You don't seem to grasp the gravity of my presence here.
I am Ash Wyvern, once revered as the pinnacle among assassins and executioners in the vast realm of Aethel! My mastery over magical energy and my unparalleled affinity set me apart from all others. I was a trusted ally to the most powerful figures, even princes and kings sought my services to carry out their darkest deeds. Such was my stature in those lands.
The mere mention of my name sent chills down spines, a testament to the fear I instilled in those who dared cross my path. And yet, here you stand, daring to provoke me with your mockery.
I slammed my fists against the armrest of my chair, the attached table rattling in response, a visual display of my mounting fury. Yet, you merely chuckled at my display, undeterred by my anger.
And then there was you, new mother! Must I endure that tasteless green mush once more? Beware the consequences should you persist.
No, no, no! Keep that spoon away! And you, new father! Release my head from your gentle yet firm grasp, lest I unleash the floodgates of tears!
Alas, the spoon found its way into my mouth against my will...
Very well then, you've asked for it! Prepare yourselves, for the tears shall flow!
This new life was a whirlwind compared to Aethel's quiet nights and flickering magic lamps. Back home, a newborn thrived solely on his mother's milk, a simple yet perfect sustenance. Here, however, my world revolved around a confusing array of tastes and textures. The pale, watery liquid that flowed from my mother was familiar and comforting, but the strange concoctions they called "formula" were a mystery. Some were surprisingly palatable, a burst of sweetness that tickled my tongue. Others, well, let's just say they lacked the elegance of moonlight.
Another curious difference - magic. In Aethel, it was woven into the very fabric of life, a subtle hum thrumming beneath your skin. Here, however, it seemed strangely absent. Instead, a power called "electricity" reigned supreme. It pulsed through glassy spheres, bathing the room in a gentle, constant light. It danced across a flat surface on the wall, conjuring moving images that shimmered like mirages. It could even heat water and allow faraway voices to flow through a curious handheld device.
Magic's absence was a pang, a dull ache for the familiar. Yet, a part of me couldn't help but be fascinated by this new power source. Electricity, with its silent hum and invisible threads, was a different kind of wonder. Perhaps, in this strange new world, there was magic to be found in unexpected places. I just had to open my tiny eyes a little wider and see.
"Lily, bathroom time!" My mother's voice, laced with a hint of mischief, pulled me from my milk-induced reverie. Apparently, my parents were in the mood for some scientific experimentation – my reaction to various objects, in this case, they decided to take me to a room called ‘bathroom’ it appeared. "Show no surprise," I silently schooled myself. In my past life, emotional detachment was a survival skill, a shield against vulnerability.
But a flicker of curiosity sparked within me. They placed me before a strange, smooth surface that mirrored my surroundings. For the first time, I truly saw myself. And... well, darn it all, I had to admit it. Even encased in all this squishiness, I wasn't half bad. Long, wavy hair, a mix of blonde and surprising black streaks, framed my face. Unlike some unfortunate souls in Aethel, my forehead wasn't comically large – a small mercy in this world, it seemed.
But the most captivating aspect was my eyes. One, an emerald green mirroring my mother's, the other a deep hazel echoing my father's. A perfect blend, they seemed to say. Ugh, how utterly cliché. But a winning cliché, nonetheless.
A mischievous glint, a remnant of the Ash Wyvern perhaps, flickered in my newfound eyes. Just wait, world. This "Lily" might be a babe in arms now, but with these looks, hearts will shatter and jaws will drop in a few years. Mark my words, boys. The Ash Wyvern may be gone, but Lina Lapis is here to play, and the game is seduction. Just you wait.
Saying that made me feel like I’m gay, even though I’m in a girl’s body! Haaa… I need to get used to that, sadly.
The first few weeks were a revelation compared to my previous existence. Gentle hands cooed and swayed me, angels in disguise compared to the harshness I'd known. Maria, my new mother, spoke to me in a constant stream, even though my vocabulary was limited to "Dada" and "Mama." Perhaps it was to drown out the terrifying symphony of the iron beasts that rattled past our windows, their metal shells glinting menacingly in the sun. Twice a week, Maria would bundle me up, and the outside world would assault my senses – the cacophony of the vehicles, the dizzying rush of wind. I clung to her tightly, a tiny explorer overwhelmed by the sights and sounds.
Of course, Maria couldn't be here all the time. Five days a week, she'd disappear, leaving a void of her warmth. What kind of society forces mothers to abandon their young, I wondered with a disgruntled gurgle (or maybe it was just gas).
Thankfully, my new father, Alphonse, picked up the slack. He only worked 2 days a week, but Maria assured me he toiled away at home the rest of the time. Still, he seemed to have more free time for stories and cuddles. Alphonse, unlike Maria, was a study in stoicism. His voice was a steady rumble, and his expression rarely wavered. Yet, when he held me, a warmth bloomed in his eyes. I'd reward his efforts with the biggest, drooliest grin I could muster, and sometimes, in a fit of excitement, I might even...well, let's just say he wasn't fazed by a little diaper malfunction.
His cooking, for a man, was nothing short of spectacular. Every evening, he'd conjure up the most amazing smells – savory stews that reminded me of...well, nothing I'd ever experienced before, but it was delicious nonetheless. And every day after feeding me, he’d smile and say, “You need to keep this a secret between us! We don’t want our lovely Maria to get mad at us, right?” Yup, compared to Maria, you are spoiling me rotten! As he swayed me on his lap, his deep voice would weave tales of his whirlwind romance with Maria and our new home, Alaranta. He clearly envisioned a refined young lady, and I, with a gurgle that could only be interpreted as enthusiastic agreement, vowed to fulfill his dreams.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
One day, a chorus of "Happy Birthday, Lily!" washed over me as I found myself the center of attention. A gaggle of well-dressed ladies cooed and a group of distinguished gentlemen chuckled, each taking a turn to hold me aloft. The sensation was a bit like being a prize potato at a county fair, but hey, the adoration was undeniable.
Apparently, a year on this planet warrants a fuss. Not that I minded the attention, of course. This whole extravaganza, my parents called it a "birthday party," celebrated the monumental occasion of 365 days of yours truly. Most of the guests fawned over my looks, predicting I'd be a heartbreaker in a few years. A few even dared to suggest I be "saved" for their sons. Oh goodie, future fiancés lined up already. Can't wait to break their hearts...metaphorically speaking, of course. At least for now.
The best part? Presents! A mountain of them! Here's hoping this shower of affection becomes a yearly tradition. Witnessing the sheer love radiating from my parents definitely influenced the room. Maybe, just maybe, cuteness is a more effective weapon in this world after all... Sure, the path of the assassin is still an option, but don't get your hopes up just yet.
"Happy birthday, young lady!" Uncle Romeo, Alphonse's brother, boomed, his voice a warm rumble. "I hope you'll enjoy this simple gift from me."
Like Alphonse, Uncle Romeo exuded an aura of quiet coolness. But where my father was lean and elegant, Uncle Romeo was a mountain of a man, his muscles rippling beneath his
well-tailored suit. No offense, Dad, but testosterone-wise, your brother wins this round. Hands down.
He held out a delicate silver necklace. Three colorless spheres, each the size of a large pea, hung suspended from the chain. They weren't glass or crystal – the material seemed to shimmer, yet they also looked rather empty.
As Uncle Romeo gently placed the necklace around my neck, a collective gasp ripped through the room. Some guests gaped openly, hands flying to their mouths. Others, their smiles faltering, exchanged nervous glances. A prickle of unease ran down my spine, mirroring the sudden tension in the air. What was it about this seemingly simple gift that had caused such a stir?
The air crackled with unspoken tension as Maria's voice trailed off. Her gaze darted from me to the necklace, a flicker of something akin to pride igniting in her eyes. She then turned to Romeo, her jaw clenched, a silent question hanging in the air. I followed her gaze, finding him nodding solemnly, a soft smile playing on his lips.
My father, ever the stoic, ruffled my hair with a single, hesitant stroke. He didn't need to say a word; his action spoke volumes.
A woman, unable to contain her curiosity, pushed through the crowd. "Romeo," she pressed, her voice tight with barely concealed excitement, "you don't think...?" She trailed off, letting the question hang in the air.
Romeo inclined his head once more, his gaze fixed on me. "The Flow," he finally said, his voice low and measured. "I could sense it in her whenever I visited. I just needed confirmation."
A collective gasp ripped through the room, this time laced with awe. The onlookers exchanged wide-eyed glances, their faces a mixture of shock and reverence.
For me, Romeo's words were a balm. The necklace, a symbol of this newfound hope. Hope of reconnecting with that powerful sensation I once knew. In this world, magic might be scoffed at, but fantastical abilities still existed – the Flow being the very lifeblood of them. And here I was, a rare case, "gifted" with this potential. A warmth bloomed in my chest, a feeling of familiarity long dormant stirring awake. This news, unlike the party itself, was truly worth celebrating, I thank you for that Romeo.
My life took a subtle yet significant turn. While my parents' love remained constant, their focus shifted. They began a concerted effort to educate me about the Flow. Romeo, a fellow Flow user, became a frequent visitor, his visits punctuated by explanations of the Flow and curious glances at the necklace I wore.
The key distinction, I learned, lay between the Flow and magical energy. Magical energy permeated Aethel. It saturated the air, coursed through creatures, and even resided within us humans as an innate reserve. Through meditation, one could absorb this ambient energy, bolstering their magical reserves and fueling spells. Skilled practitioners could manipulate the surrounding magical energy by weaving their own into it, allowing for more potent spells, both restorative and destructive. Notably, most spells required the recitation of specific incantations, a practice that, while slightly cumbersome, held a certain undeniable charm.
Beyond magical energy, each individual possessed an affinity, a natural draw towards a particular element – water, nature, lightning, earth, and so on. The greater one's magical reserves, the stronger this affinity could become.
In my previous life, Ash Wyvern, I presented a curious rarity. You wouldn't have sensed a trace of magic emanating from me, leading you to believe I was powerless. This, however, was a deceptive facade. While it's true I possessed magical energy, it remained undetectable. The reason? My affinity – emptiness.
This singular and unclassified affinity, exceeding even the esteemed S-ranked affinities, rendered my magic invisible. It acted like a cloak, muffling my presence and shrouding my power. Yet, emptiness was far from a mere defensive ability. It granted me dominion over the very environment. I could manipulate gravity with a thought, control the air like an invisible hand, and unleash a repertoire of unexpected techniques. This power's true strength lay in its elusiveness. My adversaries were left utterly bewildered, unable to predict my actions.
The Flow operates on entirely different principles than magical energy. Unlike its omnipresent counterpart, the Flow resides within tangible objects and living beings blessed with it at birth. Users can only tap into their internal Flow reserves, but the real power lies in harnessing the Flow of external sources.
This connection hinges on a fascinating network within a Flow user's body called "Flow Circuits." These channels, akin to blood vessels, carry the Flow throughout their being. To utilize the Flow of an external object, living or nonliving, users must extend their Flow Circuits and establish a connection. Imagine reaching out with an invisible thread! Most beginners connect to the ground through their legs, but this limits mobility.
For those content with their internal reserves, the Flow offers a distinct disadvantage. Unlike magical energy, meditation can't replenish it. While artifacts can expedite the restoration process, time remains the ultimate healer. Additionally, Flow users aren't bound by a specific affinity, allowing them to adapt their fighting style. However, unlike magic users, they can't conjure objects from thin air and require physical contact or a Flow connection for manipulation. Shaping the earth, controlling water flow, or manipulating roots all necessitate touch.
One inconsistency I encountered concerns their statement: air doesn’t contain Flow. They claim anything without a physical form lacks Flow. Yet, fire, a mere chemical reaction, supposedly possesses it. Water has Flow, but what about vapor? These contradictions highlight the complexity of the Flow, but I'm determined to unravel its mysteries!