Kael’s mind raced. Don’t tell I have transmigrated into so kind of fantasy world... with mana? The thought alone made his heart beat faster. His gaze stayed fixed on the glowing sword in Alaric’s hand, awe and excitent tangled deep in his eyes.
Almost instinctively, Kael shut his eyes as well.
He focused.
No technique. No knowledge. Just a pure, raw desire—to reach out, to feel, to connect.
Alaric and Lyra exchanged glances, both amused and curious. Their son, barely two, suddenly sat still with such seriousness, clutching the little wooden sword as if it held the weight of the world.
But then... sothing faint flickered in the air.
A disturbance.
The wooden sword in Kael’s hands vibrated slightly, almost unnoticeable at first and faint warmth spread through his palms.
Lyra’s eyes widened. Alaric raised a brow, the corner of his mouth curling.
"Did you feel that?" she whispered.
Alaric nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off Kael. "I did..."
Kael’s brows furrowed as he tried to push deeper, unaware of the subtle change in the atmosphere.
He didn’t know what it was or how to explain it. But for the first ti in this world, Kael felt sothing reach back to him.
Sothing real.
It was as if Kael was drawing sothing in—pulling from the very air, from the world itself. A strange warmth flowed into him, like invisible threads weaving into his tiny fra. The energy was soft yet powerful. His young body trembled slightly, overwheld by the force gently surging into him.
But just as he felt the connection deepen, sothing snapped.
The flow stopped.
Kael’s eyes flew open, confusion clouding his round, innocent face. He blinked rapidly, looking down at his little wooden sword, then up at his parents.
Alaric stood frozen for a breath—then his lips stretched into a wide, excited grin.
"Yes! That’s my son!" he shouted, clapping once, his voice ringing with excitent. He turned to Lyra, eyes gleaming. "Did you see that, Lyra? He sensed it! He felt the mana!"
Lyra was smiling, but her fingers had gripped her apron tightly. Her eyes shimred with pride, but a subtle tension lined her brow. "I saw it," she said softly, "He connected. Just like that. So young..."
Alaric couldn’t stop beaming. "At two years old, Lyra! Even I didn’t sense mana until I was six!"
She nodded, kneeling beside Kael and brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. "He’s special. Truly." Her smile faltered slightly, worry flickering in her eyes. "But special children... are often seen by the wrong people too."
Alaric’s expression shifted for a mont, serious and thoughtful, before he crouched beside them both.
"Then we make sure he’s ready," he said quietly.
Kael, still clutching his wooden sword, looked between his mother and father. He didn’t understand their words—but he felt the weight in them.
Alaric rested his hand on Kael’s head, ruffling his hair with pride. "Grow up fast, young Kael," he said with a grin. "I’ll teach you to walk the path of a magic swordsman."
"Magic words, man..." Kael repeated, stumbling through the words. They sounded mysterious, like so mythical beast. The idea planted itself in his heart like a glowing seed.
Days slipped by quietly, the sun’s warmth slowly retreating as the first chill of winter crept over the fields.
Kael, wrapped up in layers of clothes, would often stare at the falling snow, swinging his wooden sword and imagining he was slashing through monsters made of frost.
Ti, as it always does, moved on. Winter passed as well, lting into a new year.
Now, at six years old, Kael had grown tall for his age, his features sharpening just slightly. His eyes were still bright—curious, filled with dreams—and his grip on his wooden sword had grown strong.
Lyra often said he reminded her of Alaric in his youth, both in spirit and in stubbornness.
Kael had snuck up to his parents’ room more than once, curious beyond restraint. He would hide behind curtains, beneath furniture, anywhere he could listen without being caught.
It was through these quiet missions that he uncovered more about the world he now called ho.
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