The Life After Death

  Chapter 5: An Awakening

  Over the next year, I refined my manaheart in secret whenever I could, slipping into meditation whenever I found myself alone, and with it came milestones that marked my progress in this strange new life.

  First and foremost, I had mastered the art of walking. What began as wobbly, tentative steps, filled with tumbles and ungraceful flails, had transformed into a confident stride. Sure, there were still the occasional stumbles, usually caused by Helena's forgotten toys lying in ambush, but walking had become second nature. Finally, walking and running felt like tools rather than trials. Having the ability to move freely gave me a sense of control over this body I hadn’t felt before.

  My ability to converse had improved drastically. Words flowed more freely, and while my speech still carried the occasional childish lisp, I had learned to communicate effectively enough to hold meaningful, if brief, conversations with my family.

  Finally, the crowning achievement of the year. I had become the undisputed master of my bowels. No longer would I fall victim to the indignities of soiled cloth and whispered sympathies. This small victory felt monumental, a triumph that truly made me feel in control of my infantile existence.

  Reflecting on these accomplishments, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride. Each step forward, no matter how trivial it might seem, was another building block toward reclaiming the control and discipline I once commanded in my past life.

  The days spent refining my manaheart were anything but swift. Each attempt felt like an uphill battle, where every moment tested not just my patience but also my resilience. Refining mana in secret was no easy task for a child barely out of infancy. My body, uncoordinated and untrained, often refused to cooperate, leaving me wobbling in frustration or distracted by the tiniest creaks of the wooden floorboards.

  Worse yet, the strain of refining mana before my magic affinity had awakened left me drained in ways I hadn’t anticipated. Each session ended with my limbs feeling like lead and my mind foggy with exhaustion, as though I’d just fought a battle and lost.

  Once, in a fit of overconfidence, I attempted to refine my manaheart three times in one day. By the third session, it felt as if my manaheart was on the verge of bursting, each pulse a sharp, searing pain that left me gasping for air. The agony grew unbearable, and before I could stop myself, I let out a scream that echoed through the house.

  Elara was the first to rush in, her face etched with concern. "Emrys! What’s wrong?" she cried, pulling me into her arms as I sobbed uncontrollably, the pain mingling with my frustration. Helena soon followed, her wide purple eyes brimming with worry. "What happened? Em are you okay?"

  "Shh, it’s alright," Elara whispered, rocking me gently. "You’re safe now. Whatever it is, we’ll get through it."

  Helena knelt beside us, her small hand resting on my shoulder. "Don’t cry, Em. I am here to protect you," she said, her voice shaky but determined.

  Despite the pain, their presence was a balm, their words a reminder of why I was pushing myself so hard. As the ache in my chest subsided, I muttered through hiccupping breaths, "Mom.... Tried too much."

  Elara didn’t seem to grasp what I was referring to, but her concern was clear. "You’re alright now, Emrys," she said gently, brushing my hair back. "Whatever upset you, it’s over. You’re safe."

  Helena frowned, her small brows knitting together. "Was it a bad dream? Or did you fall? You’re always doing weird stuff!" she accused, though her tone was laced with worry.

  I nodded weakly, my body utterly spent but my resolve unbroken. Their care only solidified my determination, even if it meant I’d need to pace myself better moving forward.

  After that day, I dedicated most mornings after breakfast and the late hours of the night to refining my manaheart in secret. Each session brought its own set of challenges, and though I tried to pace myself, the effort often left my body weak and trembling in sweat. I learned to stagger my attempts carefully, wary of overexerting myself again.

  The hunger that followed after each refinement was insatiable, a ravenous beast demanding tribute. If there were an award for devouring bowls of soup at record speed, I’d have claimed the title twice over by now. The process was agonizing, but the faint hum growing within my manaheart kept me going, a quiet promise that the struggle would one day be worth it.

  Refining my manaheart in secret was often further met with laughable outcomes that tested both my focus and my dignity. Once, as I sat cross-legged, deep in concentration, Elara entered the room unexpectedly, her soft footsteps catching me off guard. In my panic, I toppled over with all the grace of a falling sack of potatoes, landing sprawled on the floor.

  Thinking quickly, I squeezed my eyes shut and feigned an innocent nap, complete with exaggerated snoring for effect. Elara paused, raising a curious eyebrow, and muttered, “Strange child…” before walking away, leaving me both relieved and mildly insulted.

  Another time, Raiden caught me mid-meditation, his shadow looming over me as I focused on drawing mana. "What’s this, son? Lost something on the floor?" he asked, his tone a mix of amusement and confusion.

  I blinked up at him, quickly abandoning my concentration. "Yes, Dad," I muttered, trying to sound nonchalant, "my balance. It’s... quite slippery today."

  He raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but he let it slide with a chuckle. "Well, don’t go slipping too hard. I’d hate for you to get stuck down there," he teased, ruffling my hair before walking away. I exhaled in relief, thankful he hadn’t pressed further. Moments like these were a constant reminder that maintaining my secret was as much a mental game as it was a physical one.

  Despite these interruptions, I persevered. The book’s instructions echoed in my mind like a mantra. Focus, breathe, and channel the mana around you. It wasn’t just about sitting still, it was about finding harmony within myself and the world.

  The process was painstaking, but I could feel the changes, a subtle warmth spreading through my chest that felt almost alive.

  By the time I turned two, something remarkable happened. My manaheart was no longer at Snow. I felt it before I ever 'saw' it—an unmistakable shift deep within my chest, like the rhythm of my own inner pulse had subtly changed.

  I had expected a breakthrough moment, some dramatic surge or awakening like the stories in the book described. But nothing happened—no burst of power, no new sensation, no elemental clarity.

  And that was when it hit me, I didn’t have an affinity yet. Without one, there was no awakening to trigger, no elemental resonance to force a dramatic change. All I had was the raw foundation—the manaheart itself—growing quietly through discipline.

  Still, knowing that my efforts alone had brought me to the Moonstone stage filled me with a deep, exhilarating pride. I had achieved progress through sheer will, not magic. And though the breakthrough I’d anticipated never came, the silent shift was proof enough that I was moving forward, even without an affinity to guide me.

  It felt as though my sponge-like infant brain, adept at seamlessly remembering, absorbing, and learning new information, had somehow transferred this very aptitude to my manaheart. It was as if the sharpness of my intellect from my past life had found a way to replicate itself in this magical realm.

  Absorbing mana seemed exponentially faster than the book suggested for most people.

  I couldn’t help but smirk at the thought. With the memories of my past life to guide me, my mastery of strategy and knowledge has given me an undeniable edge. Even in this new world, it seems that edge hasn’t dulled, a quiet confidence building within me.

  The month of my born day arrived with not much celebration as I would have expected. Elara and Raiden marked the day with our usual warm family gathering, and Helena—now almost four years old and as energetic as ever—insisted on helping cook. The house was soon filled with the scent of freshly baked bread, and the sound of laughter.

  Raiden, in his booming voice, declared, "Two years old and already a force to be reckoned with! Look at this little warrior! It’s time to teach you how to fight. Here, Emrys. Your first sword." He handed me a small wooden blade, its surface polished smooth and glinting in the sunlight. My first instinct was to scoff at the absurdity of it all—teaching a toddler swordsmanship—but the earnest pride in his fiery red eyes stopped me.

  Helena burst into laughter. "Em’s not a warrior yet, Papa. He’s still squishy!" she teased, her purple eyes sparkling with mischief.

  I groaned internally but managed a wry smile. "Squishy or not, I’m sure I’ll wield this… masterpiece with grace," I said, holding up the tiny weapon.

  Elara, however, was less amused. Her deep black eyes narrowed as she placed her hands on her hips. "Raiden," she began in a tone that brooked no argument, "you’re really giving him a sword? He’s two. Two!"

  Raiden shrugged, his grin unrepentant. "It’s just a wooden sword, Elara. He’s got to start somewhere if he’s going to protect his family one day."

  "Protect his family?" Elara shot back, her voice tinged with disbelief. "He can barely hold a spoon without spilling half his porridge."

  Raiden chuckled, unruffled by her protests. "That’s why we’re starting early. By the time he’s five, he’ll be better with this sword than I was at ten."

  I sighed, my small hand gripping the hilt of the wooden blade.

  I’m sure this training will be… enlightening, glancing at Elara, whose expression had softened just slightly. Her concern, while frustratingly protective, was undeniably endearing.

  A week later, Helena turned four. Elara, ever the meticulous planner, had woven a crown of silver flowers for Helena, matching the glimmer of her hair. “A small gesture my love,” Elara said with a soft smile as she placed it on Helena’s head.

  Helena spun in circles, giggling. “Do I look like a real princess, Em?” she asked, striking a pose that sent her silver-white hair shimmering in the sunlight.

  I raised an eyebrow. “You look like trouble wrapped in flowers,” I quipped, earning a playful nudge from her.

  "You look beautiful, Hel, my little princess," I said with a smile, earning an immediate response from Helena. "You do know I’m older than you, right?" she quipped, crossing her arms with a mock-serious expression that made her look both proud and endearing.

  The week was a reminder of the warmth and joy that this family brought into my life. Even amidst the chaos, it was moments like these that solidified my resolve.

  As I watched Helena beam at the world and Elara and Raiden exchange knowing smiles, I thought, This is what I’m getting stronger for.

  Balancing my secret efforts with the growing bond I shared with my family was no small feat.

  But that ever swiftly changed.

  A few months passed after our little exchanges, on a quiet afternoon, as I sat cross-legged in my usual meditative pose, I felt a sudden tug on my ear. Helena’s voice broke through my focus, high-pitched and brimming with curiosity. “Em! What are you doing? You look so funny! Can I do it too? Is it a game?”

  I opened one eye to see her purple gaze locked onto me, her small hands already trying to mimic my posture. I blinked, torn between exasperation and amusement. "Hel," I said, suppressing a chuckle, "this is not a game. It’s… a form of training."

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  Her eyes lit up with excitement. "Training? Like the heroes in Papa's stories? Can I be a hero too? Teach me, Em! Teach me!"

  I sighed, my meditative calm thoroughly shattered, but the spark of intrigue in her eyes was hard to ignore. "We’ll see," I said with a smirk. "But first, you’ll have to sit still for longer than five seconds."

  Her determined pout told me she’d take that challenge seriously, and with that, my quiet secret no longer felt quite so secret.

  After about an hour had passed, Helena’s voice pierced through the serene quiet I had managed to cultivate. "Em! Teach me how to do it again! Please, please, please!" she demanded, her persistence as unwavering as her boundless energy.

  I opened one eye to find her crouched next to me, her face only inches from mine, her eyes alight with curiosity.

  "Hel," I sighed, "meditation requires peace and quiet. You’re like a whirlwind of chaos."

  She puffed out her cheeks in defiance. "I was sitting quietly! I didn’t even poke you this time."

  I arched a brow. "You tugged on my sleeve for five minutes straight."

  "Tugging isn’t poking!" she retorted, crossing her arms with the conviction of someone defending their life's work.

  I couldn’t help but smirk at her persistence. "Alright," I relented, "but if you’re going to join me, you have to actually try. No fidgeting, no talking, and definitely no sneaking out for toys while you’re supposed to be focusing."

  She grinned triumphantly, her eyes sparkling with determination, and plopped down beside me with all the grace of a falling leaf, crossing her legs in an exaggerated imitation of my pose. "Like this?" she asked, her expression eager yet mischievous.

  "Close enough," I said with a smirk, shaking my head slightly. "Now, breathe deeply and try to feel the mana around you. Think of it like invisible streams of water drifting through the air, waiting for you to guide them."

  Her brow furrowed in concentration, and for a moment, she was remarkably still. But then her eyes snapped open. "Em! Did you know Mama and Papa were talking about my first birthday? They said I might have an awakening!"

  That caught my attention. "Your first birthday? An awakening?" I repeated, my voice feigning curiosity while my mind raced.

  Did we not just celebrate my birthday… and hers? Is she confused? I'm confused. Trying to make sense of what Helena just told me.

  She nodded enthusiastically. "Mama said it’s a big deal! What if I’m like you and I can start training early? Wouldn’t that be amazing?"

  I stared at her, the wheels in my head turning. If Helena was due for her awakening soon, this was the perfect time to help her prepare. After all, an early start could only benefit her, and it would be an excellent opportunity for me to refine my own understanding of mana.

  "Alright, Hel," I said, my voice adopting a tone of mock seriousness. "If you’re serious about this, we’ll train together. But you have to listen to me. No distractions."

  She saluted me like a soldier. "Yes, sir!"

  Over the next few weeks, our sessions became a regular occurrence. Helena’s enthusiasm was boundless, and while her focus left much to be desired, she showed surprising aptitude.

  Each session brought new challenges—Helena struggled to sit still for long periods, often fidgeting or bouncing in place, her energy barely contained. Her attempts to channel mana frequently ended with her tumbling over.

  Despite the comedic setbacks, she persisted. The strain of refining her manaheart took its toll on her small body, leaving her visibly fatigued after each session. There were days when she’d flop onto the floor, arms spread wide, declaring dramatically, "I’m done, Em! No more today!"

  Other times, her insatiable hunger after our training sessions mirrored my own, and she’d race to the kitchen to demand extra servings from Elara.

  What surprised me most was her resilience. Unlike my earlier struggles, Helena seemed to recover more quickly, her energy bouncing back with remarkable speed. It occurred to me that her slightly older body might be better equipped to handle the demands of mana refinement. Or maybe, I mused, watching her determinedly mimic my meditative pose, she’s just that stubborn.

  Even so, I couldn’t ignore the hints of exhaustion that sometimes crept into her demeanour. One particularly gruelling session left her trembling and pale, and despite her protests, I insisted we stop. She huffed and pouted, but the brief flicker of gratitude in her eyes didn’t escape me.

  However, as the days passed, I could sense her manaheart slowly growing, its rhythm becoming steadier, and her control over the flow of mana improving noticeably.

  As we continued to train together, I began to notice something peculiar. When I placed my hands firmly on Helena’s back or held her hands during refinement, I could sense the flow of mana in both of us.

  The connection allowed me to guide her, helping her pull the scattered mana particles toward her manaheart. This revelation deepened my understanding of the refinement process, showing me the subtleties of mana flow in ways I hadn’t noticed before.

  There were also moments of hilarity, like when she tried to mimic my serious meditation pose only to topple over again dramatically.

  Helena would stick out her tongue in response, laughing as she tried—and failed—to match my composure. Despite the teasing, these moments felt like a rare blend of chaos and harmony, with each of us learning something in our own way.

  However, through all this, what always left me utterly stunned was the speed at which she began sensing mana and refining her manaheart. It left me wondering, was she simply that gifted, or was something else at play? Perhaps it was our shared lineage, or maybe there was a hidden spark of genius in her that even she didn’t realize.

  For a brief moment, I even entertained the ridiculous notion that she’d secretly been training in the womb. No… that’s impossible. Isn’t it?

  It was far from what I had experienced, but for someone her age, it was extraordinary, borderline alarming.

  My mind raced as I watched her, I could sense her manaheart growing stronger, its once faint hum becoming more stable and vibrant with every passing session. The steadiness of her progress contrasted sharply with my own early struggles, and it left me marvelling at her natural affinity for refinement.

  Not as fast as I could, of course, but at an alarming rate for someone her age. Her improvement was almost too rapid, and it was during one of our sessions that I noticed something even more baffling.

  When I placed my hands on her back to guide her mana flow, I felt it, her manaheart was already at the Moonstone stage. The steady hum and vibrant pulse of her manaheart were undeniable, a marked leap from where she should have been at her age and experience.

  I stared at her during our session, my mind racing to piece together how she could have reached that stage without any prior training. It made no sense. Yet, here she was, her silver-white hair catching the sunlight as she grinned up at me, completely oblivious to my bewilderment.

  “Maybe strength and abnormalities run in the family,” I muttered under my breath, unable to suppress a wry smirk.

  Helena tilted her head, curious at my expression. "What are you muttering about, Em?"

  I hesitated before leaning forward slightly. "Hel, do you have any idea how your manaheart reached Moonstone already? Did you do something… unusual? Anything you can remember?"

  Helena’s expression shifted ever so slightly, a faint flicker of discomfort crossing her face. She rubbed her temple absently, her grin faltering for just a moment before she spoke again. "I don’t know, Em. It just feels… normal. Like it’s always been like this."

  I raised an eyebrow, the gears in my mind spinning. While I hadn’t noticed anything outright alarming, the subtle hesitation in her voice lingered in my thoughts. Strange.

  Though I decided not to press further, my mind was quite curious as to what was going on.

  As we were finishing our session, the distant sound of crackling flames and a triumphant laugh drew our attention. Helena perked up instantly. "Papa’s practicing again! Let’s go watch!"

  Before I could protest, she was already bounding toward the back garden. I followed, curious despite myself.

  Raiden stood in the centre of the training yard, his hands engulfed in flames that danced and flickered like living creatures. With a sweeping motion, he sent a wave of fire arcing toward a target dummy, which exploded into a shower of embers upon impact.

  "Papa’s so cool!" Helena exclaimed, clapping her hands in delight.

  Raiden turned at the sound of her voice and grinned. "Ah, my little audience has arrived! Come to admire your old man, have you?"

  I couldn’t resist a smirk. "Old is right. That last fireball looked like it barely reached the target. Are you sure your manaheart’s still up to the task, Dad?"

  Raiden laughed heartily, unfazed by my jab. "Cheeky as ever, aren’t you, Emrys? Let me show you how it’s done!"

  He closed his eyes, whispered some words that I could not make out, and the air around him seemed to grow warmer. Flames swirled around his hands, coalescing into a blazing orb that he hurled with precision. The target dummy erupted into a blaze of ash and cinders.

  Helena cheered, and even I had to admit it was impressive. "Not bad," I conceded. "For a mid-level Sunstone mage."

  Raiden chuckled, ruffling my hair as he walked past. "Just wait, son. One day, you’ll be out here with me, showing off your own skills."

  I watched him for a moment, the flames still flickering in the air where he’d stood. The thought of training alongside him sparked a strange excitement within me, a longing to explore the full potential of my manaheart. But for now, I would have to be patient.

  Nearby, Elara’s voice called us to dinner, and the three of us made our way inside. As we gathered at the table, Elara turned to me with a warm smile. "Emrys, you’ve been such a good influence on Helena’s progress. I can see how much she relies on you for guidance," she said, her tone filled with pride.

  Raiden chuckled, adding, "Looks like you’re already taking after your old man, teaching and guiding. Don’t let it go to your head, though."

  The evening was filled with lively conversation. Helena was chattering about her 'amazing' progress, Raiden recounting one of his old adventures, and Elara gently reminding him not to fill our heads with too many grandiose ideas.

  Six months before Helena’s fifth birthday—or what she called ‘first’ birthday, I felt more confident than ever in my understanding of mana.

  My manaheart continued to grow stronger, and I could feel the faint stirrings of something greater just on the horizon. But more than that, I felt a growing excitement, a hunger to experience the world of Aether beyond the confines of this house. Every story, every book, every whispered tale from Elara and Raiden only fuelled my desire to explore.

  That excitement, however, was tempered by a sense of responsibility. Helena’s awakening was fast approaching, and I was determined to help her be ready.

  But then came the night that changed everything.

  Elara’s piercing scream shattered the quiet. My heart leapt as I scrambled to my feet, racing toward the source of the noise. Elara and Raiden were already there, their hands pressed against Helena’s door, struggling to force it open as water seeped from under.

  "It won’t budge!" Raiden growled, his voice tense. The pressure from the other side seemed insurmountable, as if the entire room was filled to the brim with water, creating an impenetrable barrier. The pressure was overwhelming, and every attempt to budge the door only seemed to reinforce its resistance.

  Suddenly after what seemed forever of trying, the door burst open with a deafening roar, and an overwhelming wave of water gushed out, hitting us like a tidal wave. The sheer force knocked Elara, Raiden, and me off our feet, sending us sprawling down the hallway as the surge roared through the house. Soaked and disoriented, I scrambled to my feet, barely able to process what I saw inside Helena's room.

  The swirling currents of water shimmered with a faint, ethereal light, their movement erratic and fierce, like a storm refusing to be contained. The walls seemed to tremble under the weight of the magic, water droplets glistening as they clung to every surface. Despite the overwhelming chaos, Helena remained the focal point—a tiny figure at the mercy of a power far greater than herself.

  There, floating in the middle of the room, a vortex of water spun violently around her. The air was thick with moisture, a sharp tang of salt and dampness filling my nose. The sound was deafening, a relentless roar of water crashing and swirling, each wave punctuated by the erratic gasps of Helena as she struggled to breathe. Her small body convulsing as though she were drowning in the very magic she had unleashed.

  Has she awakened?! The thought screamed through my mind, panic and disbelief battling for dominance. I could feel the mana surging chaotically around her, wild and untamed, as if the very essence of water itself had erupted from her manaheart. The swirling currents seemed to pulse in rhythm with her labored breaths, each moment amplifying the chaos.

  Elara was frantic, her hands clawing at the edges of the door frame, her face etched with sheer terror, her eyes darting between Helena and the chaos engulfing the room. Raiden braced himself against the now-splintered frame, his jaw clenched and muscles taut, his determination visible despite the panic that flickered briefly in his fiery gaze.

  Both of them were caught between fear and resolve, desperate to reach Helena through the relentless flood. "Helena! Hold on!" Elara cried out, her voice trembling with panic. Raiden gritted his teeth, using all his strength to fight against the flood pouring into the hallway.

  "Hel!" I shouted, my voice breaking as I waded through the water, desperate to reach her. Searching for a way to break through the chaos and save her. Yet, in that moment, I was painfully reminded of the limits of my small, fragile body. My mind overthinking with strategies and possibilities—the instincts of a tactician—but none of them mattered in the face of my physical weakness.

  The realization cut deeply, as if my mental strength had been rendered useless by the body I now inhabited. For all my knowledge and experience, I was utterly powerless to protect someone I've grown attached to.

  The water was overwhelming, and every attempt I made felt like fighting a tidal wave with a twig. Helplessness gnawed at me, sharper than anything I had ever felt before. The sight before us was like nothing I’d ever imagined—magic, so raw and uncontrolled, threatening to consume everything in its path.

  And in that moment, I realized the true weight of the world we were living in.

  A world where magic could be as dangerous as it was wondrous. Helena's convulsing body within the swirling vortex drove the realization deeper, the immediacy of her peril making the abstract danger of magic a visceral, terrifying truth. The very force that promised so much power and potential was now a threat to someone I cared for.

  For the first time, I felt the icy grip of fear. Fear of what it meant to lose someone you cared for. The thought of losing Helena struck a chord I didn’t know existed, one that I had never truly felt before.