I woke up earlier than usual.

  The realization didn’t come immediately. At first, it was just a feeling — strange, unfamiliar.

  Lightness.

  My body didn’t ache, my temples didn’t pound, my vision wasn’t blurred.

  I sat up in bed and spent a few seconds simply listening to myself. My heartbeat was steady. My thoughts were clear. Even my breathing was calm.

  — Strange.

  Yesterday I’d practiced magic quite a bit. Though I’d started being more careful after what Lyra told me. Usually, after sessions like that, I’d wake up with a headache.

  But today everything felt fine.

  More than fine.

  — Maybe I just got used to it? — I muttered under my breath.

  It was a pleasant thought.

  Too pleasant to believe right away.

  I got up, threw on a simple shirt, and stepped out of my room. The house was quiet. Soft morning light stretched through the windows, and distant voices could already be heard — the village was waking up.

  In the kitchen, I saw Elvarin.

  She stood by the table, sorting through vegetables, and looked… confused.

  That was unusual.

  She always had everything planned ahead, as if the Dryad herself whispered what to cook and when.

  — Good morning, — I said.

  She turned and smiled.

  — Good morning, my little ray. You’re up early today.

  — I got enough sleep, — I answered honestly, sitting at the table.

  Elvarin sighed and looked at the food laid out before her.

  — I can’t decide what to cook today, — she said. — Everything feels so… repetitive.

  I froze for a second.

  An idea came suddenly — so suddenly that I was surprised where it even came from.

  Probably from the part of me that still remembered the smells and tastes of my past life.

  — How about… — I hesitated, choosing my words, — we make pizza?

  Elvarin blinked.

  — Pizza? — she repeated, as if I’d spoken in a foreign tongue. — Is that… something from distant lands?

  — Well… — I scratched the back of my head. — Something like that.

  She narrowed her eyes — not suspiciously, more curiously.

  — And what is it made of? And more importantly… is it tasty?

  — Very, — I said without hesitation.

  She smiled, but then looked at me more carefully.

  — Where did you learn about such a dish, Aeron?

  I didn’t answer right away.

  Of course I couldn’t tell her the truth.

  And if I said I invented it myself, she wouldn’t believe me either.

  I needed something… believable.

  Something that wouldn’t raise questions.

  I pretended to think.

  — I… heard about it from uncle, — I finally said. — When he visited. He talked about food from other countries.

  Elvarin frowned slightly, as if recalling old conversations.

  — From your uncle… — she repeated. — Yes, he did like telling strange stories.

  She laughed softly and shook her head.

  — Alright. Why not? If the day promises to be unusual, let the food be the same.

  I couldn’t help but smile.

  — Then… let’s start with the dough, — I said as calmly as possible, as if suggesting something completely ordinary.

  Elvarin paused for a moment, then raised an eyebrow and looked at me with an expression I’d already learned to recognize — a mix of maternal tenderness and mild confusion.

  — Dough? — she repeated. — Are you sure you know what you’re talking about?

  — More than sure, — I nodded. — We need flour, warm water, salt… and some oil. Do we have yeast?

  — We do, — she answered slowly. — But how do you know the order to mix everything?

  I almost stumbled on that question.

  — Uncle said if you add salt first, the dough gets tough, — I shrugged. — And if the water’s too hot, the yeast dies.

  Elvarin stared at me for several seconds.

  Then silently walked to the shelf and took down a sack of flour.

  — Alright, — she said. — Show me.

  I climbed onto a small wooden stool to reach the table and began giving instructions — carefully, without rush.

  — Not all the water at once. Little by little. Yes… like that.

  — Oil later, when the dough starts coming together.

  — Don’t press too hard. It needs to “breathe.”

  She followed everything I said.

  And the further we went, the more attentive her gaze became.

  — You know, — she said after a few minutes, — I’ve been cooking my whole life. But no one has ever explained dough to me like this.

  When we covered the bowl with cloth and set the dough aside to rest, I moved to the next step.

  — Now the sauce.

  — Sauce? — she was surprised. — For bread?

  — It’s not bread, — I shook my head. — It’s the base.

  I asked for tomatoes, herbs, a bit of garlic. I explained they shouldn’t just be chopped, but crushed and lightly heated so the flavor would soften.

  Elvarin cut the vegetables, occasionally glancing at me.

  — Aeron… — she said quietly, — you know quite a lot for your age.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  I shrugged.

  — I’m just curious, — I answered honestly. — And when you’re curious, you remember things.

  She said nothing.

  Only nodded and kept cooking.

  When everything was assembled — dough, sauce, cheese, herbs — she carefully placed the tray into the oven.

  We sat at the table and waited.

  A few minutes passed. A warm, unfamiliar aroma spread through the kitchen.

  Elvarin inhaled deeply and laughed softly.

  — Alright, — she said. — I admit it. Even if this dish is strange… it smells wonderful.

  I watched the fire in the oven and felt a strange, almost forgotten feeling.

  Simple… ordinary joy.

  I took the tray out and set it on the wooden table.

  Elvarin paused for a moment, as if deciding whether to trust this strange “pie” invented by her little son.

  — Well… — she took a knife. — We’ve come this far.

  She cut a small piece and tasted it.

  A second passed. Then another.

  I watched her, waiting for her reaction.

  Elvarin slowly raised her eyebrows.

  — This is… — she began, then fell silent.

  I tensed involuntarily, ready for anything.

  She took another bite. More confidently this time.

  — Aeron, — she finally said, — this is the strangest pie I’ve ever eaten.

  I exhaled.

  — But, — she added quickly, as if afraid I’d misunderstand, — also the tastiest.

  Of course it was.

  It was one of my favorite dishes from my past life.

  A warm, almost girlish smile appeared on her face.

  — The dough is soft, but not airy, — she continued thoughtfully, taking a third bite. — The filling is… unusual, but perfectly balanced. And this melted cheese… — she shook her head. — I never would’ve thought something like this was possible.

  She looked at me again.

  — Are you sure you only heard about this from your uncle? — she asked with a slight smirk.

  I shrugged, putting on childish innocence.

  — He said people cook like this in distant lands.

  Elvarin snorted softly and cut herself a larger slice.

  — Well, if that’s how they eat in distant lands… — she said, — maybe they’re not so bad after all.

  After the pizza, the house grew quiet.

  Elvarin left on errands — to bring a piece of the “strange pie,” as she called it, to a neighbor. The warm smell of cheese and herbs still lingered on the table, and in my stomach — that pleasant heaviness that makes you want neither to run, nor talk, nor think too fast.

  I sat with my back against the wall, just staring at the ceiling.

  And that’s when the thought came — the one I’d been deliberately putting off.

  What was I even supposed to do in this world?

  Who did I want to become?

  Maybe it was too early for a three-year-old child to think about such things. But the sooner I chose a profession, the easier my future would be.

  I didn’t know who I wanted to be.

  But I knew exactly who I didn’t.

  I was unlikely to become a healer. That profession wasn’t popular in the Dominion right now. There were no wars or major diseases, and most minor wounds people could heal themselves.

  Elvarin was a healer, but she didn’t work officially. She only occasionally helped locals in trouble — more like a side calling than real income.

  Alak had also been a healer, but due to lack of work he joined the Mage Guild. As far as I knew, he brewed potions there.

  A battle mage?

  It sounded beautiful — until you understood what stood behind it. War wasn’t fireworks of spells, but mud, fear, and orders you couldn’t refuse.

  But I wanted a profession connected to magic.

  One that brought good money…

  And was safe.

  The thought circled in my head, refusing to let me sit still.

  I stood up and went to Alak’s room — the place where I always found answers, even when I wasn’t looking for them.

  The room was almost empty. Shelves of books, a desk by the window, a chair. Nothing unnecessary. The smell of old paper and ink — quiet, calming.

  I’d already seen most of the books.

  History of the Dominion. Elemental Magic. Healing Arts. Records of the Past.

  But today my gaze caught a book lying not on a shelf, but on the edge of the desk — as if it had been used recently.

  A simple cover. No ornaments.

  Only the title:

  “Foundations of Enchantment. A Practical Guide to Imbuing Mana into Matter.”

  Enchantment?

  I’d heard that word rarely. It was almost never spoken about at home, and certainly not taught to children. Enchanted items were bought, ordered, used — but their creation remained behind the scenes, like the work of a watchmaker: everyone knows clocks tick, but few understand how.

  I carefully picked up the book. It was heavier than it looked — though that was probably because of my small hands.

  I flipped through the first chapters.

  There were no formulas. No incantations.

  Only diagrams. Principles. Mistakes.

  Enchantment didn’t look like magic in the usual sense. There was no throwing fire or healing wounds.

  Here, you had to understand how mana behaved inside matter.

  How metal resisted.

  Why wood dampened mana flow.

  I sat right on the floor, leaning against the desk, and kept reading.

  “Enchantment is not the art of power, but the art of patience.”

  Patience wasn’t always my strength… but I didn’t think that would be a problem.

  I read until my eyes began to close.

  The book wasn’t the kind that captivated you instantly. It promised no quick results and flattered no reader. On the contrary — almost every page tried to discourage you: if you seek an easy path, close this book now.

  But the further I read, the stronger my desire to try became.

  Well… I had nothing else to do anyway.

  Why not try?

  I carefully closed the book and looked around. Alak’s room was quiet. No footsteps, no voices. Only the ticking of old clocks by the window.

  — Maybe I should enchant a stone? — I muttered.

  The simplest material. No processing, no structure. If something went wrong, I wouldn’t ruin anything.

  In the yard, near the fence, I found a suitable one — gray, fist-sized, with a relatively flat surface. I sat down right on the ground and placed the stone in front of me.

  The next problem was obvious.

  — And where am I supposed to get tools?

  The book spoke of enchanted chisels, calibrated needles, runic styluses.

  Of course, I had none of those.

  Without thinking long, I decided to use a knife. A simple kitchen knife. I just had to be careful not to break it — otherwise Elvarin would kill me.

  I turned the knife in my hands.

  — Not ideal… — I said quietly. — But it’ll do.

  Now I had to choose a rune.

  I thought for a long time. Not a complex formula, not a chain — just one, the simplest. A symbol of containment… and a symbol of light.

  — Alright… this will do, — I told myself.

  I began carving.

  The metal scraped against the stone. The lines came out uneven — too deep in some places, barely visible in others. My hand tired quickly. Several times I stopped to check the pattern and compare it with the book.

  — Too crooked… — I frowned. — But it should work anyway.

  When the final line was done, I set the knife aside and stared at the result for a few seconds.

  The runes looked… pathetic.

  If Alak saw this, he probably wouldn’t even scold me — he’d just sigh.

  But for a first attempt, it would do.

  I placed my palm on the stone.

  Now the most important part.

  I closed my eyes and tried to do what I’d read about: not to spill mana, not to force it in — but to introduce it.

  Slowly. Carefully.

  Imagining it filling the scratches, clinging to the lines, following the path I’d carved for it.

  At first, nothing happened.

  Then I felt a familiar tingling in my fingers. Light — almost pleasant.

  The stone beneath my palm grew… warm.

  I opened my eyes.

  The runes glowed faintly. Not brightly — more like embers under ash. A dim, pale light you could easily miss if you didn’t know where to look.

  — It worked… — I exhaled.

  It was much easier than I’d expected.

  I removed my hand.

  The stone kept glowing.

  I stared at it, afraid it would go out.

  And it seemed my fear wasn’t unfounded — the light began to fade with each passing minute.

  — Hold on… — I whispered, not even sure who I was addressing.

  After a few minutes, the glow disappeared completely.

  The stone became ordinary again — cold, gray, lifeless.

  — Damn it, — I said, falling back onto the ground.

  But despite the weak result, nothing hurt.

  No headache. No nausea.

  None of the symptoms that usually followed magic use.

  I looked at the stone again.

  It was a failed artifact. Poor material for enchantment. Made with a kitchen knife… and a child’s hand.

  But it worked.

  Even like this — without tools, without experience — I’d made a stone glow.

  I watched it a few seconds longer, as if expecting it to light up again on its own.

  Nothing happened.

  It lay in the grass — ordinary, unremarkable.

  I returned the knife to where I’d taken it.

  Then I lay on my bed and stared at the ceiling.

  My body was calm.

  No pain. No heaviness. No familiar ringing in my head.

  If magic takes life…

  Then I just need to learn how to spend it properly.

  With that thought, I finally fell asleep.

  Not like a child who was merely curious —

  But like someone who knew where to begin.