The forest here was wrong.

  Too dense. Too alive. The air clung to every step, viscous, as if the very woods did not wish to release those who entered. The canopy above let through almost no light, and even during the day an eternal twilight reigned — painted in muted shades of green.

  Two figures moved along an overgrown trail within that forest.

  The first was a woman. Her pale-blue skin seemed almost washed out against the dark greenery. A single horn rose from her forehead, slightly curved, as though carved from bone. She moved with confidence and ease, as if the forest were not an obstacle but merely a minor inconvenience.

  Behind her walked a warrior with a greatsword strapped across his back. His skin was the same shade of blue, though he bore no horns. Instead, he had sharp ears — much like the Aurions.

  He did not glance around.

  Did not check the flanks.

  Did not quicken his pace.

  He simply walked — steady, calm, wrapped in that heavy silence that made even the forest seem quieter.

  — The forest shouldn’t be this dense, — Sinistra said quietly, pushing aside a wall of vines. — Something’s being guarded here.

  No answer came.

  She smirked faintly.

  — Of course. Stupid question.

  The ground trembled beneath their feet.

  At first barely noticeable — like a distant echo of thunder. Then stronger. Roots buried beneath the moss began to rise, tearing through the soil. Vines stirred, as if they had caught the scent of blood.

  Something enormous rose before them.

  A Lianomant.

  Its body was woven from thick, twisted vines and gnarled branches. Moss and leaves hung from its shoulders like a cloak. Deep within its chest, between the roots, pulsed a soft emerald glow — slow and heavy, like the heart of the forest itself.

  It did not roar.

  Did not scream.

  It simply stepped forward.

  The earth shook.

  — I’ve never seen one this big, — Sinistra said.

  The Lianomant swung its arm — massive, like a tree trunk ripped from the ground. The air howled.

  Sinistra vanished in a burst of motion.

  Her silhouette blurred, and the next instant a thin, nearly invisible blade flashed through the air. An air-slash cut through the vines like wet cloth. The emerald light in the creature’s chest flickered.

  The Lianomant staggered back.

  A second blade struck from below.

  A third — into the joint of its “shoulder.”

  Vines snapped apart. Sap and resin splattered onto the ground. Roots convulsed, trying to knit themselves back together.

  All the while, Atrox stood aside.

  He did not even touch the hilt of his sword.

  When the Lianomant finally collapsed — crumbling into a heap of dead branches and vines — Atrox merely shifted his gaze to the fallen mass. No approval. No interest.

  — Pathetic, — Sinistra said, flicking green fluid from her hand. — A dryad could’ve done better.

  They moved on.

  After several dozen steps, the forest suddenly parted. A slope descended before them toward a cliff face almost entirely overgrown with moss and roots.

  Between them — a dark opening.

  An entrance.

  Stone slabs framed it — ancient, smooth, etched with patterns worn down by time. The door looked as though it had not been opened for centuries.

  Sinistra stepped closer, running her fingers across the surface.

  — A dungeon, — she said. — And the door… — she smirked. — Locked.

  She stepped back and raised her hand.

  The air vibrated.

  A wide, dense blade of wind tore from her palm and struck the door. The earth trembled. Several nearby trees cracked and fell with thunderous snaps.

  The echo rolled through the forest.

  When the dust settled, Sinistra narrowed her eyes.

  The door was untouched.

  No cracks.

  No chips.

  Not even a scratch.

  She exhaled slowly, fingers curling.

  — Damn it…

  Atrox, who had been standing aside the entire time, stepped forward. His gaze traced the stone, lingered on the patterns, then on the faint runes at the base.

  — It’s sealed, — he said calmly.

  — And how do you suggest we open it? — Sinistra asked, irritation sharpening her voice.

  — I don’t.

  He crouched slightly, noticing an indentation beside the door — precise, deliberate, carved with extreme accuracy. He ran a finger along its edge.

  — A key fits here.

  Sinistra stepped closer and looked.

  — Hm… — she frowned. — Strange shape.

  — Square, — he said. — Or… — Atrox paused for a moment. — Cubic.

  He straightened and stepped back.

  — Without the key, we do nothing.

  Sinistra spun toward him sharply.

  — You’re serious? We spent years searching for this place just to turn around and leave? There could be another entrance. Dungeons rarely have only one access point.

  Atrox looked at her — calm, almost indifferent.

  — If you’re bored, search, — he said. — But I’m certain this door is the only entrance.

  He turned away without waiting for her response.

  — I’ll find the key.

  Sinistra remained before the door.

  For a brief moment, it felt as though the stone beneath her palm had grown slightly warmer.

  Or… no. The sensation was too fleeting.

  She withdrew her hand.

  — The cube… — she murmured softly, not knowing why the word surfaced in her mind.

  She cast one last look at the entrance — then, jaw clenched, turned and followed after Atrox.

  And behind the door, deep beneath roots and stone, something ancient and patient continued to wait.

  The library didn’t just feel like a place of knowledge — it pressed down with its grandeur.

  Towering arches disappeared into misty heights. Staircases led seemingly into nowhere. Shelves filled the world to the horizon. If knowledge had a physical form, this is what it would look like.

  Since I’d been given the chance to visit a place like this, I decided to search for the answer to the question that had haunted me for more than six years:

  How was I reincarnated here?

  I sifted through books one after another. My eyes skimmed pages rapidly — but not carelessly. My mind, just like before, worked efficiently.

  Even better than in my previous life.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  A child’s body — an adult mind.

  A reincarnation bonus.

  But there were still no answers.

  It felt like all the knowledge in the world existed here — except the one thing I needed. Magic, history, geography — all fascinating, but not what I was searching for.

  I’d been looking for over an hour.

  There didn’t seem to be even a hint about reincarnation.

  Great.

  I died, ended up here, lived a second life — and nobody even theoretically considered something like that possible. As if reality itself had decided:

  “Yeah, it happened. Whatever. Move on.”

  I closed another thick tome and ran a tired hand through my hair.

  — Eyron?

  I looked up.

  Alak stood right in front of me.

  When did he get there? For someone his size, he was unbelievably quiet.

  — Is everything alright? You look… more serious than usual.

  Yeah, everything’s totally not alright. I just wasted an entire hour.

  — I’m fine, — I said. — Just reading.

  Alak smiled faintly.

  But his gaze didn’t leave. He understood I was thinking about something… yet he didn’t press.

  Instead, he pulled out a small bundle and handed it to me.

  — Here. Great mages sometimes forget that knowledge isn’t the only thing that matters. The body needs fuel too.

  I looked at the fruit.

  Elongated. Emerald green. Its surface shimmered softly, as if luminous liquid flowed inside. I carefully cracked the peel — and the fruit flared with a gentle blue glow. The translucent flesh shimmered like glowing ice.

  — It’s Lirion, — Alak explained. — It grows only in the Forest of Silver Moss. Restores strength, calms the mind, and slightly stabilizes mana flow. Sometimes more useful than any book.

  I took a bite.

  Cold sweetness spread across my tongue. The taste… honey, mint, and a hint of cherry.

  My body felt lighter. My mind — clearer.

  Yeah… I could’ve used this in my past life. Would’ve taken exams with a smile.

  — Thank you.

  — If you want, rest, — he said gently. — You don’t need to swallow all knowledge in a single day.

  I fell silent.

  Right. I’m just a child after all. Six years old.

  Just.

  — Father… can I ask something?

  — Of course.

  I decided not to circle around it.

  — Is there magic… that studies souls?

  I figured the only explanation for my reincarnation was my soul. Somehow it had ended up here — while retaining consciousness.

  Maybe I hadn’t even reincarnated in another universe… but in the same one. Just somewhere in another galaxy. Our universe is vast. Perhaps this planet exists in the same cosmos as Earth.

  He looked surprised for a second — just a moment.

  Then his expression grew serious.

  — You’re asking such questions rather early, — he said quietly. — But yes. There is.

  — What is it called?

  — Necromancy.

  Necromancy… huh.

  — Necromancy is the branch of magic that studies the nature of the soul and its influence on the body, — he began calmly, like a teacher. — Stories love to say necromancers control “darkness” and “death.” That’s foolish. They don’t work with darkness. They work with what lies deeper than flesh. What makes us… us.

  — So… the soul exists?

  — Yes, — he answered firmly. — We don’t know its true nature. But we know it exists. Necromancers can sense it. Sometimes… touch it. In rare cases — extract it before death.

  Excellent. Confirmation number one: the soul is not a myth.

  — And after death… what happens? — I asked as calmly as possible.

  Alak thought for a moment. His gaze stopped being that of a teacher — and became human.

  — No one knows, — he said honestly. — There are legends. Religions. Theories. Light priests believe souls go to the realm of the gods. Old cults say the soul dissolves into the world. Most mages… admit it’s an unknown.

  Damn.

  I was already hoping necromancy would give me the answers I needed. But it seems this science is limited by the laws of this planet.

  — What about memory? — I continued. — Can a soul retain memories?

  Alak chuckled — not mockingly, but helplessly.

  — If we knew that for certain, — he said, — we’d understand what makes a person who they are. Some necromancers claim spirits remember. Others say they don’t. It’s too unstable. Too rare. Too dangerous. Too… delicate. All we can do is admit: we don’t know.

  Alright. So the soul exists — and can be interacted with.

  Whether it can retain memories from a past life… and where it goes after death… unknown.

  But that was already far more than I had an hour ago.

  — Is necromancy a rare field? I searched the library for an hour and found books on every school of magic except curses and necromancy, — I asked.

  Alak shook his head.

  — Curses were banned over forty thousand years ago. Necromancy isn’t illegal, but it’s considered morally unacceptable. Many despise it. It isn’t taught in schools or academies. It also requires monstrous concentration. On the battlefield, a necromancer is nearly useless — while he works with one soul, another enemy runs him through with a sword. It’s an art for loners, researchers, fanatics. Any mistake… — he paused briefly. — A mistake in necromancy is worse than in any other magic. You don’t harm the body. You can cripple the very essence.

  I listened… carefully.

  — Some necromancers can summon souls, — he continued. — Some “place” them into bodies. That’s how undead are born. But such masters are extremely rare. Most spend their entire lives trying to understand the soul — and never fully succeed.

  He smiled slightly.

  — And yes. They’re usually strange. Quiet. Too serious for their age.

  A little… like you.

  I smirked.

  He gently placed a hand on my head.

  — Don’t rush to grow up. You’re already growing too fast, Eyron.

  Don’t carry questions the world itself isn’t ready to answer yet.

  — Okay, Father.

  He left, dissolving among the shelves.

  Quietly. Calmly. As if nothing special had happened.

  Alright… but now I at least had a rough idea how I ended up here.

  Most likely my soul entered this world — while retaining consciousness and memory.

  Which means my case is unique. Otherwise I wouldn’t be the only one remembering a past life.

  Still… it’s not enough.

  I’ll keep searching for the knowledge I need.

  Until I dig up the truth.

  It was the ninth year of my life in this world.

  I had become the best student in school, and now Alak took me every day to our clearing in the forest. These weren’t just games — they were lessons about how magic truly worked.

  Despite his kindness, Alak was a strict teacher. He would sit on a stone and always speak calmly.

  — Eyron, you can heal wounds. You do it quickly. But you spend far too much of your mana.

  He placed a fragile rose on the ground. Then, using only a trace of magic, he snapped one thin vein in its petal. The damage was barely visible.

  — Your task, — he said, — is to heal this petal using the smallest possible portion of your mana. Imagine you only have a single drop to heal it. If you use more — it’s simply waste.

  I frowned. I just directed my power into the petal — and it healed.

  — Stop! — Alak’s voice was quiet, but firm. — You used enough power to close a cut on a hand. Why are you throwing your strength around like that? Are you afraid your magic won’t work?

  — But Father, the more mana I use, the faster it heals! — I protested.

  — You’re excellent when it comes to speed, but terrible when it comes to efficiency.

  He picked up two bowls.

  — In this bowl, — he pointed to the full one, — is all your strength. In this one, — he pointed to the empty one, — is what you spent. You must heal the rose while lowering the full bowl by only a fraction.

  It seemed he wanted me not just to use mana — but to understand how it worked.

  After spending a long time learning to heal the rose with a tiny, invisible thread of power, Father finally smiled.

  — Now that is mastery. Remember: a great mage isn’t one who can use a lot of mana, but one who can achieve great results with very little.

  He sat beside me.

  — You think magic is either evil or good. That’s not true.

  Alak raised both hands. In his left palm he created a small, bright red flame. In his right — a small but gentle green light.

  — Look, — he whispered. — Fire and light are the same force. Very similar. The difference lies only in what you want them to do. Fire changes something by breaking it. Healing changes something by restoring it. There is no evil or good in magic, Eyron. There is only intention. Your goal is to master both. Otherwise you’ll become either uncontrollable… or useless.

  Alak extinguished the magic and looked at me with a soft smile.

  — You’re very much like me, — he said, gently ruffling my light hair. — I once sought power only to do my work faster and better. But I found my greatest strength when I realized that Life is the most complex — and most valuable — thing worth protecting.

  He dispelled the spells…

  And suddenly I remembered that strange sensation that had been bothering me lately.

  — Father, I want to ask you something.

  — I’m listening.

  — Why can I feel other people’s mana? Humans. Mages. Sometimes just… living beings. It’s like the air becomes heavier — like something is pressing down near me. In the Guild I can even sense how much mana other mages have. The stronger the mage — the heavier the air feels.

  Alak slightly raised his brows.

  — You can feel… what? — his voice grew quieter.

  — Mana flows, — I confirmed. — Not with my eyes. Not with my ears. Just… a feeling. Like the world whispers where power is.

  Alak went silent.

  Not just silent — it was as if he stopped breathing.

  His usually calm, confident face became… unsettled. He frowned, then slowly straightened, like someone who’d just been told something impossible.

  — Are you sure about this? — he asked in a different voice now. Heavy. Serious.

  — Yes.

  For several seconds he just looked at me.

  As if he wasn’t seeing his son… but a riddle.

  — That’s… — Alak exhaled slowly, as if remembering how to breathe. — Most people never feel that. Even many high-rank mages can barely sense faint traces of mana. Only a handful can truly hear the mana world.

  He ran a hand across his face.

  I had never seen him like this — uncertain, shaken… even slightly afraid.

  — Some who’ve reached the highest mastery can judge a mage’s strength by how their mana flows. They can “see” a being without using their eyes. Weight. Size. Everything. This isn’t just talent, Eyron. It’s… — he paused, searching for the word. — A gift.

  A gift? Sure. Of course. Who am I to be ordinary?

  First a new life. Then a healthy body. Then abnormal mana. Now I’m special too. Thanks, gods — just like an anime. Throw in a dragon companion and a “Chosen One” title and I’ll start a livestream.

  Jokes aside…

  My heart was pounding.

  If Father — an experienced mage — was shocked, then this was serious.

  Alak smiled slightly, but it wasn’t a light smile — it was heavy with understanding.

  — Archmage Naum of the Mage Guild possesses the same sensitivity. He once said: “If a mage can feel the mana world — it means they hold immense potential. All that remains is to learn to control it.”

  He placed a hand on my shoulder. His palm was warm and steady.

  — This is an exceedingly rare gift, son. If you can feel it… then your path will be far more difficult. And far more magnificent.

  A rare gift. Potential. Archmage.

  Alright… calm down.

  I wanted a new life, didn’t I? Power? Possibilities? Yeah. Well — here they are. No refunds.

  Though it sounded amazing… I doubted I’d ever seriously pursue magic.

  I didn’t need that kind of power. With great power comes great responsibility — and I just wanted to live an ordinary life as an average aurion.

  He smiled again — warmer this time.

  — Now rest. You’ve earned it. Tomorrow we begin training that will help you understand not only magic…

  … but yourself.