Rain pounded against the windows of the van Ambrose manor. The storm had been raging all evening, much like the storm on the night Grim was born three months ago.
"Waaaaah!" Grim cried, not because he was hungry or needed changing, but out of sheer frustration.
"Fucking hell, why can't I just talk?" he thought, his adult mind trapped in this useless infant body.
[Your vocal cords are undeveloped. Speech will come in time,] the voice in his head replied.
"Great, just fucking great. I'm stuck as a useless potato for how long exactly?" Grim thought back.
[Typically, human infants begin forming basic words around 12 months. Complete sentences usually develop between 18 and 24 months.]
"Kill me now. Again."
Sera, the elderly servant, lifted Grim from his cradle. "There, there, young master. The storm frightens you, doesn't it?"
"The storm doesn't frighten me, you old bat. I just want to be able to wipe my own ass," Grim thought, though all that came out was a string of unintelligible baby noises.
Sera carried him downstairs where two men sat by the fire. One was his father, Rowan van Ambrose, his face gaunt with grief and worry. The other was Brother Tomas, a cleric from the Capital who had been hired to check Grim's health and magical potential—a standard practice for noble families, even disgraced ones.
"Is he still fussing?" Rowan asked, not looking up from his drink.
"Babies fuss, my lord," Brother Tomas said. "It's their only means of communication."
"If only you knew," Grim thought.
The cleric smiled at Grim. "Shall we proceed with the assessment? I should complete it before I return to the Capital tomorrow."
Rowan waved a hand dismissively. "Do what you must."
Brother Tomas took Grim from Sera and placed him on a table where he'd set up various items—crystals, small vials of liquid, and a silver medallion bearing the seal of the Celes Empire
"House van Ambrose," the cleric said as he worked, "once famed throughout the empire for their holy sword wielders. Every generation produced at least one child with light affinity, until—"
"Until my grandfather's time," Rowan interrupted. "We all know the story. Three generations without the light. Three generations of decline, until my family was framed for treason, hunted down, and exiled." He drained his cup. "Now it's just me and the boy. The last of our line."
"And yet," Brother Tomas said, holding a crystal over Grim, "your history is written in your blood. Sometimes old gifts return when least expected."
"You sound like my wife," Rowan said bitterly. "She believed our son might be the one to restore our house. She died believing that."
Grim stared at the crystal hovering above him.
[That crystal is responding to your mana signature,] the voice explained. [Blue indicates water affinity.]
"So I can make puddles. How exciting," Grim thought sarcastically.
Brother Tomas frowned and replaced the blue crystal with a white one. "Let me try something."
As he held the white crystal over Grim, it remained dull and lifeless.
"Another disappointment," Rowan muttered.
"Wait," the cleric said, his brow furrowed. He placed both crystals over Grim simultaneously.
Nothing happened at first. Then Grim felt something strange inside of him.
"What the fuck is that?" he thought.
[You're channeling mana subconsciously. Try to focus on the feeling. Give them a show.]
Grim didn't know how to focus at his age so he tried his best to feel the energy inside of him and force it out.
Suddenly, both crystals began to glow, one was a bright blue glowing like a saphire and the other began to glow so bright it looked lik a bright flash of light.
Brother Tomas gasped, nearly dropping the crystals. "Lord van Ambrose! Look!"
Rowan turned, his eyes widening as he saw the brilliant display above his son.
"What is this trickery?" he demanded, standing so quickly his chair fell backward.
"No trickery," Brother Tomas whispered. "Dual affinity—water and light. The first light affinity in your family in three generations, and it's remarkably strong."
The front door suddenly banged open, the sound almost lost in a crash of thunder.
"Rowan!" a voice boomed from the entryway. "Are you hiding in here, you miserable hermit?"
A tall man swept into the room, dripping water onto the floor. He wore elegant robes beneath a travel cloak, and his beard was neatly trimmed despite being soaked from the rain.
"Marcus," Rowan said, his shock at the crystal display momentarily forgotten. "What are you doing here?"
"Can't an old friend visit without an interrogation?" Marcus replied, clapping Rowan on the shoulder. Then he noticed the glowing crystals above Grim. "What in the Emperor's name is happening here?"
"Archmage Marcus," Brother Tomas said, clearly recognizing the newcomer. "I... I was just performing a standard assessment on the young master and—"
"And?" Marcus stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he examined the crystals.
"The boy has a dual affinity," Brother Tomas explained. "Water and light."
"Light?" Marcus looked from the crystals to Rowan. "A van Ambrose with light affinity? After all this time?"
Rowan stared at his son, his expression unreadable. "What did you say?" he whispered, the words barely audible.
"I said the boy has light affinity," Brother Tomas repeated. "The strongest I've ever seen in an infant."
"What the hell is the big deal about light?" Grim wondered. "Can't be that special if nobody's had it for three generations."
[Light affinity is extremely rare and valuable,] the voice explained. [In this world, those with light affinity can banish darkness, heal wounds, and imbue weapons with holy power. Combined with your water affinity, you have potential for both healing and combat magic.]
"Cool, i can use a fucking light saber," Grim thought.
Marcus strode forward and placed a hand on Grim's forehead. The Archmage closed his eyes for a moment, then stepped back, his face pale.
"By all the gods," he murmured. "Rowan, do you know what this means? Your son could be the key to restoring your family's honor. The Emperor might even...."
"No," Rowan cut him off. "No one must know of this. Not yet." He looked at Brother Tomas. "You will speak of this to no one, understand?"
The cleric nodded, though he looked troubled.
"And you," Rowan turned to Marcus, "why have you really come? The Emperor's Archmage doesn't venture into exile territory on a whim, old friend or not."
Marcus sighed, glancing at Grim. "Perhaps we should speak privately."
"Whatever you have to say, say it here," Rowan insisted. "There are no secrets in this house anymore."
"Very well." Marcus straightened his back. "Things are changing in the Capital. The faction that orchestrated your family's downfall is losing influence. I've been working to clear your name, and I've made progress. The Emperor has agreed to review your case."
Hope and suspicion warred on Rowan's face. "After five years? Why now?"
"Because the empire needs its heroes back," Marcus said simply. "And now....." he nodded toward Grim and the still-glowing crystals. ".....it seems the gods themselves have provided evidence that House van Ambrose still has a role to play."
Grim looked from his father to the Archmage, understanding the political maneuvering at play even as a baby.
"Great," he thought. "I'm a fucking political pawn before I can even hold my head up properly."
[You are much more than that,] the voice corrected. [You are potentially the revival of a legendary bloodline. Your path will not be easy, but it may be fun and excicting.]
As the adults continued their discussion, their voices growing more animated, Grim stared at the glowing crystals above him. Light and water. Holy and fluid. Power that had skipped generations to manifest in him.
"Well," he thought, "at least I won't be bored in this new life."