Age 3: The Library vs. The Mud
If my life was a book, this chapter would be titled: The Great Separation.
By the time we turned three, the difference between me and my twin brother, Rudeus, had become a canyon.
Rudeus was a creature of the mind. He spent his days in the study, surrounded by stacks of books that smelled of mildew and ink. He was obsessed with the squiggles on the pages—words, I assumed. He would sit there for hours, his small, pudgy face scrunching up in concentration, occasionally creating water balls or gusts of wind that knocked over vases.
I, on the other hand, was a creature of the mud.
While Rudeus was learning to read, I was in the backyard, engaged in a war against my own physiology.
"Ninety... eight," I wheezed, my face buried in the dirt. "Ninety... nine."
I pushed my toddler arms against the ground. They trembled like leaves in a storm. My muscles burned with that familiar, delicious lactic acid sting.
"One... hundred."
I collapsed.
I rolled onto my back, staring up at the sky. It was a vast, bruised purple-blue, different from the sky of my old world. Clouds moved faster here. The wind carried scents I was still cataloging: Pine resin. Wolf dung from the forest. The ozone tang of a thunderstorm brewing three valleys over.
"Sol?"
I tilted my head. Zenith was standing on the porch, holding a basket of laundry. She looked amused.
"Are you playing 'worm' again?" she asked, smiling that radiant, motherly smile.
"I am training, Mother," I muttered (though it came out as "I twaining"), sitting up and wiping dirt off my nose. "My triceps are lagging."
She didn't understand, of course. She just giggled, walked over, and picked me up.
"You're always so dirty," she cooed, wiping my face with her apron. "Your brother stays so clean."
I snorted. My brother stays clean because he's allergic to hard work.
I looked through the window. I could see Rudeus in the study. He was floating a book in the air with wind magic. He looked smug.
Enjoy your parlor tricks, Wizard, I thought, flexing my tiny, barely-visible bicep. When a dragon eats your book, you're going to wish you knew how to punch it in the throat.
Age 4: The Arrival of the "Teacher"
The dynamic of the house changed the day the Migurd arrived.
Paul and Zenith had decided that Rudeus's magic was too dangerous to go untrained (probably after he blew a hole in the roof), so they hired a tutor.
I was sitting on the stairs, sharpening a stick with a rock (don't ask why; a man needs a weapon), when the front door opened.
"Hello," a monotone voice said.
I looked up.
Standing there was a girl. She looked young—maybe twelve or thirteen. She had blue hair braided into pig-tails, sleepy eyes, and a robe that was too big for her. She held a staff that hummed with a low-frequency magical vibration.
A child? I thought, disappointed. I was hoping for a battle-hardened war mage. Maybe a scar or two. This is just... a kid in a costume.
"I am Roxy Migurdia," she said, clutching her hat. "I'm here to teach."
Rudeus, who had rushed to the door, looked at her like she was a goddess. His eyes were practically sparkling.
Oh, have some standards, brother, I critiqued internally. She's flat as a board and looks like she's about to fall asleep standing up.
I stood up, holding my sharpened stick. I walked down the stairs, my steps heavy and deliberate (I had finally mastered walking without waddling).
Roxy looked at me. Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"Who is this?" she asked.
"That's Sol," Paul said, grinning and ruffling my hair. "Rudy's twin. He's not much for magic, though. He's... energetic."
Roxy leaned down to look me in the eye.
I didn't blink. I analyzed her.
She's small. Center of gravity is high. Her grip on that staff is loose—if I kicked the bottom of it, it would smack her in the chin. She has zero physical presence.
"Hello, Sol," she said.
"You're small," I said bluntly.
Paul choked on his spit. "Sol! Be polite!"
Roxy stared at me for a second, then let out a small sigh. "Honesty is a virtue, I suppose. And you, little boy, smell like dirt."
I grinned. Touché, Blue Girl.
"I like dirt," I replied. "Dirt is real. Magic is fake."
Roxy's eyebrow twitched. "Is that so? Perhaps you should join the lessons. You might learn something."
"Pass," I said, turning around and marching toward the back door. "I have to go lift heavy rocks. Call me when you learn how to swing a sword."
I left them to their books. I had no interest in chanting funny words. I was interested in the fact that Paul had left his whetstone on the porch, and I wanted to see if I could sharpen my stick enough to pierce a pumpkin.
The Observation
Over the next few months, I watched Roxy teach Rudeus from a distance.
I pretended not to care, but my instincts were always on. I would sit in the tree outside the study window, hanging upside down by my legs (core workout), and watch.
I had to admit... she wasn't useless.
When she cast magic, the air pressure in the yard dropped. I could feel the static electricity on my skin. One afternoon, she summoned a Water Cannon that decimated a boulder in the garden.
CRASH.
The stone exploded into wet gravel.
I hung from the branch, swaying gently, and whistled low.
Okay, I conceded. That has stopping power. If that hits a human, they're paste.
Rudeus was clapping, jumping up and down.
But then, I watched Roxy panting. She wiped sweat from her brow. She leaned heavily on her staff.
Recovery time: four seconds, I noted. She's vulnerable. In the time it took her to catch her breath, I could have closed the distance and snapped her neck.
That was the flaw of mages. They were artillery cannons made of glass.
I dropped from the tree, landing silently in the grass—a technique I had been practicing for weeks. Lilia had seen me do it once and gave me a rare nod of approval.
I walked over to the shattered boulder. Rudeus and Roxy were busy celebrating.
I picked up a piece of the stone. It was wet and cold.
Power is nothing without speed, I reminded myself, crushing the small rock in my hand until it crumbled. Rudeus can blow up the world. I just need to be fast enough to cut his hands off before he casts.
Age 5: The Weight of Wood
The day finally came.
The day Paul decided we were "old enough."
It was a crisp morning. The mist was clinging to the grass, cold and wet against my bare ankles. Paul led me and Rudeus out to the center of the courtyard.
He held two wooden swords.
My heart started thumping. Not out of fear. Out of hunger.
"Alright, boys," Paul said, his voice serious for once. He wasn't the goofy dad today. He was the Advanced Rank Swordsman. "Magic is great. But when you run out of mana, or when a monster is two feet from your face, you need steel."
He tossed a sword to Rudeus.
Rudeus caught it clumsily, fumbling with the hilt. He looked at it like it was a foreign object.
Then, Paul tossed one to me.
I didn't catch it with two hands. I snatched it out of the air with my right hand, snatching it by the grip before it could hit the ground.
Snap.
The sound of my palm hitting the wood was crisp.
Paul's eyes widened a fraction. "Nice reflexes."
I didn't answer. I was too busy feeling the weapon.
It was poorly balanced—top-heavy, cheap wood. But it was a sword. It was an extension of my will.
"Stance!" Paul barked.
Rudeus mimicked Paul's stance, looking awkward. His feet were too close together. He was stiff.
I fell into position.
I didn't mimic Paul. I adjusted.
Paul stands wide because he relies on power, I analyzed. I am small. I am five. I have no power. I need mobility.
I stood with my knees bent deeper, my weight on the balls of my feet, the sword held lower, hiding the length of the blade.
Paul looked at me. He walked over, frowning. He circled me.
"That's... not the Sword God stance," he muttered. "But it's not wrong either. Where did you learn to keep your center of gravity that low?"
"Instinct," I chirped. "You're tall. I'm short. If I stand like you, you'll knock me over."
Paul grinned. "Smartass. Alright. Attack me."
He looked at Rudeus. "Rudy, you first."
Rudeus ran forward, screaming "Yaaah!" and swung the sword like a baseball bat.
Paul didn't even move his feet. He just leaned back, let the sword whiz past his nose, and tapped Rudeus on the head with his own blade. Bonk.
"Dead," Paul said. "Next."
Rudeus rubbed his head, tearing up.
Then Paul looked at me.
"Your turn, Sol. Show me that 'instinct'."
I didn't scream. I didn't run.
I breathed in. Smell the air. Wet grass. Sweat. Iron.
I exhaled.
I stepped.
It wasn't a run; it was a glide. I kept my upper body perfectly still so he couldn't read my shoulders. I closed the five-meter gap in a heartbeat.
Paul's eyes lit up. He saw the speed. He raised his sword to block a standard overhead strike.
Predictable.
I didn't swing overhead.
I dropped.
I threw my body toward the ground, sliding on my knees through the wet grass. I went under his guard.
I swung the wooden sword horizontally, aiming not for his legs, but for his groin.
Rule #1 of the Street Fight: There is no such thing as a fair fight.
Paul yelped—a genuine sound of panic—and twisted his hips violently to avoid being neutered by his five-year-old son.
He managed to slam the hilt of his sword down to block my strike.
CLACK.
The impact vibrated up my arm, rattling my teeth. I was weak. He was strong. The block stopped me dead.
But I wasn't done.
Using the rebound, I rolled away, springing to my feet three meters back, sword already raised for defense.
Silence.
Rudeus was staring with his mouth open.
Paul was staring at me, his face pale, one hand hovering protectively over his family jewels.
"Sol..." Paul breathed, his voice a mix of horror and pride. "Did you just try to... destroy the Greyrat lineage?"
I stood up straight, dusting off my knees. I flashed him a bright, innocent smile.
"You left it open, old man," I laughed. "If you want grandkids, you better guard your lower half."
Paul stared at me for a long second. Then, he threw his head back and roared with laughter. It was a loud, booming sound that echoed off the house.
"Okay!" Paul wiped a tear from his eye. "Okay! I get it! You're not just energetic. You're a little demon."
He pointed his sword at me, his grin turning savage.
"Lesson two, Sol. Dirty tricks work once. Now... let me show you what happens when power meets speed."
I tightened my grip on the wood. My heart was pounding like a war drum.
Finally, I thought, the thrill of combat singing in my blood. No more bored toddler. No more watching from the window.
Let's dance.