--
It had been a few days since the dragon incident.
Or as my parents casually referred to it:
"Leon's first taste of dragon meat."
I still wasn't over it.
They acted like it was just another Tuesday. My father had decapitated a fire-breathing royal dragon, and my mother had shot it out of the sky with what could only be described as divine artillery. Afterward, they cooked it and spoon-fed the heart to their infant son—me—with loving smiles.
I wasn't even mad. The taste was still burned into my memory. Warm. Rich. Almost alive. I could swear I felt my mana resonate with it even days later.
According to my System—still stuck in "glitched soul remnant" mode—the dragon heart had reinforced the connection between my soul and body, strengthening my mana control slightly. No stat changes, of course. Still frozen. But now my mana flowed with more precision.
I could actually control my Ember spell now. Before, it was like trying to pour water into a thimble from a waterfall. Unstable, chaotic. Now? It flickered, focused, and stayed in form.
Small wins matter.
---
During the day, I trained. As much as a baby could.
Crawling in circles to build endurance. Casting Ember over and over to build precision. I even started practicing using my Mana Usage skill to shape my aura into harmless rings. It was exhausting—but rewarding.
Sometimes I used too much mana and passed out mid-crawl.
Mom would find me napping on the floor and scoop me up like I was a fallen kitten.
"You're training again, Leon?" she'd whisper, her voice warm with affection. "So hardworking… just like your father."
She'd carry me to bed, kiss my forehead, and hum softly until I drifted off.
---
At night, I'd meet the System again.
Her flickering presence—still stuck as a tiny white flame—was always there in that strange dreamspace. She wasn't stable, but she was… familiar now. Kind. Patient.
"Training with stable magic… helps reinforce my framework," she'd say.
"Glad to help. I'm not in a hurry to die again, so it's kind of mutual," I'd joke.
She'd often pause—like she was hesitating to say something more.
Sometimes I wondered if she remembered her original purpose, before being discarded.
She never said much about her creator, but I could tell she longed for connection. And in some strange way, we had that now.
---
One afternoon, after practicing mana control with Ember again, I managed to form a small, floating ring of fire around my fingertip. It hovered and spun lazily.
I was proud.
I raised it toward Mom as she entered the room.
She dropped the laundry basket.
"Leon?! What—how—?!"
I smiled and waved my hands as if to say:
Look! Progress!
She rushed over, scooping me up and inspecting every inch of my arms.
"It's not even chaotic this time," she muttered in awe. "Perfectly shaped. Controlled… like a Tier 2 mage…"
I tried to look smug. Instead, I drooled on her shoulder.
"You're amazing," she whispered, hugging me tightly. "Truly my son."
I didn't expect how good that would feel to hear.
---
That evening, after my father returned from the farm, we had dinner together. Simple roasted vegetables and meat, no dragon this time. Just peaceful silence… until Dad broke it.
"Leon's control is developing fast. Even faster than I expected."
Mom nodded. "He might surpass us one day."
I glanced at them.
They spoke so casually… like legends chatting about the weather. And yet, despite their immense power, they were always gentle with me. Never strict. Never demanding.
It made me curious.
After dinner, while Mom washed dishes and Dad leaned against the wall cleaning his sword, I managed to mumble something I hadn't tried yet.
"Pa… stor-y…"
He froze.
Then he knelt beside my crib, ruffling my hair with a surprised grin.
"You want to hear a story, Leon?"
I nodded once.
He looked over at Mom. She smiled and dried her hands, joining us on the floor.
"Alright," she said. "Let's tell him about the time we met the Demon Lord."
Wait—what?!
---
Apparently, ten years ago, my parents weren't farmers. They were part of a legendary adventuring party called The Six Stars of Elaria. Each of them possessed a different elemental affinity and wielded powers that rivaled ancient dragons.
My father, Allan, was known as The Blazing Hero, wielder of Infernal Flame.
My mother, Faylen, was The Holy Saint of Light, a High Elf capable of divine-class healing and purification.
Together with four others, they defeated the last Demon Lord after a five-day siege across a ruined continent.
"I broke his barrier with Holy Nova," Mom said, smiling gently. "And your father melted his head."
"Wasn't even that hard," Dad added, flexing his arm casually.
I sat there, stunned.
They melted a Demon Lord's head.
And now they were retired.
Raising vegetables.
Raising… me.
---
That night, I lay in my crib unable to sleep.
So much had happened in the past month. I'd learned to crawl. I'd trained mana control. I'd survived a dragon attack. Eaten its heart. Discovered my parents were walking myths.
And through it all…
I realized something important.
I'm not the protagonist of someone else's story anymore.
This is my life now.
My story.
And it's going to be one hell of an adventure.
---