The Necro King
The years must've been longer here or something because it wasn't until a few months after my fifth year of living that I was treated to any kind of celebration for simply existing.
Or, that's what I'd have thought if it weren't for my Eternal Eye.
At around two terrestrial years of age, I began speaking coherently and had been allowed to walk around the entirety of my small world under little to no supervision from my parents.
My nursery consisted of the large bed I'd been born on, tucked into a polished slate alcove just large enough to allow for walkways on either side. Just past the bed were twin fireplaces set into the walls at forty-five-degree angles. Splaying heat and flickering light into the elliptical space that made up the rest of my room and contained my crib and some seating arrangements for my parents. To its left and through a doorless entry of arched stone was a dedicated play area and classroom. With padded floors about half the size of the nursery proper and complete with a small desk for my literacy lessons and an assortment of toys I hardly played with.
On the far side of the nursery from my classroom, however, was a proper bed and bathroom for my parents and a service room for Ebbet; the burly woman who I came to know as the head maid.
My days began to be filled with lessons in reading, counting, and writing nearly a year later. Lessons that took a laughably short length of time; as they consisted of only memorizing a different set of characters with the same grammatical structure. Nearly depressing my father until he went on to teach me the calendar.
Though he didn't tell me how it came to be, he taught me that there were thirteen months in the year. With three, ten-day weeks in each.
Six months after my third birthday, I began to feel it was safe enough to begin interacting with the energy around me. If sparsely.
I learned that, with a bit of mental effort, I could swirl and mix the energy around me. At the time, it felt like I was a kid again; in my first life, focusing on a rock or bottle or puddle of water and attempting to awaken a dormant power that would never exist in such a harsh reality.
Only in this world- in this reality, it worked.
With concentrated thoughts, I could manipulate a relatively small amount of this… mana. I learned I could drag it through the nursery and threaten to knock of paintings or other decorations from the fluctuations of energy. I could draw it into myself as well, but that only caused the mana inside my Well to cycle out at the same rate. Resulting in a slight change or relief that I compared to clearing one's sinuses and not much else.
As for the energy in my own Well, it was condensed into a crystalline solid rather than the multiphase fluid in my environment. I couldn't compact or condense it further in any way. Or even interact with it in any way other than cycling the energy or outright withdrawing it. At which time, a shard of mana would detach from my well and sublime into a thick band of gaseous energy that'd begin cascading towards my affinity core like matter falling into a black hole.
So, with nothing else to do other than read the many storybooks my father gave me and listen to the tales told by my mother, I practiced manipulating the energy around me whenever I had an ounce of solitude.
The night I turned five; according to this world's calendar, my parents came into the nursery and hoisted me into their arms to bring me deeper into the estate than I had ever been before.
At that time, I learned that what I thought was my home was simply an auxiliary wing of the proper estate. A separate house more than a wing, accessible by only me, my mother, father, and Ebbet via a wooden bridge that sat atop a dam or cliff-side waterfall overlooking a vast ocean.
An ocean I didn't get to see much of, as I was brought inside another building atop the dam. The service wing of the estate, I learned from my Father's whispering. Set just across the 'hall' from my nursery and in the geographical center of the estate so that the chef and other staff could tend to all corners of the estate in a flawless manner.
After being seated, my parents stood on either side of me and waited as a small group of people stood in front of my booster seat.
"Your Grace." Ebbet bowed.
'Your fucking what?' I winced inside as I stared at the crown of her head lowering and raising back out of view.
She was the big burly type of woman that would fit the script of the ill-mannered but good-hearted aunt of a dysfunctional family. With sand-tan weathered skin, a slight hunchback, and gray hair tied tightly in a neat bun that shimmered like precious metals in the light. Though I'd hardly ever seen her and had never spoken to her, she'd indirectly cared for me since I was born. Which was only a small fraction of her life, I assumed by looking at her. Though that wasn't to say she was on the decline. In fact, she looked like she could easily keep kicking for another half-century.
In this environment, at least.
"This is my niece and Your Grace's personal caretaker." She continued, gesturing to a young girl by her side. "Her name is Jonet Fischer and is five years of age as well. Since she could stand, she has been personally trained by me to cater to your each and every need. All you need is to give the order." She once again gestured to the girl in question after giving the introduction.
Jonet had caramel-brown skin and a somewhat large forehead that was obviously covered by a thick brush of curly brown hair tied in much the same fashion as Ebbet's, only a little… unrulier. Like her aunt, she was dressed in black slacks, loafers, and a matching sweater with golden-yellow trim. Much like me, she was as short and frail as most five-year-olds and seemed to not grasp the entirety of the situation she was in. Made evident by her smiling at me like all kids forced into friendships would. Most apparent of all, however, were her eyes. Not the brown or hazel on would assume from her skin tone, but an intense glacial blue that seemed to glow as she silently stared.
"It's an honor to finally meet you, Your Grace." A silver-haired man bowed next. He was around twenty-five by appearance and had been grinning the entire time from either force of habit, perpetual excitement, or a social mask. Otherwise, he appeared like a teacher turned line cook. Complete with greasy hair pulled taut in a ponytail, baggy eyes, and scruff of beard toned in the same gray as the hair on his head. The only thing missing from the image were tattoos, which seemed to be traded in favor of light leather armor strapped over some light chainmail and unmistakably pocked with vacant attachment points.
Though I had no idea what they were for. Quivers or knife holsters, if I were to guess.
"My name is Gerolt Flay." He bowed proudly. "I am a hunter and the personal chef of the House of Cole. You have my word that I'll deliver only the finest versions of whatever meals you request. And I highly recommend that you only eat from my hands until Your Grace can cook for himself."
"If he so wishes, of course!" He quickly added.
'Your Grace.' I pondered as Gerolt paused to turn about and grab a platter of something concealed by a ceramic lid. 'I don't mind being rich or even royalty, but these titles are fucking annoying. And even more annoying is the prospect of being forced to do certain things in the name of the family's image.'
'Whatever that even was.'
My thoughts were cut short by Gerolt setting the platter before me and revealing my celebratory meal. Not cake, nor anything sweet for that matter. Instead, a platter of what appeared to be delicately seared steak cooked to a perfect medium-rare, coupled with a platter of roasted potatoes and steamed vegetables that'd been diced in much the same manner.
I thoroughly enjoyed my first steak dinner in this world. Though, despite using magic and enchantments to cook and even being an aged cut, it was severely bland. Yet far more palatable than breast milk and mushed food, so it went down without complaint.
All while everyone stood by awkwardly and watched me eat.
And eat. I took my time as I did so as to not make a mess of myself and my surroundings in the process.
In short, the celebration wasn't much to bark about; nor was any other birthday I'd had after the last two dozen or so years of my first life. I ate, received praise and sometimes a few gifts for simply existing, and suffered through the anticipatory stares and the ridiculous questions regarding an apparent change in perception caused by an increase in age.
It was entirely unremarkable.
Up until the moment, I finished my meal and felt the mana around the room begin to stir.
After somewhat straining my eyes, I began to see the ambient energy violently swelling towards the door as if it were falling into a vortex.
Or rather, ebbing. Receding to a point somewhere beyond the door. Where it was changed into something darker and more sinister before rushing back through the threshold.
The door began to open in the next instant, allowing the strangely familiar feeling to unabatedly emanate from the threshold and begin flooding the service wing.
However, much like with my parents, I felt a deep connection to it. Specifically, to the person on the far side of that threshold producing this foul, yet welcoming energy. Even before they crossed into view, I felt as if there were a part of them and I that were of the same. And that some part of myself was currently resonating with a part of them; or they themselves, in harmony.
'Is that…D-'
"Kneel for His Majesty!" Ebbet suddenly slammed her knee into the ground. Followed not much later by Jonet and Gerolt.
Though despite her words, my mother and father remained standing at my sides. And so I remained in my booster seat.
The man who entered was… large, to say the least. He was taller than my father by a few inches, though not nearly as lankly. With biceps as big as my old man's quads and a face like that of some exotic brownstone chiseled and chipped away piece by piece to reveal the same features as my father and I; or rather, that he imparted onto us. Only, he held a glint of perpetual amusement and indifference that shined in the pitch-black irises of his eyes.
A glimmer that I recognized at first glance. As it was something that I myself had; both in the past and at that particular moment.
The glimmer of a mismatched seed and vessel.
We were inversely similar in the most fundamental way. Me, an old man in a young body; and him, a child in an old body. Polar opposites that most likely wouldn't attract.
Most notable of all, however, was the energy emanating from him. Something I now recognized as the aura of death. A cold and pervasive energy that felt like it was reaching towards me to commit the unthinkable. Only… it didn't. Like a violent animal that'd been charging me suddenly lost all sense of hostility as it came into contact with me.
Looking around, all of the staff seemed to be utterly terrified. Even Gerolt; who I assumed to be a little seasoned and had faced death at least once, was literally sweating bullets and shaking with such fervor that he practically vibrated the floor beneath him.
Everyone was affected, save my father and somewhat my mother. And me, who was so focused on the energy that nothing else in the room seemed to matter.
"No need for the lens." The large man, waving off my father attempting to hand him the same monocle he used on me after I'd been born. "I can feel it for myself."
In just a few strides, he approached my child-sized throne and knelt so that he could look me squarely in the eyes. "Do you know who I am, son?" he smiled warmly.
I blinked at him a few times, attempting to turn my focus away from the energy surrounding him before finally managing to look him in the eyes and smile. "You're Grandpa Lich."
"Wahahahahaha!" He burst out laughing before keeling to the side. "Now that's a first!" He hollered to my parents before gazing catching a glimpse of the shocked staff behind him and quickly regaining his composure. "Ahem. I am your great-grandfather, yes." He nodded proudly. "High King of Odissi, Everandus Cole. Otherwise known as the Necro King."
'Again with these names.' I internally sighed before repeating his name with a cheeky smile. "High King Cole."
"Yes." He nodded, grinned wide. "And you, Amun. Are the Grand Duke of the Odissian Empire."
"A grand duke," I repeated slowly with the perfect mimicry of a child.
"A Grand. Duke." Grandpa repeated with a suspicious look in his eyes before turning away with an amiable shrug. "Or a Grand Prince. Whichever you choose."
'As if.' I internally scoffed before shaking my head slowly and speaking in a somewhat apologetic tone. "I don't want to be a Prince."
My mother held her heart and seemed to melt in place at the sound of my words. Meanwhile, my father only chuckled to himself a few times before my grandpa reached forward to undo my booster seat and allow me to step down to the floor.
"If you'll come with me, son." He held out his hand. "We and your parents will have a short talk before you begin your lessons in magic. And then, you'll be taught to be a proper royal."