The Arcanist Reborn

The first thing Eryon Kael came to understand about his new life was how weak he was.

As a baby, his world was a haze of sensations—warmth, the faint rustle of cloth, the hum of voices that drifted in and out of focus. Every movement felt like an immense struggle. His limbs, once strong and sure, now flailed helplessly.

He hated it.

Somewhere in the depths of his mind, fragments of his past life as Theo Lin whispered to him. He remembered the ease of walking, of running, of working with his hands. Now, those abilities were gone, replaced by the helplessness of an infant. Even his thoughts felt sluggish, like a brilliant light dimmed behind thick curtains.

But amidst the frustration, there was wonder.

This new world was different from anything Theo had ever known. The sounds of footsteps on stone floors, the faint glimmer of candlelight reflecting off walls, the melodic voices of people speaking in hushed tones—it all felt like something out of the fantasy novels he had once loved.

And there was something else, something that lingered at the edge of his perception. It wasn't sight or sound, but a faint, almost imperceptible hum that seemed to flow through the air. At first, Eryon thought it was his imagination, a trick of his muddled senses. But as the days passed, he began to recognize it for what it was: magic.

Eryon's days passed in a blur of routine. Servants bustled around the Kael manor, tending to the needs of the household. They whispered to one another as they worked, their voices carrying a mix of awe and fear whenever they spoke of him.

"The heir to the Kael family," one maid murmured, watching as Eryon lay quietly in his cradle, his silver eyes fixed on the ceiling. "Do you think he'll be like the others?"

"The others were nothing special," another replied, adjusting the blanket over Eryon. "But this one… there's something strange about him. Have you seen his eyes? They're not normal."

"Silver eyes," the first maid whispered, crossing herself as if warding off a curse. "Some say it's a blessing from the gods. Others say it's a mark of doom."

Eryon didn't understand all of their words, but he caught enough to sense the weight of their expectations—and their fears.

It was during one of these quiet afternoons that Eryon had his first moment of clarity. He was lying on his back in his cradle, the light of the midday sun streaming through the window. A breeze rustled the curtains, carrying with it the faint scent of flowers from the garden.

He stared at the dust motes dancing in the air, his tiny fingers reaching out instinctively. For a moment, he imagined himself grasping one of the shimmering particles.

And then, to his shock, the mote of dust froze midair.

Eryon blinked, his heart—or whatever the infant equivalent was—racing. The world around him seemed to slow as he focused on the speck of dust. It hung suspended in the air, glowing faintly with a soft, golden light.

What… is this?

The hum of magic that he had sensed earlier now resonated louder, thrumming in time with his heartbeat. It was faint, barely there, but it was real.

He let go of the thought, and the dust mote drifted away, as though nothing had happened.

Eryon lay still, his mind reeling. This was more than just reincarnation. He wasn't just in another world—he was in a world where the very fabric of reality could be bent and shaped.

Magic is real.

The realization filled him with a strange mixture of awe and determination. For the first time since his rebirth, he didn't feel helpless. He had lost his old life, his old body, and everything that once defined him. But in return, he had been given something extraordinary—a second chance.

As the weeks passed, Eryon began to experiment in secret. His infant body was weak, but his mind was sharp, and he used every opportunity to explore his newfound abilities.

At first, it was small things—focusing on a flickering candle flame and willing it to grow brighter, or feeling the warmth of the sunlight and imagining it as a tangible force. Each time, he felt the faint hum of magic responding to his will, though the effects were fleeting and subtle.

It was during one such experiment that a servant walked in on him. Eryon had been staring intently at a small ball left beside his cradle, his tiny hand outstretched. The ball trembled, rolling toward him of its own accord.

The maid gasped, dropping the tray of food she was carrying.

"By the gods!" she cried, backing away from the cradle. "He's… he's doing magic!"

Her voice brought others rushing into the room—maids, footmen, even the head steward. They all stared at Eryon, their expressions a mix of fear and fascination.

Eryon, realizing he had been caught, closed his eyes and feigned sleep. It was an infant's best defense, after all.

That night, the servants' whispers reached Lord Hadrian Kael, the boy's father.

"Magic?" Hadrian repeated, his voice laced with disbelief. He was a tall man with sharp features and graying hair, his once-proud demeanor worn down by years of failure and disappointment. "An infant performing magic? Ridiculous."

"I swear it's true, my lord," the maid insisted, wringing her hands nervously. "I saw it with my own eyes. The ball moved without anyone touching it. He… he willed it to move."

Hadrian's brow furrowed. He dismissed the maid with a wave of his hand, but her words lingered in his mind.

Later that night, he stood over his son's cradle, his expression unreadable. The boy lay quietly, his silver eyes half-open, gazing at nothing in particular.

"Who are you, really?" Hadrian muttered under his breath.

Eryon didn't respond, of course, but a faint smile tugged at the corners of his tiny mouth.

Elsewhere…

In the recesses of Eryon's mind, Theo Lin's memories stirred once more. He saw flashes of his old life—his cluttered apartment, his long commutes, the endless deadlines that had once defined him.

But those memories felt distant now, like fragments of a fading dream. This world, with its magic and mysteries, was becoming his reality.

As the moonlight streamed through the window, Eryon made a silent vow:

This time, I won't waste my life. I'll become something greater.

And somewhere, faintly, the hum of magic seemed to echo his resolve.