I looked up and saw a huge house—no, a mansion.
"This… is our new… home," I stuttered, trying to process the sheer size of the place. It looked like it belonged in a futuristic movie, stretching as wide as a hill and gleaming with the latest tech. A modern fortress, yet somehow still a home.
"Haha! Surprised? This is our family estate," my father laughed proudly. "Your grandfather designed it himself. Every part of it."
And just like that, we moved in.
---
June 2, 2244
I've supposedly adapted to my new life.
But who am I kidding?
I still miss my wife's cooking. The way she'd smile while scolding me for hovering too close in the kitchen. The way she'd sneak in extra spices just because she knew I liked it hot.
Now… everything tastes different. My dad's been trying to make me feel at home with the food here, but I can't stand it.
Biryani, rajma, dosa, butter chicken… they just don't taste right to me.
It's weird, isn't it? I'm part Indian now. I should be used to it. But it only reminds me that I'm someone new… and someone lost.
---
September 14, 2244
Dad told me more about our family today.
Turns out we come from a long line of heroes. Not one of the elite families or anything like that, but a respected lineage—known not for slaying monsters or clearing high-tier portals, but for saving lives. Quiet heroes. The kind that run into disaster zones while others run away.
We're government heroes. North Indian, to be exact. From the mountain regions—Kashmir. That explains the snow that never feels too cold, and the mountains that always seem to call me.
Dad also told me a strange bit of history—that before the Global Language Initiative in the 18th century, only five main languages remained: English, Hindi, Korean, Japanese, and Chinese.
It made me smile. In my past life, I knew three of those—English, Hindi, and Sanskrit. The last two I'd learned from my wife. It was hard, especially Sanskrit, but… those memories? They're precious. She'd quiz me, tease me, reward me with kisses for getting it right.
God, I miss her laugh.
---
December 29, 2244
Today I started learning our family's swordsmanship.
And it's... great.
I thought it would be painful or rigid like old-school martial arts, but no. It's fluid, refined, built over generations. It's like dancing—with blades. Every motion has purpose.
My father clapped my back and said, "Haha! Easy, right? Actually, our method is more efficient than even the Three Great Families'. Those guys still torture their kids with old, outdated drills."
Then, without missing a beat: "But don't slack off. Now back to running laps!"
I also began to understand mana.
There are elemental types: fire, water, wind, earth, and thunder—called the "backbone elements."
Then there are racial types:
Elves have natural energy and normal mana.
Monsters use berserker energy.
Demons wield demonic energy.
And humans, like us, use normal mana.
Simple enough, but I could already tell there was more to it.
---
January 17, 2245
I studied the races of this world today.
Monsters are powerful but simple-minded.
Elves are graceful, sharp, and frighteningly intelligent.
Demons… are something else.
They're manipulative. Wicked. They don't fight fair. And no one even knows what they really look like. That part gives me chills. If you don't know the face of your enemy, how can you ever be ready?
---
March 24, 2245
Training has become part of my daily rhythm. Sweat, bruises, ache—then repeat.
But my father keeps smiling. "You're a genius, Arjun," he said one day. "At your age, I couldn't even hold a sword properly."
I didn't say anything, but hearing that warmed me.
I do wonder about Lily and Mom, though. How are they? Where are they?
Today I also learned my mana nature: Thunder and Wind.
Kinda cool, I guess.
---
And then, everything changed.
For the past three years, life had been moving forward. I had moments of joy. I laughed with my father. I asked about his missions. I even felt proud of him.
And then, one day… he was gone.
A friend of his came to our door, face grim and hands shaking. He said it plainly, as if saying it fast would soften the blow:
"Your father… died in the line of duty. Villain ambush."
Just like that, he was gone.
I was twelve.
---
I inherited everything. The mansion, the estate, the legacy.
But none of it mattered.
Not when Mom and Lily didn't even show up to the cremation.
I stood there alone—watching the flames, listening to the silence where goodbyes should have been.
That hurt more than I ever expected.
At times like this… I wish she was still here. My wife from my past life. My anchor. The one who'd hold my hand and say, "We'll get through this, Michael."
But Michael is gone, too.
---
Today, I turn 13.
And where am I?
On a solo trip through the Himalayas. I told people it's for vacation, for peace. But in truth, I'm trying to escape the weight in my chest. I keep hoping the cold mountain air will carry it away.
It hasn't.
Not yet.
But maybe… just maybe… I'll find something up here that helps me remember who I am.
Or who I'm supposed to become.
END