The aftermath of the raid left an indelible mark on the village of Valda-Ashdock. The older children who had stepped up to replace the fallen guards were now fixtures at the training grounds, their shouts and grunts filling the air as they learned the skills they would need to protect us. I watched them whenever I could, studying their movements and trying to imagine myself in their place.
It wasn’t just the guards who had to adapt. Everyone in the village seemed to walk a little faster, speak a little softer, as if acknowledging the fragility of our existence. The cost of survival hung heavy in the air.
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A few weeks after the raid, Father called me and my older brother Halrik to the training grounds. Halrik had been asking to join the older boys for weeks, eager to prove himself, and Father finally relented—at least partially.
“Today, you’ll start learning what it means to fight,” Father said, his voice firm but kind. He handed us each a wooden training sword, its weight surprising in my small hands.
“Why do we need to learn now?” I asked, though the answer was obvious.
“Because one day, you’ll have to defend more than just yourself,” Father replied. “I won’t always be here to protect you. You need to be ready for what’s coming.”
His words hit harder than the sword I was holding.
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Father started with the basics: how to hold the sword properly, how to position our feet, how to swing without losing balance. Halrik was enthusiastic, his strikes wild and unfocused. I, on the other hand, struggled to find the rhythm, my small frame and weak stats making every swing feel like a monumental effort.
My profile hadn’t changed much since the last time I’d checked:
Wolfhart Valda-Ashdock
Adolescent Human Male 9
* Level: 0
* Strength: 2
* Dexterity: 2
* Endurance: 2
* Intelligence: 1
* Wisdom: 1
* Skills: (Soulless), (Redacted)
Despite the slight increase in my physical attributes, I still felt worlds apart from the older children who were already training with real weapons.
“You’ll get there,” Father said when he noticed my frustration. “Strength takes time to build, but determination can carry you far.”
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After the session, Father gathered us around the firepit in the clearing. He seemed contemplative, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the lake met the sky.
“When I was your age,” he began, “I didn’t have the luxury of training like this. My father was a fisherman, and he expected me to take up the trade. But when the raiders came, I realized the village needed more than just fishermen. So, I joined the guard, then the army.”
Halrik and I listened intently, the crackle of the fire punctuating his words.
“I started as a simple recruit, just like Eran and the other boys are now. It wasn’t easy, but I worked hard, and eventually, I found my path as a ranger. When I discovered my affinity for fire magic, I knew I’d found my place.”
“Do we have to become guards too?” Halrik asked hesitantly.
Father shook his head. “No only you Halrik. As a second son your brother must leave the village to ensure the population does not increase the raid difficulty.” My father gazed at me with somber eyes
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The next day, Mother pulled me aside while Father and Halrik were out. She’d been quieter than usual lately, her movements slower, her gaze distant.
“Wolfhart,” she said, kneeling to meet my eyes, “you’ve always been... different. Quiet, thoughtful, but there’s something else about you. Something that makes me think you’ll do great things one day.”
Her words surprised me. I’d spent so much time trying to fit into this world, to hide the parts of myself that didn’t belong, that I hadn’t considered what she might see in me.
“Do you think I can?” I asked, my voice small.
She smiled, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “I know you can. But greatness comes with responsibility, and it’s not always an easy path.”
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Later that week, Father told me and Halrik that I’d be leaving the village soon.
“It’s time you started your education properly,” he said over dinner. “There’s only so much I can teach you here. The academy in the capital will give you the tools you need to find your paths.”
The academy. I’d overheard villagers talking about it before—a place where children from across the Ash Kingdom were sent to learn, train, and prepare for adulthood. For most, it was a rite of passage, but for second children like me, it was a necessity.
“As a second son, you don’t inherit anything from me,that includes the right to live here.” Father explained. “If you want to make a life for yourselves, you’ll need to earn your place in the world. The academy will help you do that.”
“What happens after the academy?” Halrik asked.
Father’s expression darkened slightly. “After the academy, you’ll be old enough to make your own choices. Whether you join the guard, the army, or take another path, that’ll be up to you.”
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The announcement sent a ripple through my small world. Leaving Valda-Ashdock meant leaving the only home I’d ever known in this life, the safety of my parents in this new world, and the routine I’d built for myself. I could live pampered here like on earth if the rules were different. But it also meant opportunity—a chance to see more of this strange, expansive world and discover what I was truly capable of in this 9 year old form. In my past life as Jonathan, earth had pampered me and the systems of reality there didnt mesh with my soul. Here I could literally level as I did in video games in the past. I didn't want to waste this shot too. While I wasn't leaving for the next six months I would be arriving on my tenth birthday.
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The last six months of my ninth year were a whirlwind of preparation, curiosity, and quiet reflection. The announcement that I’d be leaving for the academy had created a peculiar shift in my life. On one hand, the village saw me as the young boy embarking on a rite of passage, no different from the other second children sent away to secure their futures. On the other hand, I knew—deep down—that I was anything but ordinary.
What set me apart wasn’t my training or my lineage but the echoes of my first life: the knowledge of Earth, the sciences, and the mysteries of the universe that had followed me here, tucked away in Hexa’s vast data archives.
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“Hexa,” I thought one crisp evening, gazing up at the intricate web of worlds above, “none of this makes sense. The Nexus shouldn’t exist. It’s impossible.”
“The existence of the Nexus contradicts the gravitational principles of Earth’s universe,” Hexa replied. “However, this is not Earth. The laws governing this reality may differ significantly.”
I frowned, tracing the interwoven strands of the Nexus with my eyes. Each world seemed to hover effortlessly in the void, their positions stable despite the lack of visible support.
“What about gravity?” I asked. “Isn’t that universal? Why don’t these planets collide, or why don’t they fall apart with all those structures connecting them?”
“Gravitational anomalies are present,” Hexa confirmed. “Based on observations, the Nexus appears to utilize an unknown force or material that stabilizes its structure. The spiderweb-like connections between worlds may distribute energy or provide structural integrity.”
It was fascinating and maddening at the same time. Every night, I’d lay awake thinking about the Nexus, my mind cycling through equations and theories. Hexa’s training data had granted me access to a trove of Earth’s scientific knowledge, and I poured over it relentlessly, scribbling crude notes on scraps of paper.
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One afternoon, as I sat near the lake with a makeshift notebook in hand, Ava plopped down beside me with her usual whirlwind energy.
“What are you working on now?” she asked, leaning over my shoulder.
“Gravity,” I replied without looking up.
She squinted at the jumble of diagrams and equations. “Is that... math?”
“Sort of. I’m trying to figure out how the Nexus works—why the planets don’t crash into each other.”
Ava laughed, a light, carefree sound that somehow didn’t feel mocking. “You’re so weird, Wolfhart. Who cares why it works? It just does.”
I sighed, setting my notes aside. “Don’t you ever wonder how it’s possible? The whole world is connected to other worlds by those strands. There’s no way it should hold together, but it does.”
She shrugged, plucking a blade of grass and twirling it between her fingers. “I guess I just think it’s magic. Isn’t that enough?”
For most people, it probably was. The Nexus was a miracle, a divine creation if you believed the villagers’ stories. But for me, the answer wasn’t so simple.
“It’s not magic,” I muttered. “There’s a reason for everything. Even magic has rules. We just don’t know them yet.”
Ava tilted her head, studying me with an intensity that made me squirm. “You really think differently, don’t you?”
I nodded. “I can’t help it.”
“Well, I like it,” she said, grinning. “Even if no one else understands what you’re talking about half the time, I think it’s interesting.”
Her words were a rare comfort. While most of the other children in the village found me strange—distant and preoccupied—Ava seemed to embrace it. She didn’t always understand my ramblings about physics or the Nexus, but she never dismissed them either.
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As the days counted down to my departure, my fascination with the Nexus only grew. I spent hours watching the strands shift and shimmer, sketching diagrams and theorizing about their purpose.
“What if the strands are made of a material that bends gravity?” I mused to Hexa one evening. “Something that stabilizes the planets by distributing their gravitational pull evenly?”
“An intriguing hypothesis,” Hexa replied. “However, without further data, it remains speculative.”
Speculation was all I had, but it was enough to keep my mind racing.
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Despite my preoccupation with the Nexus, the reality of leaving the village loomed large. Ava, who would be following me to the academy the year after, seemed torn between excitement and apprehension.
“You’ll tell me all about it, right?” she asked one evening as we sat by the lake.
“Of course,” I said. “I’ll send letters. Or maybe I’ll find a way to visit during breaks.”
She kicked at the water, sending ripples across the surface. “Do you think it’ll be scary?”
“Probably,” I admitted. “But I think it’ll be worth it. The academy’s supposed to teach us everything we need to survive—how to use mana, how to fight, even how to understand the world better.”
She nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Do you think they’ll let me study the Nexus too?”
“Why not?” I said, smiling. “If they don’t, I’ll teach you.”
She grinned, her usual energy returning. “Deal. But only if you promise to explain all this weird math stuff to me when I get there.”
“Deal.”
The other children in Valda-Ashdock weren’t as understanding as Ava. For them, I was more of an oddity than a peer—a boy who spent his time scribbling strange symbols on scraps of paper and staring at the sky instead of doing what they thought a "real boy" should be doing.
“You’re never going to be a proper guard if you keep playing with sticks and dirt,” one of the older boys, Bren, sneered one afternoon. He was the eldest son of a farmer and had recently started training with the village guard. His muscular frame and brash attitude made him a natural leader among the children.
“I’m not trying to be a guard,” I replied, keeping my voice calm despite the heat rising in my chest.
“Then what are you trying to be? A useless scholar like those bookworms in the city?” he shot back, prompting laughter from the small group of boys gathered around him.
“I’m trying to understand the Nexus,” I said, glancing up at the interwoven strands visible in the sky.
That only made them laugh harder.
“Understand the Nexus?” Bren mocked, clutching his sides as if the idea was absurd. “It’s a bunch of glowing strings! What’s there to understand?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but the words caught in my throat. How could I explain concepts like gravity and structural stability to people who thought the Nexus was a divine creation beyond questioning?
“Leave him alone, Bren,” Ava’s voice cut through the laughter as she marched over. She stood in front of me, hands on her hips, glaring up at the older boy. “At least he’s got a brain, unlike you.”
Bren scowled but didn’t push back. He wasn’t about to risk losing face by arguing with a girl. “Whatever. Just don’t cry when the real world smacks you in the face, Wolfhart. Not everyone’s gonna care about your stupid scribbles.”
With that, he and his group walked off, leaving me and Ava alone.
“You okay?” she asked, turning to me.
“Yeah,” I muttered, brushing dirt off my tunic.
“Don’t listen to them,” she said firmly. “They’re just jealous because you think about more than swinging swords and looking tough.”
I smiled weakly, grateful for her support but still stinging from the encounter. The truth was, Bren wasn’t entirely wrong. Most people in the village saw strength and combat skills as the ultimate measure of worth. My curiosity about the Nexus—and the science I remembered from Earth—didn’t fit into their worldview.
“Maybe he’s right,” I said quietly. “Maybe I should spend more time training.”
“Don’t you dare,” Ava said, crossing her arms. “The world has enough muscleheads. What it needs is someone who can think. Someone like you.”
Her words stayed with me long after we parted ways. As much as I tried to brush off the teasing, it was hard not to feel like an outsider.