As I stepped into my mother's room, the air felt heavier than usual, thick with the scent of old wood and fading candle wax. The curtains were half-drawn, letting in a thin blade of evening light that cut across the floor and climbed the edge of her bed. She sat there, small against the wide mattress, her hands twisted tightly in her lap as if she were holding herself together.
She didn't look at me at first.
"I tried," she began quietly, her voice thinner than I had ever heard it. "I tried to raise you the right way. I tried to protect you from... them. From that family."
Her fingers trembled. I had never noticed how tired her hands looked - rough from work, veins faintly visible beneath pale skin.
"I never wanted you to be like them," she whispered. "Like... him."
The word hung in the room like smoke.
"Since the day you started walking, since the day you spoke your first words... I should've seen it. I should've understood." She finally looked up at me, and her eyes were rimmed red, not from anger - but regret. "Your father and I... we were always fighting. Always breaking each other apart. I didn't want that life for you."
Her voice cracked, and she pressed her lips together, as if ashamed of the weakness.
"I'm sorry."
The room fell silent after that. No wind. No distant noise. Just the faint sound of her breathing - uneven, fragile.
And for the first time, she didn't look like my mother.
She looked like someone who had lost.
The past few years were spent building muscle instead of mana.
Steel and sweat made more sense to me than symbols and spells. Every coin Alexander sent after my mother's death went into survival - food, repairs, training equipment. My babysitter still visited from time to time, not out of duty anymore, but quiet sympathy.
One afternoon felt... different.
The forest was unusually still as I carried a weighted log toward the clearing. No birds. No wind.
Then I heard it - a sharp intake of breath behind the trees.
I turned.
A flash of blonde hair.
She stumbled out from behind the trunk, nearly falling over herself.
"You're terrible at sneaking," I said.
Sara straightened, brushing dirt off her clothes, pretending she wasn't caught.
"I wasn't sneaking," she muttered. "I was... observing."
"Why?"
She hesitated. Her eyes softened.
"I was worried."
That wasn't the full truth. I could see it in the way she avoided my gaze.
After a moment she bowed her head slightly.
"Thank you... for that day. For saving me. And I'm sorry for being rude before."
She held out her hand.
"My name is Sara."
"Xiver."
She smiled. "That's a beautiful name."
"You too."
"So," she tilted her head, watching the weights at my feet, "what are you doing?"
"Training."
"For sword or magic?"
"I don't know."
She laughed lightly. "I want to become a magic user. Not like my mother or sister. I want something different. Maybe open a coffee shop someday. I heard divine magic users run the best ones in other kingdoms."
I didn't respond.
She noticed.
"You're not much of a talker, are you?"
I went back to lifting.
But she stayed.
"You know... you're not really alone," she said more quietly. "I lost someone precious too. Being alone helps sometimes. But not forever."
Her words didn't stop my training - but they slowed it.
"How old are you?" she asked.
I paused.
In my mind, I was twenty-two.
"In this world... ten."
Her eyes widened. "You don't look ten. My mother told stories about you. Walking and talking at one year old. After that accident, I never got to see it myself."
Then her expression changed.
"I've been meaning to ask... that mirror page you used. Do you know it's forbidden?"
"How do you?"
"Because of the symbols."
She picked up a stick and drew a circle in the dirt. Then another inside it.
"These aren't just drawings. They're mana containers. You have to calculate how much to fill... and when to stop. If you overfill it-" she scratched through the circle - "it collapses."
As she explained, something clicked.
That's why my mana drained so fast.
But how did I activate it at all?
Alexander's blood.
So it was because of him.
"...and if you don't understand the structure," she continued, "the spell consumes you instead of obeying you."
I leaned closer to see the drawing.
She froze.
"You're too close."
"...Sorry."
The day passed with her explaining more than I spoke.
As the sun dipped below the trees, she stretched and smiled.
"That was fun. You're different from my other friends. Quiet... but interesting."
She began walking away.
"Sara," I called.
She turned.
"How old are you?"
She tapped her chin thoughtfully.
"How old am I? Hm... maybe I'll keep that our secret."
And she left.
Two years passed.
I was twelve now.
Taller. Stronger.
Colder.
After selling the house, I kept only one thing - the forbidden book my mother warned me about.
Returning it to Alexander was impossible.
Until it wasn't.
"Long time no see."
The voice whispered behind me.
I turned.
Alexander.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
"I heard you sold the house," he said casually. "I wanted to see how you were doing."
I handed him the book.
He blinked. "You don't want it?"
"You want me to keep it," I said quietly. "But what you're doing is illegal."
"Hey! Keep your voice down," he hissed - then smirked. "I'm surprised you're not tempted."
"I'll reclaim it in a few years."
He studied me.
"So. What's your main?"
"My... what?"
"Your specialty. Every magic user has one. Fire. Water. Shadow. Wind. Sword users too."
"...Air."
His eyes flickered - surprise mixed with something else. Disappointment?
"I see," he muttered. "That'll be... interesting."
He looked me up and down.
"You're twelve? You look eighteen. Nearly my height."
He laughed lightly, but his eyes stayed sharp.
"You understand why you can't live with me."
I didn't answer.
"Good luck, Xiver."
He walked away.
I stood there a moment longer.
Then I stepped toward the Adventurer's Guild
Hers where it starts