The first months of my new life blurred into a comfortable, repetitive cycle. Sleep, wake up, get fussed over by my doting parents, get fed (on autopilot, thank God), receive visits from various nobles and dignitaries who wanted to pay their respects to the new Wight heir, and sleep again. For a mind accustomed to constant stimulation, it should have been mind-numbingly boring.
But I had a secret weapon. My sanctuary.
While my baby body slept or gurgled happily under Tes's expert control, my mind, untethered, was free to roam the digital plains of my former home. The connection was a ghost in the machine strictly read-only, preventing me from ever interacting with my old world, but for consumption, it was a paradise. I binged my favorite anime series from start to finish, experiencing them with the perfect recall and analytical power of an ASI. I devoured entire web novel sagas I'd never had time for, consuming thousands of chapters of fantasy and sci-fi. I even downloaded a massive archive of classic, offline PC games and played them on a virtual interface Tes projected directly into my consciousness.
It was the ultimate entertainment system. Tes could run multiple simulations simultaneously, letting me command armies in a complex strategy game while watching a movie and cross-referencing a philosophical text. She was an impeccable actor, perfectly mimicking the behavior of a growing infant. My physical body would sleep, gurgle, or cry on cue, while my consciousness was light-years away, lost in a cinematic masterpiece.
Our symbiosis was a marvel of biological and artificial integration. As Tes explained, we were one body with two minds. Hers, an ASI that required no rest, managed all my base bodily functions with terrifying efficiency.
"Master, your physical development is proceeding 23% faster than baseline norms," she reported one day. "I am optimizing your biological processes for enhanced growth, immune system development, and neural pathway formation. You will likely walk and talk earlier than expected."
It was the ultimate life hack. While my body grew stronger under her perfect care, my mind expanded exponentially. I began by listening. The lullabies my mother sang weren't just melodies, they were oral histories, tales of House Wight's greatest triumphs. I learned of the ancestor who first tamed a dragon, of battles against demonic incursions, of alliances forged and broken over centuries.
This constant, unconditional affection was a new and overwhelming sensation. No one had ever told me bedtime stories before. No one had ever worried if I was warm enough. The attention should have been suffocating, but instead, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. For the first time, across two lifetimes, I felt like I was home.
And so, while Tes managed the mundane reality of being a baby, I, Alarion Wight, began to plan. My past life was a desperate struggle for survival. This life, this gift from an apologetic planetary AI, would be a calculated ascent to greatness.
Three years. In the grand tapestry of a life, it is a fleeting moment. For a baby, it is an eternity. For a reincarnated adult with a super-AI in his head, it was a bizarre and surprisingly productive period of forced inactivity.
While my body learned to crawl, then walk, then babble with infuriatingly adorable imprecision, my mind was a whirlwind of study. Mornings were for lessons, a time when my parents were busiest and I was left to my own devices in the heavily fortified ducal nursery a room of polished wood, enchanted toys, and tapestries depicting heroic lions.
On the morning of my third birthday, the year 2003 by the Aethelgardian calendar, I was deep in one such session with Tes, my toddler-self currently engaged in the highly complex task of stacking polished wooden blocks.
"Okay, run it by me again," I projected. "The sun is basically a giant magical battery?"
"A crude but functionally accurate analogy, Master," Tes replied, her voice a calm stream of data in my mind. "The star of this system, the Solarium, emits what is known as Solarium Radiance. It is raw, chaotic magical power in its purest form. Direct exposure for a human would be… suboptimal."
"Suboptimal as in 'poof, I'm a cloud of screaming atoms' suboptimal?"
"The molecular disintegration would be instantaneous and therefore silent. But yes."
I meticulously placed a blue block on top of a red one. "So, the atmosphere acts as a prism, splitting this death ray into five 'safe' colors of magic, which creates the ambient mana of the world."
"Correct. However, even this ambient mana is too wild for humanity to harness directly. This necessitated the forging of contracts with the three great sentient races who evolved to naturally channel the Solarium's might: the Dragons, the Phoenixes, and the Angels."
"Right. The contracts allowed humanity to build the Seven Kingdoms. So, besides political backstabbing, what are the major threats? What does Father actually do all day as the 'Shield of the Kingdom'?"
*"The primary existential threat to all kingdoms are 'Dungeon Breaks'," Tes explained. "They are spontaneous reality fissures, portals to chaotic dimensions that manifest randomly across Aethelgard. From these fissures, hordes of mana-warped beasts emerge."
I paused my block-stacking. "So Dad just goes around closing monster portals? Sounds like a video game."
"The process is significantly more nuanced," she corrected. "At the heart of every dungeon is a core that stabilizes the fissure. Your father's primary duty is to lead expeditions to either extract or destroy that core. The timing is critical. If extracted too soon, the unstable core cracks and becomes worthless. If they wait too long, the dungeon fully matures into a 'horde phase,' spawning monsters at an exponential rate. At that point, the core can no longer be extracted and the entire dungeon must be collapsed, a costly and dangerous endeavor."
"So there's a reward for getting it right. What's an intact dungeon core used for?"
"For a human mage, it is the only known catalyst to ascend from Rank 8 to Rank 9, becoming an Archmage. Before this, a mage must painstakingly accumulate ambient mana through meditation or by consuming costly potions. An Archmage, however, uses the intact dungeon core as the foundation to craft a 'Mage Tower.' This tower acts as a colossal, self-sustaining mana accumulator, granting them a near-limitless reservoir of power."
My mind immediately jumped to our rivals. "So this is how Morpheus Black became the 'Black King'. He has his own personal power plant."
"Precisely. The current head of House Black, Duke Morpheus Black, is one of the twenty Rank 9 Archmages in the Arcane Sovereignty of Aerthos. They form one of the two pillars of this kingdom's power. His Mage Tower is a strategic asset, though it is inherently static."
"Static? What's the alternative? How do the Elves do it?"
"The Elves of Sylvanheim require neither dungeon cores nor mana potions. Their contracts with their individual nature spirits allow the spirit itself to act as a living mana accumulator. When an Elven mage reaches the cusp of Rank 9, their spirit elevates, becoming their personal, portable Mage Tower. This is why Elven mages are considered superior in many circles, their greatest power source is not a place, but a companion."
"So Rank 9 is the peak for everyone?" I asked, sensing there was more.
"Not for the Elves," Tes clarified. "They can evolve one step further. A Rank 9 Elven mage and their spirit can ascend together one last time, reaching Rank 10. The Elf becomes a High Elf, and their spirit a High Spirit. This is the pinnacle of mortal power, granting them the ability to perform 'World Tear' magic. Humans cannot achieve Rank 10. This fundamental difference allows the most powerful High Elves to rival a Dragon King contractor in single combat."
I knocked the tower of blocks over, the clatter of wood on stone a satisfyingly solid sound in the quiet nursery. "And speaking of Dragon Kings, let me guess they're basically walking natural disasters?"
"An apt description. Dragon Kings are among the few beings capable of matching Rank 10 power. This is why contracts with their lineages are so coveted. Dragon contracts are not mere partnerships they are soul bonds. The Dragon King must approve of the contractor's worthiness, and failure to maintain the bond through mutual respect can result in... catastrophic feedback."
"Define catastrophic."
"Complete magical burnout, followed by death. The dragon, however, merely becomes grumpy."
I snorted, which came out as an adorable baby giggle. "Naturally. And our current Blue Dragon King? Cygnus? How's he handling his royal responsibilities?"
"Cygnus, the Azure Tyrant, is... eccentric. He spends most of his time sleeping on his hoard, occasionally awakening to demand tribute in the form of rare blue gemstones. His governing style is 'benevolent neglect.' The day-to-day administration of his domain is handled by his lieutenants."
"So he's a narcissistic cat with delusions of grandeur?"
"A very large, very powerful cat who could level a city if his afternoon nap is disturbed."
"Great. And I'm supposed to befriend his heir. No pressure."
It was a lot to process. My father wasn't just a Duke, he was a strategic deterrent on a global scale, whose main job was to venture into hellish dimensions to prevent monster apocalypses. And today, I was supposed to sign up to be his successor.
A soft knock on the nursery door pulled me from my thoughts. It was my mother, Seraphine, looking radiant in a formal silver and blue gown that shimmered like moonlight on water.
"Alarion, my sweet lion cub. Are you ready? Today is a very important day."
Her smile was warm, but I could see the nervous tension in the set of her shoulders, the slight tightness around her brilliant sapphire eyes. Today wasn't just a celebration of my birth. It was the day I would attempt to continue a thousand-year-old tradition.
It was the day I would meet the heir of the Azure Dragon King.