Sometimes, I do stupid things just to see if something interesting happens.

Like pretending I’m asleep, just to watch what Tarmellon does when he thinks I’m out cold. Most of the time, he just sits and reads that damn thin book — and sadly, this baby body keeps me from finding out what’s so fascinating about it.

Every now and then, I hear him whisper, “How did you even do this?” as he flips through the pages. Must be a hell of a book.

Or not. Maybe it’s not even important. But there’s something weird about the way he holds it. Like it’s more than just a book. Like he’s... talking to someone through those pages.

Is he reading forbidden magic? Or just reminiscing? I don’t know. But there’s tension in his voice. A tiny tremble. As if the words still have power over him.

Even so, it’s hard to make sense of anything when I’m stuck in such a... fragile body.

But I feel — I know — there’s more to that book than he lets on. If I could, I’d crawl over there and rip the mystery out of his hands.

As time passed and I started moving better, “training” stopped being just staying out of the sun. Now I chase chickens — or try to, since I can barely walk. It’s only been a few months in this miserable body.

“No, no, Hatrellon Pon Areas! That’s not how you do it!” He almost sounds upset at my technique. “You have to stand. Stand!” He points to his own feet, as if that would solve everything.

While I was staring at his feet, I saw — between his shins — a figure approaching.

I didn’t react, but the air grew heavier. And when I looked at Tarmellon again, his face had gone cold.

Then he turned around.

“Well, well. You had the guts to show up, Marthyri…”

“Hello, Sir Tarmellon,” said the other, with a voice that was young, but already tired.

He carried a staff, wore a purple cloak with a black hood — which he pulled down as soon as he was noticed.

He was a thin boy, maybe fifteen. Shiny silver hair. Pale skin, like someone who hadn’t seen the sun in weeks. And his eyes… held back. Guilty.

“What are you doing here?”

“You don’t remember? I told you, like three months ago, I’d come by for the verification.”

Three months? That’s about when I was born.

“Verification?” Tarmellon let out a bitter laugh. Or disappointed. Or both. “Maybe that’s the only thing you’re still good at, wonder boy.”

It was the first time I’d seen him so... annoyed.

But it didn’t last long.

He sighed, stepped closer, and gave the boy a pat on the shoulder before turning to me.

“Son, this is Marthyri. But you can call him Marty. He’s a…” — he paused, picking his words — “family friend.”

A friend of a family that only has two people?

Wouldn’t it make more sense to say he’s his friend?

Or maybe… he wasn’t.

After that sketchy introduction, Marty stepped closer — and looked down at me with bored brown eyes.

“So this is the baby?”

No. I’m an ancient golem disguised as a baby disguised as a baby.

“Yes. His name is Hatrellon. Be careful to not misread him. He tends to be a bit... judgmental.”

“What? He talks to you?”

“Kind of. But he speaks more with his eyes than most adults out there.”

Marty focused on mine.

“They’re the same eyes as hers…”

Tarmellon didn’t reply. He didn’t even look upset — just thoughtful.

I guess “she” must be my mother. Whoever that is.

“Anyway…” — Marty cleared his throat — “What a terrible name.”

Yes! Finally, someone gets it!

“Alright then, we’ll just run a quick test, okay?” He tried to sound nice, but his boredom made it worse. “Just a little magic.”

Oh, magic. How original. Never seen that before…

He pointed the staff at me.

Would it kill them to at least put me on a pillow before the experiment?

“Vascuun.”

A light started glowing around me.

It was mana.

I’d used mana in past lives, but I was never exactly talented. Just enough not to die. But this feeling now… was different.

This body overflowed with mana.

“Hm…” Marty closed his eyes. “He has a considerable amount of mana. Definitely mage material.”

“What? A mage?” Tarmellon protested. “Don’t joke like that! Magic is for little girls! My son’s going to be a legendary swordsman!”

I’ve said it already — I don’t want to be either. I just want to sell sheep.

“Anyway… the formation point is intact.” Marty turned around. “Got anything to eat? I’m starving.”

“Hold on… is this normal?” Tarmellon pointed at me.

Marty’s eyes went wide.

I was still lying there, but now glowing with a strong yellow aura. And I couldn’t stop. My insides were trembling.

“He’s… absorbing mana from the environment,” Marty said quickly.

“What? Isn’t that intermediate-level magic?”

“It is. But he’s not casting — it’s pure instability!”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s like he can’t handle the mana. Even without casting anything, he should be sensing the natural flow. If this continues, he’ll overload his mana disk.”

“What!? Then do something!”

“Relax. It’s easy to fix.”

He stepped toward me, raised the staff and…

Bonked me. Gently. Just enough to make me dizzy.

“There. Done.”

Fantastic. Another lunatic for my collection.

“Are you trying to kill my son?!”

Don’t act like he’s that different from you.

“Well… I guess from now on, we’ll need to start him on magical prep. Just in case this happens again.”

Oh, no!

Magical prep? That sounds suspiciously like effort. Don’t threaten me like that!