You might wonder how the illustrious Ashur Astrea failed to notice his own mother’s pregnancy. The truth is… Mom always looked rather graceful, even with the sudden wight gain.

  Okay, fine— I had no clue she was pregnant.

  It was the exact same doctor who delivered me, making her round today for my sister. I waited outside the bedroom, and hearing the wailing and grunting didn’t exactly make me eager to step inside.

  The keening cries gradually subsided with the door creaked open, and out stepped Father, a rather tired smile tugging at his lips.

  “Ash,” he murmured, “come on. Let’s go meet your sister.”

  Walking in was… well, it was something. The sight her— my tiny sister, red-faced and wailing— I froze. It was a visceral assault on my senses, but beneath it all was a warmth that was familiar to me.

  Mother looked exhausted, beckoned me closer with a soft smile. I climbed up beside her, being mindful not to jostle the bed, and looked down at the quet bundle now nestled in her arms.

  “Her names Claire,” she said soothingly.

  I leaned in, whispering, “Hi Claire. I’m your big brother.”

  Compared to her, my hands looked massive, but I lightly placed one over her swaddled belly. She twitched— then what felt like using force, wrapped her little fingers around mine.

  It was enough to make a now adult tear up a bit.

  Time moved quickly after Claire was born.

  Between long afternoons learning about this world and secretly improving the flow of mana, the months quietly went up one after another— until now.

  Yeah, today is my third birthday.

  This world strangely resembled so much of my old one. The seasons were almost exactly the same, with autumn rolling around the corner. Strange, I expected something otherworldly or unique that differs, but it felt so normal.

  I woke up to the sound of cheerful voices and rustling paper. My family gathered early to surprise me for the big day.

  “A cake?” I mumbled groggily— until it hit my nose confirming otherwise. This… this… was gingerbread cake! Rich, chocolatey scent, with hints of spice. No complaints from me for the rest of the day if this is my treatment.

  Besides cookies being my favorite and most lovable treat, gingerbread was high up there in the sweets department.

  The presents came next. There was an abundant stack of small toys and picture books set up on the table, nothing over the top or fancy, but meaningful all the same.

  “Ash, that’s not all! Look over there!” Mother said, pointing toward another bundle of gifts.

  This one was different.

  Gloves, boots, training trousers, basically practical gear for a child. This looked like the kind used for dodging and training. Never have I trained in my life before, but it wasn’t hard to figure out what they were hinting at.

  I couldn’t help but look at my sister, who sat upright watching me with her usual quite demeanor. Her usual reaction was smiling softly and clapping her hands together whenever I did something.

  The time for play was ending.

  The following day, Father and I were in the back gardens, practicing swordplay. At three years old, my body was a bit more accustomed to moving around— no more wobbling like a duck. My parents decided it was time to start teaching me both physical and magical combat.

  Father stood across from me, looking at me with certainty to watch him carefully.

  “Now, Ash,” he said, planting his feet firmly. “The most important part of using any weapon is posture. Swinging your sword frantically will only cause the enemy to take advantage of the situation.”

  He shifted into position. “Watch my form, son.”

  His stance was rather simple really: feet shoulder-width apart, toes were angled just slightly outward. One hand gripped the sword just below the… uh… the cross-looking part—

  I think it’s called a guard?

  The other hand rested at the very bottom of the hilt.

  Hey, at least I know that much.

  He had let the flat part of the blade rest lightly along his forearm, casual, but ready.

  So cool… seeing Father like that reminded me why he was a Silver Knight, and not some country bumpkin.

  Well, let’s try to match his form.

  I mimicked his stance as best as I could recall, but it was easier said than done with my balance being off. My legs also wobbled, and my grip felt uneven.

  Looking at Father, he could tell it wasn’t properly done and stepped in with a nod.

  “This is called a Schlussel Stance,” he explained. “It’s really great for defending and then switching to another form. I think it’d be best for you on the first week to practice swinging your sword down from this stance, until you get the feeling for it.”

  I nodded; lips pressed tight, and hefted the wooden blade. Swung it down with full force, and repeated that a few more times.

  After a few more times, my balance had been shaking and I fell to the ground, wiping the sweat off my brows,

  Father laughed, clapping his hands in admiration at my effort. “Keep it up Ash. I’m teaching this to you now because it is important to understand posture while maintaining a rhythm.”

  Father sat down next to the wooden stairs leading back to the house, arms resting on his knees. “Y’know, a lot of adventures like to brag about all the skills they’ve picked up overtime, but it doesn’t mean much when you can’t master one. Stretch too thin, and you end up half-good at everything, but great at nothing.”

  Huh… that actually makes a lot of sense.

  Scratching my chin in awe, it reminded me of the school sport fanatics that would play every season in sports without taking the time to fully master just one. I guess it makes sense that when in combat, learning too many becomes a burden as well if not properly trained for.

  Father stood up, brushing the dust from his trousers.

  “Well, since you understand, keep swinging till lunch is ready. We got about four more hours to go,” he said arrogantly with a huge grin on his face.

  I couldn’t help but smile back. “Yes father!”

  Several hours have passed with my body aching all over. The simple regimen routine was dreadfully painful and exhausting.

  By the time the sun was high overhead, I decided it would be best to head back inside for a little break. My arms felt like gel, and the repeated position has made me sore all over.

  Mother was sat by in the kitchen when I trudged in. Her expression looked worrisome, but she handed me a steaming bowl of soup, loaf of bread, and a jug of milk. With a sly smile, I nodded and took my seat.

  The following day played out the same. More downward swings, more aching muscles, and the never ending draining of stamina. This, however— was working— at least it felt that way.

  Days passed into weeks— weeks into months. In the timeframe, my swordplay had become swift enough that I could swing my wooden blade downwards in less than a second. The force behind my strikes was enough to scatter the dirt and grass beneath my feet.

  Of course, this was a wooden sword which was extremely light— but still— the results showed.

  Breathing heavily, my hands still ached and tingled from the repeated swings. Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced toward Father, who for the better half of the months had been diligently observing and pointing out flaws throughout the way.

  He stood there, arms crossed, watching in complete silence, but there was no hiding that grin tugging at the edge of his mouth.

  “This is great!” Father exclaimed, clapping once. “You’ve really come a long way my boy!”

  “A-are you sure, Father? I’ve gotten fast, but only with one move.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He stepped forward and brushed my hair in my current confusion. “That’s all you need. A single, devastating strike is all it takes to win a fight.”

  I nodded, but the feeling of uncertainty was always dwelling. It felt like there was still more I could do, more to prove. The endless urge to grow and push the boundaries only crept deeper into my soul.

  Then his hands clapped again, drawing my attention. He looked almost amazed.

  “It took me a long time to swing effortlessly and even with training, I would still tire at some point.”

  I chuckled. “Well, I do have a wooden sword, Dad.”

  He laughed with me, then gave me a firm nod, “You picked up faster than I expected. I think pretty soon I can teach you some different stances… but let’s work on that stamina, shall we?”

  It felt good. Like I was finally earning it.

  Father’s grin turned sly.

  “How about a little bit of adversarial sparring?”

  His suggestion took me a moment to process. A… fight with Father? It sounded fun. Agreeing with a nod, I raised my wooden sword and got into position.

  There was a bit of an audience. The back door creaked open, with Mother and Claire stepping out. Both watching from the porch.

  Great… an audience.

  Father wasn’t playing around but taking this seriously. He lowered his stance— loose, but certainly sharp.

  I lunged first, rushing in from the right. My blade sliced through the air toward his legs, then I feinted, pivoting and swinging up toward his right arm.

  He read it like it was a child’s play. In a blink, his left hand shot forward— thwack!

  A sharp jab landed clean in my abdomen, knocking the wind out of me. It caused me to stumble back, gasping.

  “Ouch, too much force, Father!”

  However, in a real battle, no quarter would be given. Enduring the minor setback, I closed the distance once more. This time, my aim was set to his stomach. Father shifted his stance, parrying my blade upward, and I stumbled, off-balance. I felt a sting on my right cheek. His fist packed a solid wallop.

  There was never really a chance of me winning against Father, at least, not at this very moment. Even though this is my second life per say, I never had any real combat experience.

  As I readied for my next strike, there was no sign of him anywhere until suddenly he reappeared in front of me. That sort of speed was unreal and before I could react, he struck with the flat end of his wooden word— right at my neck/

  I dropped to the ground, vision spinning.

  Would magic have made a difference?

  …No

  Father’s hand extended out towards me; a wide smile stretched across his face

  “Ashur, that was splendid,” Father said, patting my back. “For one so young and taking the initiative was a marvelous tactic. And that feint!? Jeez that was really something. I never taught you something like that and yet you picked that up on your own?”

  I grinned, rubbing my neck. “Well, I still lost, but just you wait!”

  He laughed, amused by my words. It was only then that behind our commotion was Mother and Claire, who for the better part watched in silence, but began clapping. Claire tried to mimic Mother’s applause, which only made it cuter.

  “Time for supper, boys!” Mother called out as she headed back in with Claire.

  We joined her at the table, and between bites, Mother inquired about my progress thus far, to which I reluctantly admitted that it was going smoothly.

  “Well, how about I teach you some magic?” She said with a beatific smile.

  It caught me off guard when hearding Mother was offering to teach me magic herself. She’d always been adamant about finding a mentor for me.

  Mother woke me up at the crack of dawn, sunlight barely spilling through the windows. Guessing magical lessons wait for no one.

  “Ok, smarty pants,” she chirped, nudging me awake. “You remember how mana flow works, right?”

  I rubbed my heavy eyes and muttered, “By absorbing the natural mana flowing around us to use as a medium for magic…”

  “Bingo!” She clapped, full of excitement.

  I groaned inwardly. She was excited, maybe too excited early in the morning, and my brain still felt like soup.

  “For conjurers,” she began, full-throttling into teacher mode, “you’ll want to focus on the mana around you first. Feel your surroundings first as it becomes natural to you.”

  After that lovely explanation, the two of us began heading outside into the back garden. The dew still clinging to the grass as the morning chill bit at my ankles.

  “Alicia brought up many times on just how special you are,” Mother muttered, more to herself than me, her eyes scanning me with curiosity. “Well, let’s see it for ourselves, then.”

  She stepped back and took up a defensive stance. “Now… cast the biggest fire magic you can.”

  “Ok!”

  I drew in the surrounding mana, letting it swirl around me, like a gentle breeze. With a slow breath, it began shaping, compressing the energy into a condensed sphere of blazing heat.

  The roaring flames pulsed with power. I pressed my feet deeply down on the ground and hurled it straight at my mother.

  She responded quickly to the attack. With a smooth motion, she formed a glowing circle before her. A translucent mana barrier shimmered into view, catching the fireball mid-air. The brief impact burst harmlessly across its surface in a measly flare of sparks.

  “Very impressive Ash, that was quite something, really.” Mother said with a warm smile. “I didn’t expect that kind of fire power.”

  I scratched my cheek, feeling a little awkward for the praise. “Actually… fire isn’t my only magic.”

  “Come again?” She said, with a blank expression. Her brows arched in surprise.

  “More?”

  “Yeah, I can use some wind and water too.”

  “Since when—? Forget it, just show me.” She sighed in confusion, quickly getting back into position.

  The next several minutes were me casting wind and water spells, casting sharp gusts and small arcs of water.

  Mother tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Three elements… that certainly is something else, Ash.” Her voice softened, gaze lingering on me with a look of joy and pride. “Our son’s a genius.”

  Genuis, huh? It sure doesn’t feel like that.

  “Now, lets spend the rest of the day creating elemental mana orbs and see how long you can keep them active,” she said, glimmering with enthusiasm.

  This was interesting to say the least. It was new and sounded like a good idea to see how long one can hold one’s mana up without exhausting themselves or casting multiple elements.

  At first, I created two blazing fires, one tepid water, and two whirlwind wind orbs hovering, but soon lost my focus, which disrupted the flow. Mother exhorted me to create them to similar proportions.

  The next few weeks were spent maintaining mana orbs and creating more. There was definite improvement with my core as it has expanded gradually handling multiple orbs at once. The sizes were smaller compared to the attack I launched at Mother, but the stability was there.

  The sun began to set, and the aroma of simmering food wafted from the backyards. Father seemed to be hard at work providing us with the support of Claire cheering him on.

  It dawned on me to ask mother about the purpose of this practice. Besides increasing mana output and casting, was some tactical advantage of this?

  Maybe this was like strength training, pushing yourself until you break. The more I do it, mabe the better my control on mana.

  It didn’t hurt to ask Mother as it’s been tugging at my mind for some time.

  “Mother, does this help me manage mana better or use it in a different way?”

  “Oh? I thought my genius son would figure it out,” she teased, puffing out her chest with exaggerated pride. “I guess I can teach my son a thing or two.”

  She flicked her finger, creating multiple orbs at once, but suddenly, they started to whimper and whisk away. “If you can’t maintain your magic— if your mana runs out too fast or you begin to lose control, then it doesn’t matter how powerful your magic is, when you’ll burn out before the fight ends.”

  Her gaze returned to me. “At this rate,” she said, eyeing the faint scorch mark in the grass, “your father’s going to start losing his hair with all the stress we’re causing him.”

  We both chuckled, imagining the expression Father would make seeing the garden in ruins.

  “Come on,” Mother said, brushing her hands off. “Let’s not keep the food waiting.”

  I realized the intention behind her teaching. Maybe trying to control my mana and stabilize would improve everything else. While I may be old mentally, it doesn’t mean I can get to careless with my growth.

  A few months have passed, making significant progress in improving the density of my magic and casting larger spells more effectively. It used to take me five to six seconds to cast— like the fireball— was now down to just three seconds.

  The difference between a few seconds could mean life or death. Mother sure looked surprised to see my continuous growth in magic and my aptitude in learning.

  “Well now,” she said, clapping her hands together. “Let’s get you trained on how to close the gap.”

  Close the gap? What did she mean by that to get my head spinning.

  Before there was time to ask, a gust of wind coalesced around her legs, and in a blink, she was right in front of me. I flinched back, startled. The distance had to have been at least five meters away, and the distance she crossed in a second was incredible.

  “Did you catch that?” she asked, looking rather pleased with herself from the looks of it.

  I blinked several more times, attempting to process the exact method she did. “I… think so? I said, uncertain. Mana acceleration? Wind magic? A combustion of the two? My brain scrambled to break down her exact method.

  Her face was etched with surprise, perhaps she thought her prodigy son was unable to figure it out.

  “It’s simpler than it looks. I imbued wind magic on my legs to give me a stronger boost in my speed.” Demonstrating once more the magic swirling around her feet.

  “That’s so cool… can I do it too?” I asked, piquing my curiosity and interest.

  She grinned, clapping her hands. “Of course you can, go ahead and try it.”

  The mana circled around my legs, it felt weird at first, almost unfamiliar. It resisted but gradually began to expand around my legs. My muscles tightened, my balance shifted, and finally, with a vision almost blurry to see, I moved.

  The speed at which I went was not anything that I’ve experienced. I tumbled hard across the ground, landing in a heap. The bruises blooming across my arms and legs were a stark reminder that, yes, I need some practice.

  Behind me, could be the laughter of Mother. Finding my crash landing must have been very entertaining for her.

  Training continued for several more weeks. The training process and what Mother taught were magnificent. Magic was becoming more exciting than swordsmanship. It felt more alive and freer with the creativity behind it.

  What mother was teaching me was combining my magic and swordplay into one. To utilize both skills fluidly and adapt to any situation.

  I cast a sidelong glance at my mother, who was seated across from me, methodically consuming her breakfast before our training session resumed. “Mom, why is it so hard to learn both melee and magic?”

  Priscilla paused mid-chew, her eyes narrowing as she swallowed what was in her mouth. “Honey, it may not sound difficult for you, but for many people, especially early on, it’s extremely taxing. The body just can’t do both at once, especially not a three-year-old.”

  I nodded in agreement, while this wasn’t exactly new to hear, it was best to ask an expert. Although… from what was said, it seemed it ticked off Mother.

  She stood up, brushing breadcrumbs from her training clothes as she regarded me directly.

  “I hope you didn’t think I was being rude,” I said, glancing down from her gaze. “I didn’t mean it that way. Sorry Mommy.”

  The feeling of being belittled was something I was all to aware of in my previous life, and it felt as my question was straight daggers to her chest.

  Without missing a beat, she ruffled my hair and pulled me into a hug. “Ash, you’re special. But honey, it comes with a price,” she whispered, her voice softer now. “People will take notice of special people. Many may try to use you for their own gains. Your father and I… we won’t always be there to protect you.”

  Her arms tightened just a bit more. “You need to be strong. Not for us, but for yourself. Always question people’s kindness.”

  After a brief moment, she gently pushed away, standing up and pointing at the garden. “Alright, alright, that’s enough sad talk for now. Let’s get back to training!”

  As we returned to practice, her words lingered. I’m getting too comfortable, and I shouldn’t. Cruelty doesn’t always wear its face openly.

  It would be nearly a year of training with Mother before I hit a wall. It happened a lot sooner than anticipated, but Mother could not think of other ways to teach me, at least effectively. The rest, I’d have to carve out myself.

  Sometime soon, the next chapter of my journey will begin.