I stood still for quite some time in the middle of that old library. The towering shelves rose like walls, the scent of dust mingled with ink, and the dim glow of candles along the walls created an atmosphere that felt both alien and oddly comforting. Yet the longer I gazed around, the clearer it became—I was not dreaming.
This small body was real. The pulse at my wrist, the steady beat of my heart, the warmth of breath escaping my lips—none of it was an illusion.
And suddenly, a wave of pain crashed against my skull.
"Aghh…!" I staggered, clutching my temples.
Hundreds, thousands of fragments of memory surged into my mind. Faces I had never seen, names that blurred like half-forgotten whispers, voices echoing from a past that was not mine.
An elderly man with white hair, sharp eyes filled with authority:"Remember this—we are the House of Loraine. Our blood may be thin, but our magical heritage must not die out."
A young woman, pale yet gentle, caressing the head of a child:"You may never be as strong as they are, my dear. But do not be afraid. True strength lies in knowledge."
I gasped. That name—Loraine. It was my new family name. A minor house, nearly forgotten in the world of magi.
More flashes came: a lonely manor, its walls lined with faded emblems of the family crest. Only a handful of members remained, a dwindling generation on the verge of extinction. They were not honored families within the Clock Tower, nor legendary lineages with a thousand-year history. Just a small branch, clinging to survival on the fringes of the ruthless world of magi.
And the child I had become… was their heir.
I swallowed hard, trying to process it all. There was no mistake—this was the Nasuverse. A world of magi and Servants, a world of "The Root," of True Magic, of shadows hidden beneath human society. And I was now a part of one of its dwindling families.
Ironic. In my old world, I had been a penniless scientist, dismissed and ignored. In this one, I was a magus from a house on the brink of oblivion. Fate seemed intent on mocking me—casting me, once again, at the very bottom.
Yet I smiled faintly. From the bottom, there was nowhere to go but up.
I felt something stir within this small body. A warmth, flowing faintly beneath the skin, coursing through my veins—yet it was different from blood. Softer, subtler, even more delicate than electricity itself. The energy moved in rhythm with my breath, as though it were a natural part of me.
"…Mana?" I whispered in disbelief.
In my old world, energy was electricity, heat, motion. All measurable, all defined by numbers and instruments. But here, I could feel it with nothing but my inner senses. Mana flowed like a hidden stream, sustaining life within me.
Closing my eyes, I focused. Among the foreign fragments of memory, one word surfaced—a simple incantation.
"Lux."
In an instant, the tip of my finger glimmered with a faint light. Not bright, just a firefly's glow, but enough to leave me frozen in awe.
That light wasn't chemical, nor electric, nor laser. It was magic.
A long breath escaped my lips. This world was truly different.
But awe soon gave way to unease. From what little I knew of the Nasuverse, magi were not noble people. They lived for "mysteries," for the pursuit of the Root, for ego and the preservation of their bloodlines. They would sacrifice anything—even their own kin—for their ambitions.
If I was to survive as one of them, I had to tread carefully.
I sat again, opening the mage's journal I had found earlier. As I read deeper, the truths of the Loraine family revealed themselves. They were "keepers of knowledge," not warriors. Their craft lay in archiving, preserving, and curating ancient spells. No grand Noble Phantasms, no legendary Mystic Codes. Just books, notes, and a handful of minor incantations.
Their strength was their archives. Their weakness—everything else. They were easy prey for stronger families.
I closed the journal, inhaling slowly.
"In that case… I must become more than just a keeper of knowledge. I must create something no one can dismiss. Something that transcends ordinary magecraft."
My thoughts whirled, bridging the life I had once lived with the one I now inhabited. In the old world, I sought infinite energy through science. I failed. But here, I had another chance. What if I fused the mindset of a scientist with the body of a magus?
Perhaps I could build a new theory. Perhaps… something approaching True Magic.
Then, footsteps echoed outside.
The wooden door creaked open, and a middle-aged woman entered. Her black hair was pinned tightly, her face stern, her gaze sharp. From the foreign memories, I knew her—my aunt. The last surviving member of the Lorraine family besides me.
"You're awake," she said curtly.
I nodded, suppressing my nervousness.
"Good. Remember this—starting today, you must train hard. The outside world is merciless to families like ours. If you do not become strong, you will be devoured."
Her tone allowed no argument. I lowered my head in obedience, though inside, a thin smile tugged at my lips. Strength was necessary—but I would aim for something far greater.
She set a book on the table. Its cover was hard, inscribed with a faintly glowing sigil.
"This is the foundation of our craft. Study it well. Fail, and you are no child of Loraine."
I reached out, feeling the subtle vibration of the sigil.
"Yes, Aunt," I answered softly.
She gave me one last piercing look before leaving, her presence fading along with the faint scent of dried flowers.
I opened the book. The first page displayed a simple magic circle, followed by explanations of Magic Circuits—how a magus used their body as a conduit for mana.
I read carefully, my mind working swiftly. It was all unfamiliar, yet my scientific logic sought connections. Magic Circuits? They resembled electrical circuits, only powered by mana. The diagrams looked almost like schematics, energy flowing like current.
I froze. Perhaps this was my path. Science had given me knowledge. This world had given me magic. Together…
I lifted my small hand, the glow at my fingertip now long gone.
"Science and magic… if I can combine them…" A faint grin formed. "I might uncover something even the great magi could never imagine."
But excitement carried with it a shadow. I knew enough of magi to realize the danger. If a forgotten family suddenly rose with new power, others would notice. Others would covet. I would become a target.
And yet… I didn't care. I had failed once before. I would not fail again.
With that resolve, I closed the book of basics and looked up at the towering shelves of the library.
"Very well," I whispered to myself. "Let us begin this new chapter."
I lingered upon the cold wooden floor of that library, my back pressed against shelves heavy with dust and leather-bound tomes. My heart still beat in frantic rhythm, though the body that now held it was small, fragile, unaccustomed to such strain. My fingers clutched at the loose shirt upon me—no longer the sterile white coat that had once been a second skin, but a thin, coarse garment belonging to another world.
"So this is… truly another world," I murmured, to no one but myself.
Each breath I drew was laden with the fragrance of old paper, melted wax, and something more elusive—an undercurrent of energy clinging to the very air. I needed no explanation; instinct told me what it was. Prana. That which I had once dismissed as fiction now coursed, tangible, undeniable, through the silence around me.
I closed my eyes, willing my thoughts into order. But in that stillness came another torrent—foreign memories, pouring into me more violently than before.
Fragments of a boy's life. A boy named Azel Veyren.
That was my name now. I was the youngest son of a fading magus lineage at the forgotten edge of Europe—a family that had once tasted renown but now drifted toward obscurity. My father, Darius Veyren, was a middling magus with little acclaim within the Association. My mother, Selene, though born of non-magus blood, carried herself with quiet grace and unwavering devotion to her husband's path.
And then there was my sister. Lira Veyren—disciplined, sharp, and brimming with talent. Everything the original Azel was not. He had been a frail child, plagued by weakness, incapable of even the simplest spellcraft.
I opened my eyes slowly."So, I've truly inherited this boy's body. And from now on, I must live his life… with my soul."
My hands trembled as they traced the contours of my new flesh, my face, my hair. All of it was real. I turned toward a cracked mirror leaning against the wall. Reflected back was the boy: dull blue eyes, lifeless in hue, a jaw yet unshaped by age, thin lips beneath unruly black hair. An ordinary child's face, unremarkable in every way.
But behind that vacant gaze—there was me.
And I carried with me a purpose.
A long breath left my chest, steadying the storm within."I failed in my old world. But here… here, I can begin anew."
Rising, I wandered among the towering shelves, letting my fingers graze the ridged spines of books older than centuries. Their titles shimmered faintly in the dim light—some etched in archaic Latin, others in runes and glyphs that at first seemed alien. Yet Azel's memories whispered their meanings to me.
The Principles of Thaumaturgy.The Lineage of the Root Seekers.Elemental Affinity and the Path of Origin.
My lips curved faintly. Proof enough: I was in the Nasuverse. A world where magi clawed toward the Root, where ancient families guarded secrets older than empires, where the price of ignorance was death.
And me? A reincarnator with a dream of eternal machinery.
My chest tightened—not with fear, but with exhilaration. I knew well what lay ahead: Holy Grail Wars, Heroic Spirits summoned to battle, the interference of True Magics themselves. This world was a labyrinth of wonders and deathtraps alike.
Yet I smiled.
"If I triumph here, the results will surpass all imagination. A perpetual engine? No… I shall create something greater. A miracle worthy of eternity."
Once more I sat upon the floor, knees drawn close, eyes half-shut in concentration. Slowly, I reached inward, seeking the flow within this frail vessel. And there it was: prana, faint but present, coiling through my veins like a forgotten song. I extended my hand into the air, willing it forth.
And for a fleeting moment, a pale-blue light bloomed at my fingertips.
Fragile, flickering—yet real.
A laugh, quiet and unsteady, escaped me."Yes… even in this body, I can command prana. At last—I am a magus."
The creak of footsteps broke my reverie. I turned sharply, and there she was: a girl stepping into the room, her chestnut hair bound simply, her gaze sharp with curiosity. Recognition surged from borrowed memory. Lira Veyren. My sister.
"Azel. So this is where you've gone," she said, arms folded. "Mother's been looking for you. You shouldn't be alone here too long. Your body is still frail."
For a heartbeat, I faltered. Then a thin, awkward smile."Ah… sorry, Sister."
Her eyes flicked toward my hand, still faintly tinged with warmth from the spell. A brief narrowing of her brow."Were you… attempting a spell again?" she asked, half reproach, half weary concern. "You know you can barely manage the basics. Don't strain yourself, Azel."
I lowered my gaze, hiding the grin tugging at my lips."I only wanted… to try."
"Tch. Stubborn, just like Father." She turned, her footsteps carrying her toward the door. "Come. Supper's waiting."
I nodded, following her out. The candlelit corridor stretched long before us, shadows dancing with each flicker. Yet in that moment, a certainty crystallized within me: though Azel's past was marred by weakness and failure, from this night onward, I would shape his future.
And the world would no longer drown me.
That night, after a modest meal with my newfound family, I returned to the small bedroom that was mine. The bed creaked with age, the curtains hung thin and frayed, and the desk lay buried beneath parchment and quills.
I lingered at the window, gazing at an unfamiliar sky. Strange constellations glittered above, cold yet beautiful. The air was sharp, biting, and yet it tasted of promise.
My hand pressed to my chest."I, who once failed, am reborn. This world of sorcery and blood will not break me. I will seek the Root. And I will carry my dream of the eternal engine—reborn, remade, through magecraft itself."
The vow echoed silently within me, reverberating in the stillness of the room.
"A new world. A new body. A new fate. I shall change everything. I will kindle hope, even if it means defying destiny itself."
And so I lay upon that humble bed, drifting into sleep with a faint smile upon my lips—
—the smile of one who knows that the true adventure has only just begun.