Two Years

That's how long I've been in this world. Small, fragile, and utterly dependent. It hasn't been easy, but life has a way of moving forward whether you're ready or not. For the past two years, I've watched, listened, and learned, piecing together what I could about my new family, my surroundings, and this strange world.

I've grown in this time. My body, though still tiny and clumsy, feels less foreign now. My thoughts remain sharp, but my tongue often struggles to keep up. Speaking is harder than it should be. The unfamiliar words tumble clumsily off my lips, soft and half-formed. Still, I make do. At this age, no one expects much from me anyway, and that has allowed me the gift of quiet observation.

My mother, Elise, is at the heart of everything in this house. She keeps the rhythm of every day steady, caring for me and my older brother, Aron, with grace and patience.

This morning begins the way many others have.

"Ali, time to wake up, my little one," Elise's soft voice calls, tugging me gently from the warmth of sleep. Her hands, slender but strong, scoop me up from the crib with practiced ease. I blink groggily at her, the streams of morning sunlight making her auburn hair glint like copper.

"There you are," she coos, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. Her vibrant green eyes meet mine, warm and steady, as she cradles me against her chest. Her fair skin glows softly in the morning light, and I catch a glimpse of the light freckles that dust her nose and cheeks.

"Your big brother is already up and as noisy as ever," she says with a smile.

From the other side of the house, I hear the faint but distinct sound of Aron's voice carrying down the hallway. At six, my brother is a whirlwind of energy and noise. I sometimes wonder where he gets all that energy.

Elise carries me into the dining room, where Aron is already seated at the table. He's halfway through a piece of bread, crumbs littering the table in front of him as his legs swing back and forth. Seeing us enter, he grins broadly.

"Good morning, brother!" he calls out enthusiastically, his voice bright. "You finally woke up! Were you having baby dreams?"

I blink at him sleepily, which only makes him laugh. His laugh is light and jubilant, a sound that fills the room and makes everything feel a little warmer.

"Aron," Elise says with a small sigh as she sets me in my high chair, "chew your food, please. No one wants to see what you're eating."

"Sorry, Mama!" Aron replies, though there's humor in his voice as he quickly covers his mouth with his hand, crumbs and all.

Breakfast is its usual mix of soothing familiarity and Aron's boundless energy. Today, he is brimming with excitement about the book he finished yesterday, his voice rising with each retelling.

"And then," Aron says with flair, leaning forward in his chair, "the Wildborn mage focused his will, and the fire and water responded to his intention. Everyone was shocked because no one could channel two opposite mana sources like that. The ruling families believed it couldn’t be done, but they were wrong. The mage didn’t care. With all his determination, he declared, 'I'll protect the land with everything I can summon.'"

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Elise wipes a streak of jam from his cheek, smiling. "And then what happens? Did the Wildborn succeed?"

"Of course!" Aron says, puffing out his chest. "He defeated the sky serpent draining mana from the land. He was the strongest mage ever!"

I nibble on a piece of fruit while quietly watching the exchange. My mind lingers on Aron's tale.

A mage who could control fire and water? How is that possible? Fire and water are opposites, aren’t they? How could the mage make them work together? Wouldn’t their mana conflict? And if he could do it, does that mean the rules of magic are more flexible than I thought?

Elise handles Aron's endless energy with unshakable patience, gently guiding his wild narrative while ensuring he doesn't tip over his drink. My father, Eman, sits at the head of the table, a silent but solid presence. His lean frame is draped in a crisp black robe, the fabric flowing neatly over his shoulders. His black hair is slightly tousled, and his pale skin seems almost luminous in the soft morning light. Dark eyes scan the stack of papers in front of him with quiet intensity. Occasionally, he glances over at me and Aron with a look of warmth.

When breakfast is finished, Aron hops off his chair, practically bouncing in excitement. "Mama, can we go to the library now? You promised!"

Elise smiles as she straightens the hem of her dress. From the kitchen, I can hear a servant’s soft movements as they clear the table. "Yes, we'll go. Just let me get our things ready."

Aron turns to our father, a hint of sadness in his voice. "Papa, you’re always not with us."

Eman looks up, setting down his papers. His dark eyes soften. "I’m sorry, son," he says gently. "Father is always busy, but I’ll make sure to make time for us soon."

Elise watches the exchange with a warm and understanding smile.

---

The library is a place unlike any other in the house. Towering shelves stretch almost to the ceiling, filled with books of all shapes and sizes. Just stepping inside makes the world feel larger, the silence heavy with possibilities. It’s a place of endless knowledge and imagination, a haven for someone like Aron, whose adventures often begin on these very shelves.

As soon as we arrive, Aron dashes ahead, his eyes instantly scanning for a specific book. "I want the one with the dragon on the cover!" he declares, darting toward a shelf he knows well.

Elise sets me down gently on the carpeted floor and joins Aron by the shelves, helping him search for his elusive dragon book. "Here it is," she says after a moment, pulling a large, illustrated volume from the shelf.

"Yes! That’s the one!" Aron exclaims, taking it eagerly from her hands. He plops down on the floor, flipping through the pages with the enthusiasm only a child could muster. "Ali, look at this one!" he says, holding up the book to show me an enormous dragon with blazing red scales. "It’s a mana beast! Look, it’s draining energy from the leylines here."

I blink at the image, offering a small, babyish nod. To Aron, I’m just his little brother who doesn’t understand much yet. But I can’t help but wonder if creatures like these actually exist in this world.

Meanwhile, Elise places a smaller book in front of me. "Here you go, my quiet one," she says softly, her voice brimming with affection. "Something simple for now."

I look down at the thin volume, my fingers brushing over the faded cover. Over the past year, I’ve been teaching myself bits and pieces of the language here, slowly learning to match symbols to sounds. It hasn’t been easy, but every small success feels like unlocking a new secret.

Elise sits beside me, her eyes following as I open the book and begin tracing the letters on the page with my fingers. "You love books, don’t you?" she murmurs, almost to herself.

Aron is too absorbed in his dragon tale to notice, sprawled across the carpet as he begins narrating another story to himself. His voice fluctuates between dramatic and triumphant, and Elise humors him from time to time, asking questions about the plot or pointing out details in the illustrations. I catch her glancing toward me often, a small smile tugging at her lips as though she knows something I don’t.

The library is peaceful, filled with the soft rustle of pages and Aron's animated storytelling. For me, though, it’s more than that. It’s a sanctuary, a place where I can begin to uncover the puzzle of this world. Behind the warmth of my mother’s love and my brother’s boundless imagination, there is a quiet pull-questions waiting in the shadows, drawing me toward something unknown.