Chapter 6 : A World That Might Still Hold Joy

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

I was maybe eight or nine months old by now.

In that time, I’d had moments to reflect on my new life. The first week after my encounter with the divine figure was a blur of conflicted emotions. I understood what he said—that I had to let go and move on—but the feeling that I was somehow betraying my old self still lingered like a shadow. Fortunately, that intrusive thought began to fade with time.

And things got a little easier, too. Thanks to the blessing I received, I could now understand the language around me. Words stopped being noise and started to carry meaning—gentle, kind ones most of the time. It made the world feel less like a prison. I even heard my name clearly now, not as a guess, but a certainty: Adrian. That was me. That was who I’d become.

As my mind gradually adjusted to this life, my body followed suit.

I could crawl quickly now and even manage a few wobbly steps if I balanced just right. My limbs no longer felt like dead weight. I still fell—more often than I cared to admit—but I was mobile. I was free. And that changed a lot.

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 beneath every step. Everything smelled of clean linen, herbs, and that old-wood scent—like the house had soaked in centuries of seasons.

As I grew, I memorized the layout of the house from all the mornings and afternoons spent being carried around by either my new mother or the maid.

The first floor had a large living room with a hearth that always felt warm, even when the fire wasn’t lit. Woven rugs covered the floor, and the furniture—sturdy and handmade—looked like it had been arranged with practical care. Toward the back were the kitchen and pantry, along with a small bathroom and a cozy guest room. A staircase wrapped upward, its wooden brackets creaking slightly, leading to the second floor. That’s where my parents' room was, along with the maid’s quarters, a study, and another bathroom.

As for the basement… I knew we had one, but I didn’t even know where the entrance was.

Then came one sunny afternoon. My mother kissed my forehead and gently set me down in the now-too-small cradle.

Once she left the room, I decided—screw it—I was going on an expedition.

I climbed out of the crib like I had done many times before, then made my way toward the door. Luckily for me, it had been left just slightly ajar. I carefully stood on my feet, steadying myself by wedging my hands between the door and the frame. Then I shifted my weight and gave the door a push.

It budged a little—just enough to widen the gap, but not enough for me to fit through.

I tried again, this time slamming my soft shoulder into it with all the force my tiny body could muster. The door creaked open further… too far, actually. I lost what little balance I had and toppled over.

But that wasn’t a problem. What’s a bruise compared to the thrill of adventure?

I picked myself up and pressed on into the hallway.

I shuffled forward on all fours, my palms making soft slapping sounds against the wooden floor. Every now and then, I paused to watch the dust drifting through golden rays of sunlight pouring in from the high windows. It shimmered in the air, slow and silent—like stars suspended in time. I could’ve stared at it for hours.

But I had a mission. To explore.

For a second, I looked back.

The room I’d just crawled out of was the guest room—tucked quietly behind a thick wooden door that always creaked when pushed. It was simple, but warm in its own way. A modest bed sat against the wall, wool blankets folded neatly on top. A small arched window let in a beam of pale amber light that stretched across the floor, catching specks of dust as they drifted lazily in the air.

In the corner stood a large wardrobe I’d never seen opened. But from overhearing my mother and the maid, I knew that’s where they kept extra clothes, blankets, sheets—stuff I apparently went through faster than anyone expected.

In the center of the room sat my cradle—the same one I’d been sleeping in since birth. It was starting to feel a bit too small for my growing body, but it still worked. During the day, they kept it here in the guest room to make it easier to keep an eye on me. At night, they’d carry it upstairs so I could sleep next to my parents.

I liked that they kept me close. It was comforting, in a way, to feel wanted… protected. But when I was left alone in this room, even just for a little while, something inside me relaxed. I could explore. Move at my own pace. Be myself—or at least I didn’t have to pretend.

The wood creaked under me as I kept crawling forward, each sound louder than it had any right to be. I was already a little tired, but the mission wasn’t over yet.

As I continued down the hallway, another door appeared.

The bathroom. It was made mostly of stone and rough tiles—probably to keep it mold-proof. It always felt colder than the rest of the house, and when I brushed my hand against the floor, a sense of cold ran straight into my fingers. The air inside always had this clean, crisp scent, like a mixture of soap, cool minerals, and the faintest trace of dried herbs.

At the center of the room sat a deep stone tub, carved from a single block of what looked like dark gray granite. It caught the light in its smooth curves, and the water inside shimmered like glass. I remembered hearing the splash of water during my baths—how the sound echoed gently against the walls, accompanied by the soft hums of my mother or the quiet footsteps of the maid preparing towels. It wasn’t modern by any means, but something about it felt… elegant. Sturdy. Timeless.

I stayed there for a moment longer, just listening to the quiet.

Then I turned away.

Because there was still one place I hadn’t checked yet.

The kitchen. The real reason for my exploration.

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, without any explanation, she lifted her hand over the mouth of the vase and began to chant.

“Gift of rain and mountain spring,
Of mist and stream, of river’s ring.”

I froze mid-step.

As she chanted, a faint shimmer gathered in her palm. Blue, but not bright—more like moonlight pooled in cupped hands. The air above it rippled, bending light the way heat does on asphalt.

I leaned forward, barely breathing.

A tremble in the air.
“From root and stone, your path I call—
Rise and answer nature’s thrall.”

Then—a swirl.

It began like a thread of smoke drawn in reverse. Mist twisted out of nothing, swirling upward from her palm in slow spirals. Not wild. Not chaotic. Just... precise. Controlled. Like the magic itself was listening to her.

“In droplets fall, in dance begin,
A spiral drawn on breath and wind.”

The glow deepened, not with intensity, but depth—like looking into deep water at night. And from the heart of that swirl, droplets began to appear.

One.

Then two.

Then dozens.
“Thread by thread, now intertwine,
Join as one, a sacred sign.”

The droplets suspended in the air, glimmering like crystal beads. They spun together, gravity forgotten, pulling into a perfect, hovering sphere of water. No bigger than a melon, but so impossibly smooth it didn’t even seem real.

It hovered above her hand like it belonged there.

Inside the orb, tiny bubbles rose, catching the light. The sun filtering through the pantry window bent through the sphere, scattering faint rainbows on the surrounding walls. Little flashes of color dancing across the stone and wood.

I didn’t dare blink.

Then, gently, as if she’d merely exhaled, she stopped chanting.

“In stillness rest, in silence stay—
A blessing held in water’s sway.”

The glow from her hand faded.

The sphere of water slowly fell—silent, graceful—and landed in the vase with a soft, clean splash.

Ripples spread outward across the surface, delicate and calm.

Like nothing magical had ever 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 softly as she stepped over and scooped me into her arms. “We can’t have you sitting on the floor like that. You’ll get all dusty. Lady Eleanor would scold us both.”

Lady Eleanor… That was my mother’s name.

“Since when did you get so energetic, hm? Hopping around like a little rabbit.” She chuckled, then nuzzled her nose lightly against mine. “Always darting off without a sound, always curious—just like a wild bunny kit in the spring. If I don’t keep an eye on you, you’ll vanish under a cabinet before I can blink.”

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 a lullaby I couldn’t quite place, I let my head rest against her shoulder. Her warmth, the soft rise and fall of her breath, the faint scent of flour and herbs clinging to her apron—it all wrapped around me like a blanket. Safe. Comforting. Familiar in a way that made my chest ache.

Her steps were steady, swaying just enough to lull me into something between sleep and awareness. I could hear the faint creak of floorboards beneath us, the echo of distant voices, the hush of wind brushing against the windows. Somewhere, a door clicked shut. Somewhere, someone laughed.

But none of it mattered.

Because my thoughts weren’t on this house or this hallway.

They were fixed on one thing.

Magic.

This world had magic.

Not fairy tale magic. Not stage tricks or illusions. Real, tangible magic. I’d seen it with my own eyes—heard the maid’s chant, watched water rise and gather in her hand like it belonged there.

And if that was real…

Then maybe everything I thought I knew wasn’t set in stone.

Maybe this new life wasn’t just a second chance to breathe, but a chance to choose. To learn. To grow. To reach for something more than just surviving the days.

Maybe I didn’t have to be trapped by what I lost.

Maybe I could become someone new—someone who still remembered, still carried the past—but didn’t live only for it.

Because now I knew what I wanted.

I wanted to understand this magic. To feel it in my hands the way the maid did. To shape it, speak it, make it mine.

If I could do that… if I could carve out a place for myself in this world…

Then maybe, just maybe, I could be truly happy here.