Remanescence of Shadows

Now that I'm five years old and able to be more independent, you might be wondering what I've been doing all this time. The answer? Books. From the moment I learned to walk steadily and utter simple phrases, the library of the Lachius mansion became my sanctuary.

It's a vast, quiet place, filled with towering shelves of leather-bound tomes that seem to stretch endlessly upward. The scent of old parchment lingers in the air, mixing with the faint whiff of polished wood from the ornate furniture. Light pours in through the enormous stained-glass windows, painting the room in hues of gold and green as the morning sun filters through the vibrant designs. The tranquil beauty of the library always leaves me in awe, a sharp contrast to the fast-paced, information-overloaded world I left behind.

I'll admit, I miss the internet. Back in my old life, everything—anything—was just a click away. Now, if I want to learn something as basic as the name of a nearby town, I have to sift through hundreds of pages of handwritten text. It's frustrating, to say the least.

At this moment, I'm seated on a high-backed chair with a thick book open in my lap. The golden morning light illuminates the words on the page, and my gaze darts over the handwritten script of Mysteries of the World for Children. Not the most creative title, but it's one of the few books I can actually understand.

This particular book was written by none other than Gwyn Lachius, my paternal grandfather, who was apparently a renowned alchemist and researcher. It's designed to introduce young noble children to the basic concepts of the world they'll inherit. A literacy manual for this strange, mystical place.

The pages detail topics like alchemy, the elements, and the unique calendar system of this world. Unlike Earth, where the year is divided into twelve months, this world has six: Luminare, Floraven, Ignisar, Aquorine, Umbraile, and Frigora. Each month honors one of the six great gods said to govern the world.

Even the weeks are different here, consisting of six days: Lunaris, Solis, Terris, Ventis, Aquis, and Ignis. The names represent the divine tools of creation—moon, sun, earth, wind, water, and fire—used by the gods to shape existence itself. It's fascinating and overwhelming all at once, a constant reminder of just how far I am from the world I once knew.

In the first year after my reincarnation, I managed to pick up a few words of the local language. At first, the unfamiliar sounds felt like an impossible puzzle, their structure so alien compared to the languages I knew in my past life. It was a real tongue-twister to even imagine speaking fluently, but understanding the basics—greetings, commands, and names—gave me a lifeline. Now, four years later, at age five, I can read some of the simpler books and even carry a basic conversation. Progress, however slow, is still progress.

I'm deeply absorbed in the book when the quiet of the library is broken by the sound of firm footsteps. I glance up to see my father, Lucian Lachius, striding toward me. His sharp features are cast in the glow of the sunlight, giving him an almost ethereal aura. His expression, as usual, is unreadable—calm but intense, like a storm cloud on the horizon.

"Son," he says, his voice steady and commanding, "could you accompany me for a moment?"

I set the book aside and nod, following him out of the library. His presence is always a mix of intimidating and intriguing, and I can't help but feel a twinge of apprehension as we walk through the halls of the mansion.

The third floor is a place I've never been allowed to explore. When we stop in front of a heavy wooden door marked with golden initials—L.L.—my curiosity piques. This is his office, the most restricted area of the mansion. Without a word, Lucian opens the door and gestures for me to enter.

The room inside is surprisingly modest. A large desk sits in the center, piled with papers, and shelves line the walls, crammed with books and alchemical tools. Despite its simplicity, there's an undeniable air of authority in the space, as if it's an extension of Lucian himself.

"You know why I brought you here, don't you?" he asks, his piercing eyes locked onto mine.

I hesitate, then nod. "I think it's about magic… I read something about it in 'Mysteries of the World.'"

"Correct." A faint smile touches his lips, one that's almost… proud. "At the age of five, something remarkable happens in the body. We begin forming what we call Fluxicles, the cells that produce mana, the life force required to cast spells."

He pauses, watching me closely, and then continues. "The number of Fluxicles a person develops is decided at birth, but it's possible to stimulate their growth through training and practice. That's why I've brought you here."

His hand rests on my shoulder, and there's a rare warmth in his gaze as he says, "Most children your age can't even comprehend what magic is, but you… You're different, Castiel. You're clever, mature beyond your years. I'm confident you'll adapt quickly."

Before I can respond, he steps back and raises his hand. I watch in awe as a small sphere of light materializes in his palm, glowing softly and casting a faint shimmer across the room.

"H-How?" I stammer, my eyes wide with disbelief. "The book said magic requires enchantments. How are you doing that without speaking a word?"

Lucian chuckles and rolls up his sleeve, revealing an intricate ouroboros mark etched into the back of his hand.

"This," he says, "is the treasure of the Lachius family. The Mana Crest."

My breath catches as I stare at the symbol. "The Mana Crest?"

"It's a mark engraved with hundreds of spells mastered by our ancestors. With it, we can bypass enchantments and cast spells with pure focus alone. And today, Castiel, I'm going to transfer it to you."

The weight of his words sinks in, and a mix of excitement and dread floods my chest. A treasure of the Lachius family… transferred to me? It feels like a cheat code in a game, an overpowered skill I haven't earned. But the thought of wielding such power is intoxicating.

"How does the transfer work?" I ask, unable to hide my curiosity.

Lucian hesitates, his confidence faltering for the briefest moment. "The process is… complicated. Risky, even. It will take hours to complete, and it won't be painless. But the reward will be worth it."

His words send a shiver down my spine. I take a deep breath, steeling myself.

"I'm ready, Father," I say, meeting his gaze with determination.

Lucian nods approvingly and pulls a small, transparent vial from his pocket, handing it to me. "Drink this and lie down."

I do as he says, the liquid sliding down my throat with an oddly numbing effect. I lie down on the floor, at the center of an intricate magic circle etched into the wood.

"This is a sedative," Lucian explains, his voice already sounding distant as the darkness creeps in. "It will help you sleep while the ritual is performed."

My eyelids grow heavy, and soon, I'm pulled into the void of unconsciousness.

Once again, I'm plunged into endless darkness, and an unsettling sense of déjà vu creeps over me. This suffocating void—it's exactly like the limbo I found myself in before being reincarnated. A hollow nothingness, where time feels like it's grinding to a halt and every second stretches into eternity.

At first, I tell myself it's just the sedative working its way through my body, messing with my senses. But then, like flickering images on a distorted TV screen, fragments of my past life begin to force their way into my mind. Memories that I've worked so hard to push aside—so hard to forget—come rushing back, vivid and relentless.

I see myself, sitting alone in a dimly lit room cluttered with empty ramen cups, glowing monitors, and stacks of games I never got around to finishing. The hum of the computer was my only company, the cold blue light casting long shadows on walls that seemed to close in on me a little more each day. A life spent working dead-end jobs, earning just enough to scrape by while spending the rest of my time escaping into fantasy worlds, worlds where I wasn't bound by the crushing weight of my own mediocrity.

I remember my high school years the most, the way I used to walk home under a sky stained with the colors of sunset, a heavy bag slung over my shoulder and headphones drowning out the chatter of classmates who barely noticed I existed. There was this girl once, a classmate with a bright laugh and an infectious energy. She sat near me in class, and for a while, I thought maybe we could be friends or even something more.

But I never said a word to her. Never had the courage. By the time I decided to work up the nerve to speak, she'd moved on to a different group of friends. Just like that, the small flicker of warmth I'd felt was snuffed out, leaving only the cold, familiar loneliness.

And then there were the nights I'd lie awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if I'd ever get a chance to do something worthwhile. If I'd ever live a life that meant anything. The answer, it seemed, came in the form of old age, wrinkled hands, a frail body, and a quiet death in a hospital room where the only sound was the steady beep of machines. No family. No friends. Just a nurse who offered me a pitying glance before leaving me alone in the suffocating silence.

Now, here I am, in another world, in another body, with another chance. And yet, that past life clings to me like a parasite, refusing to let go. It whispers in the back of my mind, telling me that I'm just pretending. That I'm not really Castiel Lachius, the brilliant and promising young son of a noble family. I'm still that loser who wasted a lifetime, living in the shadow of what could have been.

As I drift deeper into this black void, those voices grow louder, suffocating me. My chest tightens, and for a fleeting moment, I wonder if reincarnation is some cruel cosmic joke, if I was given this second chance just to fail all over again.

Suddenly, a sharp, searing pain jolts me out of the darkness, tearing through my left hand and radiating throughout my body. It's like my veins are filled with molten fire, burning and twisting under my skin. My eyes snap open, vision blurred and unfocused, but all I can manage is a hoarse, agonized scream.

"ARGH! AHHHHH!"

My body writhes uncontrollably, muscles seizing as though the pain itself has taken over. The heat surges and pulses, relentless and unforgiving, and all I want is for it to stop—anything to make it stop.

"Lina! Quick! Increase the dose of the sedative!" I hear Lucian's voice cut through the haze, sharp and commanding.

It takes every ounce of willpower to turn my head slightly, my blurred vision struggling to make out the shapes around me. I feel strong arms holding me down, steady but firm. The scent of lavender and herbs wafts into my nose, faint but soothing, and I realize it's Lina. Her face comes into focus, her usually calm expression now filled with concern.

"Relax, young master… Everything is going well," she whispers, her voice gentle but firm, as if trying to convince me of something even she isn't sure of.

I feel the cool touch of glass pressed to my lips as Lina lifts my head slightly, forcing me to drink the sedative. The liquid is tasteless, but the numbing effect is almost immediate, dulling the edges of the fire raging in my body. Tears stream down my face, mixing with the sweat soaking my hair and clothes.

My eyelids grow heavy, the pain receding into a dull throb as the sedative works its magic. The last thing I see before slipping back into unconsciousness is Lina's face, her eyes filled with a mix of worry and determination.

And then, once again, there's darkness.

…

…

I wake up to the sound of birds chirping outside my window, their melody light and cheerful. The sunlight streaming through the curtains bathes the room in warmth, but I can't fully relax. The lingering weight of the ritual sits heavy on my mind.

My body feels lighter, as though the pain has finally subsided, but my thoughts are far from clear. I turn slightly and notice Lina sleeping beside me, her face soft and peaceful in a way I hadn't noticed before. It's a rare sight to see her so calm, and for a moment, it almost makes me smile.

But when I look down at my left hand, that faint warmth fades. The Ouroboros symbol glows faintly, pulsing in time with a rhythm I can feel in my chest—a reminder of what I endured to get here. The ritual had been agonizing, as though my very essence had been stripped bare. And with it came flashes of memories I would rather leave buried.

Memories of my past life.

They're vague, just out of reach, but the emotions linger—regret, loneliness, an ache I'd tried to forget. I tell myself they don't matter now, that this life is different. Castiel Lachius is someone else entirely. And yet, deep down, I know I'm still haunted by the person I used to be.

Shaking my head, I push those thoughts aside and slip out of bed, careful not to disturb Lina. The past can stay where it belongs.

As I open the bedroom door, I'm startled to see Mara walking down the corridor with her usual poise.

"Ah, good morning, young master." Mara's voice was calm, almost musical, as she bowed deeply, her hands folded neatly in front of her.

I blinked at her, still slightly groggy from waking up. The bright light streaming through the windows bathed the corridor in a golden hue, casting long, soft shadows on the polished floors. Mara's sharp features softened in the light, her usually severe expression relaxed into one of mild amusement.

Her eyes flicked to my left hand, where the Ouroboros symbol still pulsed faintly with that eerie red glow. Her lips curled into a knowing smile. "So the ritual is done, hm?" she said, her tone more satisfied than questioning.

I nodded slowly, still feeling the weight of the night before. "I think so. Apart from the pain…" My voice trailed off as I glanced again at my hand. It still felt foreign to me, as if it were someone else's mark branded into my skin.

Mara gave an approving nod. "I see. Well, now that that's behind you, I was about to head to Garthram Market. Would you care to join me?"

Her casual offer made me freeze in surprise. My mouth opened, then shut again before I managed to stammer, "I… I can?"

I'd spent most of my life confined within the walls of the mansion, only allowed outside for special occasions or closely monitored lessons. The thought of leaving the estate felt strange, almost unsettling.

Mara's eyes crinkled with amusement. "Why not? Master Lucian himself said you should start learning about the outside world instead of burying yourself in books all day."

The idea filled me with equal parts excitement and trepidation. "Then I want to go with you!"

The journey to Garthram Market was longer than I'd anticipated. The mansion, perched on its plateau like a watchful guardian of the surrounding land, grew smaller and smaller as we descended the winding paths that led to the capital. The landscape spread out before us—rolling hills dotted with wildflowers, the distant spires of Eryndor, the capital, glittering in the sunlight.

Mara walked at a steady pace, her steps graceful despite the dusty road. I tried to keep up, but my legs weren't built for such endurance. After what felt like an eternity, I groaned, "Argh… Mara, are we there yet? My legs feel like they're going to fall off."

She chuckled softly, not breaking her stride. "Take a look ahead, young master."

I followed her outstretched arm and saw it: the bustling main street, teeming with life. Stalls lined both sides of the street, their colorful awnings flapping in the breeze. The air was thick with the mingling scents of spices, fresh bread, and roasted meat. Merchants shouted over one another, hawking everything from vibrant fabrics to gleaming blades. People of all shapes and sizes wove through the crowd, their hair every imaginable shade—green, blue, pink, and even silvery white. It was like stepping into the vivid world of a fantasy game I once played, but this was real.

"Welcome to Eryndor, the capital of the kingdom of Garthram," Mara said, her tone tinged with pride.

She led me through the throng of people, pausing now and then to inspect the wares at various stalls. While she bartered over fruits and vegetables, I found my attention wandering to a nearby weapons stand. Swords of all shapes and sizes gleamed in the sunlight, their polished blades practically calling out to me.

"Mara, do you think father would let me buy a sword?" I asked, my voice filled with excitement.

Her laughter was soft but clear. "Young master, you're still just a child. You're not old enough to wield a sword."

I frowned, crossing my arms and pouting. "That's the problem with being a kid. No one takes you seriously," I muttered under my breath.

Mara didn't seem to notice my sulking, too engrossed in inspecting the ripest apples. Just as I was about to resign myself to boredom, a shrill cry cut through the air.

"A THIEF! SOMEONE CATCH THE THIEF!"

The crowd parted like water as a scrawny boy darted through, clutching a small bag to his chest. He shoved past startled vendors and wide-eyed shoppers, his torn and patched clothes fluttering like rags. His pale skin and wild black hair made him look more like a phantom than a person.

No one moved to stop him. The crowd murmured nervously but kept their distance, unwilling to get involved.

Mara sighed heavily and handed the bag of fruits and vegetables she had just purchased back to the vendor. "Hold this for a moment, please. I'll be right back," she said, her voice calm but firm.

Before I could process what was happening, she turned to me. "Young master, stay where you are."

And then she was gone—a blur of movement, closing the distance between herself and the thief in a matter of seconds. She caught him effortlessly, her hand gripping the back of his collar as she yanked him off his feet and slammed him to the ground with a force that left the crowd gasping.

I hurried over, my heart pounding. The boy lay sprawled on the cobblestones, his chest heaving as Mara loomed over him. Her sharp eyes bore into him, her voice like steel as she commanded, "Give back what you stole. Now."

Terrified, the boy fumbled with the bag before thrusting it toward her. She took it without hesitation, her movements precise and unyielding. Then, with a swift strike to his neck, she rendered him unconscious.

The crowd murmured their approval as she returned the bag to its rightful owner, who clutched it with tearful gratitude. "Thank you so much," the woman said, bowing deeply.

Mara dusted off her hands and retrieved the bag of fruits and vegetables from the vendor, who offered them free of charge in thanks for her bravery.

As we turned to leave, I couldn't help but glance at the boy, still lying motionless in the street. "Mara… did you kill him?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly.

"Of course not," she replied matter-of-factly. "I simply hit a vital spot to render him unconscious. He'll wake up soon enough."

Her calmness was both reassuring and unnerving. As we continued down the street, I found myself looking over my shoulder, the image of the boy's pale face burned into my mind.

It wasn't long before two men in gleaming armor pushed through the murmuring crowd. Their silver chest plates reflected the midday sun, their red cloaks trailing behind them like banners of authority. Each bore the lion crest of the Garthram Empire emblazoned boldly across their chests, a symbol of power that commanded immediate silence from the onlookers. The metallic clinking of their movements filled the air as they approached the boy sprawled on the cobblestones.

One of the guards—a burly man with a chiseled jaw—leaned down and roughly grabbed the boy by his thin, trembling arm, jerking him upright with no gentleness. The boy blinked in confusion, still disoriented from Mara's strike.

"Wake up," the guard barked, his gravelly voice carrying the weight of unquestionable authority. "In the name of the Garthram Empire code, you are hereby taken into custody for the crime of theft."

The boy flinched at the harsh words, his wide, frightened eyes darting between the guards and the crowd. He kicked weakly at the air, his legs barely strong enough to put up resistance against the armored men holding him.

"No! Please, I was just hungry! Forgive me, I beg you!" he cried, his voice cracking with desperation. Tears streaked his pale, dirt-streaked face as he pleaded.

But his words found no mercy. The guards hoisted him to his feet and began dragging him away, their heavy boots clanging against the cobblestones. The boy's wails echoed faintly as the onlookers, after a few murmured comments, turned back to their shopping.

The crowd's brief attention dissolved, the normal bustle of the marketplace resuming as if nothing had happened. Mara watched silently for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, with a small sigh, she adjusted the bag of fruits and vegetables in her arms and turned to me.

"Come along, young master," she said, her voice even. But before we could take more than a few steps, a deep, resonant voice halted us in our tracks.

"Hey, you."

We both turned, and I immediately felt my stomach tighten. Towering over the crowd was a man whose sheer presence seemed to demand attention. His frame was massive, his muscles straining against the heavy armor he wore, which was far more ornate than the soldiers' simple uniforms. His skin was tanned and weathered, as if he'd spent a lifetime under the sun, and his thick red hair and matching beard were wild yet somehow regal. Strapped to his side was a sword so large it looked like it could cleave a tree in half with a single swing.

Mara straightened, her posture rigid but respectful as the man approached. His ruby-colored eyes studied her with sharp intent, taking in every detail.

"You're the Lachius family maid, aren't you?" he asked, his voice rumbling like distant thunder.

"Yes, sir. Mara of the Lachius household," she replied with a graceful bow.

"Ah, I thought so…" His gaze shifted to me, and I suddenly felt the weight of his presence settle over me. My heart pounded as he crouched slightly, trying to appear less intimidating. Despite his effort, I couldn't help but feel small and vulnerable under his piercing gaze.

"So, you must be the heir of the Lachius family," he said, his tone softening slightly. "What's your name, boy?"

"C-Castiel. Castiel Lachius," I managed to stammer, my voice barely above a whisper.

A broad smile spread across his face, and before I could react, he reached out and ruffled my hair with a rough but not unfriendly hand. "You've got your mother's eyes, you know that?" he said warmly.

I didn't know how to respond, so I just stared at him, feeling awkward but oddly comforted by his smile. Straightening up, he turned his attention back to Mara.

"Tell Lucian I said hello," he said, his tone taking on a more formal edge. "I know how strict the Lachius family is about meetings, but I'd like to extend an invitation to dinner at my home. I've got a son about Castiel's age—it might be good for the boy to have some company."

"I'm sure my master will be pleased to attend," Mara replied smoothly, inclining her head.

The man—Gurstag Dundragon, as he introduced himself—let out a hearty chuckle. "Good, good. Anyway, my duty calls. Thanks for dealing with that thief earlier. We've had a rash of thefts lately, and even the royal guard is struggling to cover the entire capital."

With that, Gurstag gave a final wave and disappeared into the crowd, his imposing figure leaving an impression long after he was gone.

As we walked away, the bustling marketplace slowly faded behind us, replaced by the quiet crunch of gravel beneath our feet. The rolling hills stretched endlessly ahead, the mansion visible in the distance like a distant beacon.

"Young master," Mara said suddenly, breaking the silence, "have you learned your lesson today?"

I tilted my head, confused by the abrupt question. "What lesson?"

"About bonding," she said plainly. "The act of creating relationships and alliances. A nobleman like you must understand that kindness is just another form of currency. Helping others without expecting something in return is nothing but naivety."

I frowned, unsure how to respond. Her words stirred something deep inside me—a faint ache I couldn't quite place.

"So… you only helped stop that thief because it benefited you?" I asked quietly.

"Precisely," she replied without hesitation. "The Garthram Empire values strength and utility above all else. The weak have no place here. Did you know your father once healed Gurstag's wife? He didn't do it out of kindness, but because it created a debt. That's why Gurstag is so grateful to the Lachius family."

I lowered my gaze, the weight of her words settling heavily on my shoulders. "I… I see," I muttered.

Mara glanced at me, her expression softening for a brief moment. But when she spoke again, her tone was brisk. "Remember that, young master. In this world, kindness without purpose is a luxury you can't afford."

The rest of the journey was quiet, her words echoing in my mind like a distant, unrelenting drumbeat.

The road back to the mansion stretched quiet and solemn, the weight of the morning's events still lingering in the air. The sprawling estate loomed ahead, its towering stone walls and arched windows casting long shadows across the neatly manicured grounds. The iron gates creaked as we entered, and the crunch of gravel underfoot seemed unnaturally loud in the stillness.

Lucian stood at the entrance, his figure rigid and imposing. The afternoon sun highlighted the streaks of silver in his neatly combed hair and caught the sharp edges of his tailored coat. His piercing eyes settled on us the moment we came into view, narrowing slightly as we approached.

"Mara," he began, his voice low but heavy with authority, "why this delay? You should have returned long ago."

Mara stopped a few paces away and lowered her head in a bow, clutching the bag of fruits and vegetables tightly in her arms. "Forgive me, my master. I took the liberty of stopping a thief who was robbing a woman in the market." Her voice was calm, measured, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her unease. "It wasn't for nothing. I managed to obtain the fruit and vegetables free of charge as a courtesy from the vendor who was impressed by my show of strength. However, I'll accept any punishment you deem fit for my tardiness."

Lucian's fingers moved to his goatee, stroking it slowly as he regarded her with a calculating expression. His gaze flicked briefly to me before returning to Mara.

"In that case, no punishment will be necessary," he said at last, his voice softening slightly. "I'll take it as a lesson you've taught Castiel about the importance of strength."

Mara straightened, relief washing over her face for the briefest moment before she masked it with her usual composure. "I am grateful, my master." She paused, hesitating for just a second before adding, "I also bring news. The general of the royal guard, Gurstag Dundragon, has extended an invitation to dinner at his home. He has a son around the young master's age, and I believe it would be a good opportunity to teach him the art of socialization."

Lucian raised an eyebrow, his lips pressing into a thin line as he considered this. "Perhaps you're right," he muttered, half to himself. "Until now, Castiel has remained isolated within these walls, and it is essential for a nobleman to master the art of dialogue and diplomacy." He paused, his eyes briefly clouding with thought before he nodded decisively. "Very well. We'll make arrangements for this dinner."

Turning to me, he added, "Mara, I'd also like you to begin training Castiel in combat every afternoon, starting tomorrow."

Mara's eyes widened slightly, the calm mask slipping just enough to reveal her surprise. "B-but the young master is still a child," she protested gently. "I don't think he's ready for a fight, even a simple sparring match."

Lucian's gaze hardened. "Nonsense. Soon his Mana Crest will stabilize, and he'll be able to wield spells. It's crucial for his development that he begins training now. No excuses, Mara. Tomorrow, he starts rigorous combat lessons."

Without waiting for a reply, Lucian turned and disappeared through the mansion's grand doors, his steps echoing faintly as they faded into the halls.

Mara let out a soft sigh, her hands tightening briefly around the bag she held before she turned toward the kitchen. "I'll prepare lunch," she said, her voice subdued.

I lingered for a moment before heading toward my room, my thoughts swirling. As I walked down the long, polished hallway, a faint noise caught my attention—a soft, rasping cough coming from my parents' room. The door was ajar, and I hesitated briefly before stepping closer.

Inside, the curtains were drawn, casting the room in a dim, muted light. My mother lay on the bed, her pale face framed by her cascading silver hair. She pressed a white cloth to her mouth, and as she pulled it away, I saw the unmistakable stain of blood blooming across the fabric.

Is she… coughing up blood?

A pang of fear shot through me. I had asked her about her health before, but she always brushed it off with a smile and a dismissive excuse. Over time, I stopped pressing her, but seeing this now filled me with a deep, gnawing worry.

She noticed me standing in the doorway and quickly tucked the cloth out of sight, offering me a faint, reassuring smile. "Castiel, dear, what are you doing standing there? You'll catch a chill."

I nodded mutely, unable to find my voice, and slowly retreated. My chest felt heavy as I made my way to my room, where Lina was tidying up. She hummed softly to herself, her movements efficient but cheerful.

"What's wrong, young master?" she asked, tilting her head as she noticed my troubled expression.

"Lina…" I hesitated, then blurted. "Does my mother have an illness?"

Lina froze, the question wiping the cheerful expression from her face. Slowly, she set down the duster she was holding and turned to face me fully.

"You've noticed, haven't you?" she said softly, her voice tinged with both sadness and hesitation. "The condition of the Sylvaine family…"

"Condition?" I asked, frowning.

She bit her lip, clearly uncertain, but after a moment, she nodded. "You're mature for your age, young master, so I think you deserve to know. The Sylvaine family is known for their immense magical potential and vast Mana reserves, but it comes at a cost."

"What cost?"

Lina stepped closer, kneeling slightly so she was at my eye level. "Their bodies can't handle the constant production of Fluxicles. These cells begin to attack their own systems, like… like an autoimmune disease."

Her words struck me like a blow. My mind raced as I pieced together what I had seen. It was like a cruel, magical equivalent of cancer—slow, insidious, and merciless.

"Could it… could it kill her?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Lina's expression darkened. "In most cases, it isn't fatal. But there are exceptions. Your father, Master Lucian, is working tirelessly to find a cure for Lady Grilda's condition. He may seem cold, but he's doing everything he can to save her."

Hearing this softened something in me. Perhaps I had judged him too harshly.

"Thank you, Lina," I said quietly. "For being honest."

She smiled gently, brushing a hand over my hair. "Don't worry too much, young master. Focus on growing strong. Who knows? Maybe one day you'll find a cure yourself."

Her words sparked something inside me—a determination I hadn't felt before. "I will," I said firmly, managing a small smile. "I'll become a great alchemist like my grandfather. I'll find a cure for my mother."

Lina laughed softly, pulling me into a playful embrace. "I look forward to that, young master. But for now… let's not dwell on heavy thoughts."

She started tickling me, her laughter infectious as I squirmed and giggled, letting myself forget, just for a moment, the weight of everything else.