Dawn was breaking. Caelan opened his eyes, feeling a single, wet track on his cheek. A tear. He didn't remember the dream, but the echo of loss still lived in his body. He slowly raised a hand, his small palm opening toward the ceiling as if trying to grasp something invisible, something lost forever.
"This will pass," the thought came, cold and sad. "Just as this pain will pass."
He lowered his arm, touching his forearm. The bruises left by the priest's ice pellets still throbbed with a dull, nagging ache. His whole body itched, a reminder of the first day. But now, that familiar pain was joined by a new, different one.
It came from within, from somewhere deep in his chest. Not sharp, but a pulling sensation, like the fatigue in muscles after a grueling workout. As if something inside him had stretched, grown, and was now adjusting to its new size. The feeling was strange, slightly nauseating, but not alarming.
Caelan sat up in bed, ignoring his body's protests. He had to check.
He repeated the familiar gesture, bringing his palms together. In that same instant, he felt the new pain respond with a sharp but brief flare. Like taking the first step after a marathon—every muscle screamed, but in that scream was the promise of new strength.
A sphere of pure mana ignited between his hands.
"It feels... easier. And denser," he noted, examining the ball of light, which seemed a little brighter than yesterday. "The reservoir has definitely deepened. But is this just the effect of having rested? I need to be sure."
He dispelled the sphere and began to count mentally.
"Yesterday, it was five times. The first, in my room, when I first figured it out. The second, showing Lianna. The third, into the sword. The fourth, for Ellard. And the fifth, the last one, before I fell asleep. My limit is five, then I black out. Good. Tonight, I'll try for six. That will be the real test."
He stood up and walked to the window. The morning sun was flooding the gardens with light.
"But which day is it, really? Did I sleep through the night? Or two days? Or even a month, as Ellard feared?"
At that moment, a soft knock sounded at the door.
The door opened quietly, and Elias appeared on the threshold. He was dressed in the same immaculate livery, but something about his posture had changed. The cold indifference was gone.
"Good morning, Master Caelan," the butler said. His voice, though still even, sounded noticeably warmer than yesterday. "I hope you rested well. His Grace asked that you not be disturbed until dawn."
Master Caelan? So the display yesterday really did elevate my status.
"Elias," Caelan's voice was a little hoarse from sleep. "How long was I out?"
"About eight hours, Master."
Just one night, then. Good.
Elias stepped aside, allowing two maids to enter the room. They carried a tray with food and fresh clothes. Caelan noted in passing that the auras of both girls were the usual shade of blue. Humans.
"More precisely?" he insisted, as the maids placed steaming plates on the small table by the window.
As if expecting the question, Elias retrieved a flat silver pocket watch on a chain from his waistcoat. He flicked the cover open and glanced at the dial.
"The seventh day of the third month of summer, year 1650 of the Era of Peace. The time is five minutes past six in the morning."
Why do they need me this early?
The maids silently laid out a new set of clothes on the bed—not luxurious, but made of high-quality, soft fabric—and exited just as quietly.
"Breakfast is served," Elias announced. "After you have eaten and dressed, His Grace and Magister Ellard will be waiting for you in the main library."
He bowed and left, closing the door softly behind him.
Caelan was left alone.
[Date: 07.09.1650]
[Days Since Reincarnation: 3]
[Mana Core Status: Unstable Growth]
The air was filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread and some kind of meat dish. The hunger he had been ignoring until now suddenly made itself known with a sharp pang in his stomach. He walked to the table. In the last three days, this was the first meal offered to him not as a handout, but as his due.
He began to eat, slowly and methodically, but his thoughts were already far away—in the main library, where two men who held his fate in their hands were waiting. For now, at least.
Having finished his breakfast, Caelan slid off the chair. He changed into the fresh clothes—simple, but made of high-quality fabric.
"Alright, where to now? Elias said 'the main library,' but where is that...?"
He walked to the door and opened it, expecting to see an empty hallway.
And froze.
A short distance away, standing in the sunlit corridor, was a woman. A cat-folk. Surprisingly short and slender, yet her posture radiated a calm strength. She wore a light, functional suit of leather armor reinforced with polished steel plates, a sword in a scabbard resting on her hip. Long black hair with subtle violet streaks fell to her shoulders, framing a face with elegant features. Her orange aura didn't pulse, but flowed from her like gentle heat, a calm and steady stream compared to the Duke's more aggressive shimmer.
As soon as the door opened, she turned her head. Her gaze was calm and focused.
"Greetings, Master Caelan," she said with a slight bow. Her voice was clear and melodic. "My name is Kira. I have been assigned to escort you to the main library."
Caelan nodded silently, momentarily speechless. It was her. One of those beings he had only ever seen in illustrations in his past life. A perfect fusion of human form and feline grace. He stepped out of the room and closed the door.
"This way, please," Kira said and turned, starting down the hallway.
They walked in silence. Caelan stayed slightly behind, his analytical mind receding to the background. He was captivated. He watched as her long black tail swayed gently from side to side in time with her steps. He watched as her pointed black ears, peeking through her hair, twitched subtly in response to every distant sound—one flicking back, the other slightly to the side. It was a living, instinctual grace that was mesmerizing.
They passed through the central wing of the manor. Guards they encountered along the way silently bowed their heads. Finally, Kira stopped before a set of massive, dark-wood double doors.
"We have arrived, Master Caelan," she said, turning to him. "They are waiting for you inside."
She stepped aside, and Caelan, placing both his small hands on the heavy, carved wood, pushed one of the doors open with an effort.
A thick, layered scent hit his nose. The smell of age. Not mustiness, but history. The way an antique shop filled with relics from the past might smell. The scent of dust, old parchment, dried leather bindings, and a faint, sharp tang of ozone.
The library was a vast, two-story hall. The bookshelves on the first floor reached up to a ceiling that also served as the floor for a second-level gallery, where another row of shelves stretched. In the middle of the hall stood a massive table. On it, and even scattered in piles on the floor around it, were books, open tomes, and scrolls in a chaotic mess.
At this table, amidst all the disarray, were two men. Duke Valerius was sitting, leaning wearily on his hand, while Magister Ellard stood, gesturing energetically. From their faces, it was clear they hadn't slept all night.
As the heavy doors closed behind him, he heard the energetic, though slightly hoarse, voice of Magister Ellard.
"...and that is why a baseline resonance test is absolutely essential! We must know his starting point, Valerius, otherwise all our subsequent data will be inaccurate! It's fundamental!"
Caelan carefully stepped around a pile of books on the floor and took in the scene in the center of the hall. Duke Valerius sat calmly in a high-backed chair, his hands folded on the table. Opposite him stood Ellard. He was leaning on the table with both hands, his body pitched forward, and his eyes burned with a fanatical fire despite his pale, exhausted face.
"I understand your thirst for data, Ellard, but…" the Duke began, but suddenly his gaze slid past the magister and settled on Caelan.
Ellard, noticing the shift in the Duke's attention, turned around in irritation to see what had distracted him. His eyes met Caelan's.
He froze for a moment, and then an excited grin lit up his weary face.
He took a step toward Caelan, an excited grin lighting up his weary face. "Excellent! Let's begi—"
The word was cut off mid-syllable as he took a second step.
With a dull thud, like a sack of potatoes, the Magister of the Academy collapsed onto the floor in Caelan's direction. And instantly fell asleep, letting out a soft, contented snore.
Silence descended upon the library, broken only by the gentle snoring.
Caelan stood, staring dumbfounded at the body on the floor. Duke Valerius, for his part, didn't even raise an eyebrow. He simply shifted his calm gaze to Caelan.
"Approach," he said. His voice was even and commanding. "We have a serious matter to discuss."
Caelan moved forward slowly, walking around the sleeping magister with a bewildered expression.
"As you can see," the Duke continued, gesturing subtly with his chin toward Ellard as Caelan stopped by the table, "some people will see you only as an object for endless research. And that is the least of the dangers you now face…"
He let the statement hang in the air for a moment, his voice losing its casual tone and taking on a formal weight.
"We spent the night in the archives. We went through everything. Chronicles, legends, even forbidden texts. And we found nothing. Nothing similar to your power. Even the great hero Asterion, who marked the beginning of our Era of Peace, wielded not your magic, but our magic. Yes, he brought it to absolute, S-rank perfection, but it was still the same fire, water, light, dark…"
His voice trailed off, then returned with a quiet, piercing intensity.
"What you do… it's not a different kind of magic. It is the very essence. The foundation. It is living proof of the theories the best minds at the Academy have debated for centuries: that mana, at its core, is pure, devoid of any properties. It is what all great mages strive for—to purify their power, to separate it from their emotions and affinities. They spend their entire lives chasing it. And you… you simply do it."
"And that is precisely why you must keep it an absolute secret. The world must not know your true nature. For now."
The Duke leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.
"Standard training would be poison for you. So, we have devised a different plan. You've met Kira?"
Caelan nodded silently.
"Good. She will be your first mentor. The cat-folk are masters of the sword, but she also possesses a grasp of basic magic. She will teach you to control your body and lay the foundation for magical discipline. When Kira decides you have mastered all she can teach you, even before you enter the Academy…" he nodded toward Ellard again, "...then our friend here can teach you some truly strange things. And at seven, you will enter the Academy, just like all children of noble houses."
His expression turned serious again.
"But this path is fraught with danger. The other Great Houses, the Church, the Crown… They will all want you. As a weapon, as a heresy, as a threat. Your current status as a 'ward' is a fiction that will not protect you. You need a real shield. A name."
He sighed heavily, a flicker of weariness in his eyes.
"Of course, I will have to have a few… difficult conversations with the Duchess and my sons. This will create problems. For me, and perhaps for you. But I see no other way."
Valerius straightened in his chair, his gaze once again turning to steel.
"There is only one way to give you absolute protection and full access to all the resources of this house. Therefore, I am making this decision, here and now."
He looked directly into Caelan's eyes.
"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."