The soft glow of moonlight filtered through the ornate glass windows of Melch’s bedroom, casting delicate patterns onto the stone floor. The faint hum of beoksfly something similar to cicadas outside the estate was a quiet reminder of the stillness of the night. Wrapped in layers of silk and velvet on the grand four-poster bed. John lay staring at the ceiling his thoughts spiraling. It had been a long day and though his body craved rest, his mind refused to relent.

He was no longer John, not entirely. Nor was he Melch. The memories of two lives intertwined within him, blurring the lines between past and present. He needed to think—no, to strategize. His future, precarious and uncertain, depended on it.

In his previous life, John had been a team leader in a high-pressure corporate world. He was good at his job, but being good often came at a cost. He’d been betrayed more times than he cared to admit—by coworkers who smiled to his face while plotting his downfall behind his back, by supervisors who promised promotions only to undercut him, and even by subordinates who turned on him when it was convenient. Those experiences had shaped him, hardening his perspective on trust and loyalty.

This world might be different, but humans—or, in this case, nobles—nature remained the same. He couldn’t afford to rely on others without understanding their motives. Trust was a currency he wasn’t willing to spend freely.

Melch’s body, fragile and plagued by Valkora was a curse in itself. John felt the tightness in his chest, the dull ache in his limbs, and the lingering sense of fragility that made every movement deliberate. His breath, though steady now, often felt like it could falter at the slightest exertion. It was terrifying. But far more terrifying was the realization that he had no time to waste.

He had pieced together fragments of Melch’s life and goals. The immediate and most crucial objective was Theoder Academy. It wasn’t just a prestigious institution—it was a lifeline, a beacon of hope in a sea of despair. Melch had known this and planned for it, albeit with limited options.

The academy offered different paths: mage, warrior, historian, or healer. John sifted through the possibilities, one by one, his mind analyzing every aspect. A mage? Unlikely. Melch’s memories confirmed what John already feared—this body couldn’t sense mana. Melch had always suspected it, especially after hearing about his sister Maia exhibit magical potential at the age of four. John clenched his fists under the covers. If mana was tied to the soul, as Melch’s knowledge suggested, then maybe, just maybe, John could tap into it. But the thought was a gamble at best.

The warrior path was even more improbable. Melch’s body was far too weak for physical combat. The boy could barely climb a set of stairs that in itself could be considered an achivement, let alone wield a sword or endure rigorous training. John dismissed the idea entirely.

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That left history and medicine. Melch had chosen history, and for good reason. His understanding of Ancient Forsic and Modern Forsic—the two key languages of the kingdom—gave him a significant edge. He could delve into forgotten texts, uncover ancient relics, and perhaps even find a way to cure himself.

But the notion of relics made John pause. In his previous life, he’d learned that valuable resources—be it a promotion, a project, or, in this case, a relic—were never simply given. They were fought over, coveted, and often stolen. Healing relics, in particular, were rare and priceless. Owning one would paint a target on his back, drawing the attention of nobles, criminals, and even sometimes kingdoms.

No, securing a relic wouldn’t be enough. He needed to ensure that no one else could take it from him. That meant secrecy, strategy, and, above all, caution. He couldn’t rely on blind trust—not with the stakes this high.

His thoughts turned to Melch’s siblings. They were potential allies, but John couldn’t ignore the risks. Maia, the second-born, was a prodigy at the Legerth Academy of Magic. She was an elite student, her letters to the family brimming with tales of her achievements and the academy’s grandeur. She had access to resources beyond John’s imagination. But there was a problem—Legerth’s focus was destruction magic, artifacts of war and power. Healing relics were far from their priority, and John doubted she would risk her own standing to help her sickly brother.

Devon, the eldest sibling, seemed like a more realistic option. As the heir to the Vasti household, Devon was being groomed under the tutelage of their maternal grandfather, Thomas Nicolescu. The man was a knight commander of the Order of the Verdant Shield, an influential order within the Church of Beginnings. Melch’s treatments already came from Thomas’s contributions. If anyone could secure rare medicines or relics, it was him.

But relying on Devon or Thomas wasn’t without complications. The Church was a powerful institution, its influence woven into every aspect of the kingdom. Any aid from them would come with strings attached. John shuddered at the thought of becoming indebted to an organization as vast and controlling as the Church of Beginnings. In his old life, he’d seen how dependency on a single entity could be exploited. He wouldn’t let himself become a pawn.

John exhaled deeply, his breath misting in the cool night air. If he pursued a relic, he would need discretion, allies, and a plan. But allies required careful vetting. Melch’s memories suggested loyalty from Leif, but John knew better than to take that for granted. Even Leif, with his cheerful demeanor, might betray him if the right opportunity presented itself.

John’s scientific background in his previous life pushed him to analyze the situation critically. If mana was tied to the soul, as Melch’s fragmented knowledge suggested, then there was a chance—however slim—that John could tap into it. If he could awaken even the faintest spark of magic within himself, it could change everything.

But even that came with risks. Magic was not just a tool; it was a symbol of power. And power, in any form, drew attention.

John sighed, his gaze drifting to the window. The twin moons hung low in the sky, their pale light illuminating the rolling fields beyond the estate. Somewhere out there, answers awaited him. He just had to survive long enough to find them.

Melch’s memories offered glimpses of hope. Theoder Academy, with its libraries and scholars could hold the key. But to get there, John had to navigate the challenges ahead. Securing a recommendation was crucial, and he would need to carefully play his role as the youngest son of the Vasti household. Any hint of strangeness in his behavior could raise suspicions.

“I need to survive” he whispered to himself, the words barely audible in the stillness of the room. “But survival isn’t enough. I need control.”

The night deepened, the estate bathed in the silvery glow of moonlight. As sleep finally claimed him, one thought remained etched in his mind:

He would not be a victim of circumstances. Not this time.