The morning's humiliation fresh in my mind, I took the long route back through the estate. In my previous life, I'd spent these walks avoiding others, taking the servants' passages and lesser-used corridors. Now, I walked the main halls deliberately, letting my magical senses reacquaint themselves with every corner of my childhood home.

The Eiskar estate was a marvel of magical architecture, something I'd only truly appreciated during my decades of theoretical study. Nine massive towers of ice-veined stone rose from the perpetually frozen ground, connected by crystalline bridges that sparkled with preserved magic from centuries past. The main hall, where I now stood, stretched nearly a hundred meters, its ceiling lost in carefully crafted shadows meant to intimidate visitors with its seeming endlessness.

I paused before one of the great windows, studying my reflection in the magically reinforced ice-glass. Sixteen again - the face was almost foreign to me now. No beard, no scars, no weathered lines from years in the frozen wastes. Just a boy, supposedly magically inept, with the memories of a scholar who'd died at thirty-seven.

"Young Master Isaac?"

I turned to find Agnes, one of the older servants, carrying fresh linens. In my past life, she'd been one of the few who showed me kindness even after my failure was confirmed.

"The library again?" she asked with a gentle smile.

"You know me well," I replied, letting some warmth enter my voice. The servants were often overlooked, but they knew everything that happened in the estate. In my past life, I'd learned too late how valuable such allies could be.

The eastern wing, where the library stood, was older than the rest of the estate. Here, the walls were raw stone rather than the magically smoothed surfaces preferred by modern Eiskars. Ice crystals grew naturally in the crevices, creating patterns that had taken me years of study to recognize as actually being ancient ward-marks.

The library itself occupied three floors, connected by spiral staircases of ice that never melted. The main floor housed the common texts - history, basic magic theory, and political records. The upper floor contained the family grimoires and advanced magical texts. The bottom floor... that was where the real treasures lay, accessible only to those of proven magical talent.

In my past life, I'd never been allowed below.

"Master Isaac." The voice was aged but sharp, cutting through my reminiscence. "I had wondered if you would return today."

Magnus, the Library Keeper, sat at his ancient desk near the entrance. He was old even by mage standards, his hair white as the deepest snow, his eyes the pale blue of ancient ice. In my past life, he'd died shortly after my failure was confirmed, taking his secrets with him.

"Master Magnus." I bowed with genuine respect. "I find myself in need of basic texts on ice manipulation. Again."

His eyes studied me with that same penetrating gaze I remembered. "Do you know, young master, why ice magic is considered the noblest of arts?"

In my past life, I'd dismissed this as one of his rambling lectures. Now, with decades of knowledge, I listened carefully.

"Because of its purity?" I offered, the expected answer of a young noble.

He smiled slightly. "Because it remembers." His gnarled fingers traced patterns in the frost on his desk. "Every piece of ice holds memory of its formation, its purpose. The founder of our house understood this better than any since."

Stolen novel; please report.

I felt my pulse quicken. This was the conversation - the one I'd dismissed decades ago as meaningless philosophy.

"The founder left three tomes," I said carefully, watching his reaction. "Or so the histories say."

"Histories." He chuckled. "Written by those who never understood what they were reading. Tell me, young master, what do you know of Frost Nova?"

In my past life, I'd changed the subject here, too frustrated with my magical failings to care about ancient spells I could never cast. This time, I leaned forward. "The founder's personal combat technique. Said to be able to freeze even dragon's breath."

Magnus's eyes sharpened. "And why, do you suppose, was it called Nova? A term for an exploding star, used to name an ice spell?"

"I..." I paused, decades of magical theory crystallizing into new understanding. "Because it starts from a single point and expands. Not like normal ice magic that we project outward."

"Ah." Just that single syllable, but his smile widened slightly. "You see, but do you understand? The distinction between pushing outward and..." he let the sentence hang.

"Pulling inward," I finished, understanding blooming. "Using the target's own thermal energy as the source, creating a cascade effect."

For a moment, Magnus's face showed genuine surprise before settling back into its usual inscrutable mask. "Interesting interpretation for one who struggles with basic ice formation."

I immediately cursed my eagerness. I'd shown too much theoretical knowledge. But perhaps...

"I read," I said, letting some bitterness enter my tone. "Since I cannot do, I read."

"Yes." Magnus stood slowly, using his staff for support. "Follow me, young master. Perhaps... perhaps I can recommend some suitable texts for your studies."

He led me through the stacks, past the familiar sections of basic theory, towards a corner I'd never paid much attention to in either life. Here, the ice crystals in the walls formed particularly complex patterns, and the air held a charge I could now recognize as very old magic.

"Do you know the story of the First Frost?" Magnus asked, running his fingers along the spines of ancient books.

"The founder's initial discovery of ice magic," I replied automatically.

"No." Magnus turned to face me. "That's the story they tell now. The true First Frost was a spell of seeking. Of finding that which resonates with one's own magic." He pulled a book from the shelf - a thin volume bound in what looked like normal leather. "A simple text on magical resonance. Perhaps it will help with your... studies."

I took the book, and felt it. The cover wasn't leather at all, but ice preserved in a form I'd only theorized about in my decades of research. And within...

"Thank you, Master Magnus." I kept my voice steady despite my racing heart.

"Read it here," he said firmly. "Some texts are too... delicate to leave the library."

I settled at a nearby desk as Magnus shuffled away. With trembling fingers, I opened the book. The first several pages were indeed a basic text on magical resonance. But pressed between the pages, nearly invisible unless you knew to look for it, was a single sheet of true ice-paper, covered in script I recognized from my research as the founder's hand.

The first steps of Frost Nova.

In my past life, Magnus had died believing I'd ignored his gift. The book had probably been reshelved, its secret lost. This time...

I began to read, letting my decades of theoretical knowledge combine with the founder's actual instructions. The technique was elegant, deadly, and far more efficient than modern ice magic. More importantly, it was exactly the kind of magic that would seem plausible for a "failed" mage to discover - starting small, working inward rather than pushing power outward.

Perfect for someone who needed to explain a sudden improvement in magical ability.

I spent the next several hours taking careful notes, writing in a cipher I'd developed in my past life. When Magnus came to remind me of the dinner hour, I returned the book with careful deference.

"Interesting reading, young master?"

"Enlightening," I replied honestly. "Though I fear much of it is beyond my current capabilities."

He nodded slowly. "The simplest truths often are. Until they aren't."

As I left the library, my mind was already racing with possibilities. I had thirty days until the ceremony, a secret technique that could justify early progress, and decades of theoretical knowledge to guide my "development." More importantly, I had a second chance to acknowledge those who'd tried to help me before.

The sun was setting, turning the ice-glass windows into sheets of fire. Servants hurried through the halls, preparing for the evening meal. In my past life, I'd started taking my meals alone around this time, avoiding the family's collective disappointment.

This time, I headed for the main dining hall. Let them watch. Let them wonder.

I had preparation to do, and appearances to maintain.