After a long amount of nothingness, a state of mindlessness, of no thought—suddenly, a spark.
A breath. A flicker of consciousness. Some sliver of life.
"Where am I? Am I not dead? Did that psychopath doctor keep me alive—to take more pleasure in my misery?"
He opened his eyes.
Light pierced his vision after what felt like an eternity of darkness. Warmth—gentle, soothing—spread through his tiny body. Not the cold, sterile chill of metal restraints. No pain. Just warmth, and sound, and... life.
Blinking, Draven saw a wrinkled old woman leaning over him, her face smiling, her lips moving in a language he didn't understand. Her voice, though foreign, held a strange kindness.
"Lily, you had a healthy son. You are quite lucky," the midwife said gently.
A man burst into the room moments later. His eyes were red, glistening with emotion. Ragnar. That was his name. He was breathing heavily as if he'd run a great distance.
Ragnar rushed to the bedside, his hands trembling as he reached out and carefully took the infant into his arms—Draven. Tears streamed down his face as he stared at his son, awe and love radiating from him.
He cradled the newborn as if holding the most precious thing in the world, barely daring to breathe.
Lily, pale and tired but alive, gazed at them both with a faint, dazed smile. Her exhaustion couldn't conceal the silent joy blooming in her chest. She had brought life into the world. And her husband was happy.
The old midwife watched them, her own smile soft and worn with years. No matter how many births she had overseen—hundreds perhaps—this moment always stirred something in her heart.
She gave Lily some postpartum instructions in her quiet voice, adjusted a few blankets, and made her leave, humming to herself.
Meanwhile, Draven—reborn, cradled in unfamiliar arms—was lost in a storm of thought.
"Where… what is this place? Reincarnation? Who are these people? Are they… my parents?
I... I was on the brink of death. No, beyond death. My body was butchered, torn apart, left to rot on a bloodstained table... And now..."
He stared at the two faces looming over him—giants to his infant eyes. Warmth. Safety. Love. Foreign concepts to the boy who had known only betrayal and suffering in his past life.
"If this is another life... another chance... I won't waste it. I won't be the same helpless, trusting fool."
4 years later...
It had been four years since Draven came into this world.
A new world—vastly different from the one he had left behind. This one had magic. He remembered the first time he'd seen it: his mother, Lily, calmly lit the firewood with a gentle motion of her hand. No flint, no match—just magic.
Draven—now called Liam in this new life—had been stunned. Not just by the fire, but by the warmth of it all. The warmth of love. The warmth of a home. The warmth of something he'd never known before.
Yes, magic existed—but even more magical were his parents. They adored him with a love so pure it shook something deep within. It was the first time in his life he felt loved—truly, unconditionally loved. He couldn't handle it at first. Something broke open inside his young heart. Silent tears would come to him at random, melting years of frozen emotion.
One day, driven by hunger, Liam had quietly taken an extra piece of bread from the kitchen. He thought he was being stealthy, but Lily found him moments later, sitting in the corner, nibbling on it.
Even though Liam had lived through hell, even though his soul was scarred, somewhere deep inside—he was still a child.
With trembling lips and fear in his voice, he said in a timid manner,"Mom... I'm sorry... I won't do it again..."He raised his small hands to shield his face, expecting the blow that would come.
But no slap ever came.Instead, Lily knelt beside him and wrapped her arms around him in a gentle embrace."Of course not, dear," she said softly. "Why would I hit you? If you were hungry... you should've just told me."
Liam froze.
And then, the dam broke.He cried—not from pain, not from fear—but from a lifetime of loneliness cracking apart.He never imagined there could be a world where stealing food didn't earn punishment... where he could be loved.
That night, he fell asleep in his mother's arms, something in his heart mending quietly.
1 year later.
Lily climbed the stairs looking for her mischievous little boy.
He always liked to sneak up to the rooftop to watch over the cattle grazing below, or the wind dancing in the garden.
"There you are, you naughty boy!" she called out with a smile, spotting him crouched behind the railing."It's time for lunch!"She pinched his cheeks gently, her tone playful yet warm.
Liam giggled, squirming from her fingers.And for the first time in a long time, Draven—now Liam—felt like a real child.
Ragnar returned home after a long day's work on the farm. His boots were caked in mud, his hands calloused and stained with soil, but his smile bloomed the moment he stepped inside.
"Oh? What do we have here?" he said, catching the scent from the kitchen. "Liam's favorite—pork balls?"
He ruffled Liam's hair affectionately, making the boy grin.
The small wooden table creaked under the weight of warm food and warmer laughter. The three of them—Ragnar, Lily, and Liam—shared their meal in peace, the tiny home filled with the kind of joy money couldn't buy.
In between bites, Liam looked up eagerly."Dad, you said you'd buy me a grimoire for magic. Did you find one today?"
The laughter paused. Lily and Ragnar exchanged glances—soft, quiet, and a little pained. They felt guilty.
Ragnar set down his spoon. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.Liam blinked, looking between them. "What is it?"
"Liam," Lily began, her voice gentle. "You're an incredibly gifted child. Truly, you are."
Ragnar lowered his gaze. "You've already mastered every basic spell we know… the ones even grown-ups struggle with."He looked up again, guilt clouding his expression. "If you were born to a noble family, you'd already be in a magic academy."
Liam's heart skipped.
Ragnar reached out and placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "But… the truth is, only nobles are allowed to buy, sell, or distribute official magic spellbooks or grimoires. They're protected by the kingdom. They cost a fortune… and even then, commoners like us aren't allowed to own them freely."
"Why?" Liam asked quietly.
"Because…" Ragnar hesitated, "they don't want people like us—farmers, blacksmiths, laborers—to have access to real knowledge. Only those who work under a noble house, or serve in their military, are granted limited access."
Liam clenched his fists beneath the table.
He wasn't angry at his parents—never. They had given him something more precious than any grimoire: love, safety, and the freedom to dream.
As Liam was lost in thought, wondering what he could possibly do without a grimoire, Ragnar suddenly spoke again, his voice low but carrying a faint glimmer of hope.
"It might not be completely impossible…"
Liam looked up. "What do you mean, Dad?"
Ragnar shifted in his seat, glancing at Lily before speaking.
"There are mage academies run by the kingdom," he said slowly. "They do accept commoners… a few, at least. They usually begin enrollment around the age of ten."
Lily's eyes widened slightly, but she didn't interrupt.
"The competition is brutal," Ragnar continued. "Thousands apply, but only a handful from common backgrounds make it in. I've heard the entrance tests are incredibly difficult—meant to weed out everyone but the best."
He gave Liam a long look. "Still… maybe we can try."
Liam's eyes lit up with a quiet fire. A goal. A chance. A path forward, no matter how steep.
Lily finally spoke, hesitant but supportive. "If it's something you want, Liam… we'll do everything we can to help you prepare."
Liam nodded slowly, the thought settling deep in his chest.He would have five years to get ready.