Chapter 06 Night of Broken Peace

By the time Rein turned ten, life had found a steady pace.

Morning came with the sound of clashing wooden swords in the backyard. Afternoon brought the smell of chalk dust and ink at the village school. Evenings were filled with warm dinners, quiet conversations, and sometimes, just watching the sun disappear behind the hills while crickets sang in the fields.

Rein had grown a lot.

He wasn’t just taller but faster, sharper. Stronger than any kid his age. Stronger than most adults in town.

“Come on,” Cael said, raising his wooden sword, “Show me what all that training’s done.”

Rein stepped forward. They moved across the dirt yard in a blur—strike, block, sidestep, counter. His arms ached, but in that satisfying way that told him he was doing something right.

Cael laughed, barely parrying a quick jab. “HAHA! You’ve gotten mean, my boy!”

“You told me to stop being polite, Dad.” 

“Yeah, well. I didn’t think you’d listen.”

Their swords clashed again. This time Rein almost got past Cael's guard. Almost.

Afterwards, they sat in the grass, both catching their breath. Cael gave him a proud look, sweat in his hair, hand clapping down on Rein’s shoulder.

“You’re going to outpace me soon. When I was your age, I could barely hold a sword properly. And now, just 10 years old, you’re out here making grown men struggle to keep up. Not just anyone could do that.”

 “I don’t want to be ahead. I just want to be… good enough.”

“You are, Rein. More than good enough. But this world doesn’t give kids like you the option to stay small. That’s why we train. That’s why we get stronger. So, when the time comes, you can choose for yourself. What kind of man you want to be.”

Cael didn’t say it out loud, but… he already knew. A few more months, maybe less, and Rein will surpass him.

But it wasn’t just swordplay.

Magic came to him like breathing now. He could pull heat from the air, shape it with a single thought. Fireballs were easy. Not just little sparks either—real ones. The kind that left blackened holes in training dummies.

But with all that… there was the other part of his life.

Aura.

She’d arrived at their school three years ago, quiet as snowfall. Shy, thin, dressed plainly—another kid from the orphanage, the teacher had said. She barely spoke that first day. Stood at the front of the room, staring down at her shoes.

Back then, Rein didn’t think much of it. New kids came and went. But Aura was different.

He started noticing her more over time. How she avoided groups. How she never ate during lunch unless no one was watching. How she stayed behind after class to help clean, even when no one asked her to. Never showed off.

Most kids didn’t know. Most didn’t care. They just called her “weird” and left her alone.

But Rein… he started sitting with her during lunch. Asked her small questions. Offered her notes. Nothing pushy.

Over the months, the space between them just started shrinking.

They weren’t best friends. Not yet. But something was there—something steady. Like two people standing under the same roof during rain, not talking, just… sharing the shelter.

Once, she’d said something that stuck with him.

Two older boys had been arguing outside school. Aura stepped between them, softly, didn’t raise her voice or shove anyone. She just spoke. Calm. Gentle. And somehow, that was enough.

Later, when they walked home together, she said, “It’s easy to hit someone. That’s not strength. Real strength is when you change someone’s mind without hurting them.”

Rein never forgot that.

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 Rein was practicing in the courtyard near their home: a half dozen wooden dummies lined up, fire swirling around his palms as he tested spells. He practices at night because magic felt sharper then—clearer, more powerful.

“Okay… steady.”

He extended his hand, palm forward, and focused. A flicker of warmth sparked at his fingertips, then flared into a soft, swirling orb of flame. It hovered for a moment before shooting forward and slamming into the training dummy. It caught fire and collapsed with a satisfying crunch.

“Still a little too much power… Gotta control the blast radius. Can’t be blowing up everything I point at.”

His thoughts drifted—not to his spells, not to training—but to the quiet moments. Dinner with his parents. Aura’s half-smile whenever she caught him making a fool of himself. 

 Ten years since he’d been reborn. And somehow, despite everything, this world had started to feel… real. Not a second life. Just life.

“I’ve forgotten the taste of instant ramen,” he whispered to himself with a dry laugh, “And I barely remember my old name anymore.”

He had just sent a small jet of flame into the third dummy when he heard it.

A roar. A deep, bone-shaking war cry—followed by screams.

He bolted upright, rushing to look where the sound came. Smoke. Thick, curling smoke rising from the south side of the village. Another scream—closer this time—followed by the unmistakable clash of steel and growls that chilled the blood.

“Monsters?” 

Another howl. Louder. And a crash—wood shattering.

He didn’t hesitate. Training surged through his muscles. He threw open the door and grabbed the short sword leaning against the wall. It wasn’t a real weapon—just practice steel—but right now, it would have to do.

He ran toward the village. The small homes were burning. Shadows moved too fast to be human—twisted, enormous. Monsters. Then came the distant sound of his father’s voice, shouting commands. Rein froze for just a heartbeat.

“Mom. Dad. I need to help them.”

He ran.