"I am adopting you. From this day forward, you will be known to the world as Caelan de Valerius, my third son and a full-fledged member of my house."
Caelan stood motionless, his wide eyes fixed on the Duke. An expression of pure, undisguised astonishment was frozen on his childish face.
But inside him, a completely different storm was raging.
What…? A son? It's… it's logical. After everything he said about the dangers, this is the only move that guarantees me absolute protection. But…
Deep down, in the place where Andrii still lived, an unexpected, bitter disappointment surged.
I wanted to start from scratch. From the dirt. To walk the path of a slave, a gladiator. To earn my power in hardcore mode. And instead… I was just given a cheat code. An elite start. The game's highest difficulty setting had just turned into a tutorial for the nobility.
He lowered his gaze, hiding his true feelings. He understood that refusal was impossible. It would be not just ungrateful, but foolish. The only rational path.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Caelan nodded.
A faint hint of satisfaction appeared on the Duke's face.
"Good," he said. Then he turned his head toward the doors. "Elias!"
The butler entered the library as quietly as ever. He didn't even glance at the body lying in his path and simply stepped over the sleeping Ellard.
"Yes, Your Grace."
"See to the papers. Prepare everything necessary for the adoption procedure. Immediately."
"As you command, Your Grace," Elias replied, and for the first time, a note of what might have been surprise tinged his voice. He cast a quick, yet profound, glance at Caelan, then bowed silently and exited.
[Days Since Reincarnation: 4]
[Status: Adopted Son. Student.]
[Mana Reservoir: Growth Confirmed.]
The sun was high, bathing the training ground in warm light. Caelan monotonously raised and lowered the wooden sword, heavy for his childish hands, repeating the movements Kira had shown him.
Caelan de Valerius.
The name felt foreign. Like a shortcut.
He stopped, breathing heavily, and leaned on the sword. His gaze unfocused. He had wanted something different. He had imagined it all so differently...
"Ha-ha, look at this rootless elf! He can't even cast a basic spell!" an imaginary voice of an arrogant aristocrat at the Academy echoed in his head.
"You're a nobody! You'll never be our equal!" another chimed in with a scornful laugh.
He gripped the hilt of his sword, and a vivid scene flashed in his mind. There he was, standing on the Academy's dueling grounds. Opposite him—the best fencer of the year, an arrogant noble with a contemptuous smirk. Around them, a crowd waiting for his humiliation.
"Begin!" the command rings out.
His opponent lunges forward in a swift attack. But Caelan doesn't move. He only takes a single, barely perceptible step aside at the last moment, and his opponent's sword slices through empty air. Then, before the other has time to recover from his miss, Caelan makes a short, elegant flick of his wrist. A faint click of metal—and the bully's sword is sent flying, while the tip of his own training sword comes to rest an inch from his rival's throat.
Silence. Shocked faces. Awestruck gazes. He imagined a cold, calm smile appearing on his face. The smile of someone who knew the outcome before the fight even began.
A smirk involuntarily curved his own lips.
And then the fantasy dissolved like sand. He was once again standing alone on the training ground, sweaty, with aching muscles.
The smirk vanished, replaced by bitter irony.
"Although... right now, they would be absolutely right," he thought, spreading his free hand. "I have none of that. Only this strange trick."
His thoughts returned to the previous night. The plan had worked. Seven spheres of pure mana, and he had blacked out. He had woken up with the same aching pain deep in his chest. My mana reservoir has grown. And the sphere I can create now is slightly larger.
He took up the sword again, his thoughts shifting to yesterday. His first day in the role of a "friend" to Lianna. A strange experience. She had enthusiastically tried to put one of her dresses on him. He had barely managed to fend her off, but she had laughed sincerely. It seemed he had over-delivered on his deal with the Duke. The strange and frightening events of the past few days didn't seem to have affected their simple, childish relationship at all.
"That's enough with the sword for today."
He turned. Kira stood a few steps away, her arms crossed over her chest. She had obviously been watching him for some time.
"Your muscles aren't ready for this kind of strain yet. If you continue, you'll only injure yourself."
She walked over and sat down directly on the grass in the shade of a tree, patting the spot next to her. Caelan, grateful for the break, approached and sat beside her.
"The Duke has instructed me to begin your magic training. He also told me about your... unique nature. So we will dispense with the standard tests and start from the very, very beginning. I want you to observe. Observe how magic behaves."
She rose gracefully and walked to the center of the training ground.
"There are many kinds of magic, Master Caelan. Fire, water, light, darkness… But for now, forget its nature. Forget the elements. I want you to just observe. Observe how it behaves."
Kira raised her hand. The air around her palm shimmered, and a ball of fire began to form. Caelan's eyes widened in surprise. This was no small spark, but a huge, pulsating sphere of incandescent plasma, roaring like the sun. Its heat could be felt even from a distance.
And then she threw it. Directly at Caelan.
Time stretched for him, like hot plastic.
He didn't just see a fireball. He saw a blinding white light bursting into the stairwell. He didn't hear the roar of flames, but the crack of concrete. He was standing in the kitchen again, a bottle of water in his hand, and in the doorway—the silhouettes of his mother and brother.
Terror. The pure, animal terror he had felt then returned, paralyzing his small body. He couldn't scream, couldn't move. His eyes widened, and hot, silent tears streamed from them. He just watched as his end approached. Again.
But the fireball didn't explode.
It flew at the same speed, but it began to shrink. The massive, roaring sphere smoothly contracted to the size of a soccer ball, then an apple, then a coin. It transformed into a tiny, dancing flame that hovered an inch from his nose, gave off a barely perceptible warmth, and then vanished.
It was over. But Caelan's body was wracked with shudders. He stood there, sobbing, unable to stop the flood of tears and memories that washed over him, like an old photograph found in an abandoned house.
Kira froze. Her expression, which a moment ago had been full of professional focus, contorted with confusion. She had wanted to give him a practical lesson, but the response she got was not analysis, but pure, undisguised horror in the eyes of a child. She saw the tears.
"Caelan…" she whispered, bewildered.
She quickly walked over to him. For a moment, she was at a loss, not knowing what to do. Then, guided by instinct rather than military protocol, she knelt and awkwardly but firmly embraced him, pressing his head, shaken by tremors, against her shoulder pauldron.
"Shh… it's okay… I'm here," she whispered softly, stroking his hair, not fully understanding what she had done wrong. "It was just magic. I was in control. It's okay…"
He heard her voice as if through cotton wool.
Stop it, he ordered himself, but his body wouldn't listen. Stop…
But the tears kept coming. And then he felt her hand on his hair. Warmth. A soft, calming warmth. He instinctively clutched at her armor, pressing closer.
…but this… makes it easier…
He was crying, but no longer from terror. It was a release for the pain he had held inside. And for the first time in a long while, he wasn't alone.
When the sobs finally subsided, Kira gently pulled back but left her hands on his shoulders. Her violet eyes were filled with confusion and remorse.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I didn't know. I didn't mean to scare you."
She looked into his tear-streaked, red eyes.
"Are you… ready to continue the lesson?"
Caelan, though still unsteady, gave a firm nod.
Kira looked at him doubtfully but nodded in return. She walked back to the center of the training ground. This time, she created a fireball the size of a basketball and hurled it at the far training wall. The ball flew in a straight trajectory and shattered against the stone in a bright flash, changing neither its size nor its shape.
"What did you see?" Kira asked.
"Control… of mana?" Caelan guessed uncertainly. "The first ball shrank, but this one didn't."
"Not exactly," Kira replied. "The first time, I didn't throw the spell. I guided it, maintaining a connection with my will. The farther a spell is from your body, the weaker the manifestation of your will becomes. That's why it faded—because my connection to it weakened with distance."
She pointed to the wall.
"The second time, I just created it near me and pushed it. Like a stone. Most mages do it this way. It's the only way to hit a target that is beyond your sphere of influence. But you lose all control the moment the spell leaves your hand."
Kira looked at him intently.
"Look closely. Mana is everywhere. In the air, in the ground, in you. It is the invisible ocean we live in."
"Turn around."
Caelan turned. Behind his back, hanging in the air, was a tiny, faint flame, identical to the one that had touched his nose.
"Gathering mana near your own body is simple," she continued, and the flame behind Caelan vanished. "But to gather it from the world around you at a distance, even just a meter away, is the foundation of true mastery. That is your first task. Learn to command mana beyond the confines of your own body."
She nodded, her tone growing warmer again.
"That's enough for today. You did well, Master Caelan."
She stood up and offered him her hand. He took it, and she helped him to his feet.
They walked to his room in silence. It was no longer an awkward silence, but one filled with unspoken thoughts. Along the way, one thought kept circling in Caelan's mind.
What she demonstrated... it's like Wi-Fi. Her will is the signal, coming from the 'router,' her body. And that signal makes the surrounding mana react. But how?
When they had almost reached his door, he couldn't hold back any longer and asked.
"Kira," he said quietly. "How… how do you do it? The fire."
She paused for a moment, thinking.
"I… don't know how to explain it," she finally answered, a hint of uncertainty in her voice. "I just… remember. The warmth of a fireplace. The pain of a burn. The brightness of a flame. And… I project that feeling outward. It just… happens."
Intuitively. Through emotions. So, their feelings are the 'receiver'.
They stopped at his door.
"Tomorrow at noon, same place," Kira said. "Get some rest."
She nodded and left. Caelan entered his room and closed the door.
He sat on the floor. He had no intention of resting.
First, he tried her method. Emotions. He closed his eyes and remembered everything fiery he knew: the warmth of a fireplace, the pain of a burn, the blinding flash that had flown at him in the garden, and that other one, long ago, that had taken everything. He focused on these feelings, held out his hands, and tried to push out his mana, as others probably did. A stream of energy burst from his palms but immediately dissipated into the air, creating nothing more than a faint wave of white mana.
He tried a different way. "Gather!" he mentally shouted into the emptiness of the room. Nothing. He tensed his arms, making them tremble as if trying to squeeze an invisible power out of himself. The result was the same.
After several failed attempts, he felt that nearly half of his reservoir was depleted. He dropped to one knee, breathing heavily.
Pointless, he thought. I can't make the 'outside' mana react. And my own, I can only…
He remembered Kira's second fireball. Created near her and thrown, like a stone. But what do I have to throw? I don't have a 'stone'.
And then, an idea came. An experiment.
He held out his index finger and focused. Instead of forming his mana into a ball, he commanded it to extend. A thin, barely visible white thread of pure mana stretched from his fingertip. It was stable. He could control it. He guided it around the room, touching the walls, the ceiling. It felt like an extension of his own body, a docile serpent of light.
But it was only a shape. It had no properties. No intent, other than to 'exist'. He tried again to imbue it with the emotion of fire, but the thread remained just a white thread.
He dispelled it and lay down wearily on the floor, staring at the ceiling.
He could control his own mana with filigree precision. But he couldn't give it any property. No color, no effect. It was perfectly pure and… utterly empty.
Why? a quiet, almost detached thought drifted through his mind.
Is it because I was reincarnated into this world?