The days that followed blended as Jarkan immersed himself in his new existence.
He had to come to terms with the fact that he was now in a parallel world, and it was a lot similar to his world, yet distinct in its own way.
The country house was like one would find in England. It belonged to Jarkan's mother, one who looked exactly like Old World's mother. But she was a lot different to what he knew about her. She lives in the city, apart from her husband, running a boutique.
A boutique, really. Jarkan smiled. His other mother was more of a housewife, stayed at home and wasn't even aware of what was happening in the outside world. That was how his father treated her.
And one more thing he found fascinating was that his father had three wives, and his mother was the third one. All three of them combined, gave him a dozen children.
Way to go, old man.
Jarkan decided to live this life, his second chance and for that he needed to quickly adapt.
Each morning began before dawn, with Jarkan rising from Jarkanian's ornately carved bed to begin a rigorous training regimen he'd developed during his corporate days on Earth. Push-ups, squats, lunges, and core exercises—movements that had kept him sharp for boardroom battles now served to attune him to his new physical form.
He needed to get back in shape, quickly at that.
Mariel and her husband, Torin, watched with barely concealed confusion as their young master performed exercises in the courtyard, sweat gleaming on his skin despite the morning chill. Physical training was uncommon among wizards, who typically relied on their arcane powers rather than bodily strength.
"Young master," Torin ventured on the third morning, "is this... necessary? If you are injured, we can request a healing aide."
Jarkan completed his final set of burpees before answering. "No, I am fine. I don't need any aide or anything."
The routine helped clear his mind, creating space for the torrent of memories and knowledge still settling into place.
After physical training came breakfast—enormous portions that left the kitchen staff wide-eyed. Jarkan devoured everything placed before him: unfamiliar grains with honey and cream, meats spiced with herbs unknown on Earth, fruits with properties that tingled through his body long after consumption. His metabolism seemed accelerated in this world, perhaps due to the magical energies constantly flowing through him.
One thing Jarkan liked was that he could get a wide variety of meat here, especially wild boars. He liked this world very much, considering the quality of food.
"He eats like he's been starved," he overheard a kitchen maid whisper to Mariel. "Did something happen to him in the last few days when we haven't seen him?"
Mariel just shushed the maid, but she had her own doubts about his eccentric behaviour.
The afternoons were devoted to study. Jarkan sequestered himself in Jarkanian's library—a circular room lined with texts whose spines glowed faintly in the dim light. Many were written in languages he shouldn't have understood, but somehow did, another gift from the soul merging. He pored over tomes of elemental theory and the power to wield them.
Most importantly, he studied the nature of his own abilities.
Unlike most people in Aldrakaryn, who typically manifested affinity for a single element, Jarkanian had been blessed—or cursed—with multiple elemental connections. Wind responded to his call with playful gusts or focused blades of air. Water bent to his will, shifting from gentle ripples to pressurised jets capable of slicing stone. Most unusually, he commanded black lightning—a rare form of electrical magic tinged with shadow energies, capable of disrupting others and causing pain beyond ordinary lightning strikes.
This multielemental status had marked Jarkanian as unusual from childhood, earning him both academic interest and social ostracism. In a society where magical specialisation was the norm, his versatility was viewed with suspicion—a fact Jarkan found grimly amusing, given how adaptability had been his greatest strength in the corporate world.
Each evening, after the household settled into quiet routines, Jarkan slipped away to practice in the forest that bordered the estate. Away from prying eyes, he could experiment without concern for appearances. His early attempts were clumsy—a flick of his wrist sent a gust of wind careening wildly into the trees instead of the targeted breeze he'd intended; an attempt to draw water from a stream resulted in a sudden geyser that soaked him completely.
But day by day, hour by hour, his control improved.
It was all there, in his mind; he just needed to grasp it and make it his again.
Jarkanian's muscle memory remained in the body, and when Jarkan stopped overthinking, when he allowed his hands to move as they "remembered" and let his body do the work.
Black lightning proved the most difficult to master. Unlike the other elements, which responded to clear intention and focused will, the shadow-laced electricity seemed to feed on emotion, specifically rage, which Jarkan had in abundance when he thought of his brother's betrayal. The first time he successfully manifested it, the jagged obsidian bolts had erupted from his fingertips with such violence that they'd scorched a pattern of branching burns twenty feet up a nearby oak.
He'd stared at his hands afterwards, both terrified and exhilarated by the raw power they commanded.
Unbeknownst to Jarkan, his solitary practice sessions had not gone unobserved. Figures cloaked in magic that bent light around them watched from the shadows, noting his unusual training methods and the erratic but rapidly improving command of his abilities. They departed silently after each observation, leaving no trace of their presence save for the faintest disturbance in the magical field—a ripple Jarkan was not yet sensitive enough to detect.
A week into his new life, Mariel approached him at breakfast with a sealed letter bearing the crimson wax seal of the House Drenaeus.
"From Mistress Millicent," she explained, placing it beside his plate. "She inquires after your recovery and reminds you that the final term begins in ten days."
It was his mother.
Jarkan broke the seal, scanning the elegant script within.