I'm the type who thinks arcane knowledge is fascinating, sure, but practical combat and survival skills... those are what keep you alive long enough to actually use magic. And having three veteran adventurers as personal tutors (even if they don't totally know it) is a golden opportunity.
So, without a second thought, I switch my focus. When Dad's busy with his Captain duties (which, for now, mostly seem to involve settling neighborly disputes and making sure the baker isn't selling stale bread), I stick close to his friends with the curiosity of a miniature disciple.
With Borin, it's all about brute force and presence. I sit nearby when he and Dad do light sparring in the yard (Dad holds back a lot, but the ground still shakes from their fierce blows). I watch how the big blond guy plants his feet before swinging his (now a smaller, more manageable training version) axe.
The tension in his muscles, the way he exhales with each strike. I try to copy his stance with my chubby legs, which usually just results in me falling on my butt, much to the barbarian's amusement. "Hahaha! Got spirit, squirt! Plant your feet! Yell loud!" he bellows, and teaches me to make a "fierce" face and give a little stomp.
It's not exactly combat technique, but I feel my body starting to instinctively grasp the concept of 'center of gravity' and 'putting weight behind a move.' [Fast Learner] helps etch those visual and kinesthetic patterns into my muscle memory, even if my body can't execute them properly yet.
With Lyra, the quiet elf, the learning is more subtle, almost mystical. She spends hours maintaining her bow or simply observing the surroundings from the porch. I sit beside her, copying her stillness. At first, I get bored quickly, but she teaches me games. "See that bird on the roof, Lexo? What color is it?" she whispers. "How many leaves on that branch?" "What sound is the wind making today?"
Observation exercises, I realize, to sharpen the senses. My [Fast Learner] kicks in, letting me notice details I'd missed before. Sometimes, she takes me to the edge of the garden and points out tiny tracks in the dirt. "Field mouse," she murmurs. "Beetle." I start seeing the world not just as shapes and colors, but as information.
And then there's Kael. Learning from him is like trying to catch smoke. Everything is movement, misdirection, and being where you're not expected. We play hide-and-seek a lot, and he's annoyingly good. But watching him (when I manage to find him), I learn about using shadows, moving silently (tough in diapers), and keeping my balance.
He teaches me simple knots (my fingers are finally cooperating a bit more), and sometimes, he shows me sleight-of-hand tricks with a coin, explaining the importance of "misdirection" and "fluid movement." "The key, little guy," he says with a wink, "isn't being invisible, it's making them look somewhere else." I try to copy his stealthy movements when crawling or walking, focusing on the weight of my steps.
Meanwhile, my friendship with Lila blossoms. She's babbling more words now, though she's still pretty shy around others. With me, she loosens up more. We play with her dolls (she makes up stories for them, I nod and make appropriate noises) or with my blocks. One day, while we're sitting under the big tree in her garden, I try to teach her what I do in secret.
"Sit like this, Lila," I say, awkwardly crossing my legs. "Close your eyes. Feel... warmth here." I point to my chest. She copies me, squeezing her eyes shut tight, but then opens them and giggles. "Warm? Like sun?" I try to explain about the specks of light, the core... but it's useless. The concepts are too abstract for her age (and for anyone who hasn't been reincarnated!). She ends up poking my belly and asking if I'm ticklish. I sigh inwardly. Okay, for now, we'll just be friends who play. Magical enlightenment will have to wait for her.
The adults watch my interactions with the adventurers with amusement. Dad sometimes comments, "He's got his mother's curiosity and my stubbornness." Mom smiles and says, "He's soaking everything up like a sponge." They don't suspect the true extent of my learning or the reason behind my almost obsessive focus. They think I'm just imitating the interesting adults around me, which is perfect for my cover.
My core stays the same, a constant, warm presence. I haven't felt any urge to complete it; my focus has been on these practical skills. I feel like, even though my magical power isn't increasing, my ability to use it in the real world, to survive and act, is putting down firm roots thanks to the indirect lessons from all these people. But this is just the beginning.