Caelric Virel was born into the world of Solmyra not with the typical loud cries of a newborn, but with the silent mind of a thirty-year-old man who had just tasted the bitter cold of death. Agus, the unemployed man from Earth, found himself trapped in a tiny body, helpless amidst the whispers of disappointment surrounding his birthing bed. He heard voices, murmurs of disdain, even before he could fully comprehend their language.
"No mark," a woman, presumably his mother, murmured, her voice filled with despair. "No magical aura, no gleam of a sword, not even a trace of mecha technology or monster essence. He's... he's empty."
Even as a newborn, Caelric understood the implications. In Solmyra, every race, every child born, would display a specific birthmark indicating their affinity for one of the four pillars of power: magic, sword, robot/mecha, or monster. That mark could be a subtle magical etching on the skin, a faint sword symbol, a circuit pattern, or even a delicate claw print. Caelric had none. His absence was an anomaly, a disgrace for the already scorned and crumbling Virel family.
"He'll be a burden," another voice chimed in, which Caelric assumed was his father. The voice sounded tired.
A burden. The word stung deeper than anyone around him could imagine. Agus remembered his last days on Earth, starving, ignored, and considered a burden by society. He had died with regret and a burning resentment for that wasted life. Now, this reincarnation was a second chance, and he would not allow himself to be scorned again. That resolve, forged from the deepest despair, now burned fiercely within his tiny chest. Caelric, with Agus's adult mind, decided one thing: he would become strong. Incredibly strong. He would master everything, even if it meant hiding his colossal potential from the world. He would master the sword, magic, robots, and monsters. All of it. So that no one could ever look down on him again. So that he could forge the justice he never found, even if, in the future, that justice had to be enforced through destruction.
Years passed in agonizing silence and careful observation. Caelric grew up in constant neglect. He was the "strange child," "the unmarked one," "the family's burden." Other noble children in the Virel estate received special training early on, taught the basics of magic or swordplay. Caelric was only allowed to play in the dusty back garden or the forgotten family library, far from public view. Ironically, this neglect granted him freedom. In the library, he devoured every book he could find, trying to understand Solmyra's complex world—its history, its power systems, the geography of its four continents. The continent of magic where he was born, and the other continents focused on mecha, swords, and monsters.
At the age of five, the first change occurred. As he sat lost in thought beneath an old tree in the Virel estate's backyard, feeling an escalating frustration at his helplessness, a warm sensation bloomed in his palm. Slowly, a faint blue symbol began to glow there, then vanished. It wasn't a permanent birthmark, but a fleeting manifestation. A magic mark. His first power had appeared. Caelric knew he had to keep it secret. If he revealed this now, his family might try to exploit him or even restrain him. He needed time.
From that day on, every night, under the fading moonlight, young Caelric would sneak into secluded corners of the estate or into the dark forest behind the house. With grim determination, he tried to recall that sensation, trying to control the energy that felt both alien and intimately familiar. He relied solely on intuition and what little he gleaned from old, obscure books about "mana flow." Frustration often gnawed at him. The power felt so close, yet so elusive.
Until one afternoon, two years later, when Caelric was seven years old. He was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the forest, at his secret spot, trying to focus mana into his palm. A tiny tremor appeared, followed by a faint blue spark, but it immediately dissipated.
"That's not how you do it, kid."
The voice startled Caelric. He quickly turned his head. On a tree branch above him, a boy his age was casually perched, his hair disheveled and clothes ragged. He was a street urchin, clearly visible from his appearance.
"Who are you?" Caelric asked, wary. He had never seen another child in this area.
The boy gracefully jumped down. "My name's Val. I often pass through here. You... trying magic? You don't have a mark, do you? That scorned Virel family?" Val's smile was mocking, yet there was a glint of curiosity in his eyes.
Caelric clenched his fist. Scorned again. Yet, Val didn't sound dismissive like the others. He sounded... interested. "It's none of your business."
Val let out a small laugh. "If you want your magic to come out, mana needs a purpose. Not just forced. Imagine what you want to do, then let the mana flow. Like this."
Val raised his hand. Without a chant or complex gestures, a small, stable ball of blue light formed in his palm. It floated gently in the air before vanishing. Caelric was mesmerized. That was cleaner, more controlled magic than anything he had ever produced.
"You... you're a street kid, but you can do magic that strong?" Caelric asked, forgetting his wariness.
"The streets teach me a lot," Val replied mysteriously. "You've got potential too, I can feel it. But you're trying too hard."
From that day on, Caelric and Val secretly met in the forest. Val became his unofficial mentor, teaching him practical magic that wasn't in any books. Val taught him how to sense mana flow in nature, how to focus intent, and basic techniques for shield spells or small energy spheres. Caelric, with Agus's analytical mind, absorbed it all like a sponge, combining it with his own understanding of magic theory he'd read.
Weeks later, as they were training near a small river, a sudden rumble shook the forest. Trees trembled, and a foul stench wafted through the air.
"Monster!" Val cried, his eyes wide.
From behind the bushes, a Grimfang Hound emerged. The monster was the size of a large dog, with jet-black fur, sharp fangs protruding from its mouth, and glowing red eyes. It was a low-level monster, but dangerous enough for two small children.
"Run, Caelric!" Val shouted, ready to summon a magic shield.
But Caelric didn't move. His heart pounded, a mix of fear and adrenaline. This was a life-or-death situation, something he had never directly faced in his previous life. His experience of dying from starvation gave him a strange courage. He wouldn't die again. He wouldn't be weak again.
"No! I can do it!" Caelric cried. He closed his eyes, concentrating everything Val had taught him. He envisioned an explosion of energy, a force that would drive the monster away. He envisioned destruction.
The mana around him surged. The air around Caelric vibrated. Val, already prepared with his shield, felt a wave of energy far greater than anything he'd ever sensed from Caelric—or even from most low-level mages. A dense fireball formed in Caelric's hand, emanating extreme heat and blinding light. It wasn't a simple fireball; it was a menacing vortex of energy.
"Caelric, don't... too strong!" Val yelled, startled.
But Caelric had already released it. The fireball shot out like a projectile, hitting the Grimfang Hound with explosive force. The monster shrieked in pain, thrown backward, crashing into a tree until it collapsed, then lay motionless, its body charred and smoking.
Silence. Only the ragged breaths of Caelric and Val could be heard.
Val stared at the scorched monster, then turned to Caelric, his eyes wide with shock. His pupils were dilated, his jaw slightly ajar. This wasn't just basic magic. This was raw power, unpolished, wild, but incredibly, incredibly strong. Far beyond the abilities of children their age. Even far beyond the abilities of many beginner mages he knew.
"You... you..." Val stammered, looking at Caelric with a mixture of astonishment, fear, and newfound respect. "Your magic... it's incredibly strong. So strong."
Caelric, his body weak but his heart soaring, felt that power. The power he had craved for so long. The power that could protect him. The power that, eventually, he knew, would change this world, whether for the better... or by utterly destroying it.