The early days of Arthur's new life unfolded in a rhythm so unlike the chaotic hum of the city he once called home. Gone were the beeping monitors, sterile hospital walls, and suffocating weight of exhaustion. In their place came a soft lullaby sung by a young mother as she rocked her newborn in her arms, the crackling of firewood, and the whisper of wind through wooden shutters. It was peaceful—almost unreal.
Cecilia, Arthur's mother, was everything Ryujin Tsubasa had forgotten people could be. She was gentle, but firm. Strong, yet nurturing. Her silver hair shimmered in the light, cascading down her back as she moved about their modest cottage, humming melodies that filled the home with warmth.
Their cottage was nestled near the edge of a quiet village, surrounded by fields of grain and a thick forest to the east. The villagers greeted Cecilia with reserved politeness. She didn't talk much about herself, and though some whispered behind her back, none dared to question her. Arthur, though still a child, could sense that she had once belonged to a different world—a nobler one, perhaps—but had chosen this life for a reason. And that reason, he was beginning to realize, was him.
Each day, Cecilia showered Arthur with a love so deep and pure that it left echoes in his soul. She never let him cry for long, always attending to him with gentle hands and whispered reassurances. She spoke to him constantly, even when he couldn't respond—stories about the stars, songs about ancient heroes, and myths passed down through her family.
"Do you know, Arthur?" she said one evening as she rocked him beside the fire. "When you smile, it feels like the world is finally right."
He didn't understand everything, but the love in her voice was unmistakable. It warmed him from within. He was alive—truly alive—in a way Ryujin never had been.
---
It was during one such ordinary day, when the sun filtered through the open window and the scent of herbs hung in the air, that Arthur's first conscious connection to magic took form.
He had been watching Cecilia grind medicinal leaves, humming to herself, when his fingertip began to glow.
A soft golden hue.
At first, he thought it was a trick of the sunlight. But the glow pulsed, growing stronger as he focused on it. It felt warm—not hot, not painful. Just... warm. Like the light of a gentle flame.
Cecilia noticed. She turned with wide eyes, dropping the mortar and pestle.
"Arthur?" she whispered, moving quickly to his side. Her hands trembled as she gently held his tiny glowing palm. "Already...?"
She seemed both astonished and frightened. But slowly, awe replaced fear.
"You're gifted," she murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Just like your father."
That was the first time she had mentioned him.
Arthur couldn't ask questions, not yet. But he filed away the name, the expression on her face, the softness in her voice. His father had been special—magically inclined, perhaps. And Arthur had inherited that legacy.
The days that followed were filled with experimentation. As much as he could with his undeveloped body, Arthur focused on that golden energy. When he tried hard enough, the glow returned—flickering at first, then steadily brightening. Cecilia began to encourage it.
She laid him on soft blankets, placed simple objects beside him, and whispered incantations.
"This," she said one morning, holding up a blue crystal, "is a mana stone. It helps focus magical energy. Watch."
She touched the stone to his forehead, closed her eyes, and murmured a gentle chant. A breeze stirred in the room though the windows were shut. The stone shimmered with light. When Arthur reached for it, his hand glowed once more.
She gasped, then laughed. "You're a prodigy."
---
As Arthur grew, so too did his understanding.
By the time he could sit and crawl on his own, he had begun to test the boundaries of his mana. One day, Cecilia returned from a brief trip to the village market with a small cut on her finger. Without thinking, Arthur reached out to her hand. He focused on the warmth inside him, willed it to her wound.
Light pulsed from his fingers.
The cut sealed before her eyes.
She stared at him in disbelief, then clutched him tightly.
"Arthur... you have healing magic."
It was rare, she explained. Precious. Healers were treasured in every corner of the world. But to wield it at such a young age... that was almost unheard of.
"You'll need to hide this for now," she told him gently, voice tinged with worry. "Not everyone who sees a miracle will call it a blessing."
He didn't understand everything, but he understood her fear.
So he practiced in secret.
Each night, after Cecilia tucked him into bed, he would lie quietly and focus on his mana. He learned to guide it, to bend it, to amplify or soften the glow. Sometimes he imagined old wounds or bruises on his mother's hands, healing them in his mind as practice.
By the time he turned three, he could mend minor injuries and alleviate fatigue. He experimented with temperature, color, and texture of mana. He discovered that humming helped him concentrate. That emotions—especially empathy—intensified the healing effects.
One stormy night, when a lightning strike scared the livestock into panic and his mother sprained her ankle chasing them, Arthur limped out into the rain and laid his hands on her foot.
The pain vanished.
She wept—not from pain, but pride.
"My son," she said, holding him close, "you're going to change the world."
---
But healing magic wasn't all he was interested in.
Arthur was curious. Endlessly so. He began to imitate the spell circles he saw in his mother's old books. Though she had tried to hide them, he always managed to find her stash—hidden under floorboards or in the bottom of a locked chest. She had once been someone important. That much he was certain of.
One evening, he found an old grimoire. Unlike the others, it didn't resist his touch. When he opened it, the pages glowed faintly, and he felt a pull—an invisible thread connecting him to the book.
Cecilia found him tracing one of the runes.
"You activated it," she whispered, stunned. "No... it activated *for* you."
She knelt beside him, opening the grimoire fully. Inside were hundreds of empty pages.
"This was your father's," she said. "A living grimoire. It stores magic, amplifies it. It's bound to your bloodline now."
She showed him how to pour mana into the book, how to 'write' spells onto the blank pages. The first one he recorded was a basic healing charm. When cast from the grimoire, it shimmered golden, five times stronger than before.
The experience left him breathless.
It was like holding a universe in his hands.
From that day on, the grimoire became his constant companion.
He named it "Lumina."
---
Their days passed in warm, golden routine.
Cecilia would cook simple meals, and Arthur would help. He learned to identify herbs, to cook porridge, to fix minor tools. They cleaned together, told stories, and laughed until their sides hurt. She taught him the names of constellations, the phases of the moon, and the language of flowers.
On nights when the stars were bright, they'd sit outside, wrapped in a shared blanket, and she would whisper:
"Your father would've been proud."
Arthur would always smile.
Not because he remembered his father—he didn't. But because Cecilia's love was enough to fill that space.
She gave him a childhood that Ryujin never had.
And though he couldn't say the words yet, he thought them every time she kissed his forehead:
*I love you, Mom.*
---
But beneath the joy, Arthur never forgot the truth: that he was someone reborn. That his magic was rare. That the world outside their little cottage might not welcome him so warmly.
So he trained. Silently. Tirelessly.
Every moment was a chance to grow. He balanced spoons with mana, healed cuts from farm animals, tested how far he could push his strength before fatigue overwhelmed him. Cecilia began teaching him old techniques—light meditation, breathing exercises, emotional regulation.
By the time he was four, his healing could mend broken bones. He could even reverse minor poisons.
He once asked, in broken speech, why he felt something... deeper beneath his healing magic. Like a current flowing backward.
Cecilia grew quiet.
"That's something else entirely," she said, almost fearful. "A path no one should walk. But... I suppose one day you'll decide that for yourself."
Arthur didn't understand then.
But he would.
For now, though, life was simple.
A mother. A child. A cottage filled with laughter.
And the warmth of love that could heal even the deepest scars.