The Life After Death

  Chapter 4: Eyes Wide Open

  The sun had barely begun to rise, casting a warm golden hue across the rolling hills of Verdant Vale. Inside our small but cosy home, the smell of freshly baked bread and sizzling eggs filled the air, mingling with the sounds of light-hearted chatter and clinking utensils.

  At the breakfast table, Raiden was already digging into his plate with the gusto of a man who believed every meal was his last. Elara sat beside him, gracefully sipping her tea, her serene expression occasionally softening into a fond smile as she glanced at us. Across from her, Helena was busy poking at her eggs, her silver-white hair catching the morning light like a halo.

  “Helena, eat your food,” Elara gently chided, her voice a mix of motherly concern and exasperation.

  “But Mama, it’s all slimy!” Helena whined, scrunching up her nose in theatrical disgust.

  Raiden laughed heartily, his fiery red mane bouncing with each chuckle. “Slimy? You’ll never grow strong complaining about eggs! Back in my day—”

  “Oh no, here we go,” Helena interrupted, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Another one of Papa’s ‘back in my day’ stories.”

  I tried to stifle a laugh as I watched them. The sight of my family’s playful banter warmed something deep inside me. This… this is what family should feel like.

  I wasn’t completely silent, though. Between bites of soft bread slathered with honey, I made occasional attempts to join the conversation, my words still clumsy but improving. “No… slimy,” I managed to say, pointing at Helena’s plate with an exaggerated frown.

  Helena burst out laughing. “See? Even Em agrees!” she teased, sticking her tongue out at me.

  Elara smiled, leaning over to wipe a bit of honey off my cheek. “He’s learning so quickly,” she said, her voice filled with pride. “Before we know it, he’ll be chatting away like you, Helena.”

  “Good luck keeping up with me, Em!” Helena said, grinning as she ruffled my hair.

  Raiden leaned back in his chair, finishing his plate with a satisfied sigh. “Let’s not forget, Emrys, you’ve got a lot more to learn than just talking. The world’s big, and you’ll need to know how to face it head-on.”

  I nodded solemnly, though inside, my thoughts were elsewhere. Big, yes. But first, I need to get back to that library. The thought of the book I had found filled me with a quiet excitement, my small body practically buzzing with anticipation.

  After breakfast, the family dispersed, Helena to her endless games, Raiden to the fields, and Elara to her chores. I, however, had a plan. I waited patiently until the house was quiet, my small frame perched on the edge of my cot as I watched and listened. When the moment came, I slid off with all the stealth my tiny legs could muster.

  Making my way to the library was no small feat. The floorboards seemed determined to betray me with every creak, and my uneven steps made the journey feel like an epic quest. Still, I persevered, inching closer to my destination with the kind of determination only a child—or a man reborn—could muster.

  Finally, I reached the library door. Pushing it open, I slipped inside, the familiar scent of old parchment and dust greeting me like an old friend. With a satisfied sigh, I toddled over to the shelf where I had left off the night before. The book was still there, waiting for me like a loyal companion.

  I eased myself onto the floor, the worn cover of the book cool beneath my fingers as I opened it to the page where I had last left off. The anticipation buzzed in my chest, ready to uncover more of the secrets it held.

  The book went on to explain that there were two distinct types of mana users: Emanators and Reservists.

  Emanators were those who generated mana from within themselves. The name came from the word emanate, meaning to flow out. Emanators possessed a natural connection to their manaheart, allowing them to produce and manipulate mana internally without relying on their surroundings too much. It described them as self-sustaining, capable of drawing on their reserves to cast magic as long as their manaheart held strong.

  However, it wasn’t without its flaws. Should their manaheart be taxed or damaged, their magic would falter, and mana depletion could render them helpless.

  So… it’s a lot like being a finely tuned combat drone with no backup battery. Impressive until the juice runs out, wincing slightly. The image of a mage collapsing dramatically after casting one too many spells flashed through my mind.

  Then came the Reservists. These mages were the opposite, drawing mana mostly from their surroundings and using their manaheart as a storage. The book likened them to reservoirs, capable of holding and utilizing vast stores of mana. Their ability to draw from the environment often made them appear stronger, especially in mana-rich areas, where their spells could become grander, more complex, and devastatingly effective. Reservists often relied on a staff or weapons to store and channel mana, granting them greater control and allowing them to leverage environmental advantages with precision.

  However, their reliance on external mana came with its own risks. In mana-scarce areas, their abilities could be severely limited, forcing them to rely more heavily on their internal reserves. While their potential for power was immense, their effectiveness was often dictated by their surroundings, making adaptability a critical skill for any Reservist.

  I smirked at the distinctions, a playful commentary forming in my mind. Emanators were like lone wolves, fiercely independent and powerful until exhaustion inevitably brought them down, while Reservists were opportunists, thriving on the bounty of their surroundings but at risk of faltering when that bounty ran dry.

  “Indeed,” I muttered, running a finger down the worn page. I’m either destined to burn brightly like a solitary beacon until I flicker out, or to be a pitiful servant shackled to the mercy of my environment. Truly, what a delightful range of options.

  The book, of course, had no sense of humor and carried on in its dry, instructional tone, explaining how both paths came with immense respect in the world of Aether.

  Emanators were prized for their self-sufficiency and individual brilliance, often serving as elite warriors or protectors. Reservists, on the other hand, excelled in large-scale magic and environmental manipulation, often becoming scholars, guardians, or architects of magical feats.

  Two paths. Two kinds of power. And yet, the book revealed there was more to this world’s magic than just how mana was generated.

  Each individual, it explained, possessed a singular magic affinity. A natural alignment to one type of magic drawn from their manaheart’s connection to the world. These affinities dictated the kind of spells they could wield and the forces they could master.

  Interestingly, the book also hinted that magic affinity could be genetic, passed down through family lines, further cementing its role in shaping a mage's destiny. This inheritance of magical traits sometimes created dynasties of powerful mages, their bloodlines steeped in specific affinities, while other times it introduced unexpected traits, skipping generations or blending with others to create rare combinations.

  The book elaborated further, introducing the four only magic types that existed in this world:

  Air, Earth, Fire, and Water.

  Forming a cyclical relationship where no single element reigns supreme. Each element complements and counterbalances the others in an endless dance of harmony and power.

  For instance, Air feeds Fire, Fire shapes Earth, Earth redirects Water, and Water tempers Fire. This interconnected balance emphasizes that strength lies not in dominance but in coexistence, where every element has its role and purpose.

  While most people had a singular affinity, the book hinted at exceptions. Dual affinities, where a mage could wield two types of magic. Though exceedingly rare—a blessing bestowed upon only a select few throughout history. Even rarer were those capable of wielding multiple affinities, transcending the boundaries of traditional magic.

  I paused for a moment, my mind racing. Four kinds of magic, with affinities locked to each person… and yet, some could wield more? The very idea stirred a sense of ambition within me, a drive that had been dormant for what felt like ages.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  My lips curled into a thoughtful grin as I pondered the possibilities such power could unlock, each potential scenario more enticing than the one before.

  Dual affinity? Maybe even tri-affinity! Picture me hurling fireballs with one hand while commanding the seas with the other. Pure pandemonium! I mused, my grin continuing as I imagined the astonished expressions of those around me.

  Before I could indulge in such thoughts, the book introduced the concept of a magical awakening. It explained that most individuals experience this awakening between the ages of five and puberty, a natural process where their magic affinity manifests for the first time.

  In rare cases, however, an awakening could occur before the age of five, often manifesting in dramatic and chaotic bursts of uncontrolled magic. The book detailed vivid accounts of children summoning walls of fire, conjuring storms, or shattering the ground around them, events that left those nearby in terror and awe. Such outbursts, it warned, could prove fatal to the individual if control was lost and no intervention was provided, underscoring the delicate balance required to wield magic safely.

  The awakening, it said, often reflected the individual’s manaheart stage. At lower levels like Snow or Moonstone, it could appear as small, controlled effects, a gust of wind, a flicker of flame, or a faint ripple in water. But at higher stages, breakthroughs during awakening might result in explosions of power capable of altering landscapes.

  I tapped my fingers thoughtfully against the page, an idea forming. If an awakening is tied to one's manaheart strength and age, perhaps I should begin refining mine early.

  What would happen if I entered this 'awakening' already leagues ahead of when I should? Might I shock the world? Or at least avoid setting my surroundings ablaze? I do not want to worry or harm my family.

  Just as my thoughts began to race with possibilities, I noticed something unusual as I made my way to the end of the book. Several pages were torn out, and others were smeared with ink, as though someone had gone to great lengths to hide whatever was written there.

  My eyes narrowed as I studied the faint remnants of words that remained—'forms' and 'evolution'—phrases that hinted at something connected to the magical elements.

  “Well, that’s not suspicious at all,” I muttered, shaking my head. Still, the discovery didn’t bother me as much as it intrigued me.

  Ah, let them keep their secrets. I’ve got enough to deal with for now. If nothing else, mysteries had a way of finding their answers.

  I closed the book for a moment, letting the words settle in my mind. The system was both meticulous and straightforward, a process where power was cultivated through careful growth and unwavering discipline. And here I was, standing at the very beginning. The Snow stage, as the book described it, brimming with untapped potential.

  It was humbling. For all the power I once controlled, I was starting over again, a blank slate with potential I had yet to grasp. I stared at my tiny hands, fists clenching slightly as if I could already pull the mana from the air. A faint hum stirred deep in my chest, as if my manaheart itself understood the journey ahead.

  So, Snow, is it? A wry grin tugging at my thoughts.

  If this is where I begin, then so be it, staring out the window toward the verdant fields stretching out under the bright afternoon sun, the golden light shimmering on the lush greenery as the day reached its peak.

  With that resolve, I settled onto the floor, awkwardly crossing my legs in what could charitably be called an infantile attempt at meditation. The bright afternoon sun streamed through the window, a reminder of how unconventional this was, no child at the mere age of one would even consider refining their manaheart—let alone be able to think of this—before their affinity was identified. Yet here I was, determined to begin the process long before anyone else would dare.

  Who knows, perhaps this will work… or perhaps I’ll simply end up looking ridiculous. Either way, it is a start.

  I started by trying to focus on the mana around me, just as the book had described in meticulous detail. Sitting there, legs awkwardly crossed, I inhaled deeply and concentrated, following every instruction I recalled from its pages.

  Though my understanding of magic in this world was still evolving, I clung to the knowledge the book had provided, using it as my only guide in navigating this unfamiliar art. The idea seemed simple enough, breathe, concentrate, and let the mana flow into me. And so, I concentrated harder, narrowing my focus until it felt like the room itself held its breath.

  Nothing.

  Undeterred, I redoubled my efforts, pushing myself to focus even more intently. My tiny fists clenched, my face scrunched in determination, and then… a small, betraying noise broke the silence. A faint, unmistakable fart.

  My eyes shot open, and a slow, horrifying realization crept over me. Oh no.

  I had pooped myself.

  Sitting there in the middle of what I’d hoped would be a profound moment of magical discovery, I was instead greeted by the most humiliating reminder of my current existence. So much for being a prodigy.

  I sighed, defeated, glancing toward the door and hoping no one would walk in before I had the chance to recover from this indignity. As I sat there, trying to figure out how to recover from my predicament, a soft rustling sound from the doorway caught my attention.

  Elara stepped in, her eyes immediately finding mine, and I couldn’t help but wonder if mothers truly possessed some kind of magical sixth sense. Her timing was, as always, impeccable, as though she had known exactly when I’d need her the most. It was as if she could detect my presence—and my mess—from a mile away.

  "You’re here again, Emrys," she said, her warm smile softening the sting of my embarrassment. "You really do love books, don’t you?" She bent down, her expression filled with amusement and affection. "I’ll read them to you later," she added, picking me up effortlessly. "But first, we need to handle that little… smell."

  The rest of the day unfolded with the kind of warmth that made life in Verdant Vale so comforting. Late lunch was a lively affair, with Helena spinning fantastical tales of her imagined adventures while Raiden listened with an amused grin, occasionally chiming in to correct her 'facts.'

  Elara bustled around the kitchen, her movements fluid and graceful as she prepared a meal that seemed almost too hearty for such a small family. She made sure everyone had their fill, though not without a gentle scolding for Raiden’s exaggerated enthusiasm for her cooking.

  “Raiden, if you keep eating like that, I’ll have to start cooking for an army,” she teased, her tone light but laced with affection.

  “An army of one!” Raiden replied, patting his stomach with a booming laugh. "You wouldn’t let your husband starve, would you?"

  Helena giggled at their exchange, leaning closer to me with a conspiratorial whisper. “Mama’s going to get him back one day. Just you watch.”

  Elara’s eyes softened as she glanced my way, catching me staring at her with what I hoped looked like innocent curiosity. “And you, little one,” she said, crouching to my level, “seem to be enjoying this feast as much as your father.”

  She gently wiped a smudge of food from my cheek, her touch as tender as her smile. "Maybe one day, you’ll grow big and strong like him, though hopefully not with such a bottomless appetite."

  By the time the sun began its descent, casting the fields in a golden glow, the house had settled into a quiet hum of evening activity. Helena had taken to organizing her small collection of trinkets with all the seriousness of a seasoned merchant, while Raiden sharpened his sword by the fire, its rhythmic scrape filling the room with a comforting steadiness.

  Elara sat beside me, humming a soft tune as she braided strands of Helena’s hair. I watched them both, a pang of something unfamiliar yet warm stirring within me.

  So this is what family is, love, care, and peace all wrapped under one roof. Letting the moment sink in.

  As night fell and the house gradually settled into silence, the soft rustle of evening winds and the occasional creak of wood were the only sounds to accompany the warmth of the hearth fading away. Lying in my cot, I stared at the wooden beams overhead, listening to the steady breaths of my family as they slept soundly. A sense of peace lingered in the room, and for a moment, I let myself savor it. But the quiet only fuelled my determination.

  I carefully sat up in my cot, glancing around to ensure no one stirred. Helena’s soft murmurs in her sleep, Raiden’s faint snores, and Elara’s calm presence confirmed I was alone in my intentions.

  If I’m ever going to make progress, I whispered to myself internally, it has to start here and now.

  I glanced at Elara, Raiden, and Helena, their sleeping forms peaceful and serene. "Mom, Dad, Hel," I murmured softly, my voice barely a whisper, this is for you too. Everything starts now.

  Satisfied that no one was awake, I eased myself and crossed my legs, settling into a seated position. The world around me faded into stillness as I prepared to attempt refining my manaheart once more.

  "Let's try this again." I whispered to myself, sitting in my meditative pose, closing my eyes and letting the world fade into stillness.

  After a few minutes, something began to shift.

  At first, it was subtle, a faint sensation, like the whisper of a breeze against my closed eyelids. Then, I started to see it. Tiny, shimmering particles danced in the darkness behind my eyes, glowing in a spectrum of colors. The sight was mesmerizing, each particle a fragment of the energy I sought to control. I concentrated harder, willing the particles to draw closer, to flow toward the core of my being, my manaheart.

  With deliberate patience and unwavering focus, I managed to guide a green particle inward. It felt like catching a drop of water in an endless stream, delicate but thrilling.

  As it merged with my manaheart, a faint warmth spread through my chest, a quiet confirmation that I could indeed refine my manaheart, even at this early age.

  The realization filled me with a mixture of pride and satisfaction. As I collapsed onto my cot, sheer exhaustion from successfully guiding just one mana particle to my manaheart washed over me.

  Staring out the window, the twin moons hung high in the sky, their soft glow spilling across the room like a silent promise.

  This was the first step, a tentative but significant beginning to what I hoped would be a long and extraordinary journey.

  Tomorrow would undoubtedly bring its challenges, but I felt a quiet certainty settle in my chest, I could conquer them, one step at a time.