Chapter 01: Life, Dead, and Other Unusual Magic

I wailed in a gut-wrenching scream, snatching another chance at life from the clutches of Death.

Pain ripped through my core as my eyes snapped open. A bright, glaring light blinded me, followed by an overflow of tears. I had to squint to keep my eyes from wavering, but even that proved to be hopeless.

The light receded and dimmed, and in its place, a huge, radiant head loomed closer, staring at me unblinkingly.

Startled, I cried, exerting every ounce of my will to break free from the giant’s grip. But my efforts were futile. I couldn’t muster up the barest minimum of strength. All my energy was wasted on wailing. No matter how much effort I put into speaking, all I managed was incoherent wailing.

The giant held me close, as though afraid to let go. Then through blurry eyes, I noticed the bright auburn locks cascading over her shoulders, her exterior pale and feminine. She was staring at me kindly, tears in her eyes, a deluge of raw emotions playing across her luminescent face.

Finally, I apprehended the ultimate conundrum of my predicament. The woman wasn’t a giant. She was likely as normal as a human could be. It was I who had shrunk, nestled in the protective custody of her arms as if I were a baby to be pampered.

In fact, I was a baby—a newborn, at that.

The woman cradled me and passed her other palm over my chest. She whispered soothing words into my ears—words I was hopeless to comprehend—yet they calmed my restless heart. A dim, golden string of light spilled from her palm and disappeared into my skin as she rubbed my chest.

Something inside me resonated with the light. My chest grew warm as the combined effort of the light and her soothing voice drove the pain away.

Relieved, I tried to contemplate the sheer absurdity of my situation. This could have been a feverish dream for all I knew, a figment of my imagination. Not for a second did I believe that events such as reincarnation or rebirth were normal… At least, not with my memories intact…

Wait, who was I?

My memories failed me. Only an image remained in my mind…

I was dying… somewhere chilly and dark… with an icy knife in my chest…

The thought of my father—with whom I had a love-hate relationship—crossed my mind, yet no mental image of him appeared. Only a vague silhouette.

I forgot him first. Utter terror gripped me as I lost more and more about myself. The most emotion-laden memories went first: my friends, companions, and family—people I could trust with my life. The memories drifted off like wisps of river fog threading their way up in the sunlight. Despite all my efforts to cling to the fog, it slipped from my grasp.

All that was left of me was the vague impression of my education. Without a second thought, I tried to put it to the test… The best I could muster with my current mental faculties was to count to thirteen before I felt a strain in my mind.

I turned my attention back to the woman. The incandescent feature of her skin had dimmed while I dealt with my inner turmoil. Under her care, my pain vanished too, though the powerlessness lingered.

Well, I was a baby, for God’s sake.

My fragile brain turned to mush just thinking about the mysteries of such an event. I had no choice but to sleep on the problem...

Several hours later, I awoke again, properly cleaned and swaddled in a cotton cloth, still within the protective custody of the woman… My mother?

I tried to commit her face to memory. It was a demanding job with my terrible baby eyes. At least she didn’t glow like a lightbulb anymore—I wondered what that was about.

She appeared to be in her early thirties, fair-skinned, her face symmetrical and pale. A little sickly, perhaps, as if she had been through a great battle recently. Maybe she hadn’t fared well in labour, yet she could still stand with a baby in her arms.

Sometime later, the door of the hovel opened, and a man came in. Tall, dark, and bald, he was swathed in black attire and looked somewhat frightening to be my father. Then his eyes found me, and the look in them changed. Tears streamed down from those bloodshot eyes as he picked me up into his arms. The man was large, built like a boulder, and his arms were… not particularly gentle.

He kissed me on the cheek, once, twice, thrice, and wiped his tears. I contemplated another bout of cries. Thankfully, the man returned me to the more responsible person. Kissing her on the head, he led us to sit on a bedroll, and finally uttered some words into my ears.

Obviously, my feeble brain failed to grasp the words. But then a sharp pain stung my left palm, jolting me awake. I wailed once more, eliciting her to cradle me on her lap. The pain washed away, soon followed by a voice.

I looked between them to find that neither of the two had uttered the words. Furthermore, the voice was clearer, younger, and comprehensible, and it rang in my mind.

[You have been Named.]

[Arilyn Arcis O’Ryon, welcome to the paths. The Spell understands your unique circumstances. The Paths are partially open for you.]

What in the world? I was flabbergasted. Who are you?

No ideas of what it could be came to mind. All I could do was listen to the words until they finished their commentary with a presentation of a lustrous green box with text written in it.

[Profile]

Arilyn Arcis O’Ryon

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

Path: U/A

Honours: U/A

Attributes:

* Cognition (Elementary) +1

Gift:

[Fractal Soul]

I ran the words in my mind dumbly. It seemed to be something only I heard and saw, as my mother betrayed no sudden reaction to suggest otherwise. I inclined my mind to understand… this spell.

This was the second, no, third startling revelation after my reincarnation. I had to account for the glowing spell as well. Well, compared to rebirth and magic, this voice—who called themselves the Spell—felt rather tame.

Still, I couldn’t help but wonder how it was possible to transfer one’s voice into another’s mind. Some trick with vibration? Mind magic? I wondered if it was anyone related to my rebirth.

That reminded me, my mother had magical power? In my earlier restlessness, I had failed to see the implication behind that. Was she a healer? Considering her spell drove away my pain.

Could she teach magic to me? Was it possible? Did I inherit the power from her? Dozens of such questions crawled up in my mind with little to no explanations or answers to them.

I would be lying if I said I didn’t consider all of it to be a drunken dream. Mother always thought I had a knack for creativity…

Mother… Mother who looked after everyone... worked tirelessly, and didn’t receive all that she deserved... I sighed as I remembered one last fact.

My mind lingered on my name. Arilyn was countless times better than Paul, or whatever I was called in my previous life. Now, what did it mean by Fractal Soul? On that topic, what was a soul? Was it something that reincarnated you?

What about attributes? Cognition? Was it what I thought it was? Brainpower?

The stinging sensation returned to my left palm, but it was reduced to a tenth of its strength, insufficient to make me uncomfortable. As if on cue, the voice followed up.

[A new Way is accessible: Words I (1/100).]

Hmm, what do you mean? I repeated the sentence many times in my mind, but that only made my head hurt. All this thinking was still beyond me.

It looked like the Spell wasn’t all that interactive with babies. Or it couldn’t read minds.

Time flew by. My early days were peacefully boring, with little to do beyond contemplating life, death, and reincarnation. There had to be a reason, a purpose for my rebirth. Just as gravity operated, there must be laws governing life and death.

The topic was so nerve-wracking that I had to spend equal amounts of time staring at the monotonous, inclined roof to recalibrate my feeble brain.

Imprisoned by the weight of my own head, my daily life was filled with immaculate tasks like drinking, sleeping, peeing, and defecating. Only one of these could I manage on my own.

The worst part was my occasional inability to control my bowels. I was fairly capable of managing them while awake, but on many occasions, I’d wake to the smell of my own piss. And then cry.

Infantile amnesia, please erase those embarrassing memories first! I prayed, clasping my palms together.

Only when my mother came to change my clothes and sing me to sleep did I find relief. She was an angel like that.

I hadn’t seen my father since the week after my birth. I feared I couldn’t recognise his face again. All I remembered were his features: tall, gloomy, and bald. And callous hands, terrible at holding babies.

We had moved from the hovel where I was born to somewhere better in the countryside, perhaps. The wooden house did not speak of wealth—I guessed I missed out on that lottery—but it had four separate rooms, nice furnishing, and most importantly, it was warm and cosy.

On top of that, I suspected I was abandoned by my father. But then I remembered the only memory of my father—naming me, the sheer joy on his face. I sighed and decided not to jump to conclusions just yet. Instead, I devoted the few measly waking hours to something useful.

With focused thought, I summoned the Spell to express my [Profile]. It didn’t take long to learn after I found the small runic star circle mark on my left palm. All I had to do was stare at the mark and wish, and the Spell would reveal its magic in my mind.

I did not want to theorise on assumptions, but it felt like the Spell was doing its magic through the mark. The slight stings before the messages only gave evidence to it.

My [Profile] remained mostly unchanged, with some progress in the Way.

[Words I (92/100)]

Just eight more words to go, I mused. It had taken me some time to figure out what the Way was. It turned out it was exactly as it sounded—just magic tracking the number of new words I learned.

Aside from those immaculate tasks I’d rather not discuss, I dedicated all my effort to learning unfamiliar words every waking moment of my new life, going as far as to rumble them like a mantra in my mind. I was bored, and there was nothing worthwhile to do.

The Spell kept track of all that in the [Profile]. With each new word I learned, the anticipation of what would occur when I learned my hundredth word grew.

I was awake in my cradle when my mother came to check on me. Her lips curled into a smile upon seeing me reach out my arms towards her. Yes, that was all I could manage, along with some jumbled mumbling.

Although I had learned many words since my birth, my vocal cords were not yet developed enough to articulate any of them. For instance, if I wanted to say mama, it came out as “Yaya” at best.

My mother would always adopt a childish voice to call my name when speaking to me. This occasion was no different. I showed my appreciation with giggles, which brought a radiant smile to her face like spring sunshine. She lifted me, ensuring my clothes were dry. It was the Afternoon Stroll Time, arguably my favourite part of the day.

Every day, she carried me around the neighbourhood, past the same houses and wheat fields, as a few people came to talk with her. My attention, however, drifted everywhere. Today, it was skyward, where flocks of cloud folded together to create a spiral pattern which only the sun could pierce.

I knew my eyes weren’t perfect—far from it. I struggled to track moving objects. Perks of being a couple of months-old baby. Yet, I didn’t believe there was nothing magical about the pattern. As though prompted by my thinking, those magical threads of light high within the clouds revealed themselves to me.

[A new Way is accessible: Fractal Sight (1/10)]

I blinked, feeling a trace of weakness in the back of my mind. Well, that proved there was something mystical about the spiralling clouds, though it failed to explain anything more, much like my own existence.

By the end of our stroll, mother cast the same spell on me, regardless of my state. I suspected she could somehow read my exhaustion by looking at my face. Golden light spilled from her fingers in a string of chains and disappeared into my skin. The mystical power washed away most of my weariness.

I had formed a distinct mental image of the light threading in eight separate ways through my body in a clear, symmetrical form. Naively, I entertained the notion that if I could latch onto this warm power and somehow tame it, I might become a sorcerer or healer one day.

The familiar sensation stirred in my left palm, and the Spell’s voice manifested to quash my childish fantasies.

[A new Way is accessible: Meditation I (1/10).]

Of course, I thought, how could I forget that visualisation was a crucial part of meditation? And that was precisely what I had been practising since day one.

At least, there was another Way to keep me invested.