With the Big Four still immersed in that secret mission nobody would tell me about, the house had taken on a peculiar atmosphere. It was quiet—too quiet—without Borin's booming laughter (he was now on permanent guard duty in the yard like a grumpy bear) or the technical debates between Lyra and Kael. Yet beneath that calm, a palpable tension thrummed in the air, like thunder before a summer storm.
Mom, perhaps channeling her own anxiety, had thrown herself completely into the clinic. The flow of patients seemed to have increased—drawn either by her growing reputation or by sheer curiosity after the six-armed beast attack.
And me? Turned into her shadow and self-proclaimed "star apprentice" (mostly because my unofficial house arrest left me few alternatives), I spent most of the day by her side. I discovered that healing was, ironically, brutal training. Forget wielding swords or stopping time; trying to close a deep wound or stabilize someone's life energy while battling mana exhaustion required laser focus and mastery of energy flow that left me mentally fried by the end of the day.
Mom let me intervene in increasingly complex cases, always under her watchful eye that seemed to anticipate every mistake before I made it. Whether I was using my (vestigial) Light to seal minor burns, applying controlled cold with my Water affinity to lower fevers, or even acting as a tiny mana capacitor to absorb excess chaotic energy from a patient—each act felt like pushing against an invisible wall, testing the limits of my control and my still-inexperienced core.
Ah, the core. My daily personal project. After that furious awakening in the forest, it had remained like a blank canvas—but one made of pressed charcoal: dense and dark. My "cleaning" routine, as I mentally called it, was an exercise in infinite patience. I would sit and meditate whenever I had a moment, visualizing that black sphere in my chest and imagining scrubbing it with a cosmic toothbrush. It was like trying to polish the crater of my own Awakening by hand. Slow, frustrating, but not useless. Day after day, I felt I managed to scrape off an infinitesimal layer of that primordial soot. It wasn't pure charcoal anymore; if I concentrated hard enough, I could see deep veins of a very dark red—the color of ancient rust or embers about to be snuffed out under a thick layer of ash. Impure, yes. Rudimentary, too. But it was a change.
Curious to quantify that change, I took advantage of a moment when Mom was preparing a calming infusion for a town merchant to quickly check my status.
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Lexo
Age: 5 years and 8 months
Level: 2 – Rust Red/Impure (50% Progress to Stable Dark Red)
HP: 35/35 (+3) | MP: 160/160 (+5)
STR: 5 | VIT: 6 (+1) | INT: 7 (+1)
WIS: 7 (+1) | DEX: 5 | MAG: 7 (+1)
Core: Primordial - Multi-elemental
Primordial Abilities:
[Chronos]: [Time Pause] (Active/Passive) Lv.1
[Spatium]: [Time Pause Resistance] (Passive) Lv.1
Acquired Abilities:
[Quick Learning] (Passive) Lv.4
[Basic Healing] (Active) Lv.1
Elemental Affinities:
Air (Vestigial) Lv.1
Earth (Vestigial) Lv.1
Water (Vestigial) Lv.1
Fire (Vestigial) Lv.1
Light (Weak) Lv.3
Darkness (Vestigial) – Locked
Status: Stable. Conscious Mind, Training (Healing Magic/Basic Elemental Control), Active Core Refinement.
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Aha! My stats were still slowly rising—especially the mental and magical ones thanks to healing and meditation. And I'd even gained [Basic Healing] as an official skill! The system detailed my progress in core refinement: "Rust Red/Impure - 50% Progress to Stable Dark Red." Halfway to cleaning off that first dark layer. Nice!
The monotony of training and refinement was regularly interrupted (or rather, spiced up with irritation) by the continued presence of Uncle Valerius. His official excuse remained "regional security," but his main activity seemed to be hogging the best armchair in the living room—reading reports with a scholarly air and deploying his noble general charm on any female patient under forty. It was exasperating to see him so neat and, frankly, useless while Mom worked tirelessly and Borin sweated patrolling the yard. Still, I couldn't deny the quiet authority and calculating intelligence he exuded—even when he talked about the weather.
One day, tired of trying to scrape the soot off my core and having already memorized half of Mom's herbal compendium, I decided to seek a different challenge.
"Uncle Valerius," I said with all the innocence I could muster, "could we… practice a little with swords?"
He looked up from a tactical map, a spark of amusement dancing in his usually serious eyes. "Of course, nephew. A little exercise never hurt anyone. Although try not to dent my imaginary armor this time."
We went out to the yard. If my sessions with Dad were 80% talk and 20% gentle practice, this was a masterclass on how useless my current skills were. While he didn't have Dad's or Borin's crushing strength, his swordsmanship was pure, deadly poetry—economical, precise, devastatingly efficient.
"Your feet, Lexo," he corrected calmly as my wooden sword missed him by inches—he had shifted half a step to the left. "They are your anchor and your pivot. If your foundation is weak, your attacks are just leaves in the wind, lost in nothingness." He dodged another clumsy thrust with a simple flick of his wrist that deflected my blade. "And your torso. Don't fight your own momentum. Rotate with the sword, extend your reach, conserve your energy."
His words made perfect sense, but my five-year-old body struggled to keep up. Frustration boiled over. I had Chronos! It had to be useful! On impulse, I attacked again—a low feint followed by a quick high cut—and activated the pause. (Pause, pause, baby!)
TIME PAUSE ACTIVATED
The world froze. An ocean of purplish mana erupted from me, expanding instantly like a dome. Now! I lunged toward his open guard, my sword tracing an upward arc toward his head…
TIME PAUSE DEACTIVATED
…and my blade impacted his with a dry 'clank'. He was there. Waiting. His wooden sword had risen to intercept my blow exactly where I intended to strike, as if he had seen the future—or, more likely, as if my stopped time hadn't even slowed him down. His ability was disconcerting, almost insulting in its efficiency.
"Tricks are for the desperate, nephew," my uncle commented calmly, though his eyes sparkled with amusement at the challenge. "A skilled opponent doesn't just watch the sword—they read the body, the intention, the flow of mana that comes before the strike. Your pause is an interesting tool, no doubt, but if you don't back it up with solid fundamentals, it's merely delaying the inevitable." In a flash I didn't see coming, his sword deflected mine, its tip coming to a cold, firm stop just a millimeter from my throat.
"However," he conceded, withdrawing his sword, "I must admit, your tenacity is… remarkable. For a child your age to even try to face me—and to wield such a peculiar ability without immediately collapsing—you have a foundation to build on. A lot of potential, nephew. Don't waste it."
Perhaps to drive his point home—or simply amused by my frustration—he made a sudden feint followed by a downward strike that, though controlled, carried enough force to make me squeeze my eyes shut in pure instinct.
The expected impact never came.
Instead, a dull thud—like a giant melon crashing to the ground—reverberated behind me. I snapped my eyes open. My Uncle Valerius was pinned against a wall, now cracked, slowly sliding to the ground with an expression of total surprise and something like pain. And where he had been moments before, Mom now stood, as relentless as ever. Her face was a mask of icy fury, one hand still reaching out toward where my uncle had been. I swear I saw a fleeting, bitter shimmer—almost like a distortion—around her outstretched hand before it vanished. Spatium! Definitely!
"Valerius!" Mom's voice was soft yet edged with steel. "I warned you. I told you to be careful."
My uncle peeled himself off the wall with a groan, trying to salvage his dignity as he brushed away imaginary dust from his impeccable tunic. "Always so excessive, sister! It was a simple demonstration—I had everything under control!" But I saw how he avoided Mom's gaze and how his hands trembled as he adjusted his collar. Yes, even the mighty General Valerius Vanyae knew better than to tempt his older sister. He then muttered something about "urgently needing more tea" and scurried like an opossum toward the living room. Mom sighed; the fury on her face softened into that familiar worried look as she checked me over with her eyes. "Are you alright, Lexo?" I nodded, still a bit stunned by the display of power—from both of them, really.
Later, as the sun began to set, Lila burst onto the scene like a whirlwind of pigtails and energy.
"Lexo! Pie no come!" she announced with an adorable pout, plopping down on the porch steps. "Says he's reading! Mean!" It was clear that Pietro was deep into his research on the eggs in his family's library. At least someone was making progress on that front.
I looked at Lila, who was already trying to catch a butterfly with her chubby hands. Simple, direct, uncomplicated. A breath of fresh air in my increasingly strange life. I remembered the incredible reaction she had the last time I gave her a mana "push." Could it work again? Could it help her solidify that nascent core?
"Lila," I called softly, "shall we play magic tickles again?"
She turned around immediately, her eyes shining with curiosity. "The lights? Yes!"
We sat facing each other. I placed my hands gently inches from her shoulders, concentrating on releasing an even finer, more controlled flow of pure mana. The response was instantaneous and dazzling, even for me—who only perceived it indirectly. Lila puffed as if she'd run out of breath (or perhaps had too much), while her eyes widened like saucers. "Wow! Lights, so many, Lexo! And right here!" she exclaimed, laughing with delight. I could feel the energy swirling inside her, her core forming and stabilizing at an astonishing speed. It was almost complete! Her potential was simply monstrous—much more receptive than Pietro's, perhaps even more than mine before my forced Awakening.
"Lexo?" she asked, touching her chest where she felt the warmth.
"It's your magic, Lila," I explained simply. "It's growing. It's getting strong. You're amazing."
She smiled—a wide, genuine smile—and pointed toward the clinic. "Ele?" Did she want Mom to teach her?
I laughed. "Maybe when you're a little older. For now, just remember that feeling and practice every day, okay?"
I offered to go get the cookies Mom had baked that morning. She agreed with a joyful shout. As I walked toward the kitchen, the sweet smell of cookies filled the air, and my mind inevitably returned to that persistent question about my past life. Who had I been? A scientist? A soldier? A simple daydreaming office worker? The answer remained an impenetrable fog. I knew things from that world—concepts, technologies, stories—but no personal memories. Was it a blessing or a curse? Maybe it was better not to know, not to carry the baggage of another self. I was Lexo now. And that was complicated enough.
"Philosophizing about being and nothingness while the cookies get cold, little chrononaut?"
Eos's mocking voice echoed in my head, as if she were right beside me. I nearly dropped the plate.
"I told you," she continued in her amused tone. "The past is the past. Focus on the present—you still have a lot of growing up to do and so much to accomplish."
Grow up, I thought ironically. You don't exactly seem like a titan yourself, nosy goddess.
There was a pause, followed by a crystalline laugh that vibrated in my skull. "Insolent! But accurate! Now go share that delicious treat your mom made before I eat them all myself."
I smiled. Yes, definitely, my present was interesting enough. And there were cookies.