Chapter 5:– The discovery of magic

Time had passed—fast and slow, all at once.

I was around one and half year old now. I could crawl pretty fast and even take a few wobbly steps if I balanced just right. My limbs no longer felt like dead weight. I still fell over—more often than I liked—but I was mobile. I was free. And that changed everything.

The house I lived in was much bigger than I expected for a place tucked away in what seemed like a quiet corner of this medieval world. It had thick wooden beams and rough stone foundations, with warm, honey-colored floorboards that creaked gently when I moved across them. Everything smelled like clean linen, herbs, and that old-wood scent—like the house itself had soaked in centuries of seasons.

The first floor had a large living room with a hearth that always felt warm, even when the fire was out. Woven rugs covered the floor, and the furniture—sturdy and handmade—looked like it had been placed with practical care. The kitchen and pantry were toward the back, next to a small bathroom and a cozy guest room. A staircase wrapped upward with wooden brackets, leading to the second floor, where my parents’ room, the maid’s room, a study, and another bathroom were.

As for the basement… I didn’t even know where the entrance was.

Then came one sunny afternoon. My mother kissed my forehead and set me down in the hallway.

And I decided—screw it—I was going on an expedition.

I shuffled forward on all fours, palms smacking softly against the wooden floor. Occasionally, I stopped to stare at the dust floating through shafts of golden sunlight streaming from the high windows. The dust shimmered and danced in the light like tiny stars caught in slow motion. I could’ve watched that for hours.

But I had a mission.

The guest room came first—tucked behind a heavy wooden door that creaked when I nudged it open. It was simple but cozy. A modest bed with folded wool blankets, a small arched window letting in a beam of pale amber light, and a pile of unused pillows stacked in the corner like some sort of soft fortress. Tempting… but I pressed on.

The bathroom was next. Made mostly of stone and rugged tile—probably to keep it mold-proof. The walls were cool when I touched them, and the air always smelled of soap and minerals. There was a deep stone tub carved from a single slab at the center, filled with shimmering water. It wasn’t modern by any means, but something about it felt… elegant. Sturdy. Timeless. Like it belonged to the world.

And finally… the kitchen.

My real goal.

I peeked around the corner like a tiny spy, heart thudding in my chest like I was sneaking behind enemy lines. The maid was there—the quiet woman with long dark hair, always so calm and gentle. She was humming softly, her movements graceful as she worked near the pantry.

And there it was again… that little white rabbit tail.

For the longest time, I’d assumed it was part of her uniform. Like some weird fantasy-world accessory, maybe a cultural thing I didn’t get. It bounced a little when she walked—almost comical—but I never questioned it too deeply. I mean, who the hell would assume people in this world weren’t people?

I crouched low and inched closer, careful not to make a sound.

She stepped into the pantry—a small room lined with herbs, baskets, and ceramic jars. She stopped in front of one of the larger jars. No—vase. It was nearly twice my height. I tilted my head in curiosity.

“Looks like we’re running low on water,” she said softly.

Then, casually, she raised her hand over the mouth of the vase and began to chant.

I froze.

No sparks. No dramatic wind gusts. Just her voice—a calm, steady chant like a lullaby whispered in fog.

Her hand began to glow. A soft blue shimmer pulsed from her palm, and the air above it distorted, like a mirage on a summer road. I leaned forward, eyes wide.

A ripple.

Then a swirl.

It started as a twisting thread of mist—barely there—spinning in midair like a water tornado in reverse. The glow brightened, but not in a harsh way. It looked like moonlight reflected on rippling water.

And then came the droplets.

Tiny beads blinked into existence. One. Two. A dozen. Then hundreds. They spun together, converging, condensing—until they formed a perfect, floating sphere of water. About the size of a melon.

It hovered above her hand, still and smooth. Bubbles rose within it, like fizzy water, and the sunlight from the pantry window bent through it, casting tiny rainbows on the walls.

I could barely breathe.

And then… she stopped chanting.

The glow faded, and the water orb dropped with a soft splash into the vase.

Ripples spread out across the surface like nothing strange had happened.

But to me?

Everything had changed.

DID SHE JUST CREATE WATER FROM THIN AIR!? I screamed in my head. HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE!?

I scrambled forward, half-crawling, half-walking, heart racing. My mind reeled.

WAIT—WAIT, HOLD ON. Water just... appeared. Like, literally formed. WAIT, IS MAGIC A THING HERE ? Did she know the molecular structure of water? Was that some kind of spell that rearranged hydrogen and oxygen atoms!?

No. That couldn’t be it.

She didn’t visualize molecules. She just… made it.

I stared into the jar. It looked like normal water. Not glowing. Not cursed. Just… drinkable. Ordinary.

This breaks every law of physics I’ve ever known. Is this even a planet? Is this a realm where magic replaces fundamental chemistry and physics?

I sat there, completely stunned, thoughts spiraling.

Does gravity work the same? What about The laws of physics? What are the actual rules of this world?

I didn’t even notice how long I’d been sitting there until the maid turned around.

She paused. Blinked.

“Oh my!” she said, laughing gently as she walked over and scooped me into her arms. “We can’t have you sitting on the floor like that. You’ll get dirty. Lady Eleanor will be upset.”

Lady Eleanor… That was my mother’s name, then.

Her arms were warm. She smelled faintly of lavender. But my brain was still racing.

I wanted to ask her a thousand things. I had the words—I could speak, at least in broken form—but…

If I start talking like a college student, she’ll think I’m possessed. No one wants to hear a baby recite quantum mechanics.

So I pointed at the jar instead.

“You… make… water?” I asked, in the most baby way i could wide-eyed.

She blinked, then giggled.

“Yes! Me make water,” she said brightly, tapping my nose.

I laughed—half to sell the act, half because… it was kind of fun. Pretending to be a normal kid. Weirdly comforting.

As she carried me out of the kitchen, gently humming some lullaby, I rested my cheek on her shoulder. The hallway passed us by—walls with wooden sconces, a painting near the stairs, and a little table with a fruit bowl that I was 80% sure was either fake or enchanted. Who knew anymore?

But my thoughts were fixed on one thing.

Magic.

This world had magic.

And if magic was real…

Then so much more might be possible.