Greta made us all climb into a cart so she could move us to the wall as quickly as possible. She did not dress it up or soften the order. Speed, to her, was simply another tool, no different from a blade or a stance, and it was meant to be used correctly. The sooner we arrived, the more time the rest of the class would have to spend in the city, and Greta intended to wring every possible moment out of the day.

  The rest of the class was going into the city. I could hear the excitement in their voices as they talked about shops, food, and anything that was not training or stone walls. It felt distant to me, not because I did not care, but because my attention was already elsewhere.

  I would be staying at the wall.

  I would be spending the day there with my father, and the thought settled into me slowly, carrying weight with it. Greta had already confirmed that he knew I was coming. He had taken the day off for it. That knowledge sat in my chest like something warm and steady, something earned rather than hoped for. I had missed him more than I realized until that moment.

  I missed my mother too. I missed her even more, if I was being honest, knowing she was still back in the village and that I would not see her today. But today was for my father, and that mattered. I could hold one truth without denying the other. I would take what I could get, and I would be grateful for it.

  I knew it was strange to feel so attached to someone I had spent so little time with. In my previous life, attachment had been something that grew slowly, layered year upon year through shared experiences and shared history. In this life, it felt different. There was instinct woven into the bond, something physical and undeniable that lived beneath thought. A new body came with its own truths, and this was one of them. I did not resist it, because resisting it would have been dishonest.

  He was my father in this life. I would treat him as such, without qualifiers or hesitation.

  Even if I was mentally older than he was, even if my memories stretched far beyond his years, that did not change the shape of the relationship. Reincarnation was strange that way. Roles did not dissolve just because understanding was uneven. He had likely come to terms with it more thoroughly than he ever said aloud. He had shown it in his patience, in his pride, and in the care he took even when he pretended not to notice.

  We loaded into the cart and prepared to leave. The wood creaked softly under our weight, and the straps were checked twice before Greta took her position at the front.

  I noticed Randall and the magical trainees gathering separately, preparing to travel on their own. Their departure was slower, less coordinated. Greta was already braced, hands set, posture ready, her stance telling me exactly what was about to happen. Randall would not be pulling anything himself. I found myself briefly wondering whether he even possessed the basic competence to summon a magic sled without assistance. The thought passed as quickly as it came, dismissed as unimportant.

  The moment we were settled, Greta started running.

  This was not the controlled pace she used when training us. This was movement meant to erase distance. The world blurred as the cart surged forward, air rushing past in a constant roar. Trees vanished behind us in streaks of green and brown. I was fairly certain she ran straight through at least one monster without slowing. One tree exploded as she tore through it, the trunk snapping apart in a violent spray of splinters. The cart bounced as it passed over the remains, lifting just enough to make my stomach lurch before settling again.

  It was nauseating in the same way it had been the first time.

  It was also fast, fast enough that the discomfort barely had time to register before it was replaced by awe.

  So fast that it took less time to reach the wall than it normally took us trainees to walk from the guild hall to the end of the yard. The stone rose ahead of us, massive and continuous, stretching as far as I could see in both directions. It curved with the land, unbroken, endless in a way that made its purpose unmistakable.

  The gates came into view, already opening as we approached, the defenders there clearly expecting us.

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  Greta slowed by digging her heels into the ground, carving twin furrows as she bled off speed. Dirt sprayed forward as momentum fought her intent. By the time we stopped, she was sunk nearly two feet into the earth. She hauled herself free, dusted her hands off, and turned back to us as though she had merely finished a light jog.

  “Out everyone,” she said. “Say goodbye to Azolo.”

  I stepped down from the cart and looked up, my attention fixed ahead.

  The man waiting for me stood by the open gate, watching with an expression I recognized immediately. My father had been the one to open it. His stance was relaxed, but his eyes were sharp, taking in everything. Greta walked over to him, posture easy, assessing without hostility.

  “Mister Izem, I presume,” she said.

  Understanding clicked into place.

  The first part of my last name was a prefix.

  Ou.

  Son of.

  My father’s name was Izem.

  I turned that over slowly, testing it against the language I knew, letting the meaning settle properly this time. When it did, it made me smile despite myself. Izem meant The Lion.

  So Ouizem meant Son of the Lion.

  That was far better than Runt. Better than Thunderpants too. The comparison made me exhale quietly, tension I had not noticed easing from my shoulders.

  The thought grounded me.

  I ran to him, staff still clutched in my hand, feet moving before I consciously decided to.

  “Hello, Father,” I said. “I missed you and mother dearly.”

  He looked down at me, then straightened and gave a clean adventurer’s salute, formal and precise.

  I returned it immediately, matching him without hesitation.

  He smiled, and the formality faded.

  “I’m here for my day off,” I said. “It’s really good to see you.”

  “Get over here,” he said.

  He scooped me up and tossed me into the air. I laughed as I came back down into his arms, the sound bursting out of me before I could stop it. For a moment, everything else fell away, and I felt like nothing more than what I appeared to be.

  A child.

  Which, in this life, I was.

  Most of my class waved as they were led through the gate, voices raised in casual goodbyes, already thinking about the city ahead. Only a few lingered. Meka stayed close, hands folded around her staff. Winnie stood beside her, log resting against her shoulder. Koo hesitated at the edge of the group, then stepped forward.

  He cleared his throat and held something out to me, a folded letter gripped carefully between his fingers. "My dad is a defender on the wall," he said, voice small but steady. "On a fort to the west. I was hoping you might be able to get this to him, if that’s not too much to ask."

  I took the letter but did not open it. "Why didn’t you just give it to Greta?" I asked. "She could have done it easily."

  He leaned in slightly and lowered his voice. "It’s kind of a secret from Greta," he whispered.

  I nodded once and tucked the letter away. "I’ll make sure it gets to him," I said.

  That seemed to settle him. He waved once, quick and awkward, then jogged back toward the others.

  Winnie stepped forward next. She planted herself in front of my father and squared her shoulders. "Hello, Mister Runt’s dad," she said brightly. "I’m his best friend. Or at least I think we’re best friends."

  She glanced at me. I looked back at her and nodded.

  "Yeah," I said. "I think we are."

  I turned to my father. "This is Winnie Neckhammer," I said. "She’s my best friend. She’s a good egg."

  My father laughed and offered her a respectful nod. "Nice to meet you, Winnie."

  She grinned up at him, completely unbothered by the height difference. "So you’re Runt’s dad," she said. "What’s that like, with him being a reincarnator and all?"

  "Pretty great, honestly," he replied without hesitation. "He doesn’t do nearly as many dangerous things as a normal toddler would. Adventuring is the exception, but I did approve him joining the guild."

  I had already told him about my nickname, and he seemed just as amused by it as everyone else had been. Winnie snorted.

  "My dad thinks being a defender is a really noble profession," she said. "I think so too. And just so you know, I’ll take good care of your son while I’m with him. When he’s out of the adventuring training program, I’ll make sure he’s okay. I’ll be part of his adventuring party. I promise."

  I looked at her and smiled. "Thanks, Winnie. I appreciate it."

  She stepped in and gave me a quick hug, then immediately headbutted me in the chest, lost her balance, and fell backward onto the ground. We both burst out laughing.

  "See you later, Runt," she said, scrambling to her feet.

  Meka approached last. The young minotaur girl stood straight despite her nerves, hands tight around her staff.

  "Hello, Mister Runt’s dad," she said softly. "I’m Meka. And, um… Runt is my master and the greatest wizard of all time. He’s been teaching me all kinds of wizard stuff. He’s awesome, and he’s kind, and he defended me when people were mean to me. I couldn’t have asked for a better master."

  She swallowed and bowed her head slightly. "I just wanted to thank you for being his dad."

  My father blinked, clearly unprepared for that level of seriousness from someone so small. He glanced at me, then back at her.

  "Well," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "I mostly just make sure he eats and doesn’t fall off anything tall."

  Meka nodded solemnly, as if that explained everything.

  That almost brought a tear to my eye. Almost. But instead of a tear, it was a stream. She was such a sweet, innocent child it hurt.

  I Cast Fist has officially reached Rising Stars.

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  I Cast Fist and decide to join, I genuinely appreciate it. It means an absurd amount to me.