“Its rain.. not me”

It’s been eight years since I found myself in this world, my body still small, but my mind carrying the weight of knowledge far beyond my years. Every day is a step closer to reclaiming the strength I once knew, every moment a test. Today, I sit cross-legged on the training ground, eyes closed, focusing on my mana heart.

The air around me hums with energy as I guide mana through my body, forcing it to pulse in perfect sync with my heartbeat. It coils, saturating every fiber of my being, threading through my muscles, sharpening my senses. The world around me narrows into a rhythmic pulse, my breath steady, my control absolute—

“Orion! Look, look!”

Elara’s voice shatters my concentration like a stone through glass. I exhale, slowly opening my eyes. She stands a few feet away, her hands outstretched, and above her palms, a swirling sphere of water hovers—alive, shimmering, twisting in the sunlight like liquid glass.

Her eyes are bright, glowing with excitement, a triumphant grin stretching across her face. She lifts the orb higher, her control steady, her mana wrapping around the water like invisible threads.

“Watch this!”

The sphere wobbles as it reaches its peak, its smooth edges blurring. Then, like mist unraveling, it begins to dissolve—slowly at first, then all at once. Too fast.

A sudden chill runs down my spine.

The next moment, a concentrated torrent of water crashes down—directly on me.

Cold. It’s cold. The shock of it snaps through my senses, my entire body drenched in an instant. The training ground turns slick beneath me, droplets splattering against the stone, my clothes clinging uncomfortably.

And Elara? She’s laughing so hard she can barely stand, clutching her sides like she might fall over from the sheer hilarity of my suffering.

I take a slow breath, pushing my dripping hair back from my face. “Elara,” I say, keeping my voice neutral, though my patience is wearing thin. “Some of us are actually trying to train here.”

She only laughs harder. “It’s just water, Ori! Besides, you looked too serious. I thought you needed a little… refreshment!”

I glance at the puddles forming around me, the wet strands of hair sticking to my skin, the absolute soaked state of my clothes.

“A little refreshment?” I raise an eyebrow. “This is your idea of little?”

Elara presses her lips together, trying very hard to look innocent. She fails. “Maaaybe I overdid it,” she admits, though the proud gleam in her eyes tells me she absolutely meant to overdo it.

I cross my arms, still dripping. “Maybe? Elara, one day you’ll be strong enough to pull storms from the sky. But you don’t have to start by drenching me.”

She shrugs, completely unapologetic. “I wanted you to see what I could do! You’re always busy with that ‘mana heart’ thing. I can actually do real magic, you know.”

I narrow my eyes. “Is that so?”

She lifts her chin, her grin widening. “You bet! I’ve been practicing. Soon, I’ll be able to do way more than just rain on you.”

Her confidence is unwavering, her excitement practically crackling in the air around her. I shake my head slightly, smirking despite myself.

She really doesn’t know when to stop.

And yet, as the late afternoon sun glints off the lingering droplets of water in the air, making them sparkle like scattered stars, I can’t help but think—

She’s going to be terrifying one day.

The air still hums with the remnants of magic, droplets clinging to my clothes, dripping from my soaked hair.

The training ground, once dry and warm under the afternoon sun, is now speckled with tiny puddles, shimmering like scattered glass. Elara stands across from me, eyes bright, shoulders high, beaming with unfiltered pride.

“Good,” I say, exhaling, shaking out my wet sleeves as water splashes onto the dirt.

“Because I’ll need you at your best one day. You might be the strongest water mage in the family soon, if you keep going.”

Her cheeks flush with warmth, her grin widening. “You think so?”

I nod once. “Of course. Just… maybe try to focus that aim a little better next time.”

She snickers, bouncing on her heels, before bending down to pick up a smooth stone from the damp ground. She turns it in her hands, thoughtful now, her excitement settling into something quieter.

“But seriously, Ori… when do you think you’ll show me how you do it? The whole mana heart thing?”

She frowns slightly, watching me closely. “You’re always working on it, and it looks…” She scrunches her nose, searching for the word. “Well, intense.”

I glance down at my hands, flexing my fingers as I feel the familiar pulse of mana threading through my veins, steady, controlled, thrumming deep in my core.

“One day, Elara.” My voice is even, calm. “For now, you focus on your water. I’ll handle the serious stuff.”

She groans, rolling her eyes dramatically. “You always say that. One day I’ll surprise you, Ori.”

I tilt my head slightly, studying her—this little storm of energy, so full of life and promise. A quiet smirk tugs at the corner of my lips. “I don’t doubt it. But maybe save the surprises until after I dry off?”

Elara giggles, about to respond when—

“Elara… Ori… what are you two doing out here?”

Anara’s voice cuts across the backyard, firm, exasperated. The moment she steps through the doorway, sunlight catches the edge of her long, flowing dress, casting a soft golden glow around her.

The breeze shifts, carrying the faint scent of lavender from the garden behind her.

Her gaze lands on me first. Soaked. Dripping. Standing in the middle of a battlefield of puddles. She pauses.

I can see the moment she takes it all in—the way her lips press together, her brows lift just slightly. Then her eyes shift to Elara, who immediately straightens, her fingers tightening around the stone in her hand as she attempts the world’s most unconvincing innocent expression.

Anara’s voice dips, the warning tone unmistakable. “Elara…”

Elara flinches.

“What happened here?”

Elara opens her mouth, glancing at me like I might somehow rescue her.

I don’t.

She shifts on her feet, stalling. “It wasn’t me, Mother! It’s… well… it’s rain!” She lifts her chin as if saying it with enough confidence will make it true.

I nearly snort.

Anara blinks. Once. Twice. “Rain?” Her eyebrow lifts, her expression flat. “You expect me to believe that? Don’t lie to me, missy.”

Elara’s shoulders slump. Caught.

Anara exhales, stepping forward, kneeling so she’s at Elara’s eye level. “We’re going to church today for your baptism. You should be preparing yourself, not drenching your brother and making up stories.”

The words land hard. Elara’s playful defiance flickers, her fingers tightening around the stone in her palm.

Anara’s voice softens, but only slightly. “If you keep playing tricks like this, Elara, and if you lie like that…” She pauses, letting the weight of the words sink in. “Well, God may choose not to grant you His blessing today.”

Elara’s face shifts instantly, her confidence crumbling into wide-eyed worry. “But, Mother—”

“That’s enough, Elara.” Anara’s tone is final.

Elara falls silent, shoulders tensing, her hands curling into fists at her sides. The weight of the moment settles between us, heavy like the air before a storm. The puddles at my feet ripple slightly as the wind shifts.

For the first time since the rain fell, Elara isn’t smiling.

The tension in the air feels thick, pressing against my skin like the lingering dampness of Elara’s rainstorm. My clothes cling uncomfortably, and a drop of water trails down my temple, but I don’t move. My fists clench at my sides, my voice coming out sharper than I intend.

“So what if God doesn’t grant her a blessing?” The words leave me before I can temper them, irritation burning in my chest. “Would she lose something just because of that? Or be less valuable somehow?”

Anara’s gaze snaps to me, startled. Her sharp, assessing eyes try to pierce through my words, searching for something beneath them. But I don’t look away. I don’t back down.

“Whether she has a blessing or not, she’s still Elara.” My voice steadies, quieter now, but firm.

“She’s still my sister. And she’s still your daughter, isn’t she?”

Anara’s expression shifts, the hard lines softening, her stern authority giving way to something gentler.

“Of course she is, Ori.” Her voice carries something unreadable, almost as if the reminder was needed.

“But it’s important for her to be respectful, to learn about the things that matter in this world. And in our lives, faith is one of those things.”

Elara, sensing the tension but still clinging to that spark of mischief, looks between us, her wide eyes darting like a cat sizing up an opening to pounce.

Then, with a small tilt of her head, she turns back to Anara, voice tinged with curiosity. “So… does this mean I won’t get my blessing?”

Anara exhales, rubbing her temple. “You might just receive one, Elara.” A sigh, then a slight smile. “But it’ll be in spite of all your little pranks, not because of them.”

Elara’s lips curl into a tiny, victorious grin, her shoulders straightening as if she’s won some secret battle. I smirk despite myself, shaking my head as a breeze stirs the damp fabric clinging to my back.

Anara catches our shared glance and sighs again, hands settling on her hips. “Now go inside, both of you.” She gestures toward the house, her voice slipping back into its usual authoritative warmth.

“Ori, change out of those wet clothes before you catch a cold. And Elara… try not to make any more ‘rain’ indoors, understood?”

“Yes, Mother,” Elara and I chime together, though her tone carries a hint of playful defiance.

As we step inside, the wooden floor cool against my damp feet, I glance back at Ori. His footsteps are soundless, his presence like a shadow, calm in a way that feels almost unnatural for a child. And for the first time in a long while, I hear myself murmuring under my breath, barely above a whisper—words that slip out before I even think.

“I’m not as worried about Elara as I am about you…”

The door swings shut behind us, and my thoughts press in like the darkened corners of a candlelit room.

From the moment he came into this world, Ori has always been different. Not just quiet, but watchful—as if he exists slightly apart from everything around him. Even as a newborn, he didn’t cry. Not once.

Other babies scream for attention, their wails carving themselves into the world, demanding to be seen, to be heard. But not Ori. He would simply stare, his big, clear eyes absorbing everything. Observing. As if he knew something the rest of us didn’t.

Elara, on the other hand, has always been like a storm in motion—loud, bright, full of life. She feels everything in the moment, wears her emotions like a second skin.

When she scrapes her knee, the world knows it. When she’s happy, she radiates warmth, bouncing back from pain in the blink of an eye.

But Ori?

Ori doesn’t cry when he falls. Doesn’t laugh when given his favorite toy. He keeps everything buried, locked away behind that quiet, steady gaze. And the only time I’ve ever seen him cry is when he’s asleep—silent, shuddering tears slipping down his face, his small body trembling in the darkness.

When Elara discovered her magic at six, it was like watching the sun break through storm clouds. She was thrilled, practically vibrating with excitement as she bent water to her will, her laughter bubbling over with every tiny success. She wanted the world to see. To know. She speaks often now of circles and power, already imagining herself as a second-circle mage, eager to prove herself.

Her path is clear, so obvious that it shines.

Ori, though… he’s a different story.

He told me he wanted to learn the mana heart technique, and I agreed, thinking—hoping—it might bring something out in him. Anything. Some spark of passion, of excitement.

But there’s nothing. No eager declarations like Elara’s, no boasting, no visible progress. In fact, I’ve never actually seen him practice it at all.

No exercises. No sparring. No bursts of power.

Instead, he sits beneath the old tree in the yard, its sprawling branches casting dappled shadows over him as the wind stirs through the leaves. He stays there for hours, perfectly still, barely even blinking. If I didn’t know better, I might mistake him for part of the landscape—just another statue in the garden.

And as much as I hate to admit it—even though I’m his mother—there’s an ache in my heart. Because there’s a part of him I don’t understand.

Ori feels like a puzzle with missing pieces, a secret locked away that I may never uncover. I can’t reach the quiet place where he’s hidden, no matter how hard I try. The mother in me should know, should understand, but with Ori, I feel like I’m grasping at shadows.

That’s why today matters so much.

The baptism isn’t just a rite of passage. It’s a chance—perhaps the only one I’ll ever get—to understand my son. To discover what sort of blessing has been bestowed upon him, to glimpse who he truly is beneath that ever-calm exterior. Maybe today will reveal something. Anything.

Maybe today will finally give me an answer.

“Mother, we’re ready!”

Elara’s voice bursts through the quiet, cutting through my thoughts like a sudden gust of wind. She charges out of the house, practically dragging Orion by the hand. Her cheeks are flushed with excitement, her golden hair bouncing as she moves, and her dress—clean and pressed just moments ago—is already wrinkled from her endless energy. There’s a glint in her eyes that says she’s far more interested in adventure than a formal ceremony.

Orion, by contrast, is as composed as ever, moving at his own steady pace despite Elara’s impatient pulling. His dark hair is neatly combed, but his expression remains unreadable, gaze flicking up toward me with a cool detachment.

I smile warmly at the sight of them, letting out a quiet breath. “You both look lovely,” I say, reaching over to smooth a stray strand of Elara’s hair. The scent of lavender clings to them both, a result of the herbs I used in their bath earlier.

“But remember,” I add, straightening up, “today is an important day. I expect both of you to be on your best behavior—no mischief.” My gaze lingers on Elara, who is already nodding far too vigorously.

She straightens her shoulders, lips pressing together as she does her best impression of a solemn, serious child. “Yes, Mother! I’ll be on my absolute best behavior,” she declares, brimming with so much pride in her words that I already know the promise won’t hold.

I turn my attention to Orion, raising an expectant eyebrow. “And you, Ori?”

He glances away, the barest hint of a shrug shifting his shoulders. “Well… let’s see,” he says, voice light, but there’s something in his tone—something that teeters between amusement and challenge.

I fold my arms, my expression firm. “Not let’s see.” My voice sharpens slightly. “Be respectful. Address others with courtesy.”

Orion exhales, rocking back and forth on his heels, his eyes distant. His voice, when it comes, is barely more than a murmur. “That depends on them.”

I catch it.

My eyes narrow slightly. “What did you say?” There’s no anger in my tone, but there’s no room for evasion either.

He shifts, looking down, his weight shifting ever so slightly—an unconscious tell, subtle but there. “Nothing,” he replies smoothly, swinging his head just enough to feign innocence.

I sigh, shaking my head with a small, resigned smile. “One of these days, Ori, you’ll surprise me by actually cooperating.” The words leave me softly, half to myself.

Elara giggles, the sound bright and full of mischief, as she takes her brother’s hand in both of hers.

“Don’t worry, Mother! I’ll make sure he’s on his best behavior,” she promises, tugging him forward. “Come on, Ori! You’ll be respectful, won’t you?”

Ori gives her a long-suffering look, but his feet move without resistance, following her lead.

As he passes me, his gaze flickers up, something unreadable stirring in his dark eyes.

“I’ll be… respectful,” he mutters. Then, just loud enough for Elara to hear, he adds, “If they are.”

Elara winks, clearly delighted, and tugs him along even faster.

I follow, my steps measured, a quiet prayer slipping from my lips.

Please, let today go smoothly.

But with these two… I know that’s a tall order.