The world I was born into before transmigration, before the fracture of time and fate was neither gentle nor cruel. It was simply vast, threaded with empires old and new, where technology and mysticism walked side by side, and the ghosts of history lingered in the shadows of progress. And within that world, I existed between two legacies one rooted in metal and innovation, the other in soil and spirit. One forged by Daxian discipline, the other by the ancient pulse of the Leboa bloodline. I grew at the intersection of two worlds, understanding early that destiny was never a straight line but a mosaic made from fragments of two families who never should have met. My earliest memories were of contrasts: the sterile glow of my father's machinery and the fragrant smoke of my mother's herbal rituals; the cold steel of weapons and the warm soil of healing gardens; the quiet rustling of textbooks and the thunderous cadence of war cries. Even as a child, I sensed the tension between these worlds. I did not yet understand I would someday embody both.
I learnt two definitions of strength. From my mother: Strength was the ability to heal wounds, guide seedlings, soothe spirits, and nurture life with patience that outlasted storms. From my father: Strength was efficiency, logic, precision, the ability to read ten variables in a single glance and calculate the future. My days were full. Before dawn: training footwork in the courtyard. Morning: mathematics, physics, metallurgy. Midday: languages a dozens of them. Afternoon: crafting, sewing, pottery and alchemy. Evening: mystic arts, nature affinity cultivation, and the study of life cycles. There were no toys. No idle games. But I did not feel imprisoned. I felt prepared. At age six, I could already speak six languages, sew basic garments, identify and enhance medicinal herbs, wield a dagger with balance and read the energy of plants. At twelve, I mastered survival strategies, hand-to-hand combat, basic metalwork, script arrays for light machinery, mystic arts of soil, seed, and restoration. At fifteen, I awakened my full nature affinity, my senses stretching deep into forests, rivers, and fields. I could feel life as if it were a living map. At eighteen, the heat cycles began. It was painful, overwhelming and too dangerous. My energy surged to deadly high levels and I secreted a potent sweet aroma that intoxicated all being whether male or female or animals. If I had tried to suppress it, I would have killed myself. If a single partner tried to help me stabilize it, he would have died. A Banati required multiple partners but society would never accept such a thing. And so my parents planned a desperate strategy.