Chapter 2 – A Baby's Diary - Part 2: First Breeze

On the second day, the house woke early.

Lia sat on the edge of the bed, took a deep breath, and ran both hands over her face in a slow gesture, as if pushing the exhaustion under her skin. If life were fair, she should have been wrecked. Even so, she stood up with steady movements, tied her hair into a quick knot, and went to the crib.

— Let's go, my little one — she murmured, smiling faintly as she slid him into the cloth. She adjusted the fabric over her shoulders, crossed it behind her back, tied it at the waist, and tucked him against her chest, firm and warm.

She held him close, one arm under his body, the other adjusting his weight as if she were carrying something too fragile to swing carelessly. The wind she had summoned still brushed softly over his skin, supporting a bit of his weight, but it wasn't anything spectacular.

"What a letdown…" he thought, feeling the steady rhythm of her heart beating between his shoulder blades. "I thought it'd make me float through the air like some magic-trick dummy…"

With each step, her body rose and fell in an almost hypnotic sway, rocking his in a lazy back-and-forth. Sleep came in waves, dragging his eyelids down, but he forced his eyes to stay open, stubborn, as if dozing off meant missing important information.

The kitchen she walked into looked ripped from an old book. A dark stone hearth, choked with soot, with a cast-iron pot resting on top, crackling with leftover heat. Crooked clay shelves, their edges cracked, holding chipped bowls and glasses that matched nothing. Bundles of dried herbs hung near the window, exhaling a mixed smell of leaves, smoke, and old damp. The wooden table in the center bore knife scars, stew stains, and years of use carved into every corner.

"Very medieval…" he thought, tracking a ray of light slicing in through a gap in the window, cutting the air and making the dust dance like slow little stars. "No wires, no bulbs, no screen glow. If magic has to exist somewhere, it's in a place like this."

He adjusted his neck inside the makeshift sling, trying to steal a few extra degrees of vision.

A girl standing on a stool was kneading dough with enthusiasm and almost no technique. Flour in her hair, on her apron, on the floor. Every time she punched the dough, a little white halo puffed into the air.

When she saw Lia at the door, she startled so hard she almost sent the bowl tumbling to the floor with everything in it.

— I… I just wanted to help! — she whimpered, opening her flour-covered hands, her eyes wide with honest panic, as if she'd burned the kitchen down instead of just trashing it.

Lia frowned and pointed her chin toward the mess.

— Lyra, I already told you not to mess with the stove alone — she said in that short scolding tone of someone who's repeated the same thing ten times in a month.

Lyra's gaze dropped instantly, her chin tightening, her fingers twisting into the apron. Her whole body said "sorry" before the word did.

Lia took a deep breath, the hard expression melting like ice in the sun. A tired sigh slipped out with the air. Her hand rose and mussed the girl's hair with automatic affection.

— Come here. Help, but by my side — she finished, her voice softer. — That way you don't set the house on fire.

Lyra let out a weak laugh, relieved, sliding off the stool to stand almost glued to her mother.

"Bia would've loved you as a mom, Miss Lia," Christian thought, feeling his chest tighten in that old, familiar way. The image of his sister from the other life came back whole and shattered at the same time. He shoved the memory back down, like someone closing a drawer with their knee.

"Better not think about that now."

He forced his attention back to the hearth.

Lia stepped up to the stone stove. She stretched out her hand, fingers relaxed. Her lips moved naturally, accompanied by an almost imperceptible pattern traced by her fingers in the air.

— Ignis.

The air above the firewood wavered slightly, like heat over asphalt. Then a spark appeared out of nowhere, clung to the dry wood, and gobbled at it eagerly. The flame grew, bright orange, and the warm light licked the walls.

The fresh smell of smoke filled the kitchen.

A shiver ran across Christian's skin. Not from fear or cold. It was a subtle change in air pressure, as if someone had pushed energy one way and stolen it from another.

"So that's how it is…" he thought, focusing on Lia's hand. "She doesn't create fire from nothing. She pulls that energy, throws it into a point in the air, and forces it to become heat and flame. Word, gesture, focus… it's just an organized way of telling the world: 'do this.'"

His mind slipped into the old language of physics.

"Energy in, energy out. Nothing comes for free. She must be draining something from inside herself, shoving it into the air as heat — like yanking a wire from a battery and pressing it straight to the wood."

Lyra clapped, hopping on her stool.

— Mom! You're amazing!

Lia blinked with that mix of pride and exhaustion only mothers have, and picked up a basket of vegetables. Slightly wilted tomatoes, strange purple roots, blotchy leaves. She chopped everything with practiced precision and tossed it into the copper cauldron hanging over the flame.

She held her hand out over the rim of the cauldron.

— Aqua.

The air seemed to dip a fraction. Drops appeared from nowhere, fattened into a crystalline stream, and spilled into the metal.

"Fire, water, spoken words… this is a system, not a miracle," he thought. "Word, focus, flow. If I figure out the logic behind this, I can use it too…"

The smell of stew spread.

The man showed up first — broad shoulders, patchy beard, hair sticking out in every direction.

— Smells good, Lia — he muttered, kissing her temple before dropping onto the bench.

— Sit and wait, Tomy — she answered, stirring the broth without stopping.

Soon after came the teenager — messy bun, sleeves rolled up, a look far too serious. Behind her came a boy yawning loudly, stumbling over his own feet, poking his sister just because that was what he did best.

Chairs scraped, complaints about hunger flew, quick laughs bounced around.

"So these are my siblings," Christian thought, watching the scene assemble itself: the responsible one, the functional idiot, the overcharged kid, the half-broken father, the mother holding everything up with both hands.

Tomy grabbed an empty jug, relaxed.

— Aqua.

The water appeared again, obedient, filling the jug to the brim.

"Everyone here conjures like they're turning on a faucet," he thought. "If I fall behind in this game, I become dead weight. And dead weight in a world like this probably doesn't last long."

His tiny hand curled into a fist over the cloth.

During the meal, conversations bounced back and forth, a kind of organized chaos:

— Caliste, less bread — said Lia, without even needing to look.— Lilia, help with the cleaning after.— Lyra, sit up straight — cut Tomy, holding the girl's chair.— Okay, dad! — Lyra grumbled, then winked at Christian.

"Noisy family, small house, hot food…" he thought, a strangely peaceful feeling nudging his chest. "They're completely different from my family on Earth… I wonder if this planet's name is Earth too. Or something really generic like 'Gaia.'"

Lia brought a spoon to his mouth.

— Come on, open up.

Christian made a quick face at the strong, rustic taste. He swallowed anyway.

"So awful… bleh," he thought. "But the worst part is it really does taste like the baby mush I used to feed Bia when she was little."

After breakfast, the day broke into chores and small spells, as if magic were just another kitchen tool.

His father left with the boy. Before they went, he spoke low and serious:

— We'll be back before sunset.

Lia answered firmly:

— Be careful in the valley.

Lilia rolled up her sleeves, opened windows, shook out cloths, stacked chairs. She stopped in the center, inhaled, and lifted her hand.

— Vortices.

The air obeyed. A gentle whirlwind scooped up straw, dust, peels, crumbs, and swept everything out the door. It passed over Christian and messed up what little hair he had.

"Holy hell, wind too," he thought. "So I've already seen fire, water, wind… there's probably earth and more. Literally a catalog of elements."

Lyra tried to imitate her sister. Eyebrows mashed together with effort, lips moving without sound.

"Her gestures look like Lilia's… but she seems to be in full 'mash every button and hope a combo comes out' mode," he analyzed. "Maybe it's not lack of will. Maybe it's lack of understanding?"

Nothing happened besides a frustrated sigh from the girl.

Lia went on using magic throughout the day as a shortcut. Lifting baskets, pulling water, drying clothes. No spectacle. Just routine.

He logged everything in his mind: word, finger, time between command and effect, the way the air shifted.

"I don't understand your language," he thought. "But I understand the mechanics. If there's hidden logic here, I'll drag it out even if it kills me."

Later, Lia took him outside to "get some air."

The low sun spread a tired orange light. Uneven fields, lonely trees, a crooked fence marking the yard. A skinny dog slept near the chicken coop. The wind brought the smell of earth, chickens, smoke, and distant firewood.

"So this is the new world," he thought. "Rural, simple, patched together… half beautiful, half sad. Easy to get attached… and easy to lose everything too."

Lyra ran by with a stick in her hand.

— Mom! I almost hit a bird!

Lia raised an eyebrow.

— Lyra, you're not supposed to hit any birds. Go help Lilia with the chickens.

Christian watched the chickens that were bigger than they should be, with thick beaks and a metallic sheen to their feathers.

"If one of those scratches my face, I'm turning into stew."

The dog cracked one yellow eye open at him.

"A dog is still a dog… but this one has way too many teeth for my taste."

A bird perched on the fence. It looked normal until it flicked its tail, split into two tips.

"They took animals from Earth and tweaked the details. Bigger here, weirder there… just enough to remind me of home and rub in that this is not home."

Lyra ran back just to plant a quick kiss on his cheek.

"How bold and full of herself," he thought, trying to wipe his cheek clean and failing miserably.

♦

Night fell. The house dimmed in layers. Pots quieted, voices softened to murmurs, the hearth shrank to embers. Their room settled into half-shadow, half-silence.

Lia fell asleep fast, her heavy arm over him. Her smell formed a warm cocoon.

"Okay… think straight, Lian," he told himself. "This isn't some game or anime. If magic exists, it's energy. Energy has rules. This is a field, not a miracle."

"Field…" his mind slipped into college mode. "Electric field, magnetic field… or some weird blend. The core is the source, a concentrated charge. The body is the medium. 'Will' is a boundary condition."

He almost laughed.

"My professors would lose it if they saw me trying to bend magic with physics. But whatever. Energy goes from A to B. It doesn't appear out of nowhere."

He closed his eyes and dove inward.

At first, he only found his heart, beating way too fast. Flesh, blood, body. He pushed deeper, looking for a different frequency.

Slowly, he felt it.

Density. A compact warmth, like a coal buried under ash.

"There," he thought, his tiny hand lifting a bit. "A concentrated energy source. If that's not a core… I'm crazier than I thought."

But just finding the core didn't explain why he kept failing at night.

Then the memory hit again: Yana. Not the words. Not the gesture. The feeling.

He remembered the healing crossing his chest like a living caress. It wasn't a dump of energy. It was a flow spinning inside him, going and coming back in a specific loop. Chest, belly, back, chest. Steady rhythm, clear direction.

"She didn't just throw magic into me any old way…" he realized. "She made it spin first. Organized it inside… and only then did the world obey."

He inhaled slowly, as if pulling the air straight into the coal. He imagined the energy loosening into thin strands, not exploding. Strands.

He made those strands lap around inside him, copying the circuit he'd felt with Yana: chest, belly, back, chest.

A simple loop, repeated, until the warmth stabilized.

The coal responded. The compact density thrummed, like it had recognized the path.

"Good. Now I need to imagine a channel between that core and the energy out in the world."

He imagined a thread leaving the core and running down his arm, no forcing, like a current finding its riverbed. He let the energy seep into his tiny hand and swirl there in the same rhythm as his chest.

"If I siphon off a tiny sip and shove it into the air… maybe I'll create a pressure difference. Where there's more energy, the air moves. Where there's less, it pulls. Simple. Physics in a different outfit."

At first, nothing.

He repeated the internal circuit once more. Chest, belly, back, chest. Then he released just a bit more into his palm.

And then… a pathetic little puff. Weak enough that anyone else would blame a draft.

But it had come from him. From inside out.

Some stray hairs on his forehead shifted.

His eyes opened in the dark.

"It… worked," he thought, pride flaring clean and sharp.

A tiny laugh escaped:

— Heh…

He froze and turned his face toward Lia. She kept breathing heavily, unmoving.

"So that was it," his mind raced. "Yana accidentally showed me the map of how this works…"

He swallowed the rush of excitement.

"Slow. If I get greedy, I'll blow a channel and die of a magic aneurysm. Great scientific paper, terrible ending."

Even so, a stubborn smile stuck to his face.

The core pulled back, saying "enough." Fatigue came in like a tide. His eyelids grew heavy.

Before he finally blacked out, one last thought cut through, rough and firm:

"I was way too weak in my last life. This time I'm climbing. Even if it's the last thing I do."

He slept.

Outside, the night stayed ordinary. A dog barked at some shadow, wind rustled leaves, a branch snapped somewhere far off.

Inside, the house seemed the same.

But there, in a wooden room, a baby who couldn't yet say "mama" had just torn from the world the first concrete proof that he wasn't going to be another victim in the script.

And the air still held the almost imperceptible trace of a breeze that hadn't come from anywhere… except from him.