The earth crackled softly, its orange glow dancing across the worn wooden floor of the small Talsaran cottage. Kaelith sat cross-legged before it, the spellbook open in his lap, its leather cover warm from the fire's embrace.
The night was still, save for the faint rustle of wind against the shutters and the occasional snore from Veyra, who slept soundly on a straw mattress in the corner. Talren was gone—had been for nearly a week now—and the absence hung heavy in the air, a silent wound festering beneath the surface.
Kaelith's crimson eyes traced the glowing runes on the page before him: Fireball. Flame Cloak. Inferno.
The words pulsed faintly, as if alive, promising power he'd only begun to grasp. Seraphine had left him with this book, a parting gift before she'd departed for the capital, and he was determined to master it.
In his past life as Kazu, he'd been a failure—jobless, perverse, alone—but here, as Kaelith, he could be more. He would be more.
He raised a hand, fingers trembling slightly as he whispered the incantation. "Ignis spherus." A spark flickered at his fingertips, then sputtered out. He frowned, adjusting his posture. Too much hesitation. He tried again, voice steadier this time. "Ignis spherus!" A small orb of flame burst into existence, hovering above his palm. It wobbled, flared, then fizzled into a puff of smoke.
"Damn it," he muttered, rubbing his temples. The spellbook said it was simple—focus intent, channel energy, release. But his body, still that of a six-year-old despite his forty-two-year-old mind, resisted the flow. He glanced at Veyra, her chest rising and falling in peaceful rhythm. She didn't know how much he carried inside him, how the memories of another life weighed on his every decision. He wouldn't wake her for this. Not yet.
Outside, the twin moons of Aerithas cast their silver and violet light over Talsara, illuminating the thatched roofs and winding dirt paths. Kaelith stood, stretching his stiff legs, and stepped onto the porch.
The village slept, save for the distant bleat of a goat and the faint glow of a lantern in old man Torv's window.
He needed space to practice—somewhere he wouldn't accidentally set the house ablaze.
The clearing behind the cottage would do. He carried the spellbook under his arm, its weight a comforting anchor, and settled near a gnarled oak. The air was cool, tinged with the scent of pine and damp earth. He opened the book again, moonlight glinting off the runes. "Third time's the charm," he said to no one, raising his hand once more.
"Ignis spherus!" This time, the fireball erupted with purpose—a fist-sized sphere of roaring flame that shot forward and exploded against the oak's trunk.
Bark sizzled, and a few leaves curled into ash. Kaelith grinned, a rush of triumph warming his chest. It wasn't perfect, but it was progress.
He could feel the power stirring within him, a spark of something greater. If he could master this, he could protect them—Veyra, Talren, even the family they might still salvage.
But the thought of Talren brought a bitter taste to his mouth.
His father's absence wasn't just physical; it was a fracture splitting their lives apart.
And then there was Mira—the midwife who'd brought Kaelith into this world.
The whispers he'd overheard at the well yesterday echoed in his mind: "Mira's been looking round lately—Talren's doing, no doubt—she's with child." Pregnant. The word had hit him like a stone, heavy and cold.
Talren's betrayal wasn't just an affair; it was a child—a sibling Kaelith hadn't asked for, a wound Veyra didn't deserve.
He sat against the oak, the spellbook resting on his knees, and let his mind drift to Kazu's life. He'd been Thirty four when he died—overworked, alone, a string of regrets trailing behind him. He'd failed people then, too caught up in his own struggles to see theirs.
This time, he wouldn't let it happen. He had the wisdom of those years, trapped in this young body. He could fix this—if not for Talren, then for Veyra, who deserved better than a broken home.