Chapter 4 – Echoes of a Year - Part 1: The weight of growing up.

Time flew by.

Like they say: children grow at an absurdly fast pace. For Lian, that stopped being a cliché and became empirical data. Almost a year had passed since he fell into that world.

Each day was a new challenge. Not only because he needed to adapt to the physical limitations of his new condition, but because he was trying to understand, at the same time, magic, language, and culture.

It was like playing an RPG on extreme mode: baby body, non-existent HUD, and the world out there running without waiting for anyone.

In the beginning, the voices around him were just noise. Now, they already had shape. Cut words, incomplete meanings, but enough for him to fish out the basics.

Everything fit together slowly, like pieces of a puzzle left on the floor and assembled by fireplace light.

In life on Earth he had never learned another language besides his native one, so the challenge was doubled. No manual, no teacher, no subtitles. Just context, trial and error… and a brain squeezed into a little body that could barely hold its own head up.

Still, the body grew. And with it, the chance to make himself heard.

The first time he decided to really speak wasn't in a spontaneous burst of cuteness. It was by choice. Planning.

He could already form loose sounds, babble syllables that made Lyra laugh and Lilia smile on the corner of her mouth. But the first full word, in a clear voice, he saved.

Saved it for Lia.

It was late afternoon, the house in a halfway state between mess and exhaustion. The fireplace burned low, spreading a lazy warmth through the room. Lia held him sitting in her lap, one hand supporting his back, the other fixing her hair tied in a crooked bun.

– Today you're way too quiet, my little one… – she murmured, touching the tip of his nose with her finger. – What could be going on inside that little head, huh, young man?

He stared at her. Dark eyes, faint eye bags, a tired but whole smile. His mouth opened by reflex, like so many other times.

But this time, the sound came out whole.

– Ma… ma…

It came out raspy, a bit tangled, but unmistakable.

For a second, the world went silent.

The spoon Lilia was holding stopped in midair, halfway to her mouth. Caliste, who was organizing some ropes and the quiver to go hunting with his father, let everything slip from his hands without noticing.

Lia's eyes filled with water so fast that even he got startled.

– What…? – she whispered, as if she'd heard wrong. – Say it again…

He took a deep breath. His tongue felt thick, his mouth too small, but he pushed through:

– Ma… mom…

This time, it came out firmer. Almost pretty.

Lia laughed and cried at the same time. She pressed him to her chest, her whole body shaking with a relief that had nothing to do with language.

– My boy… – she whispered, her voice breaking. – My boy…

Tomy appeared in the kitchen doorway with a piece of bread in his hand, confused:

– What is it? Did someth—

– He spoke, Tomy! – Lia turned her face, still holding Lian tight. – He spoke! He called me "mom"!

Tomy blinked a few times, like he was trying to keep up with the sentence. Then a crooked smile pulled at his tired mouth.

– Yeah… feels like yesterday he was born – he said, coming closer and running a hand over the boy's head, messing up the thin strands of hair. – Growing fast, big guy.

Lyra sprinted from the other side of the house, tripping over everything on the way.

– I missed it?! I missed it?! – she nearly slipped on the floor, bracing her hands on the table. – What did he say? What?!

– "Mom" – Lilia answered with a half smile, finally bringing her spoon to her mouth.

Lyra puffed her cheeks, playfully offended.

– Couldn't even be "Lyra," what an ungrateful little brat! – she grumbled, coming closer to pinch his cheek. – I play with you every day!

"Play, my ass. You torture me, you little gremlin."

He tried to make a serious face, but all that came out was a muffled grunt, because she was squeezing like someone kneading bread.

"Bah, I need to do this to start socializing if I want to learn to speak and write in this world."

He rested his forehead on Lia's shoulder and let himself sink into that mix of smoke, cheap soap, and warm skin.

His body had changed a lot that year.

The floppy newborn who could barely roll over now crawled with an irritating agility, dodging hands that tried to grab him to change diapers.

If they let him, he'd cross the room, disappear under the table, and reappear behind Tomy's chair, tugging at his pant leg like it was a dungeon conquest.

And it wasn't only motor skills. His face was no longer that shapeless "cake" of a newborn. His eyes had become clearer and deeper, like Lia's: dark, attentive, with that shine of someone who thinks too much even when tired.

His hair, on the other hand, took after Tomy with no mercy: lighter, slightly wavy, stubborn even when wet. His appearance was very different from his old life as Lian, more "acceptable."

"Well… my looks aren't that bad…"

And the family… well, the family became a living routine.

Lyra was the epicenter of chaos. If Lia needed to go out, if Lilia had pots on the fire, if Caliste and Tomy were in the forest, Lyra was the one who stayed with him. In practice, that meant two things: fierce protection and sweet torture.

She dragged him around the house on "expeditions," sat him inside baskets like they were carriages, taught off-key songs, invented names for the wooden toys, and shoved "hidden" crumbs into his mouth whenever she thought the adults weren't looking.

– Shhh, this is ours – she'd whisper, finger pressed to her lips like a luxury smuggler. – If Lilia sees it, she'll go ballistic.

"If there's one thing this girl understands, it's being clever."

With Lilia, the relationship was different. She didn't play as much, but she carried him with a calm that made you want to sleep.

She was the quiet "second mother": fixing his blanket, wiping his mouth with her thumb, giving affection like someone who has little time for affection.

Caliste was a skittish animal. He didn't hit Lian, didn't mistreat him, but treated him like someone who didn't want to get attached to something too fragile.

Sometimes he'd stare at Lian from afar, half suspicious, half curious… and when Lian smiled, he'd turn his face away as if it burned.

Tomy was like strong wind: he'd show up tired, laugh little, but when he did laugh, the house felt bigger for a few seconds.

"They're not my blood family. But the feeling of being surrounded by people who want you whole… that's something I hadn't had in a long time."

♦

His first steps were a huge conquest and a collective event.

Lia stood him up, hands holding firmly under his arms. Lyra and Caliste stayed ready in front of him, like a padded human barrier.

Lilia watched from the wall, arms crossed, but with a playful glint in her eyes.

There, Lian took the chance to mentally organize the map of the house.

Caliste, a few years younger, was the prickliest one, always stuck between irritated and resentful.

Lilia, just below him, seemed like a copy of their mother, always taking care of the house and everyone else.

Lyra, the youngest before him, was pure noise and bottled energy, running and playing all day until she dropped.

"And I ended up right in the middle of this messy family…"

– Ready, Chris? – Lia asked, like he had a choice. – One… two… three…

She loosened her support, slowly.

His legs trembled like fresh saplings. The floor felt too far away. His body too heavy.

One step.

Another half step.

A near fall, saved by Lyra's arm yanking him forward.

– I caught him! – she announced proudly, like the goal was saving the disaster, not preventing it.

– Lyra… – Lia sighed, smiling. – Let him try again.

On the fourth attempt, Lian crossed on his own to the bench where Lilia was sitting. She caught him in a quick, steady motion, hands firm on his ribs.

– Very good, little one – she murmured, neutral tone, but her eye corner softened. – You already walk better than Caliste did at your age.

– Hey! – Caliste protested from behind. – I was amazing!

– You crashed into everything, Caliste – Lilia shot back, laughing. – Once you crossed the room and went straight into the wall.

– The wall was in the way! – he snapped, indignant, making everyone laugh.

Lian listened to that like background music. Every step cost focus, balance, weight calculation. Still, every reaction, every smile he pulled out, was a reminder that he was there, present, existing again in a world that, even poor, received him with warmth.

He didn't waste time either.

Between naps and meals, he kept practicing magic, now bolder and more controlled.

The pathetic breeze of air he'd scraped together months earlier had become warm-up. His main focus was water.

He'd already managed to form, for a few seconds, a sphere the size of an orange. Pretty, but clumsy, vibrating and spraying droplets like it was about to explode at any moment.

Now he chased something else: stability.

Lying in the crib or sitting on the floor with a crude wooden toy as cover, he closed his eyes and visualized the mana core as a warm sphere, pulsing in the center of his chest.

He pulled one thread. Then another. Guided it to his palm, where he'd learned to "anchor" the flow.

He imagined water as liquid dust spread through the air, the walls, the cloth, his own skin. He gathered it there, into an invisible ball.

Sometimes he used a half-full cup someone had left nearby: he made the water rise in an arc, like it was being pulled by a transparent string. Then he let it accumulate over his hand, forming the sphere.

The new trick was keeping it still.

The bubble shimmered above his tiny fingers, the size of a plum. It didn't tremble as much as before.

"Hold… hold…"

It vibrated, threatening to fall apart. So he rebalanced the flow, reducing the amount and increasing compression. The sphere shrank a little, but stopped shaking.

Now, every now and then, he managed to keep it whole for ten, twelve seconds. With luck, fifteen.

Then he let the water drop back into the cup, making a confused baby face if anyone looked.

"Progress. Smaller volume, greater control. Better an obedient drop than a suicidal current."

With air, he alternated between small pushes and discreet currents. A thin strand of wind to nudge a piece of straw in the right direction.

A steady current to swing only the crib's cloth, without stirring the fireplace flame. Working on the fine details paid off more than trying to become a hurricane.

It was little, but it was concrete.

By that point, he had rudimentary but real control over air and water.

His mana reflux technique had improved, and the storage capacity of his small core grew with daily meditations hidden between one nap and another.

But there was one cruel downside: training made his body ask for more food.

And food wasn't abundant in that house.

He began to limit practice time on bad days, not out of weakness, but guilt.

"If I spend too much and wake up hungry, Lia will cut from her own plate to fill me. I'm not going to become another dead weight here."

And even so, he didn't dare show anything.

"If I start casting spells in front of everyone, it might not end well."