《Shell Theories: The Broken Magician》


 Chapter 1: In the Void

    In a realm without space. In a space without time.


    I existed.


    In what form I did not know. Indeed, I did not know if I even had form. In this realm, there were but two things, of which I knew for certain. The first, my existence. The second:


    My purpose.


    In a realm without space, in a space without time, I was waiting. Waiting to fulfill my purpose. It was the only meaning I had for my existence. But even then¡­


    Laughably, I knew not of even the nature of my purpose. How, then, would I fulfill my purpose? How, then, would I know when it came time to fulfill my purpose? What, then, was I even waiting for?Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    It was a universe devoid of sight, sound, taste, touch, and smell. Trapped as I was in this sensation-less universe, I had only myself and my thoughts to keep me company. As I waited, naturally, I pondered. The meaning of my existence. The nature of my purpose. I ended up with more questions than answers.


    Even then, I did not worry. Somehow I knew. Even though I did not yet know of my purpose, still I would know when it came time to fulfill it. It was a vague sort of knowledge. Like a distant memory. But whose?


    I pondered these questions as I waited and wallowed in an infinite void. An eon was condensed into a second. An instant stretched on to eternity. In this paradoxical universe where time held no meaning, I waited. And finally, the time was upon me.


    My consciousness whirled like a maelstrom. The waves and eddies of my being lashed out against the nothingness. My existence pooled out like water down a drain, and I surrendered myself to its currents. And finally, finally¡­


    In a realm without space, in a space without time, I found my purpose.


    And unceremoniously, I disappeared.

 Chapter 2: Given Form

    A new realm. A different sort of existence. An existence, this time¡­ with form! Indeed, I now had form! Furthermore, a form that could feel! Yes, I could feel!


    ¡­I could feel!


    A supreme and wonderful bliss washed over me. It was like emptiness made whole! Like bindings sloughed off! In a childlike giddiness I explored my new form.


    Ten fingers, ten toes. A head, two arms, and two legs. A torso and hips connecting them all together. It was a form I was most familiar with. A human! This was a human! Somehow, this form felt dangerously small and weak, but it was definitely human, at least! And this human me is¡­ currently¡­ floating¡­ in a¡­.


    Come to think of it, where exactly am I?


    I focus my newfound senses towards understanding my environment. Unaccustomed to my new body, my weak limbs tremble as I try to stretch them out. A pleasantly warm liquid resists my tiny movements. I tilt my small head slightly. How strange. From my knowledge, humans are unable to survive extended periods of time submerged in water. Hmm?


    Aren¡¯t I in a dangerous predicament right now then? By all accounts I should be suffocating in here, correct? Still¡­


    Here I felt safe. I couldn¡¯t really explain the feeling. It wasn¡¯t a conclusion I reached through logic, or reasoning. It was something primal. An instinct, I suppose? From the core of my being, I was at peace. In this place I was warm and happy. Yes. Here was safe. I was safe in here. Good, good.


    After finally gaining form, my first experience with feeling was the blanketing warmth of comfort and security.


    My second experience was pain.


    A horrifically sharp pain tore out from my left shoulder. It was like a knife digging through my flesh. The terrifying new sensation left me in a stupor, the sensory overload shocking me frozen. I was dazed, simply unable to react. Until it happened again a second time.


    An intense, searing pain ripped out from the left side of my neck. My body convulsed, and I thrashed about. My heart was beating dangerously fast. With every pulse my neck throbbed painfully. I felt betrayed. How could this be? I was supposed to be safe in here. Instead I was attacked by a terrible agony I couldn¡¯t even defend against. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. And a cry did come out. But not from me.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    It came from around me. The sound of a young woman¡¯s painful cry resonated through the liquid that surrounded me. The voice was muffled, but it filled me with a sense of familiarity. My environment shook in time with the woman¡¯s labored breathing. Though barely, I managed to discern the voice of a young man calling out.


    ¡°¡­sha!? Tri¡­a, wha¡­ong!?


    ¡°It¡¯s the baby! Cam, she¡¯s¡­!


    Another sharp pain shoots through my left cheek. The intense burning sensation caused my body to shudder, twisting and turning as if to shake off the unbearable stinging. Again, the environment shook, and again the woman cried out.


    ¡°Ah!¡±


    ¡°¡­isha, ..at¡¯s happen¡­!? Are ¡­ kay!?


    ¡°I, agh! I¡¯m fine! I¡¯m fine, but the baby is¡­!¡±


    Ah. I understand now. This voice belongs to my¡­. mother. I see, yes, then it makes sense. The young woman is my mother. The young man is likely my father. And I¡­


    I am their child. No, it seems I¡¯ve not been born yet. Not a child yet, not even yet an infant. I am simply a fetus. A parasite, leeching off of Mother¡¯s vitality. She, thanklessly providing nutrition, shelter, and comfort¡­ and I, unilaterally benefiting from the arrangement. And in what manner do I repay her?


    The pain cuts through my left eye. My body spasms. Mother cries out again.


    ¡°Tri¡­a!¡±


    ¡°Cam, the baby! Something¡¯s happening to our baby!¡±


    ¡°¡­sha, do¡­ I-! I¡¯ll fi¡­re something out, so y¡­ to tell me what¡¯s wrong!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know! I don¡¯t know what¡¯s happening! Cameron!¡±


    I am utterly ashamed. In my ignorance, in my weakness, I have caused Mother suffering. No. This is not right. This is not how it should be. A woman in pregnancy must suffer much to begin with. I will not allow myself to add to her suffering.


    The pain shoots through my forehead. It hurts tremendously. My limbs tremble and quake. But this time, I hold my body in place. Endure! I must endure it! This pain, it comes from my body! Therefore Ihave the responsibility to deal with it myself! I will not allow my pain become Mother¡¯s pain!


    Every nerve in my body stings. My limbs twitch uncontrollably. Small tears escape my closed eyes mixing with the surrounding fluid. My surroundings shake with Mother¡¯s ragged breathing.


    ¡°Right, yes, a doctor! Cam, we have to call a doctor!¡±


    ¡°A ¡­tor? But the fa¡­ly doctor¡­¡±


    ¡°The village doctor, then! Quickly, we¡¯ll have to-!¡±


    ¡°Abso¡­ not! I cannot all.. to move in y.. condition!¡±


    ¡°Cameron!¡±


    ¡°So, I¡¯ll bring ¡­ to you.¡±


    ¡°But, my family¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll handle th¡­ eave the rest to me!¡±


    ¡°Cameron¡­ I¡¯m sorry. Thank you.¡±


    ¡°Anyth¡­ for you, Trisha..¡±


    Footsteps. A door, perhaps? In my fading consciousness, in my watery nest, the sounds are difficult to distinguish. But it seems after a time, the man who is my father is gone.


    ¡°¡­Stay strong, won¡¯t you? Mama will fix this. It¡¯ll be alright, just stay¡­ stay strong¡­¡±


    It hurts. It hurts so much. My body shudders, but I hold it in. I can handle this. I have to handle this. For Mother¡¯s sake.


    That¡¯s right, Mother. Right now I¡¯m weak. Right now I am nowhere near strong. So this is all I can do for you. But I promise. One day I will definitely repay you for everything you¡¯ll have given to me. I will be a good child. I absolutely will.


    That¡¯s why, Mother.


    Please don¡¯t cry.

 Chapter 3: Thoughtful Child

    It has been a week since then. Roughly.


    Occasionally, Mother will enter long periods of inactivity. I can only assume she is asleep during these periods. With that, I can more or less keep track of the passage of time. I do find it odd, however, that I am able to retain my consciousness unceasingly. I¡¯ve only existed for roughly a week but I cannot seem to recall any break in my memory. Perhaps I do not require sleep? Somehow, as a fetus, I feel like I should be doing little else but sleeping. Or rather, to begin with, are my thoughts not somehow bizarrely constructive and lucid? My fetus brain most certainly should not be developed enough to support such a matured mentality. Perhaps my physiology is unique. How strange.


    Speaking of which, after a week it seems that my body has more or less stabilized. That awful knife-like pain arrived with ever decreasing frequency, eventually stopping completely. However, wherever that sharp, gouging sensation visited, it would always leave a muscle aching sort of residual pain in its wake. In the end, it seems, I¡¯ve only exchanged an intermittent sharp pain for a continuous dull one,


    Even so, my situation isn¡¯t all too terrible. My body feels somewhat¡­ well, no, truthfully it feels extremelyuncomfortable. Still, it isn¡¯t anything I cannot handle. The pain appears to flare up only when I move, so as long as I keep my body relatively still it doesn¡¯t hinder my everyday fetus life.


    Within the past week I¡¯ve also learned a bit about my family.


    It would seem that I am part of the somewhat well-to-do Lancaster family. Mother and Father mention the name from time to time. As a fetus, my only method of gathering information is listening in on Mother¡¯s conversations, so I can¡¯t say I¡¯ve gleaned much. I have, however, become much more familiar with my parents¡¯ voices. Considering where I am positioned, I can hear Mother¡¯s voice quite clearly. She has a lovely sort of gentle, clear voice. It has a refreshing timbre, reminiscent of a clean brook by a forestside. When she speaks, her voice has a way of reverberating through the fluid that I exist in which transmits the vibrations directly throughout my entire body. It¡¯s as if the voice comes from within me, and from without me. It¡¯s quite relaxing.


    Father has a crisp, honest sounding voice. Truthfully, I don¡¯t have much of an impression of it, because any sound that doesn¡¯t come from Mother is muffled, as if coming from several rooms away. In fact, almost all speech aside from Mother¡¯s is rendered unintelligible. I can understand Father to a degree because he spends quite a bit of time wrapped in passionate embrace around Mother. I must admire the two. They certainly give off the sort of feeling as if to say, ¡°As long as you are with me, dear, I will willingly endure any sort of trial!¡± Come to think of it, I believe I¡¯ve heard them say nearly those exact words before. Way to go, you two.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    From the conversations between them, I¡¯ve also learned a bit about our family¡¯s situation. It would seem we are of nobility, part of the aforementioned Lancaster Family. However, our position within the family itself does not appear to be favorable. I¡¯m not aware of the circumstances but there seems to exist some sort of rift between Mother, and the rest of the family. Well I¡¯ve never met the other members of the family before, personally, but if there exists some sort of enmity between them and a person as sweet as Mother, then they mustn¡¯t be very pleasant.


    Father is apparently of common birth. However, his talent appears to be extraordinary. I don¡¯t quite know the details but it seems he at least has the merit to be employed by the Royal Palace. Whatever my Father¡¯s line of work, if we consider his employer, surely he must be rather capable. In the place where the King and Queen reside, even the servants must be extraordinary.


    Mother is an instructor at some institute. From what I hear, they¡¯re giving her some time off to care for me. A bit of a shame, really. I would¡¯ve loved to listen in on one of Mother¡¯s lectures from my unique position. Well, it¡¯s also not good for Mother to be exerting herself in her condition. It¡¯s best to get some rest for the next few months or so, Mother. Health comes first, after all!


    I do truly wish I was in a more favorable position to gather information. As you might imagine, being negative a number of weeks old does somewhat limit my options. Up until now I¡¯ve been busy writhing about in excruciating agony so it hasn¡¯t been bothering me all that much until recently, but¡­


    Please consider. I am trapped in a dark, jar-sized container of fluid. Every time I move a jolt of pain shoots through my body. And despite all this my mind maintains a state of constant awareness.


    Might I complain for a minute?


    In short¡­


    It¡¯s boring! It¡¯s irritating!


    Having an adult¡¯s presence of mind at my age could surely be considered an incredible advantage, but if God or the Fates or what have you were going to drop me into a child¡¯s body, could they not have waited at least until after the child was born!? Observe, my stubby arms! My adorable, oversized head! I vaguely remember coming to this world with some sort of purpose in mind, but how am I expected to fulfill any sort of purpose as a minus-one-year-old fetus!?


    Ahh¡­


    My apologies. I lost control of myself for a moment.


    Well, it seems that no matter what age they are, children simply can¡¯t wait to grow up.


    Honestly, if it weren¡¯t for Mother¡¯s sake I¡¯d have half a mind to just crawl out and birth myself.

 Chapter 4: Looking Inwards, Looking Outwards

    Another week since then. There¡¯s not much to do given my circumstances, so I¡¯ve whiled the time away alone with my thoughts. I¡¯ve recently come to the realization that a womb satisfies several of the conditions necessary to be a good spot for contemplation. It¡¯s dark, quiet, and kept at a comfortable temperature. And so, while I¡¯m here in a place so conducive to meditation, I might as well spend my time in my thoughts.


    I think of myself. My body, and my consciousness. I think of the world and my place in it. The more I think, the more questions I have.


    Somehow, I possess features no fetus should naturally have: an adult¡¯s common sense and mature cognitive process. I understand what a Royal Palace is, I know basic biology, and I can speak the local language. Or, well, I suppose I could if my lungs weren¡¯t filled with amniotic fluid. But having all this knowledge even before birth certainly begs a few questions. When was it that I learned all this? From whence did I chance upon it?


    Since I remember coming to this world with a vague sense of purpose in mind, it is quite possible that my knowledge was artificially implanted by whom or whatever sent me. But instinctively I feel like this is likely not the case. Somehow it all feels familiar. Nothing about it seems incongruous, as if it were always part of who I was. Then if that is the case, then, who was I?


    It¡¯s also possible, and quite probable in my estimation, that the knowledge I have now was gained in some previous existence of mine. Then why is it that I cannot remember who I was? I¡¯ve noticed my memory is frightfully selective. Were I to be thrust into an adult¡¯s body and sent off to live in some random village, I¡¯m fairly confident I could fit in quite comfortably. But I can¡¯t seem to recall anything about the existence that I likely once was.


    Moreover, if this vague sense of purpose is no lie, then it¡¯s entirely possible that I have somehow forcibly reincarnated myself with some of my memory intact in order to achieve some predetermined goal. If that¡¯s the case then well done, me, I¡¯m sure it couldn¡¯t have been easy. But could I not have left myself with just a little bit more of my past knowledge? Or anything about myself at all?Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Furthermore I¡­ hmm? Goodness me, it¡¯s getting a bit cramped in here. I imagine a couple of days have passed while I¡¯ve been floating here, lost in thought. There isn¡¯t much room left now for my growing head. Well, it¡¯s probably getting close to my birth-day anyways, I perhaps ought to re-position myself for an easy delivery. Wouldn¡¯t want to be coming out of the womb feet-first now would I?


    Oh, that¡¯s much better. Furthermore, recently I¡¯ve noticed a strange sense of power pouring out of me. Well, perhaps it would be more apt to say an essence is leaking out of me instead. As to the nature of this essence, I can not lay any definitive claims. It is embarrassing as the child of an intellectual, but it is with only a very vague sense that I can even recognize this essence. Not a rather rigorous method of inquiry by any means, but once again, my options are somewhat limited in this space.


    Well, perhaps it is merely a placebo, but if this essence does in fact exist, it at least appears to be beneficial. Mother¡¯s body eagerly absorbs this essence, and she has on occasion mentioned how energetic she has been. I can only hope no detrimental side effects manifest after the fact, but if this essence of mine is truly a boon for Mother¡¯s health then all the better. It is good to be able to contribute, even if only to this small degree.


    Hmm? There it is again. Recently, ever since Mother¡¯s begun absorbing this essence, the fleshy walls surrounding me have been contracting every so often. Over the past few weeks the frequency has risen dramatically, perhaps it¡¯s about time I started preparing myself for¡­


    ¡­Eh? It feels like something has ruptured. And now the fluid around seems to beeeeeeeeooooooh, wo-wo-wo-woah my goodness, me! S-something has¡­ significantly disturbed my environs! These agitated contractions¡­ ah! I am being jostled! Could I ask for a little more consideration for an injured person¡¯s body!? M-my muscles are screaming!


    No, no, wait, I must calm myself. Yes, I must ignore my buffeting body and center my mind. From the following specific premises what can be induced? Something has burst, the fluid surrounding me appears to be rapidly depleting, and Mother¡¯s uterine wall is positively quaking.


    Mhm, yes, there is only one conclusion one can draw from this one¡¯s circumstances!


    Currently!


    I am being evicted!

 Chapter 5: A Little Miracle

    My name is Cameron Halford. Twenty-three years old, and serving under His Majesty¡¯s banner as a combat magic specialist. And recently, I¡¯ve been spending a lot of time thinking about my life.


    Well maybe I¡¯m a little too young to be reminiscing like this, but aren¡¯t there sometimes those, ah, special moments in your life? Times where you can¡¯t help but ponder over how you got to where you were today? Well looking back over the twenty-three years I¡¯ve lived I can safely say:


    I¡¯ve led a blessed life.


    I suppose if you looked at it from one perspective you could say it¡¯s been a bit hard for me. Growing up as one of the ¡°common folk¡±, you don¡¯t really get to attend schools for the elite except under extenuating circumstances. And if you want to learn from one of the country¡¯s precious few Magisters? Well, you¡¯d have to be ready to pay more than what most families can make in several lifetimes.


    Of course, for most of us born in the underdeveloped areas, that¡¯s not the kind of problem we¡¯d even have the privilege of having. It¡¯s usually only those lucky middle-class kids that have the good fortune of being born with enough innate power to rise above their station. Magical talent¡¯s mostly hereditary, and if you¡¯ve got the talent, there¡¯s almost no chance that you¡¯d lack money.


    The key word here being ¡°mostly¡±.


    I was something of an aberration, I guess you could say. When I was young, I¡¯d have these strange fainting spells from time to time. No one could explain them. But I learned to recognize the signs preceding them.


    My heart would beat, powerfully and painfully fast. A hot and strange itchiness would circulate through my body, it¡¯s strength redoubling with every turn. My sight would blur, my hearing would fail, my breath would run ragged, and my limbs would grow heavy. Eventually, I would lose all control over my body, and my consciousness would fly. And waking up afterwards, I would discover the wrecked remains of my surroundings.


    The outbursts were rare, but violent. Desks and cabinets that I wouldn¡¯t even be able to lift normally would be cracked and tossed about. Anything fragile would be crushed to pieces, and even the floors and the walls would be scuffed and battered. Ten times it happened, from when I was six up until I was nine. Perhaps it was fortunate, and perhaps it was not, but no one was ever around during my ¡°fainting spells¡±. It meant that no one was ever hurt by my outbursts, but it also meant that no one was ever there to witness what had transpired. And none of the doctors, scholars, or any of the learned that we visited could ever explain what was wrong with me.


    So growing up, I was thought to be a strange kid who¡¯d occasionally break things for no real reason.


    It was a bit unfair, I suppose. I didn¡¯t really have any friends since most people simply avoided me because of the rumors. In fact, it wasn¡¯t until I was 13 years old that I finally met someone my age that I could say I was on good terms with.


    Still, I was blessed. Because even though I was a lonely child, I was never alone, as a child.


    My parents, despite not understanding the reason behind my outbursts, never shunned or scorned me. They loved me despite my condition, and always tried their best to learn how to better handle me. Through their efforts, even though they knew nothing about magic, I learned how to somehow quell my outbursts, even if only barely. Thanks to them, and the fact that we lived far away from the city, I was able to live an almost normal life.


    For about twelve years, anyways.


    It was a bit after my twelfth birthday. Through instinct and past experience, I was able to contain my outbursts. I hadn¡¯t had an incident in nearly three years. Every time I had successfully held control the next swell would come one stronger and harder. I¡¯d hoped that as the sickening feeling grew stronger, my own control would improve, and I¡¯d be able to reign in my impulses indefinitely.


    That day though, I had no chance to resist.


    In the space of a heartbeat, one that I heard ringing loudly in my ears, all of my senses sharpened to its zenith, strained to the point of snapping. I could feel the blood running beneath my skin, disturbing and rustling each tiny hair on my body as it rushed past. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, and I watched, prisoner in my own body, as the world around me spun and blurred, the furniture and the walls all bleeding into each other until I was lost in a disorienting sea of colors. It was as if an instant had somehow stretched into eternity. And at the end of it, I was back in the same darkness I had seen ten times before.


    Siara preserve us, no one was in the cottage but me. My parents had left on their weekly trip to the city, stocking up on whatever our country farm couldn¡¯t supply. If they had been with me that day I would have lost much more than just a home.


    I¡¯m told that they¡¯d almost lost me, actually. I can imagine their surprise upon returning to a flattened clearing in a forest where their farm used to be, and a crater with their shallowly breathing son inside. Without a word of complaint they hastily made the long journey back to town with my unconscious body in tow. It was only thanks to them that I didn¡¯t lose my life that day.


    We didn¡¯t lose anyone from the family, miraculously. But even though we still had each other, we¡¯d lost everything else. The cottage that was our home, the livestock that was our food, the farmland that was our livelihood, there was nothing left of ours except the clothes we were wearing and the goods that my parents had bought that day.


    Still, I was blessed. Because through that dramatic event we discovered the source of my ailment.


    Through some whimsy of fate, I was born with a ¡°hyperactive magi-core¡±, or so I was told later. In essence, I was producing more magical power than my body could safely circulate. Over time, the power would build up and, without my input, release itself as a physical force. That day, I had released the equivalent of three years of excess energy.


    I was also told that my symptoms weren¡¯t unheard of, but still extremely rare. Every once in a while, a child will be born with more power than they can manage. These kids are identified at an early age and given the best education the country can provide, with a focus on magical application in whatever field they have talent in. Given that kind of talent and training, most of them would end up bringing enormous benefit to the country. Considering the country¡¯s incredibly meritocratic tradition, it¡¯s no wonder so much of its resources would be devoted to developing these ¡°star-children¡± as they¡¯re called.


    The problem was, these kids always came from families with rich magical traditions. Not low-born farmer families from out in the sticks. Which is why for twelve years the country didn¡¯t even know I existed. But now that they did, life was going to change.


    My parents were moved into public housing, courtesy of the state, while I was shipped off to the country¡¯s best in magical education, the academy founded by the ¡°Mother of Modern Magic¡± herself.


    Looking back, it¡¯s a bit silly, but I really thought that I was going to meet a lot of new friends there. I was in a new environment, and now that I knew what was wrong with me, I thought there was nothing stopping me from making friends.


    If I was smart I would¡¯ve realized there was no way they were putting a know-nothing commoner kid without any basic knowledge in the same class as the elites.


    It seems I¡¯ve got a decent head on my shoulders, though. I really thought my brain was going to burst with all the stuff they shoved inside it, but they managed to cram the rudimentary basics into me in a little more than a year. It was incredibly shaky, but I had enough of a foundation to begin taking classes with everyone else.


    There I discovered that nothing had changed. I wasn¡¯t avoided just because I was dangerous, I was avoided because humans fear the unknown. Back then, I was the weird kid that broke things. In the academy I was the weird commoner from some countryside farm. I still didn¡¯t have a place to belong in society.


    Still I was blessed. Because even though I was still an outsider at the academy, it was there that I met her.


    Patricia Cordelia Lancaster. The third child of the famous Lancaster family. Silky silver hair, and beautiful sky blue eyes. Thirteen years old, same as me. An outsider, same as me.


    Honestly, more than any of the unsolvable riddles I learned at the academy, I think the greatest mystery of my life will be how I managed to attract the attention of a girl like her. She was smart, pretty, powerful, and willful. Rather than being smitten, I think most of the boys at the academy were intimidated by her. Yet despite her standing, she never mocked the ignorant, common-born me. She treated me like an equal.


    We spoke with each other, laughed with each other, we talked about family, and responsibility. We ate together, studied together, walked to classes together, and before I was aware of it, I was always with her, and she was always with me.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    And one day, in passing, almost as an afterthought, she called me her friend.


    I, at thirteen years of age, had finally made my first friend.


    If anyone asks if I cried in front of her that day I will categorically deny it.


    Years passed, and we both grew up. The people around her slowly grew accustomed to her uniquely forceful personality, and I was eventually accepted by the rest of academia for my efforts. Both of us managed to etch a small place to belong in the world we found ourselves in. And when we graduated, we both found respectable places of employment, I as part of the king¡¯s specialist corps, and she as a professor at the academy where we met. But despite all the people I¡¯ve met over the years who I now call friend, she was still someone special to me. And apparently, despite attracting all sorts of people over the years with her natural charisma, I was still someone special to her. Because when her family finally pressured her to find someone to marry, she asked me.


    We lived in a meritocratic society, one that legally made no distinctions between gender, as per the teachings of the Sage. But culturally, it was still far from the norm for a woman to ask a man to marry her. Moreover, to let a daughter of the proud Lancaster family adopt the name of some common-born plebeian was unthinkable. In the end, I was the one who changed my name to Cameron Halford Lancaster.


    We faced quite a bit of opposition, mostly from devout traditionalists, and more than a little from the Lancasters, who were disgusted at the thought of mixing their blood with the likes of mine.


    But we lived in a meritocracy, after all. And since Trisha was a genius and I was a


    ¡°star-child¡± who worked for royalty, the marriage went through, regardless. And in the twenty-first year of my life, the strong-willed, kindhearted, beautiful girl that I¡¯d known since childhood became my wife.


    Not bad for a kid from the sticks, wouldn¡¯t you say?


    But life with Trisha, as wonderful as she was, came with its own set of troubles. Her father, the patriarch of the Lancaster family, was one of the most vocal advocates against our marriage. He and his coterie of sycophants took it upon themselves to snidely harass us with all manner of petty subjects. I was treated like an upstart, marrying into nobility. It was infuriating. Abuse levied towards myself, I could bear, but the comments they¡¯d make about my parents¡­


    They¡¯d made it clear to me. I had no place to belong there.


    And yet, living there, I¡¯d realized once again how fortunate I was. This hostile environment was somewhere I¡¯d come to. I knew what I would be facing, what I¡¯d have to deal with if I wished to be Trisha¡¯s husband. But for Trisha?


    This was the place she had come from.


    Even during my friendless childhood I still had my parents. All throughout my life I¡¯ve always had a place to return to. But Trisha had almost no allies growing up. There was no one standing on her side in the complicated family politics surrounding her.


    I hoped I could act as a breakwater. I hoped I could be the one standing by her side. I hoped I could be place she could return to.


    It certainly didn¡¯t make life easier, having to constantly stand up to my obnoxious new in-laws. But I¡¯ve had so much support in my life it¡¯d be silly to call myself unlucky. After all, I had my friends and comrades at the force who had my back. I had the one constant in my life, my parents who I could always rely on. And most of all, I had Trisha, my first friend and my first love.


    Thanks to everyone, even when life was difficult, it was never miserable. Somehow, one way or another, I¡¯ve continued to stumble my way through life. And now, more than 23 years after the day I was born, when I look back at my life up until now, I can only count myself blessed. Because today I am able to witness the birth of my daughter.


    It is an indescribable feeling, holding your newborn child in your arms. All the plans you¡¯ve made for their future, all the idle daydreams you¡¯ve had about being a parent, the preparations you¡¯ve made for this day, none of it matters in that single moment. A nameless sense of wonder grips me as I stare at the fragile little life cradled to my chest.


    ¡°A successful delivery¡± the middle-aged doctor beside me says, stepping to the side and allowing the midwife to tend to Trisha. ¡°She was born weaker than most, but asides from unusually low activity, there doesn¡¯t seem to have been any complications. She¡¯s behaved most cooperatively, in fact.¡±


    He begins carefully cleaning the newborn, drying off the ruddy fluids as I stare mutely at the process. The child in my arms trembles at the touch but keeps still, almost as if trying not to cause the doctor any difficulty.


    ¡°Oh? Oh-ho,¡± the doctor softly chuckles as he hears the child¡¯s soft mewling. ¡°Would you listen to that cry? That¡¯s a little fighter there, that is.¡±


    Her voice is weak, nearly non-existent. But hidden underneath it is a mysterious resoluteness, buried within. It was as if she was crying out at the world that she was here, that she wasn¡¯t going anywhere.


    In that moment, somehow I knew.


    One day this child would bloom and grow, becoming capable of things in the future I couldn¡¯t possibly imagine now. But today, here in my arms, she was a hopelessly and helplessly weak little being, unable to even lift her head or open her eyes. Whatever the individual this child would become in the future, for now she was wholly reliant on both Trisha and me.


    She slowly paws the air with her tiny, little arms, reaching out as if searching for something. From underneath her I shift my own hand, and as I extend my finger to fit into hers, she latches on to me.


    It was exactly then that I understood completely why it is that parents choose to die for their children.


    ¡°Well, there we are,¡± the doctor says, as he wipes away the last bits of the waxy material off of my daughter¡¯s skin, wrapping her up in a bright cotton cloth. ¡°That about does it. Well need her back in a bit for measurements and the like, but for now I¡¯d say you and your wife deserve a bit of time with your daughter.¡± He moves away and, at that cue, the midwife also steps back from Trisha¡¯s bed, allowing me a space at her side.


    ¡°Oh, and,¡± the doctor interjects, just as I begin to move. ¡°Now¡¯s the time for a name, if you¡¯ve got one.¡± He smiles encouragingly, with the sagacious expression of a man who¡¯s witnessed the process many times before. ¡°We¡¯ll step back for a bit, so take your time.¡±


    With a nod I turn around and bring myself to Trisha¡¯s bedside, who greets me with a tired smirk on her face.


    ¡°Well, what¡¯s with the witless expression, Cammy?¡± she laughs, poking fun at the dazed look I no doubt had on my face. ¡°Come now, you¡¯ve had your turn. I¡¯m still waiting to see my daughter, you know?¡±


    With a smile and sigh at my never-changing wife, I carefully place our child into her arms. The corners of her eyes soften as we both watch the gentle up-and-down of our child¡¯s breathing.


    ¡°Ah, would you look at that,¡± she whispers, giving me an upwards, sideways glance. ¡°She¡¯s got your hair.¡±


    I look at our daughter¡¯s tousled, pale-violet hair. If I were to give my honest impressions, the silver-ish sheen in her hair is far more noticeable. But looking at my wife¡¯s own silver hair, and understanding her unsaid intentions, I simply nod and move closer by her side, allowing her head to rest against mine.


    ¡°We¡­ never found out. What exactly happened a few weeks ago,¡± she states, matter-of-factly.


    No one we¡¯ve consulted since then could rightly explain what happened on that day. Sharp, intermittent abdominal pains, that correlated with abnormal fetal movements. Any explanation of one couldn¡¯t explain the other, but as the two phenomena came and went together, they were very likely related. To be honest, I faced today with more than a little trepidation. For something so inexplicable to happen just weeks before childbirth, well, I was braced for the worst. But in the end, our daughter was born. Languid but healthy.


    ¡°The doctor said there were no complications. Just that she¡¯s not very energetic is all. She¡¯ll be fine,¡± I reassure her.


    ¡°The same doctor hasn¡¯t a clue what transpired in the first place,¡± she counters.


    ¡°Yes, well,¡± I say at a slight loss. ¡°There¡¯s no helping it if there¡¯s no one who knows, is there? We¡¯ll just have to believe in her.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s all we can do, is it? Just believe.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s our daughter, Trisha,¡± I smile, finding a strange confidence from who knows where. ¡°I¡¯ll just have to believe she can handle what she must.¡±


    Staring at the small, swaddled up form of our child, my resolve steels. ¡°In the meantime, whatever I must do to protect our family, I will also handle.¡±


    At this, Trisha laughs. ¡°Such conviction! I wonder on what basis you can say those words!¡±


    ¡°I am tasked with the protection of His Majesty after all,¡± I laugh back. ¡°Naturally I can handle the protection of my wife and child.¡±


    ¡°Well now! Where did you learn to be so cheeky?¡±


    ¡°Not cheek, my dear, but confidence!¡±


    ¡°Oh, would you listen to yourself!¡± she exclaims, her voice still quavering in laughter. ¡°I suppose I can only match your confidence then. I am not the type to sit idly by and be protected after all.¡±


    ¡°Yes, you¡¯ve always been quite the headache in this manner.¡±


    ¡°My! What a thing to say to a lady!¡± she scolds in fake admonishment, roughly disheveling the hair on the back of my head. Her sudden movements provoke a weak cry from our child, however, and Trisha apologetically stops and gently comforts her. In moments, the baby calms, her chubby face curled into her mother¡¯s bosom.


    The both of us smile at the sight. In the back of my head I can only think, this is what a family must look like.


    ¡°She really does have such pretty hair, after all,¡± Trisha remarks, as we gently gaze at our daughter. ¡°What say we name her Violet?¡±


    ¡°Violet. Violet Lancaster.¡± I continue to repeat the name to myself, each time the image in my head matching more and more with the image of my child. ¡°Yes, it¡¯s a wonderful name.¡±


    ¡°Then it¡¯s settled, then? Are we ready to begin?¡±


    ¡°Whenever you¡¯d like, dear.¡±


    We both smile, clasping our free hands over our daughter, prepared to take part in one of the grandest mysteries of magic.


    Ever since the advent of magical rigor, brought about by the efforts of the Mother of Modern Magic, there is much of the nature of magic that has been uncovered. Hundreds of once mystical phenomena now understood, and hundreds more we¡¯ve learned to recreate.


    As members of the ¡°elite¡± in the world of magic. Both Trisha and I have spent much of our lives learning the nature, history, quirks, and possibilities of magic. But the whole of the tradition of magical inquiry has yet to reveal a true understanding of perhaps the most universal expression of magic in existence.


    It is a magic that is understood by no one. And yet it is a magic capable of being performed by anyone.


    As the intentions of Trisha¡¯s and mine align, a resonance manifests within our souls. A swelling of power rises up as a magical essence not borne from neither I nor Trisha, but seemingly from the universe itself fills the room. The essence collects, spiraling into a space right below our daughter¡¯s chest, imparting a brand upon her soul.


    It is the magic that accompanies the act of naming a child. A once-in-a-lifetime ritual that signifies the appearance of a new life in this world. It is a moment where even the universe, as cold and impartial as it is anytime else, appears to celebrate.


    The glowing power suffuses as the ritual completes, scattering its gentle light about us as we hold each other and the newest addition to our family close.


    The stuffy academics and pretentious elites call this process the ¡°Onomastic Bestowal¡±.


    But the rest of us?


    We just call it ¡°The Little Miracle¡±.

 Chapter 6: Vision, And a Vision

    Thus I am born. It was quite the dramatic occasion I dare say. I was understandably out of sorts for most of it, but I do faintly remember some strange and miraculous occurrence taking place in the room at the time. I feel as if there has been some small yet profound shift in my very existence. Like a piece of pottery, newly fired, if the analogy makes any sense.


    The sudden change in my environment has not been kind to my already weakened body, but I do still welcome it all the same. Weeks of relative visual monotony have left me somewhat starved for stimuli. Plus, as an inquiring soul curious about myself and my place in the universe, being able to interact with the outside world has been quite the boon. In the very first days following my birth I¡¯ve already confirmed several of my assumptions of how the world operates, or at least how this part of this world operates for whatever good the clarification serves. My idea of what a human is, and what normal human behaviour should look like is, for the most part, spot-on. Though I intend to keep an open mind, I imagine I am able to move forward, assured that most of what I have postulated about the world holds true. A small step, it can be argued, but it is my first, and for that it holds personal significance.


    I have also naturally (as a consequence of this world¡¯s day-night cycle and its relevance to the human circadian rhythm), discovered the truth behind my apparent constant awareness as a fetus. In reality it is not that I am always awake, rather, it is my mind that is aware. Even when my body is not.


    Which is to say, when it comes time for this body to rest, my mind then retreats to some dark corner of my consciousness, free to ponder as it wishes. It is here, I now realize, that I spent the majority of my life as a fetus. In this mental space I am subtly aware of the process the brain undergoes as it reviews all that it has learned throughout the day before storing it away for later use. I can expect to spend much of my time in this space henceforth, given the necessity of sleep for continued human function. Perhaps in time, as my familiarity with this space increases, I might one day achieve mastery over my own memory. Quite the useful ability for the aspiring intellectual.


    Unfortunately, there¡¯s much less to comment about with regards to the physical space surrounding me. I spend my days lying in a modest wooden crib, sitting in a modestly decorated, moderately sized bedroom. There¡¯s a window that lets the sunlight peek through during the day, and from that window I can occasionally hear the tittering of what must be the local wildlife. There¡¯s very little else I can gather though, stuck as I am inside this room. Still, considering my earlier circumstances, this is quite the improvement. The range of that which I can perceive is far greater outside of Mother¡¯s womb than in it, after all. Which includes Mother and Father themselves, incidentally.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Father has an appearance that matches his voice, I¡¯d say. An honest and handsome looking young man with an ever-present, languid half-smile on his face, as if he is always in the middle of recalling some pleasant sight he¡¯d just seen, or some pleasant song he¡¯d just heard the other day. Since I see him every day after his work is finished, I often see him in uniform. The fancy red velvet tunic matches his slightly poofy, light purple hair quite well, in my mind at least. At home he often wears a green, diamond-patterned vest, which only lends to his soft and fluffy image. Perhaps it might be rude of me to say this, but he¡¯s a bit like an anthropomorphized child¡¯s security blanket.


    He is¡­ very huggable, at any rate.


    ¡­


    If Father gives off a warm, fluffy feeling, then from Mother it is a cool, soothing feeling instead. As she spends much of her time recuperating in the same bedroom that I am always in, there is much that I can say about her.


    Mother is, I¡¯d say, like an errant, cooling breeze on a summer day. She is a flighty and animated silver-haired beauty, and not even the rigors of childbirth seem to be able to completely dispirit her. There¡¯s an energetic glint in her cloud-coloured eyes that seems to travel from place to place, never settling in any one spot for more than a minute or so. It¡¯s as if her mind is often somewhere far off in the distance. Thus, though she remains the most constant aspect of my life, she still somehow seems the most transient.


    There¡¯s a very mysterious aspect to Mother. It is readily apparent that she is always thinking of something, but never what it is she¡¯s thinking about. Sometimes she¡¯ll have this peculiar expression on her face, as if there¡¯s some amusing little secret that only she is privy to, and she¡¯s waiting for the rest of the world to catch up. I am convinced there is some attribute of this world that she can see with her eyes, or perhaps follow with her mind. And sometimes, as she traces incomprehensible paths through space, her gaze will end up resting on me.


    Sometimes, when Mother looks at me, she¡¯ll have this strange look to her eyes. It¡¯s as if what she sees is not the me of the present, but some version of me from far off into the future. A funny little smile will cross her lips, and before I¡¯m aware of it, her eyes will be  staring into mine. And contained within her expression will always be this inexplicable, and incredibly profound sense of pride and affection.


    It¡¯s a look that sends comfortable little shivers down my spine. Somehow, when confronted with that expression, I am filled with some strange sense of responsibility.


    I have yet to discover for what purpose do I exist in this world. But sometimes, when I see that look on her face, I feel as though perhaps I was born to become the sort of woman reflected in Mother¡¯s eyes.

 Chapter 7: A Picture of a Family

    Several months have passed since. I¡¯ll spare you the more inconsequential details, a newborn¡¯s life isn¡¯t terribly dramatic. Most of my days are spent lying in a cradle being fussed over. Still, even as my day to day life passes by unchanging, time has not stood still around me.


    Mother has recovered without complication and has resumed her work. Though I miss her company, I¡¯ve been made aware of how irreplaceable she is to her post. Mother, it would seem, is unique in both condition of body and mental acuity, attributes that multiplicatively benefit her in her position as an instructor.


    ¡°Benefits her how?¡± one would ask. The answer came to me as a shocking revelation.


    Magic, as a set of phenomena and a system to be studied, exists in this world. There is some strange, small corner of my mind that considers magic to be some product of myth, devoid of any scientific worth, but here it is as mundane a subject as history or mathematics. And Mother is a rare genius in the field, a master of both theory and practical application.


    On top of all this, she also has a talent for instruction, which makes her understandably an invaluable asset to a magic academy. I can only marvel at the hyper-competence of the woman who calls me her daughter. ¡°Thus the way is paved for my meteoric rise to the ranks of the magical elite!¡± or so I jokingly think to myself, but I do, in reality, hold high hopes for my future as a magical scholar.


    Luckily for my ambitions, Mother has repurposed our shared room into a makeshift study where she now does most of her paperwork. Quite the lucky development for me, I must say. It¡¯s always fascinating observing Mother engaged in her work. If you pay close attention to her expression and her mumblings, you can almost see the gears turning about in her mind. Naturally, I hardly understand the tiniest bit of her work, but it¡¯s fun to watch, regardless.


    I have to question, though, the sort of thought process that would lead one to introduce a newborn into a working environment. But according to the person in question, I act as a source of stress relief.


    ¡­


    I once again have to question the sort of thought process that would lead one to consider a newborn a source of stress relief, but I will concede that I am an atypical example. We have a maid of ours posted in our room for my benefit, though I, to the best of my ability, do try to avoid raising a fuss. As unnatural as it might make me seem, I refuse to cause unnecessary trouble for Mother. A less disciplined child might cry for attention, but not I. I have the self-control to wait for Mother¡¯s break-time snuggle sessions. I am a patient baby, after all. Though I am unfortunately still unable to overcome this body¡¯s physical needs.


    Please do not mock me, it¡¯s perfectly natural for one to be unable to control one¡¯s bladder at this one¡¯s age. Mortifying, though, as it might be.


    Today I am once again swaddled in my comfortable crib, quietly watching Mother work. The afternoon daylight still shines through the large outward-facing window, providing Mother with plenty of illumination. An apt remark, not only because humans enjoy having their working spaces lit, but also because the subject of today¡¯s research happens to be the manipulation of light itself.


    ¡°You see, while certain external manipulations are possible depending on individual aptitude, we¡¯ve yet to discover a viable means of manipulating light for any practical application,¡± Mother lectures. ¡°Right now we¡¯re looking into a two-sigil dependency that shows promise. Parallel circulate through the Avecarro and Balmoa patterns, connecting the voiding divergences a3 to b5, and a4 to b1. This draws water from the air close and heats it to your specification, and in doing so¡­¡±


    In her hand, Mother has produced a small orb of shimmering water vapor that distorts the daylight passing through. My eyebrows fly up in surprise. Mother is too prodigious in her manipulations, I must complain. I¡¯d completely missed the moment she¡¯d performed the act.


    ¡°¡­Well it¡¯s a very lovely demonstration, Madam, but I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t really follow the explanation,¡± responds the maid in the room, the only one of us capable of doing so.


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t mind me, Letty, I¡¯m only saying this aloud for my own benefit.¡±


    ¡°So you say, Madam, but I don¡¯t remember you doing this sort of thing before.¡± The maid, called ¡°Letty¡± by both Mother and Father, responds in an almost curt manner as she continues to tidy the room. Perhaps her jocular tone might even be considered somewhat disrespectful. But it seems Letty has been caring for Mother since before she was my age, so to say, so Mother seems to consider her at least as close to her as her own mother.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    Incidentally, she is the same maid also responsible for tending to me while Mother is away. As a result, I¡¯ve become rather accustomed to her. She¡¯s a rather¡­ healthy looking, approachable middle-aged woman. With a somewhat puffy face, and wrinkles near the corners of her eyes. She has skin weathered by years of housework, but still oddly pleasant to the touch, and a head of graying, sort of poofy-looking, curly hair. I hope she¡¯ll forgive the rude analogy, but my impression of her is a bit like of a very old, fluffy pillow. Which is also, now that I think of it, what her hugs feel like. Whatever my thoughts on the Lancaster family, at least the servants are able to eat well.


    ¡­I mean that in a good way.


    ¡°Well I might be wanting to show off in front of my daughter. Just a bit,¡± Mother admits.


    ¡°If that is the case, Madam, and pardon my rudeness, does it not make, erm¡­ less sense? The Miss is only a child, after all.¡±


    ¡°Oh certainly, but look, aren¡¯t her eyes unusually intelligent? I¡¯m convinced she must understand our conversation, at least to some degree. Isn¡¯t that right, Vivi dear?¡±


    ¡°Ahm.¡± I respond in the clumsy, carefree manner characteristic of children.


    ¡°Ah, isn¡¯t she just lovely!¡± Mother practically swoons. Such has become our now almost daily tradition. First, Mother will finish some bit of work, then she¡¯ll brag about it to me. Then I¡¯ll make some cutesy congratulatory noise, and now, as I¡¯d expected, Mother picks me up and spends her break cuddling me close.


    Vivi, as it happens, is my pet name. Though for now, it¡¯s only Mother who uses it. She has a penchant for endearments, I don¡¯t believe there¡¯s a person she¡¯s on good terms with that hasn¡¯t received a moniker from her.


    ¡°I dare say, Madam, even Mr. Halford couldn¡¯t sweep you off your feet so easily.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because my daughter is much cuter than some crybaby Cameron.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Halford would be heartbroken if he¡¯d heard that, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    ¡°Not a problem. We just simply won¡¯t tell him that. Isn¡¯t that right, Violet?¡±


    ¡°¡­myahm.¡±


    I¡¯m sorry, Father. It seems your daughter has the makings of a heartbreaker.


    Father¡¯s work, unfortunately, often demands his time up until quite late into the night. Since he leaves before the sun is up, and far before I myself am up, I at least try my very best to stay awake until he can come back home. But night weighs heavily on a baby¡¯s eyelids. I am not always successful.


    Mother has noticed my efforts (squealing, as she does, of how absolutely adorable she finds it) and often spends the time entertaining me as we wait by the door of the estate. While I¡¯d be perfectly happy playing along with peek-a-boo, mostly just to see her reactions, it seems she does honestly holds my intellect in a higher estimation. Her games with me are a bit more complex, typically involving magic in some way or another. I appreciate that your control is superb, Mother, but wouldn¡¯t you consider ¡°Guess which hand has the magic fireball!¡± just a little bit dangerous for your health? Not the least considering that I am sitting in your lap when you do so.


    Eventually, as the night drags on, Father returns. Haggard from a day of work, but never without his usual funny little half-smile, however tired it may be. Mother, having had her turn with me in the afternoon, hands me over so that Father may have his share. First he hugs me. Then he hugs Mother. Then he hugs both of us at the same time. Naturally we both hug back. Or, at least, I try to, what with my pathetic baby arms.


    We retire then to the more comfortable living room. Father reclines in a fluffy armchair. I myself am rested on his lap. Mother somehow is still bounding with energy at this late hour, and stands, pacing occasionally, at a spot nearby. They talk at length, Letty attending to them with tea and sweets, as they both spend the next hour or so discussing their day. Occasionally, Mother accentuates her point with a display of magic.


    ¡°¡­and I don¡¯t really see it used for military purposes, but it¡¯s certainly fun for a party trick,¡± Mother explains, demonstrating the light-bending trick from earlier.


    ¡°I see¡­ but couldn¡¯t it be used to focus extreme amounts of light onto a small area?¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t worry about it too much, Cam. The amount of magical energy you would need to expend to produce something on a useable scale would be more efficiently put into direct firepower.¡±


    ¡°Hmm¡­ as a temporary blinder?¡±


    ¡°Still contingent on the presence of existing sunlight. It¡¯s probably not worth the concentration needed to actuate the silly thing. I¡¯d expect shouting to be a better distraction at that point.¡±


    ¡°Maybe the opponent would be dumbfounded seeing me play with light in the middle of a battle.¡±


    ¡°Maybe they¡¯d stab you in your silly face for trying something so idiotic.¡±


    ¡°Yiiii, I get it!¡± Father laughs. ¡°I won¡¯t try blinding the enemy with water vapor and sunlight, goodness!¡±


    ¡°And that¡¯s a promise, I presume?¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes, it¡¯s a promise, dear!¡±


    Mother folds her arms in mock indignation. ¡°Good! It wouldn¡¯t do for you to leave us without a man in family would it? Leaving us to fend for ourselves. Out in the cold wilderness in some run-down shack. Fighting off wild bears and boars and all other sorts of nasty creatures for food and survival!¡±


    ¡°¡­Wouldn¡¯t you do rather well in that scenario, though?¡±


    ¡°My! That¡¯s no thing to be telling a lady!¡± Mother scoffs, aggressively ruffling Father¡¯s fluffy hair with a grin.


    ¡°Ah, ah! My mistake, dear! I yield! I yield!¡± Father laughs.


    Meanwhile, Letty chortles from her station by the door. It¡¯s somewhere around this point of talking and playing that I inevitably fall asleep. It¡¯s a strange ambiance to fall asleep to, admittedly. But after some months of this routine, I can no longer think of a position more comfortable to be. If you were to ask me, let¡¯s suppose, to freeze the moments in time just before I fell asleep in that living room into pictures, well to me at any rate, I¡¯d definitely consider those pictures to be a suitable definition for the word ¡°family¡±.


    Please pardon my clumsy wording. It¡¯s¡­ not something I seem to be accustomed to. Yet.