I stayed in the office longer than I had planned. The debugging panel was still open on my screen, and the cursor was blinking where I had added the last line of the script a few minutes ago. I looked through the code again—not because I had to, but out of habit. Finally, I saved the file, closed the editor, and moved away from my desk.

  It was already late.

  Only a few people remained in the open space, the lights were dimmed, and the air conditioning hummed monotonously. I put on my jacket, slung my backpack over my shoulder, and left the building. The city at night looked the same as always — bright, loud, indifferent. Cars glided through the streets, people passed each other without a word, each locked in their own world.

  It started to rain.

  First gently, a few drops on the sidewalk, then harder and harder. I quickened my pace, then broke into a light jog. I just wanted to get home, eat something, and go to bed. Nothing more.

  When I reached the crosswalk, I looked ahead, not up. Habit. I took a step.

  Only then did I hear the screech of tires.

  The impact came suddenly — no pain, no warning. The world turned upside down, and I felt as if time had slowed down. Raindrops hung in the air, streetlights stretched into streaks, and I thought only one thing:

  Is this really how it ends?

  There was no fear. More surprise. I closed my eyes.

  When I opened them, the ceiling was too high.

  No, it wasn't a ceiling. It was something much bigger — wooden beams, candlelight, heavy curtains. The air smelled of herbs and wax. I wanted to move, but my body... wasn't responding as it should.

  My hands were small. Too small. My legs were heavy, uncoordinated.

  I understood it slowly, with growing anxiety: I had no control over my own body.

  The door opened violently.

  A man dressed in expensive but stiff robes entered the room. His face was tense, his voice sharp.

  “Take this child away. Immediately.” “To the forest,” he shouted. “Leave it there. If not... everyone here will die.”

  I wanted to protest. I wanted to ask why. Instead, only a quiet, helpless sound came out of my mouth.

  Someone picked me up.

  The world changed again — the night air, the cold, the smell of damp earth. I lay in the arms of a woman who was shaking more than I was. Then grass. Silence. And loneliness.

  Time ceased to matter.

  I lay there, looking at the sky, which I could barely see. I couldn't move. I couldn't scream. I could only think.

  And then the bushes moved.

  Something came out of the darkness—huge, white, with shining eyes. A wolf. Instinct told me to back away, but I couldn't.

  Before I could understand what was happening, something cut through the air.

  The blow was quick. Too quick. The wolf fell without a sound.

  “...I just went to get some wood.”

  The voice was low, tired. Someone lifted me up.

  “And I found a child.”

  “Sylvia will be happy,” the man added after a moment. “We've tried so many times... maybe this is a sign.”

  I didn't have the strength to analyze these words. The fatigue was overwhelming. My consciousness began to drift away.

  The last thought before I fell asleep was one question:

  If this isn't a dream... then who am I now?

  I woke up because it was... too warm.

  Not like under the covers on a winter morning. More like someone was holding me. I felt a rhythmic movement, a gentle rocking, and in the background, the quiet crackling of a fire. I opened my eyes slowly, carefully, as if I were afraid that a sudden movement would dispel the dream.

  It didn't.

  Instead of the sky and branches, I saw a wooden ceiling. Low, simple, made of dark beams. The light was soft, orange, vivid — it came from a fireplace a few steps away. The smell of smoke mixed with something else. Soup? Herbs?

  I tried to move.

  My body reacted slowly and clumsily. My hand—if you could call it that—twitched, my fingers clenched something soft. Fabric. Someone's shirt.

  Only then did I realize that I wasn't lying down.

  I was being held.

  “Is she still asleep?” asked a woman's voice, quiet and cautious.

  “Yes,” replied the man. The same one. I recognized him by his voice. “All the way.”

  The road. So it wasn't a dream. I really had been taken from there.

  Someone leaned over me. A woman's face entered my field of vision. Young, maybe a little younger than me before... everything. She had light eyes and hair tied carelessly at the back of her head. She looked at me like no one had ever looked at me before.

  Not like a problem. Not like an obstacle. Just... like something precious.

  “Brenor...” she said quietly. “She's so small.”

  She.

  That word hit harder than the car.

  I wanted to laugh. I wanted to deny it. I wanted to say that it was some kind of mistake, that I was a grown man in his thirties with a mortgage and a backlog of tickets in Jira.

  Instead, my body made a quiet, meaningless sound.

  “Calm down,” Brenor said. “You're safe now.”

  Safe.

  I lay in his arms and tried to collect my thoughts, but it was like trying to start a computer without an operating system. My mind was working, my memory was working, but

  body... the body was completely incompatible.

  The woman stretched out her arms.

  “Give her to me.”

  Brenor hesitated for a split second, then carefully handed me over. The change was immediate—different arms, different warmth, different smell. More delicate.

  “Poor thing...” she whispered. “Who could have done such a thing?”

  I'd like to know.

  Her fingers were warm as she adjusted the blanket I was wrapped in. She accidentally touched my hand. She paused.

  “Brenor...” she said more quietly. “Her hair.”

  “I know.”

  “And her ears.”

  Elf.

  The word came back, heavier this time. More real. Not as a joke, not as fantasy, but as... fact.

  “If anyone finds out...” she began.

  “No one will find out,” he interrupted her firmly. “Not now. And not from us.”

  Silence fell. Only the fire crackled in the fireplace.

  “What shall we call her?” she asked after a moment.

  The question surprised me.

  What will we name her?

  As if the decision had already been made. As if there were no options to “give her away,” “leave her,” or “think about it later.”

  “Aria,” she said after a moment's thought. “It sounds... gentle.”

  Aria.

  I didn't feel like that name was mine. Not yet. But it didn't sound foreign. Like something that could become me... in time.

  Fatigue began to overwhelm me again. This time it wasn't panic. It was calm. Heavy, but warm.

  Before I fell asleep, I thought only one thing:

  If this is really my new life... then I've just been given a second chance.

  It had been four years since I was found in the forest. Four years in a world that was still foreign to me, yet increasingly... mine.

  I was no longer a baby. I could walk, run, climb, talk — although my words were still simpler than my mind would have liked. It was a strange feeling: knowing more than my body allowed me to express.

  I learned that the couple who took me in were Brenor and Sylvia. Husband and wife. Explorers, travelers... and now my guardians. Officially, they adopted me. I don't remember the ceremony, the documents, or the words. But I do remember the moment when Sylvia knelt in front of me, looked me in the eyes, and said:

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “From today, you are ours.”

  In an old, darkened room on the ground floor, there was a mirror. Large, heavy, with a frame bearing the marks of time. That was where I saw myself for the first time.

  White hair. Too light, almost silver. Purple eyes. Deep, unnatural. And pointed ears — clearly elven.

  Brenor and Sylvia wondered for a long time if I came from the high society of the elves. They said they had never seen a child with such a “noble” appearance. I looked at my reflection and thought only one thing:

  So this is what my new face looks like.

  Over time, I began to notice things that had previously escaped my attention. This house... was not ordinary.

  Every morning, Brenor would go out into the yard and practice with a long sword. It had runes engraved on it. At first, I thought they were just decoration—after all, in my previous world of RPGs, I had learned that runes were often just for aesthetics.

  I was wrong.

  One day, I stopped by the window and watched Brenor train. He whispered a few words in a language I didn't know... and then his silhouette blurred in the air.

  He accelerated so rapidly that I couldn't see it. I couldn't follow it. I couldn't understand it.

  I froze.

  It wasn't a trick. It wasn't a gimmick.

  It was magic.

  And that's when I first thought that this world was much more dangerous than I wanted to admit.

  I hadn't gotten used to my ears. Pointy, long, they caught on everything — door frames, chairs, even my own arms when I turned. I had to be careful with every move.

  One day, I went back to the old, dark room. The one with the mirror.

  I wanted to look at myself one more time. To make sure it wasn't all a dream.

  Only then did I notice something else.

  A rack for armor. Heavy, knightly armor. Several swords. War hammers. And in the middle — a chest.

  It was open. Decorated with intricate patterns and stones, even a few rubies. Too expensive for ordinary travelers.

  I began to wonder where Sylvia and Brenor got such things.

  I looked inside.

  Two books. Robes resembling the outfits of mages from games I played in my previous life.

  I staggered.

  I fell onto the wooden floor.

  The pain was sharp, piercing. Not like an adult's — much worse. My body reacted faster than my mind. Tears welled up in my eyes and a scream escaped me.

  The door opened quietly.

  Sylvia entered the room without haste. She was slim, slender, moving lightly — as if she never set her feet completely on the ground. She didn't look like a warrior. Rather, she looked like someone who didn't need to raise her voice to be threatening.

  When she saw me, she immediately came over and knelt down beside me. Her hands were warm as she helped me sit up.

  “Are you all right?” she asked calmly.

  I shook my head, still sniffling.

  “You're too curious for a four-year-old,” she said with a slight smile. “But these are my things. Remember for the future: don't touch other people's things.”

  She said it as if she knew I would understand more than I should.

  She looked at the chest.

  “Do you want to know what it is?”

  I didn't answer. But she continued anyway.

  “Your mother is a wind mage. An experienced one.” She smiled gently. “If someone bad comes... Mommy will protect you.”

  Something stirred in the air.A light breeze ruffled my hair.

  And then I understood:Brenor wasn't the most powerful force in this house.

  Sylvia let me read her books.

  She didn't make a big deal out of it. She just put them on the table, looked at me, and told me not to damage them. There was no suspicion in her voice — rather, indulgence. As if she were giving a child a toy, convinced that he wouldn't understand what he was holding in his hands anyway.

  One of the books was about wind magic. The other described the basics of spells—universal formulas that, according to the author, could be used by most magicians regardless of their specialization.

  There was one problem.

  I couldn't read.

  Or at least... I couldn't read that language.

  I didn't know where it came from or how it worked, but I understood the language of the new world from the very beginning. The words came to my mind naturally, as if they had always been there. What's more, when I pronounced individual syllables, my tongue automatically adjusted to the local speech. I didn't feel any difference. It was as if the translation system was built into my body.

  Reading was different.

  The letters were foreign. The characters had different proportions, different lines, different meanings. My mouth could repeat the words, but my eyes... my eyes had to learn.

  So I decided to do the only thing that made sense.

  Learn the local spelling.

  Autumn came.

  The leaves changed color and the mornings grew colder. Brenor practiced longer, Sylvia sat by the window more often with a book in her hands, and I... I sat on the floor, turning the pages slowly, too slowly for a child, but too confidently for it to be accidental.

  I began to recognize individual characters. Then syllables. Then short words.

  I was learning too fast.

  In my previous life, it would have taken me months. Maybe years. Here, it took only weeks for me to understand the basics. It was as if this body absorbed knowledge without resistance. Without fatigue. Without the barrier I remembered from adulthood.

  Sylvia and Brenor were convinced that I was just looking at pictures.

  I didn't correct them.

  In fact, I already understood the basics of magic. The theory. The principles of mana flow, concentration, intention. I couldn't cast spells yet — I lacked control, experience, or maybe just something more — but I understood what I was reading.

  Wind magic... didn't appeal to me. I don't know why. I read it the least.

  The second book, however, the general one, attracted me more and more. It also contained the basics of water magic. It's a pity it was so superficial. Like an introduction to something much bigger.

  From the moment I arrived here, I hadn't seen anyone except Sylvia, Brenor... and that nobleman from the palace. No one else.

  I began to wonder.

  If there are humans and elves here... what else exists in this world?

  These questions kept running through my head. And what tormented me most was that I couldn't ask them yet.

  My mouth still couldn't form sentences.

  Time passed surprisingly quickly.

  I can't pinpoint the moment when I noticed it. The days simply passed one after another, and I — busy with books, observing the world, and my own thoughts — didn't even notice when Sylvia started talking about “my birthday.”

  For them, it was a simple matter. The date they found me.

  For me... less so.

  I didn't remember the exact moment of my birth. I remembered death. Rain. Car lights. Then the palace. Screams. The forest. The wolf. So when I told myself that this date might be fifty percent true, I decided that was enough. Better than nothing.

  A few days before that event, Brenor announced that he was going to the city.

  He didn't say why.

  When I tried to express my desire to go with him — still clumsily, stumbling over words and sentences — Sylvia immediately refused. She said it was too dangerous for someone my age. Her tone was calm but firm. Brenor just nodded.

  I stayed at home.

  Brenor was gone all day.

  He didn't come back until evening.

  I noticed it right away — he was carrying something under his arm. A rectangular object, carefully wrapped in thick fabric. I stared at it for so long that I completely missed the moment when the day turned into a celebration.

  A birthday.

  Sylvia had prepared a feast. And I'm not exaggerating — it was huge. The smells filled the whole house, and there was so much food that even I, with my child's stomach, felt overwhelmed. To this day, I believe that Sylvia was the best cook in the world. And even if it's just sentimentality — I'm not going to change that.

  We celebrated quietly. No guests. No noise.

  At one point, Brenor stood up.

  “Aria,” he said, and I automatically looked up. “Sylvia and I have decided that... you spend quite a lot of time poring over your books.”

  Heart

  It sped me up.

  He took out the item he had brought from the city and unwrapped the material. Inside was a book. A thick one. Much thicker than the ones I had read so far.

  “This is your gift.”

  He handed it to me carefully.

  “Sylvia noticed that you were most interested in the section on water,” he added. “So we decided to buy a book from that category.”

  I looked at Sylvia.

  She was smiling.

  And then something very simple... and very warm dawned on me. That's why Brenor went to town.

  This book was no accident. It was a choice.

  I was five years old that day.

  At least according to Sylvia and Brenor. And this time I had no doubts — I felt that something had changed. My body was more agile, my movements more confident, and the world... bigger. As if I had suddenly been allowed to see more.

  Sylvia let me go further from home.

  Not into the forest — not yet. But to a small waterfall that was not far from its edge.

  It was about my height. The water flowed down a small rock ledge, forming a shallow, cool pool. The sound was quiet, soothing. The perfect place to play... and to think.

  Brenor said that monsters didn't appear in this forest. “At least not now,” he added once, as if in passing. I decided not to ask any more questions.

  I always took a new book with me. It was so big that when I carried it, it covered a large part of my body. Sometimes I must have looked comical—an elven child with a huge book pressed to his chest.

  But I didn't mind.

  Speaking was still tiring.

  My body quickly grew tired, my throat hurt, and my tongue couldn't always keep up with my thoughts. But I was already able to form short sentences. Clumsy, sometimes crooked, but understandable. My reading was getting better and better — mainly because Sylvia had been reading fairy tales to me for a long time, pointing to letters and symbols with her finger.

  The book about the magic of water was different.

  It didn't tell a story. It had no illustrations.

  It was an instruction manual.

  It described the process in detail: concentration, imagination, the flow of mana. I read it over and over again. I knew what I had to do. But for a long time... nothing happened.

  Until one day.

  I was sitting by a waterfall with the book on my lap. I focused more than usual. Not on the words, but on the water itself. On its movement. Its weight. Its coolness.

  And then... something stirred.

  A small ball of water appeared in front of me.

  It was perfectly round. For a split second.

  After a moment, it fell to the ground and splashed chaotically.

  I looked at the wet stones in absolute silence. And then... I smiled like a fool.

  I did it.

  From that day on, I started coming here more often.

  I practiced. Every day.

  I learned to move the ball of water. To change its shape. Its color. Its temperature. I discovered that I could cool it down... and even start to freeze it.

  And that's when the problem arose.

  Every time the water froze, I lost control of it. The ice cracked, crumbled, sometimes disappeared completely. As if something suddenly cut off the connection.

  I tried to focus even more. I tried longer. Harder.

  Nothing.

  For a long time, I couldn't learn anything new, even though I was working harder than I ever had in my previous life. Something was blocking me. I could feel it clearly.

  And then... someone was watching me.

  I didn't notice Sylvia right away. She was standing in the distance, leaning against a tree. It wasn't until she stepped out of the shadows and called me for dinner that I looked up.

  Her gaze was attentive. Too attentive.

  And for the first time, I felt that my exercises had not gone unnoticed.

  That day, I walked back more slowly than usual.

  Not because I was tired, but because something was bothering me. My thoughts revolved around the ice, which kept getting out of control. It was as if there was a limit I couldn't cross, even though I felt it was close. Too close.

  As I approached the house, I heard voices.

  I stopped instinctively.

  Sylvia and Brenor were standing by the table, leaning over each other. They weren't arguing. Their voices were quiet but tense. The kind you hear when adults are talking about something important... and don't want a child to hear it.

  “It's not normal,” Sylvia said.

  “I know,” Brenor replied after a moment. “But you saw how hard he's trying.”

  My heart beat faster.

  What were they talking about?

  “He's five years old,” Sylvia continued. “And he can already manipulate water. Without a teacher. Without a circle. Without preparation.”

  There was silence.

  “I'm scared,” she added quietly.

  I stood still, not moving a step.

  Not because I didn't want to go in. Because I was afraid of what else I might hear.

  “We can't stop her,” Brenor said calmly but firmly. “If we pretend we don't see it, something worse will happen.”

  Sylvia sighed.

  “I know... that's why we have to do this right.”

  I heard something heavy being moved. Wooden. As if someone had placed something large on the table.

  “We'll talk to her tomorrow,” Brenor added. “Together.”

  I didn't know exactly what they were talking about.But one thing was certain.

  They were talking about me.

  I left quietly before they noticed me. I lay down in bed, staring at the ceiling. My thoughts wouldn't calm down.

  For the first time since waking up in this world, I felt not excitement... but anxiety.

  Because if they saw something more than a child in me — it meant that the world could see it too.