Time moved on, and soon Noah turned one year old.
He was a clever, well-mannered child—always calm, rarely crying. And yet, from time to time, his parents would find him staring blankly into the distance, as though caught between wakefulness and sleep. The moments never lasted more than a few seconds, and so they didn't worry.
But time waits for no one. One year turned to two, then three. Noah's intelligence shone brighter with every season. He spoke fluently, read without error, and counted with precision. His diction and vocabulary were almost unnaturally perfect for his age.
There was only one peculiarity. For some reason, Noah showed no trace of magic. By the time his fourth birthday arrived, not once had he displayed even the smallest spark. No disappearing books. No hair growing overnight. Not a single floating toy.
Though this unsettled his family, none of them entertained the thought that he might not be a wizard. There had always been cases of magical children whose powers awakened late. All they could do was wait.
Meanwhile, Britain's war had ended a few years earlier, leaving behind ruins of families and legacies marred by betrayal. The shadow of those years lingered over everyone, heavy with fear and distrust.
And so time flowed again, and Noah reached the age of five. Anyone who met him spoke the same words: a bright, sharp boy, with eyes that seemed to charm everyone who looked into them. But soon, new words would be added to describe him.
France, Gray Manor
In a bedroom nearly as large as a common home, a five-year-old boy tossed and turned in his sleep. His face twisted into strange expressions, reflecting pain, grief, and anguish.
The sheets were drenched. Sweat clung to his small body, soaking into silk, as if the nightmare grew heavier with every passing second. His jaw clenched so tightly his teeth ground together.
And then, something happened.
His body rose from the bed—weightless, suspended in midair. All the objects in the room lifted with him, floating as though gravity had ceased to exist.
Suddenly, his eyes snapped open.
His right eye glowed with an unnatural shade of blue, like the deepest ocean. His left eye burned scarlet, as if filled with blood itself. And then—a single tear of blood slid from that eye, falling silently onto the bed.
It lasted only a heartbeat. His eyes dimmed back to their natural blue, and he collapsed onto the mattress, sinking again into the dark sea of dreams.
Downstairs, Laura held a letter as she spoke with Adam.
"Penny and Nick have invited us for tea. They miss Noah."
Adam smiled. "Write back and set the date. Penny's pumpkin pies are the best—and Noah loves them."
Charlie scoffed. "Those two just want to steal my grandson—" His words caught in his throat.
He froze, scanning the room, confusion flickering across his face. Adam noticed instantly.
"What is it, Father?" Adam asked.
Charlie didn't answer at once. He touched the wand resting on the table, his brow furrowed. Finally, he shook his head. "It's nothing. For a moment, I thought… the wards around the house had vanished."
"Vanished?" Laura repeated softly, the word carrying an unsettling weight.
Charlie stood, his face unreadable. "As I said—it's nothing. I checked. Everything's fine. Wards don't simply vanish. They're either dismantled or destroyed."
Despite his words, he went outside to investigate, summoning the house-elves to double-check.
But nothing was found. No traces of foreign magic. No breaches in the barriers. No signs of attack. If Charlie hadn't built those wards with his own hand, he might have doubted they'd ever been tampered with at all. Still, unease gnawed at him.
Back in his room, Noah stirred awake. An hour had passed since the strange event. His eyes were clear, his body no longer slick with sweat. The bed was clean, the sheets dry. No stain of blood remained.
And yet—something within him had changed.
"Who am I?" he whispered.
There was no answer. He was alone. No one could give him that truth. But in reality, he didn't need anyone to answer—because the problem wasn't a lack of answers. It was too many.
His head ached, his mind a storm of images and moments. He couldn't tell if they were real or only distant dreams.
It wasn't the first time. Nights like this had plagued him for as long as he could remember. Each time, he awoke with memories that didn't belong to this life. At least, that's what he had thought. But now… he wasn't so sure.
At first he called them dreams. But tonight, the word "memories" fit far better.
Noah sat at the edge of his bed, clutching his head. He knew who he was. He was Noah Gray. And he had no parents. He was an orphan.
NO.
I have parents. Laura and Adam Gray… They never abandoned me in an orphanage… My grandfather never died… He died… I have no magic… I am a disgrace… NO, I am a wizard. My grandfather taught me…
Noah collapsed to his knees, covering his face with both hands.
"Who am I??" he cried, tears slipping between his fingers.
Who am I? Help me. Someone… please… Grandpa…
Outside, the bright sky darkened with sudden clouds. A sharp wind howled, carrying the scent of an oncoming storm.
How pathetic am I? Am I not a wizard? Why can't I use magic? Is that why I was abandoned? Because I am weak—always weak. That's why people leave me. That's why people die.
Noah had rarely cried in this life. But now he wept for every tear he had never shed, his small body trembling with despair. All he wanted was a path—a path that would lead him to the truth of who he was.
Through the chaos of his mind, one memory rose above the others.
His grandfather teaching him how to feel magic.
They had been in the cellar. Noah had tried and failed countless times, unable to summon even the faintest spark. He began to doubt that he was a wizard at all.
When he voiced those doubts, his grandfather only laughed and said:
"Wizards must first bring harmony to their own minds. Only then can they know who they are. Wizards are bound to the world by magic—and only wizards can feel it. Only wizards can sense the world. But to do so, the world must first know who you are."
Then his grandfather had looked him straight in the eyes and asked:
"So tell me—who are you?"
Lucidity flickered in Noah's gaze. He no longer wept. His eyes dropped to his own hands, trembling but steadying.
"Who am I?" he whispered hoarsely. A thin smile curved his lips as he answered:
"I am Noah Gray, heir of the Runic. Once an orphan, now grandson to two incredible men and son to loving parents. I am Noah Gray—and I am a wizard. No… I will be the greatest of them all."
As he spoke, the storm in his mind shifted. Memories that once clashed began to align, forming not two lives, but one. Not two Noahs—only him.
Still smiling, exhaustion claimed him. Too tired to climb back into bed, he lay where he was and drifted into sleep.
And so, Noah Gray truly arrived in this world.