Several years had passed.

I was five now.

Having an older sister who could use magic came with its downsides. Her spell experiments often lead to destructive results. She was completely absorbed in her magical studies. And now, here I was, sitting on a cart as we accompanied her to meet a private magic tutor. This tutor would prepare her for the academy—a necessary step, apparently. Hiring a teacher wasn’t cheap, but it was seen as an investment. Even the town called my sister a prodigy, so I supposed it was worth it.

Still, our mother couldn’t stop crying. She wasn’t upset about the expense but about the fact that Clarisse would have to leave us temporarily to study under the tutor. Personally, I didn’t see why the academy was even necessary if you could just hire a teacher. But I figured there had to be some significant difference I didn’t yet understand.

“How’s the cart, Vonn?” father asked from up front, holding the reins. He wasn’t steering a horse—no, we couldn’t afford one—but a donkey. Practical, cheaper, and, to my surprise, effective. Our parents had bought the cart and donkey when I was three, thanks to a particularly good harvest, and I had to admit, they were useful.

“It’s great, Father. I’m comfortable,” I replied. Beside me, Clarisse was busy reading another magic book, as usual. Behind us sat my still-sniffling mother.

“This is your first time, so you’ll have to be patient with the bumps,” mother said, tapping my shoulder. “The road isn’t very smooth.”

“No, it’s fine, Mother,” I replied with a smile, running a hand through my dark, messy hair.

“Yahaha,” father chuckled. “I’m surprised you’re handling it so well. When your mother rode the cart for the first time, she got so dizzy she—”

“Vic! Don’t you dare tell that lie,” my mother interrupted, her tone playful.

I let out a small laugh at their banter, leaning back as the cart swayed gently.

When my sister dropped the book she’d been reading, she leaned forward, positioning herself like she was about to whisper in my ear.

“How’s the magic book you were reading yesterday?” she said, her voice low and teasing.

Oh no. She knew.

Because of my insatiable curiosity about magic, I’d been secretly borrowing her books without her knowing. Or so I thought. I’d devour them in secret, finishing most of them in a single sitting and learning far more than I ever let on.

From those books, I’d discovered the basic types of magic:

Elemental Magic

Illusion Magic

Necromancy

Healing Magic

Divination

Forbidden Magic

There were also fascinating concepts about magical companions—bonds formed with pets or even deities. And then there were magical predators, terrifying creatures or even humans who consumed the magic or mana of mages. Monsters, or worse, something that could look like us.

I’d read through most of her collection. Funny, in my past life, I never had the patience for books; my attention was always on my paintings. But here? Something about these magic tomes captivated me. And yet, for all my reading, I’d never mustered the courage to tell her I was borrowing them. I didn’t expect to get caught like this.

“Did you learn something?” she asked, laughing softly, clearly enjoying my embarrassment.

I froze, unable to come up with a clever response. “They’re... helpful,” I managed, my voice dripping with awkwardness. “In some way.”

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

She kept laughing, and now she’d grabbed my mother’s attention. “In what way?” Clarisse asked again, her grin widening.

“Uhmm…” I hesitated. It was annoying that she wouldn’t drop it, but I guessed this was fair. Honestly, I’d expected a full-blown scolding for sneaking her books, so this playful interrogation felt like a light punishment.

Before I could answer, she spoke again, louder this time, just enough to catch both our parents’ ears. “Who even taught you how to read?”

That was a mistake on my part. I’d been reading since I was three, and it seems that I'm too obvious.

“You know how to read?!” mother exclaimed, rushing over and grabbing my cheeks in surprise. Our father, distracted, let go of the reins for a moment to turn and stare.

“What are you even saying, Eleanor?” he asked, clearly trying to make sense of the situation.

They were as dumbfounded as I was panicked. Did I make it too obvious I wasn’t exactly a normal five-year-old?

“Yes, he does!” Clarisse declared triumphantly. “I’ve seen him reading some of my books before, Mother.”

“How did you learn to read?” Mother asked, her voice full of shock. “We haven’t even started teaching you yet!”

Think. Think. Quick, plausible excuse. “I… I was curious,” I said, trying to sound sheepish. “I started imitating the way Sis reads her books.” It wasn’t the most convincing lie, but it was the best I could come up with under pressure.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Mother pressed, her eyes narrowing.

Oh great. This had turned into a full-blown interrogation.

“I thought everyone just learned to read by looking at books and figuring it out,” I said innocently. “I didn’t know it was something I had to tell you. Sorry, Mother.”

That seemed to soften her expression a bit, though she still looked like she had more questions.

Father, however, laughed heartily, breaking the tension. “This son of ours is really something. A quick learner, that’s for sure!” he said, shaking his head with a grin.

Haaaa. Finally, the tension eased. I had to give credit to my father’s personality for diffusing it so smoothly.

“No, I’m just surprised,” mother said, still shaking her head. “First your sister, and now you?” Honestly, I couldn’t blame her. If she was shocked now, imagine if I’d told her I could read since I was a month-old baby. They might’ve kicked me out for being too suspiciously capable.

I sighed, then smiled faintly. “Sorry, Sis,” I said, apologizing for grabbing her books without permission.

“That’s fine,” she replied, waving it off. Then, with a smirk, she added, “I expected more of a scolding, though. How disappointing.”

She was evil.

What I didn’t tell them—what I kept entirely to myself—was that I’d already started practicing basic elemental magic when I was four.

I could summon a small flame, conjure a tiny amount of water, and create a light gust of air. According to the books I’d read, it was rare to be naturally affiliated with more than one element. Yet here I was, connected to three: fire, water, and air.

The greatest discovery I’d made so far was the strange skill I seemed to have triggered—somehow. I wasn’t sure how it worked, but last month, a screen started appearing in front of me.

After some experimenting, I realized I could summon it by simply imagining it. This is what it looked like when I called it up:

[Status]

Name: Vonn Ermine

Age: 5 years old

Current Level: No info at the moment

Traits: Painter, Magic Practitioner

Skills: No skills at the moment

As far as I could tell, the screen was visible only to me. It floated in front of me like a hologram, completely intangible but unmistakably real. Out of curiosity, I asked Clarisse if she’d ever heard of floating screen magic. Her response? She stared at me like I’d lost my mind and told me to stop saying weird stuff.

So, either I was imagining things (unlikely) or this was something unique to me. Whatever it was, it seemed incredibly useful for tracking my progress—once I figured out how to unlock more information, anyway.

It was exciting, no question about it. But for now, I decided to keep this little secret to myself.

image [https://static.vecteezy.com/system/resources/thumbnails/034/487/740/small/gold-frame-page-divider-free-png.png]

After a while of traveling, we arrived at the estate where Clarisse’s teacher lived. It was a tall, imposing structure made of stone—a building that looked more like a fortress than a home.

The journey wasn’t too long since it was still within the same kingdom, but I couldn’t help questioning my parents’ decision. Why pay and send Clarisse to a private teacher before she even started learning free at the academy? It felt unnecessary to me, but I wasn’t in a position to argue. Five-year-olds don’t exactly get a vote in family decisions.

We waited outside the estate for about an hour before the teacher finally showed up and invited us in. The treatment wasn’t exactly warm—they clearly saw us as simple farmers and acted accordingly. Our parents, however, didn’t seem to mind. All their focus was on how Clarisse would benefit from this teaching period.

I, on the other hand, didn’t have a good feeling about the place. The attitude of the staff put me off immediately. But the teacher herself? She was a bit different. A straightforward woman with a no-nonsense demeanor. She assured us she’d prepare Clarisse for the academy and, surprisingly, offered a much lower fee than originally quoted. That was the only silver lining in this whole arrangement.

To sum it up: we’d brought Clarisse to a place where people could hire teachers or tutors to train their children before—or even after—attending the academy. My sister would be learning proper magic casting for five months. During this time, she’d have five vacation days to visit home, and the estate would cover her food and lodging costs.

In other words, it was basically an academy in disguise, the only difference is that it is paid and students have much more shorter time to learn something.

image [https://static.vecteezy.com/system/resources/thumbnails/034/487/740/small/gold-frame-page-divider-free-png.png]

When we got home, it felt noticeably different. The house was quieter without Clarisse, no one practicing magic or engrossed in a book. She’d be staying at the teacher’s place for several months to learn, and her absence left a noticeable gap.

Mother was devastated for a few days but eventually adjusted, proud of her growing daughter and the opportunities ahead.

At this age, I began helping my parents on the farm. They didn’t let me handle any heavy tasks, but they trusted me with smaller jobs, like sacking harvested crops. It was exhausting work—something I was far from used to—but also fulfilling in a strange way. There was something satisfying about contributing, even in small ways, to the efforts of people who worked so tirelessly.

One evening, as I was taking a break, my mother picked up one of my paintings and showed it to my father. “Vonn, you’re really good at painting. How did you learn to do this?” he asked, genuinely impressed.

So this is what it feels like to have parents who are proud of you.

I smiled. “I just find it fun,” I said simply.

They’d bought me a painting set for my fourth birthday—a humble gift of paper, a few canvases, and cheap paints. I’d asked for a coloring set, but they’d gone above and beyond, and it was the best gift I could have received.

“I’m really lucky, though,” I said, almost without thinking.

“Lucky?” my mother asked, smiling.

“To have parents like you,” I said, forcing myself to push past the awkwardness. I wasn’t used to expressing such genuine feelings, but I meant every word.

In my past life, I’d never really experienced what it was like to have a full, loving family. But now? Now, I was starting to understand. For the first time, I felt treasured in a way I hadn’t even realized I’d been missing.

“We’re the lucky ones,” my father said, finishing a bite of food. “To have you and your sister.”

“That’s true, Vonn,” my mother added with a warm smile.

I didn’t reply with words, but in that moment, I mustered the courage to hug them both, letting them know how much I appreciated them. It wasn’t much, but it felt like enough.