Morning came quietly, though the sun had yet to rise. Pale light crept through the wooden shutters, spilling faint silver across the walls. The air was cold, carrying the scent of dew and burnt wood from the hearth below.
I sat up, heart still heavy from yesterday. The sheets clung damp to my skin. For a while, I just stared at the faint dust floating through the morning air before dragging myself to the desk.
There, the book waited, the same one I had marked the night before. The so-called "Latin" book.
I opened it. My fingers trembled as I turned the pages, each one whispering against my skin. The letters were sharp, elegant, familiar yet foreign. I read them slowly, my lips parting with hesitant breaths.
At first glance, the sentences made no sense, scattered invocations that sounded like poetry without rhythm. But as I whispered them, something stirred. My heart beat faster, my breath caught.
It wasn't poetry. It was invocation. A chant
Magic.
Page sixteen confirmed it.
"O ignis potens atque iracunde, praesta mihi virtutem tuam magnam, ut hostem meum usque ad cinerem comburam. Prodiat globus ignis!"
When translated:
"O mighty and wrathful fire, grant me your great power, that I may burn my enemy to ashes with nothing left. Let the fireball emerge!"
I exhaled slowly. My lips trembled.
Magic was real.
And if magic was real, then monsters, beasts, and everything else from stories might also walk this land.
Maybe...
The third book that filled with some horrific drawings... Is it real?
A chill climbed my spine.
I laughed bitterly.
"Great… just great. I get dumped into a magic, fantasy fucking world."
I leaned back, rubbing my face.
"I'm stuck here forever, huh?"
The words barely escaped as a whisper. The silence that followed pressed down like a weight.
But self-pity wouldn't save me. Not here.
If I wanted to live, I needed to learn about this world, its language, its people, its dangers.
My eyes drifted toward the window. Through the shutters, I could see the faint outline of roofs and winding streets. The city...no, the town... Spread wider than I had imagined last night. Maybe four sectors at most, each no larger than a small district back on Earth. Smoke rose from chimneys, and somewhere, a bell began to toll.
TING. TING. TING.
A bell, loud enough to shake the silence of my room, I assumed it signaled the sunrise.
I stared at the faint light painting the streets, the shadows of people already moving outside. Life went on, unaware that a stranger had taken a boy's body.
I closed the book gently, stood, and took a deep breath.
"…Maybe they'll understand if I use this magic language..."
I muttered.
I had to try.
But before that, I need to translate a little bit of words. Maybe I'll get lucky to translate an important words or sentences.
More than an hours pass.
I went outside of my room, and slowly went to the stairs. The stairs creaked under my bare feet. The smell of woodfire and herbs drifted up, warm and comforting.
Downstairs, I found her, my mot—.
No... The boy's mother.
Selene Marina.
That's the first two words I managed to translated.
The boy's mother name that I found at the first page of the magic book. With the boy's name besides it.
This boy's name is Caelus Valen.
Well I don't care about this boy name. Soon when I get out of here maybe I'm going to change my name as soon as possible. But now, this is the identity I'll use for now.
The mother Selena, She stood by the hearth, stirring a pot over slow fire. Strands of her reddish-brown hair caught the light. The soft morning glow painted her in warmth, the kind of beauty that didn't belong to royalty but to the quiet strength of mothers.
For a moment, I just watched her. The way her hands moved with precision, the rhythm of stirring, the soft hum she made under her breath, it all felt too real.
It almost made me forget this wasn't my home.
Almost.
I stepped forward, my throat tight.
"M-Mater…?"
The word scraped against my throat like sandpaper. My lips quivered as I forced it out again, quieter this time.
"M-Mother…?"
Her hand froze mid-stir. The spoon clattered against the pot. She turned slowly, eyes wide, disbelief and fear mixing across her face.
"C-Caelus? You… can speak?"
Her voice trembled. Then, before I could answer, she rushed toward me and pulled me into her arms.
The smell of herbs and soap filled my lungs as her embrace tightened. Her shoulders shook. Tears stained my shirt.
"I'm so happy for you, my son…"
she whispered in Vocemantica.
I stood stiffly at first, caught between confusion and guilt. The warmth of her body pressed against mine, and something deep inside me, something I didn't want to admit, ached in response.
Slowly, I lifted my arms and hugged her back.
"You can understand me, Mother?"
She leaned back, tears still glistening in her eyes.
"Of course, my son. I don't care that you only know Vocemantica. I'm just glad you can speak."
Vocemantica…
So that was the name of this world's "Latin." The language of magic, born from mana and chant, spoken by scholars and priests. Ancient, precise, dangerous.
And if this was Vocemantica, then the language my parents used daily, the one I couldn't yet speak, must be the Thespian, the Greek language.
I am very lucky to be able to translate important words, such as his mother's name and the name of ancient Greek language here.
The language of the people.
Thespian.
A single word could mean one thing in Thespian and something entirely different in Vocemantica.
For example, "water."
In Thespian, it was Hydra, a simple, living thing.
But in Vocemantica, it became Aqua, a concept, a force to be commanded.
Same meaning, different weight. One quenched thirst, the other could drown armies.
It was more than language, it was power.
That's what I know after doing a little translating. It's tiring...
I said softly.
"Thank you, Mother."
Her lips curved into a trembling smile.
"Of course, my son."
She brushed her fingers through my hair like she had done countless times before, to the real Caelus, I supposed. Then, still holding my shoulders, she looked into my eyes and whispered.
"You've grown quieter since your fever and head injury, Caelus. You used to ask so many questions… about the world, the stars, your father's sword."
My breath hitched.
"Did I?"
I asked, forcing a smile.
She nodded.
"You always wanted to go to the School at the Capital city. You said you'd become a scholar someday. Maybe even a mage."
A mage…
Maybe destiny wasn't as random as I thought.
I hesitated, then asked,
"Mother… may I… have some books?"
Her eyebrows lifted slightly.
"Books?"
"Yes,"
I said quickly.
"I wish to learn. The language you and Father speak."
"Ah, the Thespian?"
She smiled, fond but surprised.
"So my son seeks to study again."
She cupped my cheek.
"Of course. When your father returns from his patrol, we'll visit the scribe's shop together."
Relief flooded me like a tide.
"Thank you, Mother."
Her eyes softened even more, and she chuckled.
"Do you need my help? I could teach you a little Thespian while we cook."
I shook my head gently.
"No… I'll manage. I want to learn by myself."
"Hmm,"
she said with mock seriousness.
"Just like your father, stubborn and proud."
I smiled.
"Then I suppose I inherited it honestly."
Her laughter rang like bells, light and tender.
"Alright then, my stubborn son,"
she said at last, returning to her pot.
"But don't burn the house down trying to read your magic books again."
"Vocemantica isn't that dangerous… I think,"
I muttered.
Since when we both spoke it, it doesn't spark a fireball or anything.
She only smiled.
I lingered there for a while, watching her stir the pot, the steam curling upward, the scent of herbs filling the air. For the first time since I'd awakened in this world, I felt something that resembled peace.
A mother's warmth.
It wasn't mine, but maybe, for now, I could borrow it.
As she hummed softly, I turned toward the window. Outside, the faint clang of iron echoed from the distant walls. The morning market was beginning to stir, vendors shouting, children laughing, carts rumbling down the cobbled streets.
This was Eschatopolis, the border city of the Empire of Four Crowns. Not as grand as its name implied, but still vibrant, alive.
A place where every dawn began with prayer, trade, and the hope that whatever lay beyond those distant walls would stay there.
I didn't know what tomorrow would bring. But for now, I had a goal.
Learn. Adapt. Survive.
And perhaps, one day, truly call this place home.