2 years -

Another year had passed since my reincarnation into this place. The time was beginning to flow much faster from my own perception. Each individual day I spent in this body, it became a larger and larger piece of my overall whole. In time, it would come to be more comfortable to me than the memories of my first life. Perhaps those memories would even fade. I couldn’t say, but I did hope dearly that my skills and knowledge of magic would last long enough for me to reinforce them into the new skill selections the system would grant me.

I had made several attempts to start with the most basic building blocks I could manage in such a young body, but without access to the system I was never truly able to tell if my efforts were having permanent or significant results.

Mana shaping was much harder without a refined mana sense to tell me if the shapes and patterns were correct, and unfortunately Mana sense was nearly impossible to train without the ability to shape mana at least partially. I vicious cycle if ever there was one. Regardless, I persisted in those efforts daily.

Thankfully I didn’t have to rely on magic as my only source of personal development. It was still entirely feasible to focus on increasing the capabilities of this body even if my timescales had shifted a bit. I was no longer in a position to learn new words in a matter of days, or coordinate my limbs over the course of a week. I had to function in months, if not longer, and plan for the future in a more broad sense. The most prepared I could be was the only acceptable goal. To that end, I continued to develop my fine motor skills.

The interior of this house had become my domain. Why Neia and Daniel insisted on padding all the corners and door handles, I did not know. It’s as if they believed me to be some bumbling fool. Still, my days of wobbling unsteadily only to walk a few feet were over. I now had complete and total control of my legs. Unfortunately, I was small. My most dedicated efforts were not enough to take me far, and my stamina failed quickly. On the bright side I was quickly increasing the speeds at which I could comfortably transit.

I was never much one for running in my previous life, but I would be the first to admit that a minimum level of physical fitness was necessary for an effective and efficient life. A sound mind resides in a sound body, one can’t exist without the other. But movement was only one half of the puzzle of control. To successfully challenge my surroundings they must bend to my will. Without mana to guide my intent I had no choice but to use my own hands.

Nothing in this house is safe! I would grasp, grab, toss, through, and squeeze anything my hands can reach. The strength of my fingers shall rival the strength of my magic and none shall appose me! Again my thoughts run away from me. Is it this body or something more? Can I halt any further degradation?

“Vincent, what do you have in your hands?” Mother’s voice interrupted me as I attempted to pull a small spoon from the table. Curse you woman! I need this spoon to build my sanctum. With haste I fled the scene of my theft, aiming for the safety of the nearby hallways. My legs, accursedly stubby, failed me in my flight and I was quickly apprehended.

“Vincent, darling, where did you get that? And why are you all sticky?” I am not sticky Mother! You are just strangely clean for a house devoid of running water.

With my treasure stolen from me and replaced to a higher shelf, I could do nothing to rectify this injustice and instead had to turn my attentions to other hurdles. Doors.

For months now doors have contained me in this house. We had solid wooden doors at the exterior entrance, and one separating the main bedroom from the kitchen. All other thresholds were demarcated with curtains. The thick woven curtains had long ago become no obstacle, yet the wooden barricades still entrapped me in the house of my father. I could just barely reach them if I found something to perch upon, it appeared my body was slightly taller than an average human child. The precarious nature of these climbs had resulted in a few unfortunate tumbles, but no growth was ever without pain, much as my teeth can attest to.

Of course, I don’t mean to say that this house was always a prison. Shortly after my first birthday, father began taking my to the village with him occasionally. I had met several of the other people here, and it even seemed there are a few children older than me. I had chosen not to learn any of their names at the moment as these seemed unnecessary if and until I interacted with them independently.

The older women seemed especially fond of asking me inane questions about my age, name, or such. Did they believe my memory to be faltering? Like I would ever forget something so simple. The trips to the village had allowed me to gather more useful information. Like the jobs everyone had to do.

Daniel, my father, was apparently a guard here in the village. He took regular patrols around the exterior borders to keep an eye on any encroaching beasts. Similarly, when the village was not in immediate danger he served as some form of constable. Breaking up disputes and dispensing legal punishment to rowdy miscreants. Expectedly, here in such a rural place, the majority of his job consisted of shooing off naughty children and stopping the occasional bar fight.

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I didn’t gain much information about his class or skills, but I had to imagine it to be specialized in force redirection and physical endurance. Allowing him to do combat with significantly larger creatures without injury while maintaining his effectiveness against other humanoids before needing to resort to execution. Perhaps some variation of the [Militiamen] class? I was curious to know more and would likely ask him once my language skills develop further. I wonder what mother’s class is?

Regardless, there was decidedly one benefit to the infrequent trips to the village. Open space. In the dusty streets of this rural place, I could do the physical practices my body so greatly needed. It was difficult to train my coordination in running when the small cramped spaces of my home posed a threat to my physical health. In the open village roads I could run, or speedily waddle, with total freedom.

Unfortunately, my father wasn’t overly fond of my desire to explore this new place and stretch my young legs. Each time I wandered off, he scooped me up with his absurd strength and held me captive for some time. No matter how much I protested “Down!”, “Down!”, He would always choose to wait some arbitrary amount of time before he was willing to release me. Repeating the same unnecessary speech about “responsibility” and “Not getting lost” as if I were a complete ignoramus. I knew where the house is! We walk there every day we visit, if I couldn’t find my way back by now I would have to be completely oblivious.

Still, he made a good point. I suppose it was natural for people to worry about their children when they can’t find them, but one would think that within the confines of the village I would be safe. Especially with all the familiar faces my father seemed to be on good terms with. If he’s worried about something happening to me, it would have to be one of these people to do it, yet he was always just fine talking with them. Strange. I’ve never been great at interpersonal subtlety, perhaps I’m missing something.

Either way, Daniel left me no choice. If he wouldn’t allow me to explore the village under his supervisory gaze, I would merely have to make my escape when his attention was elsewhere. Waiting for Daniel to get distracted was not particularly difficult, thankfully, his attention span is incredibly limited. The moment he looked away, I took off like a very unsteady shot. Zooming further away at the fastest speed my legs could sustain.

This did not last long unfortunately. A malicious cabal of betrayal had been instituted to keep me from my goals. Every time I managed to get even a few yards away from my father, the sinister people of this village alerted him to my position, or barred me from escaping further. Like an organized surveillance net of housewives and farm hands, the people of the village dashed my hopes and dreams. I have heard the saying “it takes a village to raise a child” but apparently it also took a village to keep me from achieving my goals.

After the first few attempts I realized how futile this whole exercise really was, and reluctantly resigned myself to supervised strolls. No use beating a dead horse, In fact, I had far more practice reanimating dead horses. Much less wasteful. Nevertheless, it was made abundantly clear my efforts were better served at home. So, I spoke, very disjointedly, with my mother in an attempt to convince her of my educational needs. I only cringed slightly when I had to say, out loud, “Mama. Letters” as the soft shapes of my childish mouth made the L come out as a W. “Wetters” didn’t really help me here.

Thankfully, my darling mother was proving herself at least partially competent the more I spoke with her. It only required two or three times before she finally understood I was begging to be taught language. Specifically how to read the language of our region. I felt as if I was grasping the spoken word well enough. This was the second worst mistake I’d made within a week. To my dismay. To my despair. To my abject horror. My mother explained to me.

“Victor, sweetheart, I’d love to. There’s just not any books in the village you know, books are very expensive around here” Which told me two things. One, I did in fact live in ‘fucking nowhere’ as I originally guessed. Secondly, it appeared from inference that mother originally came from a place that was indeed civilized enough to be comfortably familiar with the concept of books. Something I readily expect from the elves. I am wise enough to admit, I did initially panic, almost brought to tears by the news. When mother saw my distraught face, she reacted with the poise and grace I had come to expect.

“It’s okay darling, Hush, hush” she softly comforted me after scooping me up in her arms. “I’ll ask daddy to pick up a slate and some chalk from the next town when he goes out again. You never got a gift for your birthday right? We can teach you letters that way” she gently offered as I started to calm down. My own hormonal levels were making emotional regulation difficult. But is that really the case? More and More my thoughts lately feel disjointed. How much can I blame on this physical form?

This was an acceptable deal, all things considered, and the next several days were spent in anxious anticipation for Father’s trip. When he returned I was reminded of the feeling I used to get on winters-fest with my first life. The feeling of receiving gifts is always comforting. Yet that feeling brings with it no specific memories. I can’t recall a family that would have given me any gifts.

The next several weeks were also a great comfort. Each day mother would teach me a new letter, and the general sound it made. I would then spend an hour or two drawing the symbol over and over for her to check, each time erasing it and drawing it anew. Soon all the letters of this unfamiliar tongue would be at my disposal, and after, the words themselves.