The boy who entered our house that rainy evening didn't knock. He just opened the door like he lived there. He looked my age in my past life maybe fourteen with smooth golden hair that shone like it had swallowed the sun. His robe shimmered faintly, and a glowing staff hovered lazily beside him as if even gravity respected him.
"Ryhord Bratiers?" he asked, voice cheerful, tone way too casual for someone clearly full of magic and mystery.
I nodded. My mouth wouldn't open. My brain was still trying to decide if I was more impressed by the floating staff or the boy's confidence.
He smiled like he already knew everything. "Nice. I'm Kort. Magic Academy sent me. Starting today, I'm your magic tutor."
I blinked. "What?"
That's when my parents entered. My father's eyes locked onto Kort like a hawk spotting a threat. My mother? She looked worried but polite. Father didn't move, but his hand lingered near the hilt of the sword always hanging by his side.
"To what do we owe the surprise visit?" Father asked calmly, but there was that edge in his voice—the kind that made grown men shut up and walk away.
Kort bowed dramatically, with a slight grin. "Sir Fotiru Bratiers, former Mageblade of Thunderfall—don't worry, I've read all the fancy titles. I'm here on behalf of the Grandis Arcanum. The Academy's running low on high-rank instructors, and well, you made the shortlist."
My father didn't flinch. "And if I say no?"
Kort shrugged. "Then we leave you alone. But this isn't just about duty. It's about your son." He glanced at me, and suddenly I felt like a frog on a dissecting table.
"Ryhord's been on our radar for a while. High willpower readings. Odd mana behavior. You live in an old marked zone—one of the areas the Academy warded a long time ago. We've seen enough to know he's special."
Great. So I'd been glowing like a magic lightbulb for years, and no one told me.
Father sighed and motioned to the chairs. "Let's talk."
They sat. I listened, pretending to be busy with a cup of warm milk.
That night, I learned the truth.
My father hadn't always been the calm farmer or sword tutor I knew. Once, he stood at the frontlines of great wars, wielding both magic and sword like a storm in human form. People called him one of the top ten strongest humans alive.
But that wasn't all.
His parents my grandparents had been killed by monsters when he was a boy. Burned village. No survivors. Only him, buried in rubble, survived. Since then, he trained like a madman, eventually joining the Royal Order.
But when politics ruined the war effort, and monsters kept slipping through because of greedy nobles, he walked away from it all. Changed his name. Started over. Hid his strength.
And now, the world was trying to pull him back in.
I was still processing that when Kort suddenly stood and walked over to me.
"You up for a quick lesson?" he asked.
I nodded, still half in shock.
He placed a silver coin on the ground and flicked it. The coin floated mid-air, spinning gently.
"Let's start simple. Mana is everywhere—inside you, around you, in the soup you probably had for dinner. But casting a spell isn't just about mana. You need willpower and focus."
The coin suddenly stopped spinning and hovered still.
"Willpower's the engine. Focus is the steering wheel. The guy with more guts can cast more spells. It's not always about brains. Though, you'll want those too."
I couldn't help it—I grinned.
He smirked back. "See? Magic's fun when you don't explode."
He pulled out a small book and handed it to me. "Until you're ten, stick to the basics. We'll know your element then. Could be fire, wind, lightning... or maybe something rare like shadow or soul. Who knows? No pressure."
Sure. No pressure at all.
From that day on, things changed.
Kort came back once a month to teach. He wasn't the strict type. He taught through stories, games, and more than one prank involving enchanted chalk. Once he turned the family's pet Strts into a flying pillow by accident. Or so he claimed.
In between his visits, I studied everything I could. Magic theory, history, monster classifications, sword forms from Father. I even started writing my own magical notes—half of which I couldn't understand a week later.
This world was so much bigger than I imagined. There were flying cities, cursed ruins, elemental gates, and monsters that could speak, think, and plot. I learned the names of ancient clans, heard whispers about divine blessings, and even found an old scroll that mentioned something called the "Forged One."
I didn't know what it meant, but it made my chest ache in a strange way.
Training wasn't easy. Some days I burned out my mana and fainted. Other days my sword slipped, and I bruised everything that could be bruised. But every time I failed, I got back up.
This time, I wasn't just living to survive.
I was living to grow.
Then came my tenth birthday.
The village was lit with lanterns and music. My mother decorated our house with blue and white flowers—my favorite colors. My father stood proudly at my side, nodding to every guest like a silent guardian. Even Kort showed up, dressed too fancy for someone who once forgot how doors work.
He brought a cake. It floated beside him the whole evening. No one asked how.
There was music, games, even a puppet show about a clumsy fire mage who accidentally cooked a dragon egg.
For once, everything felt perfect.
Until the hawk came.
It descended from the clouds like a shadow, sharp and silent. Everyone stopped. The bird landed with a screech on the front porch, dropped a scroll sealed in violet wax, and flew off into the night.
Kort caught the scroll.
The smile left his face.
He walked over and handed it to my father without a word. My father read it. His eyes narrowed.
"What is it?" I asked.
He handed me the scroll.
It read:
To the House of Bratiers,
By command of His Majesty, Ryhord Bratiers is summoned to the Grandis Arcanum for official Talent Assessment.
You are required to arrive at the Tower of Resonance within seven days.
Signed, High Chancellor Veolynn.
I stared at the words. The letters didn't move, but my heart did.
This was real.
No more study for the sake of it. No more pretending.
The Academy was calling.
I looked up. The stars were out, scattered across the sky like old friends I had never met.
Kort stood beside me. He didn't say anything for a while.
Then he grinned. "Hope you're ready. From now on, things get weird."
Weird? He hadn't seen my past life.
I folded the scroll, slowly.
This time, no regrets.
I was going to the capital.
Not just to find my talent.
But to forge who I was meant to become.