I collapsed into the garbage-littered alley, my head throbbing. Distant voices could be heard coming from the street, but I was too exhausted to flee. It had only been three days since I was thrown out of the orphanage, yet word had already spread about me—a scrawny orphan with ether overflow, scavenging the streets. Curling up, I shivered on the cold stone, the empty pit in my stomach consuming my thoughts.

“Anything… get up…” I murmured, my voice barely audible.

I tried to stand but fell backwards onto a pile of filth.

“Did you hear the King’s new decree?” A voice approached from the nearly deserted street.

“The one about the kids with ether overflow?” A second voice responded. “I don’t get it. Sure, they cause accidents all the time, but what’s the point of starting a witch hunt? The overflow kills them anyway.”

A rat rustled through the trash nearby, foraging for food. My stomach growled, bringing with it a wave of pain that drowned out my thoughts. The rat drew closer, indifferent to me—just another unwanted piece of trash.

“Turns out it’s contagious,” The first voice continued. “With enough exposure you’ll get infected, meaning any kids you have are almost guaranteed to be born with overflow. Even ones who shouldn’t have a core end up growing a weird, malformed one. The King’s trying to prevent it from spreading.”

Their words barely registered. A hollow groan escaped me and driven solely by hunger, I moved.

I didn’t notice the pair crossing the alley, nor their faces contorting in horror as they looked down at my hunched form. A foul, grungy, nauseating flavour assaulted me as a warm stream of liquid ran down my hands and chin. Nothing else mattered—not their surprised yells, the rat’s dying squeals, or the sound of my teeth tearing into its body. None of it compared to the sickening taste overwhelming me as I fought the rising bile and forced myself to swallow.

The taste lingered as the dream dissolved. Reality unfolded around me, and I felt my stomach churn. Heaving, I rolled over in bed, vomit rushing up my throat and spilling onto the floor. 

My body convulsed until there was nothing left to expel. The acidic tang clung to my tongue as I lay there, weak and trembling. Footsteps approached from outside my room. I weakly raised my head to see Freya throw open the door and rush to my side, Elian close behind her.

“Kane, what happened? Are you alright? I could hear you from the dining room.” Freya knelt in front of me, careful to avoid the pool of vomit, and began examining my pale face. “Are you sick? You’re covered in sweat.”

Elian lingered nearby, his worry written plainly on his face, before dashing off. “I’ll get you some water.”

“Bad dream,” I muttered, wiping the spittle from my mouth with the back of my hand. Freya nodded, stroking my hair gently. I didn’t have the energy to pull away. 

A brief silence stretched between us before she spoke again. “I’ll send Elian to fetch a healer when he comes back.”

I shook my head. “I’m fine. It was just a bad dream.”

She didn’t look convinced, but stepped back reluctantly as Elian rushed in with a cup of water, spilling some in his haste. I accepted the cup and sipped from it slowly, the cool liquid washing away any remaining bile and easing the dryness of my throat. After seeing I was feeling better, Freya left the room to get cleaning supplies.

It had been three years since my reincarnation, and I’d learned a great deal about my situation. Mainly, that I had been reborn in another world.

The differences between this world and my old one were impossible to ignore. My light, chestnut-brown hair—unimaginable in my previous life—was ordinary here. Back in my old world, everyone had either black or very dark brown hair, but since being reborn I'd seen a variety of people with weird hair colours, such as blue, silver, red, or weirdest of all, yellow. This diversity also extended to people’s eyes and skin tones, creating appearances that seemed pulled straight out of ancient myths. Additionally, humans weren’t the only intelligent species here—elves, dwarves, dryads, and countless others were all considered ‘people’.

The most profound change, however, was mana—this world's version of ether. My position in this family kept me from studying it in depth, but I’d managed to observe it in action a few times. When I had more freedom, I planned to investigate it properly.

Since my reincarnation, I’d been plagued by dreams of my old life, as though my memories were being forcefully dredged up. I suspected the headaches and nausea were side effects of my mind adjusting to my new body, along with my jumbled memories which were still slowly untangling. Unfortunately, I hadn’t found any clues on my reincarnation.

For three years, I had played the role of Kane Tarmal diligently, living my new life the way every normal child was expected to. There were moments when I couldn’t fully commit to the act, such as my refusal to drink milk as a baby unless it came from a bottle—a decision that likely defied every principle of child-rearing.

They weren’t easily influenced, but over time I had managed to reshape Ronan and Freya’s approach to child-rearing until it was somewhat bearable. I made sure to hit developmental milestones at what I assumed to be an acceptable pace: crawling at six months, standing at seven, walking at eight, and speaking my first word by nine months. With every milestone Ronan and Freya would call me a genius and shower me with their ecstatic praises. They weren’t serious of course, just doting on what they thought was their child. I may have already been acting incorrectly, but I had no way to know how to behave my age, and could only continue guessing.

After the vomit was cleaned up, I sat down for breakfast with my family. Freya’s anxiety was only transferred to Ronan when she told him about my earlier ordeal.

“Bad dream,” I repeated again, staring at my bowl distractedly.

“But what kind of dream makes you throw up?” he pressed.

“Eating a rat,” I replied flatly. Everyone at the table, except my older sister Chione, stared at me. Snapping out of my stupor I realised what I had said. These moments—when I slipped up and said things a child my age wouldn’t—happened more often than I would like. Because of this, I’d learned to keep my talking to a minimum until I was older.

“Not yummy,” I added, grumbling in a childlike manner. Ronan laughed, his shoulders relaxing.

“Yeah, I bet,” he said before finally moving on to another topic. “That aside, we’ve got a busy day ahead. I’ll be cleaning the house. Elian, could you go shopping with Chione later?”

Freya scowled at him. “Ronan! The children can’t go shopping by themselves.”

“It’s fine. Elian’s been with us plenty of times; he knows what to do. Besides, you need to rest,” Ronan said, his gaze dropping to her swollen belly. Despite his clear concern, Freya didn’t relent.

“No, you’re going with them,” she insisted. “I’ll stay back and clean. Imagine if my Dad found out we let them go alone—he’d never let us live it down.” Even when pregnant, Freya refused to take it easy if there was work to do.

Ronan could only close his mouth and stare dejectedly at his bowl of porridge.

Freya’s scowl softened into a small smile. “I can manage. You take the children shopping, and if there’s anything I can’t handle, I’ll wait until you’re back.”

His expression brightened at the compromise and breakfast resumed as normal. Later that day, my grandparents were supposed to arrive from the capital to look after Elian, Chione, and I. This was so our parents could travel to the capital, where they would stay until Freya gave birth. It was an unusual arrangement, as though they were reluctant to bring us along—even though leaving us behind only complicated things. Due to more immediate concerns, I had decided not to dwell on it. 

Beyond my immediate family, I’d only met a handful of people, all from our town, Damerel. Although my grandparents had been briefly present after my birth, spending most of their time helping around the house, I’d slept through most of their stay and therefore didn’t know much about them.

From what I’d heard, Freya’s father, Julius Ellis, was fond of telling stories to his grandchildren and either reproaching or lecturing Ronan. He likely had many stories that could teach me about the world. During their last visit, I’d caught only fragments of his stories as I drifted in and out of consciousness, leaving me with countless questions—questions a three-year-old wouldn’t ask and that my current environment couldn’t answer.

After breakfast, we got ready and Ronan, Elian, Chione and I headed to the market, leaving Freya at home.

“We should get this done quickly so we can hurry back and help Mum,” Elian said, taking both my and Chione’s hands as soon as we stepped outside.

“Don’t let go. We don’t want to be separated,” he added firmly.

I glanced back at Ronan, who was busy scanning the shopping list he’d written beforehand. Once he’d committed it to memory, he stuffed the paper into his pocket. 

“We should head to the bakery first since it's closest,” Ronan suggested before addressing Elian.  “Hopefully there’ll still be time for training when we’re done.”

Nodding, Elian led us past the adventurer’s guild, the church of Aeonys, and further into town towards the bustling market. Our first stop was my parents' bakery. They’d hired workers to keep the shop running after I was born, showing up every other day to check on things while leaving the day-to-day to the staff. I didn’t know much about their work lives, but neither of them struck me as bakers. Two powerful mages with military training didn’t exactly fit the image of cosy shop owners. Ronan often spent his free time practising magic and swordsmanship and had recently started teaching Elian the basics. He always claimed Freya was the better mage, though I’d yet to see any proof.

Ronan pushed the door open, and the soft chime of a bell announced our arrival. As we stepped inside, the warm scent of freshly baked bread enveloped me. A man carrying a paper bag full of bread brushed past us, the bell jingling again as he exited. Behind the counter, the woman who had served him beamed at us.

“Ah! Mr. Tarmal, how are you? Taking the kids shopping, I see.”

“I’m good, Marcie. How are things?” Ronan replied, moving swiftly around the store as he began filling a paper bag with an assortment of breads. When he’d finished, he approached the counter and handed her six silver coins, the two exchanging casual small talk as he paid.

“Why is he paying? Doesn’t he own this place?” I whispered to Elian, instantly regretting how un-childlike the question sounded.

Elian, seemingly unperturbed by the abnormality, answered without much thought. “The workers are paid a cut of every sale.”

While that told me nothing, I decided to move on to avoid arousing suspicion.

After a few minutes, Ronan said his goodbyes and we left the bakery to continue our shopping. We moved through the market, purchasing food ingredients and household items we’d run low on. My small body was already straining from the short walk, but I pushed on, relishing the overdue exercise.

When Elian needed to carry some of the bags, he hesitated for a moment, deciding who to let go of before linking my hand with Chione’s. I watched her frown as Elian took my other hand, placing me in the middle of our chain. Now holding a paper bag, he led us through the crowd behind Ronan.

The market was bustling with activity. We weaved between people—mostly humans, though there were a few beastfolk and even one startlingly blonde elf—as we made our way deeper into the throng.

The further we went; the tighter Elian’s grip became as he pulled me forward. Determined to finish the shopping quickly, his firm hold and hurried pace started to grate on me. Chione, always more reserved, had been silently enduring when holding Elian’s hand, but after our rearrangement seemed to reach a breaking point. With a sudden jerk, she yanked herself free and stopped dead in the middle of the street.

I looked back, catching a rare scowl replace her usually apathetic expression before Elian suddenly veered right. Having been too focused on Chione, I didn’t notice the small elderly woman in front of me until it was too late, and I collided with her. The impact knocked us both to the ground, her paper bag spilling onto the street and scattering its contents.

A few passersby cast sidelong glances at us but didn’t stop to help.

Cursing, I pushed myself up and marched over to Chione, who stood frozen in place. “What the hell-” I began, but Elian’s voice cut me off.

“Are you alright? Here, let me help.”

Turning, I saw the elderly woman on her knees, scrambling to gather the spilled produce. My brother knelt beside her, his hands darting around gathering the fallen items as he apologised over and over.

“Does he know her?” I asked Chione.

“Yes,” she replied curtly. “He knows everyone.”

Elian helped the woman to her feet, insisting the incident was entirely his fault. He even bowed as he apologised. When she assured him it was alright, he lifted his head, and I noticed tears streaming down his face.

It didn’t take long for Ronan to find us again, having lost track of the group in the chaos. He sincerely apologised to the woman and offered to carry her bags. I couldn’t read Chione’s expression, but it seemed mixed.

Sniffling, Elian came over, set down the bags he was holding and wrapped Chione in a hug. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have dragged you around like that. I know how much you hate it.”

Chione froze, her arms locked stiffly at her sides. Her unnatural grey eyes darted to me, silently pleading for help. After a short pause Elian pulled away. “Sorry, I just did it again didn’t I?”

A faint flush coloured Chione’s pale cheeks as she glanced away. “No, um… uh...” She trailed off, uncertain of what to say.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to. Ronan rejoined us with the old lady, announcing that we should call it a day and walk her home.