Magic—the ever-encompassing mystical energy Nathan had only seen in movies, shows, or books back home. Fantasy was a massive genre where he came from, so when he heard the word magic, images filled his mind—flames, storms, turning silver into gold. Everyone had a picture of it. But now, he didn't have to imagine. He had seen it firsthand—the portal, the void, the transfer of a soul. And now, magic was being pumped into his body through this strange new organ.
It wasn't like the stories described. How could it be? This was real. It had always been real in this world. His idea of magic had been glorified, simplified for entertainment. But lying here, in the body of a dead infant, feeling every inch of his fragile form, sensing every cell being infiltrated by the filtered magic coursing from the lump near his liver, he didn't find it simple. Or glorious.
Magic wasn't just a concept anymore. It was tangible energy, surrounding him, filling him. If he wanted to survive, he had to accept that—had to make it part of his reality.
There were too many things weighing on his mind. He was helpless, entirely at the mercy of whoever found him next. If scientists discovered him, they'd likely keep him as an experiment. If it were guards or law enforcement, they might just kill him on sight. And if it were the people disposing of bodies, they might be too afraid to act at all.
Food. Water. Survival. All of it depended on someone else's mercy.
There was no clever strategy, no cunning plan that could turn him into an adult overnight. Only patience.
But with so much out of his control, Nathan turned his focus to the things he could control.
He could understand magic. He could learn how it functioned in the human body. And maybe—just maybe—he could use the energy it provided to survive.
With that thought, he shifted his awareness inward, entering meditation. His sharpened perception, heightened beyond human limits, honed in on the black lump beneath his liver. He needed to see it—needed to understand it.
At first, nothing. Just the vague sense of its presence. But then, the surface of the organ took shape in his mind. It was like a ball filled with oil and water—two forces trying to mix, succeeding only under immense pressure.
Nathan theorized that toxic magic was drawn in from the air, absorbed through pores in the skin, then transported to the lump where it was refined into something usable. But that left one critical question:
What kind of pathways carried the mana from his skin to the lump?
If evolution was responsible for the existence of this organ, then it must have used the body's existing systems as a foundation. Evolution didn't create something entirely new if it didn't have to—it refined what was already there. So, if this lump had developed to filter magic, it likely used a structure similar to the blood vessels.
Why fix something that wasn't broken?
That meant there had to be some kind of magic veins—real, yet invisible to the human eye. And if that were the case, then theoretically, he should be able to control the flow of magic, just as he could control his muscles. Just like how clenching a fist directed more blood to his hand, he should be able to will magic into specific parts of his body.
So the question was: What did he want the magic to do?
Nathan's goal was clear—he needed to see these pathways. If they truly existed, then perhaps forcing magic into his eyes would reveal them. But what would happen if he did? Would an influx of magic enhance his vision? Burn his retinas? Make his eyes burst?
Risk assessment had been a major part of his past life, and it wasn't about to stop now. The situation gave him no good options—only a choice between lesser evils. If he never took risks, he'd never gain control over his situation. And if the worst happened… well, then he died.
The thought should have terrified him. It should have made him hesitate, made him fear the idea of pushing his limits.
But he had already died, hadn't he?
He had felt his flesh stripped away, experienced the sheer agony of his own destruction. He had known he would die. Humans feared the unknown—but death was no longer unknown to him.
So Nathan braced himself.
He focused.
At first, it felt impossible—like trying to move a limb that wasn't there, like grasping at something intangible. But the magic within him carried his signature, his presence—his will.
So he willed it.
He forced the magic toward his eyes when he felt like he could and redirected it when he needed to. The magic already had a path—it just didn't know how to walk it. Nathan simply had to teach it.
In a normal human baby, this organ would likely instruct the magic on its own over time, adapting as the body grew. But time was a luxury Nathan didn't have. So he kept pushing forward.
It felt surreal—he could sense it, envision it—yet there was nothing there. Like he was controlling something that existed in a separate dimension, overlapping with his own.
Was that where magic existed?
A different plane of existence, intersecting with reality? Some higher dimension, intangible yet ever-present?
He didn't know. But he didn't care.
Minutes passed like hours as he forced the magic into his eyes, guiding it with sheer will. Then, finally, something clicked.
His vision flared with an intense, fiery blue glow, and in that instant, he unwittingly cast his first body-enhancing magic.
He dubbed it—Magic Gaze.