from Nirathal, and her marriage into House Vexlaar had failed to hold peace. Now that conflict was rising between Vareth and Nirathal over a newly discovered mana stone mine, the nobles wanted nothing to do with a Nirathali woman and her half-blood son.
Back in their quiet room, his mother was brushing his hair, her touch as gentle as always.
"Mother," he said softly, "why do people look at us differently now?"
She paused. For a moment, she didn't say anything. Then she smiled and kissed his forehead.
"Sometimes, people don't need a reason to be cruel," she whispered. "But as long as I have you, I can face anything."
Ethan nodded silently. He didn't press her for more. But deep down, he understood. They were alone in a house that no longer wanted them. Forgotten, ignored—but not broken.
"Mother," he asked, "what is magic?"
She looked a little surprised but smiled. "Where did you hear about that?"
"Some of the older boys in the garden were talking about Awakening. They said they'll become mages."
His mother set the brush down and sat beside him. "Magic comes from within. It lives in our mana core, but not everyone has enough strength to use it well. To become a mage, you must first Awaken. That happens at age twelve, but for noble children, a simpler test is done earlier."
"Did I have that test?" he asked.
She nodded slowly. "Yes. After you were born, the family conducted a potential test. It showed your magical potential was… very low."
Ethan felt something tighten in his chest. "So I can't become a mage?"
She placed a hand on his cheek. "That path may be closed. But there is still the path of a knight. You don't need high magic for that. Knights are strong, brave, and honorable. You can still become someone great, Rowan."
He looked into her eyes and saw no sadness there—only faith in him.
He didn't say anything more. He just leaned against her shoulder, watching the sun fade beyond the windows of their quiet corner of the estate.
He turned to look at her. "And you?"
"I have a Water Affinity," she said with a soft smile. "Just average. I'm not very strong."
"Were you sad when you got your results?" he asked.
She shook her head. "No. I never wanted to be powerful. I just wanted a quiet life."
"What about Father?" he asked after a pause. "Was he powerful?"
She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes distant.
"No, he wasn't very strong either. His affinity was… I think it was Fire."
She paused, then smiled softly. "But he always felt strong to me. Like nothing in the world could shake him. He was a good liar, you know. Always calm, always steady. But around me? I could see through him. I always knew he was pretending to be weaker than he really was."
Rowan frowned. "How did you and Father get married?"
She leaned back a little and sighed. "It wasn't really something we chose ourselves. We were just… friends at first. We often during meetings between Vareth and Nirathal, and we talked now and then. Then one day, during a big peace gathering with other nations, your grandfather—the Duke—saw us talking to each other. He thought it would be a good idea to marry us, as a good gesture to strengthen ties between our nations."
"And… your father agreed?"
She nodded, a little sadly. "Yes. The King of Nirathal—my father—agreed without even asking me. I wasn't surprised. I always knew I would be part of a political marriage someday. At least with him, I already knew the person. That made it easier."
Rowan looked at her closely. "Were you okay with it?"
"I wasn't happy," she said. "But I wasn't miserable. I accepted it. It could have been worse. At least I wasn't sent to marry a cruel stranger as his sixth wife. He was kind to me. And I grew to… care for him, even if we never had a perfect love."
"Did anyone in your family object?"
She smiled gently. "Your uncle—my big brother—he was furious. He loved me dearly. He wanted me to be happy, free. But I calmed him down. I told him I was fine. I think he still worried, but he trusted me."
Rowan leaned against her. Her presence was warm, even if the world around them had grown colder. Even though outside their little room, the grand halls of House Vexlaar turned their backs. But here, in this small corner, it was still home.
Then a thought struck him.
He looked up. "Mother… when exactly was I tested for magic?"
She blinked at the question, caught off guard. "When you were around a week old," she said after a pause. "It's an early sensitivity test. Not always perfect, but usually close enough. Why do you ask?"
Rowan didn't answer right away.
Because in that moment, something clicked.
He hadn't been born into this world… not in the usual sense. He had awakened in this body when it was already four months old. That meant—whatever test they did—wasn't done on him. It was done on the child who came before him.
The real Rowan Vexlaar.
And that child… was already gone when he arrived.
His magic wasn't low. It hadn't even been tested yet.
No one knew who he truly was.
And that changed everything.
And somewhere deep inside, he knew: his story was only just beginning.