The afternoon sun was warm on my face as I sat propped against the rough wooden post of the porch, observing my sisters. The air was calm, thick with the scent of summer dust and blooming honeysuckle. It was the perfect picture of pastoral peace, a deceptive tranquility that belied the temporal catastrophe lurking just around the corner.
It was two months before the Teleportation Incident.
I watched Aisha and Norn playing a clumsy game of chase in the yard. Aisha, still a hurricane of red hair and boundless energy, had adapted quickly to walking and running, often bossing Norn around with an advanced vocabulary. Norn, with her gentle, blonde hair, was slower, quieter, and still struggled a bit with both her mobility and speech. But she persisted, her small, determined face screwed up in concentration as she tried to keep up.
The last year and a half had been a focused grind. Aisha and I, the "geniuses" of the family, had completely mastered the local language and rudimentary reading. Lilia and Zenith were delighted, their pride almost palpable.
"They're taking after their father, of course," Zenith would say, smiling sweetly.
"It is only natural," Lilia would reply, her chest puffed out slightly. "The Greyrat bloodline is strong."
Paul was the loudest of all. He would swing by the house, tousle my hair, and loudly declare to any villager within earshot, "My genetics are clearly superior! Look at the progress of my progeny!" usually while holding a mug of ale. It was exhausting, but the excessive praise was an excellent cover for my real activities.
My real progress had nothing to do with genetics. It was the result of relentless, nightly, silent practice.
I had completely mastered the Healing Spell. It was now an instinctual, silent cast that felt like simply moving my hand. My mind formed the incantation faster than I could form the thought, and the mana responded without conscious effort. It was a tool, a utility spell, useful only for minor injuries, but the real benefit was what the practice had done to my core.
My mana pool had increased substantially. I could now cast the spell perhaps five or six times before exhaustion, and the overall volume of magical energy inside me was growing daily. I was no longer an infant mage. I was a child with a genuine, powerful gift.
Now, with the countdown entering its final two months, the healing spell was useless for survival. I needed defense, offense, and utility.
I have to learn the core four elements, I decided, rubbing my cheek.
The previous night, I had used my developed control to silently test the simplest form of Earth Magic: Stone Bullet. Recalling Rudeus's training, I focused on the feeling of condensing the surrounding earth-aligned mana. The attempt had resulted in nothing more than a faint tremor in the wooden floorboards, but it was a start. It confirmed I could adapt the silent casting principle to elemental spells.
My focus shifted to Water Magic. I watched Zenith as she performed basic water gathering spells for the household. That night, I repeated the process. Focusing, visualizing a sphere of clean, contained water.
I nearly suffocated myself.
The spell backfired slightly, creating a cold, damp bubble of condensation directly in front of my face, stinging my eyes. The exhaustion was immediate and overwhelming. Water Magic required incredible subtlety and control, something my developing body lacked. Too complex for now, I noted mentally, wiping my eyes.
I moved on to Fire Magic. Fire was brute force, the elemental opposite of water. It was easier to visualize: A searing blast. Heat. Destruction.
The first silent attempt the next night was far more successful, and far more terrifying. A tiny, perfect flame the size of a match head ignited silently a foot above my hand. It burned white-hot for a moment, consuming a surprising amount of mana, and then winked out. I could feel the lingering heat.
Good. Fire is accessible.
My primary concern, however, was mobility and shielding. I needed a way to protect Lilia and Aisha, and perhaps Norn and Zenith, if we ended up scattered.
That afternoon, while the girls played and Lilia was busy in the kitchen, I used my most powerful weapon: observation. I watched the clouds, the wind rustling the tree leaves, focusing on the sheer, overwhelming power of the Wind Element.
That night, I tried a simple defensive spell: Silent Wind Wall. The theory was simple: create a compressed cushion of air. I focused on the chant, visualizing a barrier between myself and the wall. I pushed the mana out.
A sudden, fierce gust of wind erupted from my small body, kicking up dust from the wooden floor and rattling the windowpane violently.
I froze, heart pounding. My silent spell wasn't silent at all. The side-effect—the raw, physical expulsion of compressed air—was noticeable.
Too loud. Too risky.
I quickly retreated back into the crib, pretending to be asleep as Lilia stirred in the next room, muttering about an unexpected draft.
I had only two months left. My limited mana pool meant I couldn't practice without near-unconsciousness, and my attempts at the core elements were either too complex (Water), too loud (Wind), or too destructive (Fire). The only thing I could reliably cast silently was Healing Magic.
I need a way to ensure we survive the initial blast and the aftermath.
The quiet play of Aisha and Norn outside continued, oblivious to the fact that their world would soon be torn apart by a swirling, blinding column of light. I had to focus. I was their only warning system.