The King's Chains

Grey's POV

The weeks following my emergence from that mysterious tunnel constituted a new form of torture. Existence, once so full of power and dignity, had been reduced to an incessant struggle to control a tiny and vulnerable body.

First, I had virtually no motor control, save for the ability to wiggle my frail limbs, and even that quickly became exhausting. It didn't take long to realize that babies do not have mastery over their fingers. When one places a finger in an infant's palm, it is grasped not out of affection but in response to a nerve stimulation, a primitive reflex.

However, what intrigued me deeply was the fact that since my arrival in this new world, I had not excreted even once. Admittedly, this was not something to complain about. On the contrary, it was a relief not to endure the humiliation of soiling a diaper. Imagining the situation—me, a once powerful king, reduced to such a degrading state and dependent on this unstable woman for cleanliness—was unbearable.

Speaking of this b*tch, that brings me to the second thing; she is truly mad.

She practically never fed me, though I don't know why my body was coping well without nutrients. This woman didn't even seem bothered by this fact. Even when I feigned hunger by crying, she simply ignored me or murmured soothing words... correction, she sang incantations straight from hell.

Not to mention, she never gave me a name, only calling me her child with some hesitation each time she referred to me. This added another layer of worry to my already troubled second life.

Each day spent in this infantile body, capable of doing nothing more than watching, listening, and occasionally making clumsy movements, was a trial of mental endurance. My mind, once sharpened by years of rule and combat, found itself trapped in a prison of incompetent flesh.

Lying in a rudimentary cradle made of rough wood and lined with worn blankets, I strove each day to understand my surroundings a little better. The room where I spent most of my time was modest, with dark red wooden walls and faded tapestries, as if they had once been magnificent but had become tarnished by time and neglect. Sunlight filtered through a small window with dirty panes, casting changing patterns on the stone floor.

The woman who watched over me, her gaze alternating between gentle tenderness and disturbing determination, spent hours murmuring incantations or talking about prophecies. Her name, Arlene Grace, was whispered by a few rare and equally deranged visitors whom I could hear through the thin walls. They seemed to respect, even fear her, making me understand that she was not a simple villager.

Every time she approached me, I could feel an aura of despair and madness, a dangerous combination that stirred a sense of urgency and distrust in me. Yet, I had to play the role of the helpless infant, feigning innocence and vulnerability, patiently waiting for the opportune moment to act.

Night often fell without warning, enveloping the room in a cold, silent darkness. During these quiet moments, I could hear distant murmurs in the house, deep voices discussing plans and conspiracies. The words "Zahard" and "vengeance" frequently recurred, mingled with mentions of power and betrayal.

As I slowly adapted to this new life, I began to perceive snippets of crucial information. Arlene seemed obsessed with a prophecy she herself had created, firmly believing that I played a central role in its fulfillment. This prophecy spoke of destruction and renewal, of the fall of a king and the rise of a new power.

Despite the absurdity of my situation, my mind remained sharp. I knew a hasty escape would be futile and dangerous. I needed to gather information, understand the dynamics at play, and carefully plan my escape.

Gradually gathering information, I discovered that the site of satanic invocation was a prayer room dedicated to an d

divinity. She spent hours there praying and venerating, making me wonder if she was a devout believer or a fanatic who had lost her mind. She wasn't alone in her practices; occasionally, she brought other adherents for prayer sessions at the house.

This deeply disgusted me, even though I was confined to another room.

As far as I could tell, it seemed I had traveled through time to land in a world I believed to be mine, an era where modern innovations seemed foreign. The absence of electricity and other contemporary technologies gave the illusion of a backward journey to a distant age forgotten by progress.

However, these hopes were quickly dashed by my mother, whose strange actions and rituals illuminated a very different picture. She initiated me into mystical and magical practices, hinting at an external divine power and obscure witchcraft. These beliefs convinced me that this world was far removed from the era I knew.

It seems my escape plan will take time to come to fruition.

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I spent my days absorbing as much information as possible by carefully listening to Arlene and her enigmatic guests. Each day, I strove to perfect control over my nascent body, mastering the motor functions that lay within me.

I also nurtured the hope of understanding and eventually mastering the mysterious magic that Arlene practiced daily. After all, am I not her son ? Shouldn't I inherit some divine power according to her prophecy?

This quest to discover my supernatural abilities might be the key to freeing myself from the hands of this witch. As I became familiar with the arcana of her cult, I perceived clues about the true nature of my existence in this bewildering world.

But despite my attempts to apply Ki—the familiar energy system from my previous world—the magic practiced by my mother defied understanding. Every day, I struggled to comprehend its intricacies, but each attempt ended in frustrating failure.

What made the situation even more exasperating was the complete lack of resources to help me decipher this mystery. No books, no writings seemed to address this form of power that appeared so central in my mother's life. How could I hope to learn if I couldn't even crawl to explore my surroundings?

It almost seemed as if this knowledge was intentionally hidden, kept out of reach of a child like me. Yet, this did not discourage my determination to uncover this secret.

I began to consider that this magic might be a unique manifestation, unrelated to Ki or any other form of energy I knew. Perhaps it was a power passed down through Arlene's lineage, or simply a mystical practice born of her deep beliefs.

In moments of frustration, I wondered if I was doomed to remain trapped in this ignorance, just as I was once trapped by court intrigues and political machinations. Every incantation whispered by my mother resonated like the deceitful promises of power and control, familiar echoes of past manipulations to which I had been subjected.

Yet, despite my efforts, I remained confined to my cradle, as if still bound by invisible chains of destiny and obligation. Silently observing the rituals unfolding around me, I felt the weight of familial legacy on my fragile shoulders, just as I was once burdened by royal responsibilities and the relentless expectations of my subjects.

The days that passing reinforced my conviction that this magic was both powerful and dangerous, but above all, inaccessible for now. Just as in my past life, where the secrets of power circles were kept out of my reach, I struggled to understand and overcome the obstacles before me.

When clarity envelops me, I wonder if the key to this enigma lies in the whispers of ancestral spirits or in the distant stars my mother seems to invoke in her nightly prayers.

Perhaps my destiny is once again tied to forces beyond my control, forces I must learn to master or evade to find my true freedom.

Weeks passed in a regular routine, lulled by Arlene's enchanting whispers as she engaged in her mystical rituals. Each incantation resonated in the mystery-laden atmosphere of our home, intensifying the strangeness that dwelled within me.

As an adult and a king reincarnated into the body of an infant, I watched Arlene's movements with fascination and curiosity. Even before she began her rituals, I had already made numerous attempts to understand and manipulate the magic that permeated our environment.

My efforts, however, were futile and fruitless, like reaching for the unattainable.

In those quiet moments, my eyes wandered to the intricate patterns of the wall tapestries and the strange sculptures that seemed to watch over me silently. Everything was new, strange, and yet inexplicably familiar.

As the days went by, one thought kept tormenting me: if I could one day understand the magic my mother wielded so effortlessly, perhaps I could finally answer the burning questions haunting my mind. What is my true purpose in this life?

It was not merely curiosity but a quest to discover my true identity and understand the meaning of my destiny. Each whispered incantation from my mother seemed to be an invitation to unravel the mysteries of this magic, a magic that might hold the keys to my freedom and future.

In the soothing nocturnal silence, when calm became almost tangible, I felt a connection to something greater than myself. The stars shining above seemed to be silent guardians of ancient, buried truths.

I surmise that through Arlene's mystical magic, I might finally find the path to enlightement.

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Years flowed inexorably, carrying away fragments of my childhood. Today, at four years old, I remain trapped in this youthful body, my height barely reaching that of a table. Growth seems to have forgotten me, just as the outside world, to which I have never had access, remains a mystery.

As I gaze at my reflection in the mirror, a truth emerges; I bear a striking resemblance to my mother, Arlene. My hazel hair cascades down to the floor, framing my youthful face. My golden eyes, capturing the ambient light, reveal a mysterious depth and wisdom far beyond my apparent age. My almost translucent white skin contrasts with the white gown I wear, simple enough to be mistaken for a rag.

This image reflects my progenitor. It's as if she has passed down not only her physical traits but also a part of her essence, her mystical heritage.

In short, I am incredibly charming.

"Hehe, watch out, ladies, for in the future, I might break some hearts," I murmur with a sly smile, placing my hand on the mirror's surface, contemplating my face.

But a frown and a look of disgust replace my smile as my thoughts drift to Arlene. In truth, I no longer wish to consider her my mother. In my earliest moments of life, as a mere baby, her behavior oscillated between madness and a cold determination to use me as an instrument of vengeance.

I had naively hoped there would be ways to forgive her, believing that her deranged actions were Zahard's fault. After all, in two lives, I finally had a true mother sharing my blood.

I longed for this new life to give me the chance to thrive under a loving mother's wing, to feel that maternal love I had glimpsed in my past existence.

Wilbeck, the orphanage director, had been an exemplary maternal figure to me, providing a love and warmth I thought irrevocably lost. Yet, even this comforting memory could not fill the void left by Arlene. My desire for an authentic relationship with my biological mother remained unsatisfied, like an unquenchable thirst in a barren desert.

Arlene enveloped me in a golden cage of strict rules and oppressive protections. Among these, the absolute prohibition of setting foot outside this small house. My universe was limited to the walls of this home, every corner painfully familiar. The outside world remained a forbidden enigma, an inaccessible mystery.

Her piercing eyes followed my every move, ensuring I always remained under her control. She justified her restrictions with reasons steeped in fear and disdain for the outside world. "The world is dangerous," she often repeated, her words tinged with palpable paranoia. But I felt this golden prison was merely another manifestation of her madness, another way to subjugate me to her ends.

This cloistered existence fueled a simmering rage within me, a burning desire to break free and discover the world for myself. I knew that to do so, I had to understand Arlene's magic, unravel the secrets of her power to liberate myself.

With unwavering determination, I observed and studied every incantation, every movement of my mother. By comparing this magic to the life energy of Ki from my previous world, I discerned some fundamental similarities and differences.

Ki was an internal energy, manipulated by the will and discipline of body and mind. The magic of this world, however, seemed to draw on external forces, invoking entities and energies beyond human understanding.

Over time, my attempts to manipulate magic were no longer dismal failures. By combining my understanding of Ki with meticulous observations of Arlene's rituals, I managed to master some basic magic. I practiced in secret, using small incantations to move light objects or create faint glows in the darkness of my room. Each success, though modest, fueled my hope and determination.

It was in these moments of silent triumph that I felt most alive, sensing the thrill of magical energy coursing through my body. Each day, I grew a bit stronger, a bit more competent. I knew it was only a matter of time before I discovered the true depths of this magic.

But of course, no matter my precautions, Arlene had eyes everywhere. She caught me meditating on magic, observing the white aura enveloping my nascent body.

At that precise moment, her eyes widened, and her mouth opened, but no words came out. A fleeting glimmer of surprise crossed her face before she resumed her usual severe expression. She stepped towards me quickly, her white gown lightly trailing behind her. "Child," she murmured in a cold, hard voice. "What are you doing?"

Her hands gripped my shoulders with unexpected strength for such a frail body. Her gaze, piercing and determined, seemed to probe my soul. Despite the intensity of her presence, I did not yield to fear. After all, I had been a king and knew how to keep my composure even before such authority.

I felt trapped under her insistent gaze. "I just wanted to understand the magic a bit more," I replied in a calm, innocent voice, meeting her eyes without flinching.

She clenched her teeth, her fingers tightening on my shoulders with increased firmness. "Magic is dangerous, child," she declared in a low but unyielding voice. "You should not venture into it without my supervision. Promise me you will not try to manipulate it alone again."

Despite her stern words, a hint of curiosity grew within me. Why was she so afraid of what I might discover? What magical secret was she guarding? My thoughts raced as I sought answers in her hard, uncompromising eyes.

Finally, after a long moment of tense silence, I lowered my eyes, reluctantly agreeing. "Alright, mother," I murmured, tacitly accepting her conditions.

Yet, deep within me, the flame of curiosity and the desire to master this magic remained unquenched, fueled by the electric thrill I had felt during my attempt at magical meditation.

She abruptly withdrew her hands from my shoulders, leaving behind a heavy tension that filled the room. The sharp slam of the door marked her hasty departure, but I knew she was still vigilant, ready to intervene at the slightest sign of me using magic without her consent.

Despite her departure, an involuntary sigh of relief escaped my lips. The fear of facing her violent reprisals again slowly ebbed away. The marks of her previous conjugal violence still resonated in my body, echoes of a brutality that now seemed uncontrollable in her.

The years that have passed seeing her mental health deteriorate further. Once capable of controlling her destructive impulses or simply expressing her anger through the destruction of objects, she now unleashed her murderous fury on me without restraint. However, in her fits of madness, she ensured not to fatally harm me, perhaps aware that my death would also mean the end of her own inner torments.

After all, she wouldn't want to lose her weapon for revenge, would she?

If I had been an ordinary child, I would probably have cowered in a corner of my room, terrified and overwhelmed by physical and emotional pain. But as a former king, even though I despised her brutal behavior, I knew my position required me to endure these trials with dignity.

Her fits of madness seemed to come out of nowhere, especially triggered by any mention of her past. Since my reincarnation, my knowledge of her history remained patchy, limited to the scant information she shared during her rare exchanges with guests or in stories she told me. Each detail, no matter how small, could provoke a disproportionate reaction in her, fueling a cycle of violence and suffering that ensnared us both in an unyielding grip.

I shook my head with a mixture of perplexity and fascination, recalling the story Arlene had told me when I was barely a two-year-old child.

It was an ancient tale, recounting my mother's past, an epic journey through a titanic tower accompanied by thirteen companions. Each of these companions was distinguished by unique personalities and exceptional talents, but two men, in particular, had captivated my mind since childhood.

One of them, without a doubt, was Zahard, the undisputed leader of their group. He was the one who had orchestrated their assembly and led them on this bold journey through the Tower. Arlene had described Zahard as an adventure enthusiast, always eager for new challenges and discoveries, a charismatic leader whose charm captivated everyone who crossed his path.

At the time, I was astonished to hear my mother speak with such admiration about the man who had disrupted her life. Yet, I refrained from interrupting her, letting her continue her story about the other man, the one she had fallen in love with and with whom she had a child.

His name was V. My mother spoke of him with deep tenderness, emphasizing how remarkable and charming he was. It was striking to see my mother, usually so reserved and impassive, express such emotion just by mentioning this man, or rather, my father.

I listened to her ramble about her story, absorbing every word with growing fascination. She described their entry into the Tower, a monumental challenge that confronted them with tests orchestrated by beings as mysterious as omnipotent, known as administrators. With unwavering determination, they succeeded in these trials and climbed the floors of the Tower, gradually mastering the control of Shinsu —a force that intrigued me greatly, though I refrained from asking further questions.

They encountered civilizations whose cultural richness was matched only by their diversity, and learned traditions that defied understanding. Each story was a window into a world I burned to discover for myself. She mentioned epic battles, titanic confrontations against ancient monsters and adversaries of immeasurable strength, battles that would have made the heavens themselves tremble.

At that moment, I didn't know whether to believe these tales or not. They depicted the quintessence of a fantastical world, a universe that defied all logic.

However, my own inexplicable reincarnation and Arlene's magical skills, which defied reality itself, could only push me to accept the incredible truth of her past. It was a world where the extraordinary became possible, and I was living proof of that.

As she neared the end of her story, the nostalgic glow on her face suddenly darkened. An invisible pressure began to shake the room, making the floor and walls creak, while the furniture fell with a thud under the force unleashed by Arlene.

Her blue eyes were filled with an implacable rage, so intense that I believed for a moment her gaze could kill anyone who dared to meet it. The pressure was unbearable for my child's body, and I lay on the floor, helpless.

I even tried to counter her murderous intent with my own will, but it was futile. My thirst for blood was but a drop in the ocean compared to the raging storm within her.

The shadows in the room began to move violently, as if they were puppets of her anger, and a dark aura started to surround her, intensifying with each beat of her furious heart. The atmosphere became charged with a palpable unease, and I felt that the slightest spark could trigger a destructive storm.

Still pinned to the ground by this crushing pressure, I struggled desperately to stand up, but my muscles refused to respond, betraying my will. The air abruptly left my lungs, leaving me gasping and suffocated. In a frantic effort, I tried to inhale, to regain that vital breath, but it was as if even the oxygen was being denied to me. Each attempt ends in failure , each breath a lost battle.

The intensifying pressure added to my torment. It was as if an invisible yet relentless weight was added to my already burdened shoulders, pushing me further into the ground. I felt a warm, viscous liquid trickle down my face, each crimson drop falling on the carpet, and I realized it was my own blood, coming from my nose and eyes.

Despite my fierce struggle, I felt myself fading, at the mercy of this oppressive force. The room seemed to shrink around me, the air becoming scarcer, and I fought to find even a shred of oxygen.

Under the growing oppression, my vision wavered under the effects of vertigo, while darkness overtook me.

At that precise moment, I realized with dread that my second life was coming to an end.

After that, Arlene never revealed her past to me again, deeming I was not ready to know the whole truth. This situation was extremely frustrating; I had almost lost my life due to her carelessness, and yet, I remained ignorant of the conclusion of her story.

The worst part was that she didn't even apologize.

"Tsk, silent b*tch," I muttered in annoyance, clicking my tongue.

Determined to drive away these thoughts, I got out of bed and began a series of stretches for my sore limbs. After all, physical exercise wasn't forbidden, was it?

In my new childish body, I felt a profound difference compared to my previous form. Every morning, as dawn barely illuminated the horizon, I would rise with unwavering determination, ready to embark on a series of rigorous exercises. Each stretch, each flexion of my delicate muscles represented a challenge aimed at strengthening my body and refining my agility while adapting to the limits of this nascent youth.

The memories of my past life mingled with the new sensations and unique challenges posed by this immature body. Despite the temptation to yield to frustration or confusion, I knew that at the heart of this transformation lay an opportunity for personal growth and discovery.

To face the mysteries of this enigmatic world that lay before me, I had to focus not only on the immediate challenges but also on the deeper truths awaiting revelation with time.

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The sun's rays filtered through the curtains of my room, a warm caress on my still sleepy face. I slowly opened my eyes, savoring each moment of this morning awakening. Rising cautiously, I sat on the edge of my worn-out bed, adjusting the blanket that had protected me from the night's chill.

Mechanically, I glanced at the view offered by the window. Through the pane misted by the morning dew, I discerned the first light of a new day. The outside landscape unfolded gently; the trees swayed slightly under a light breeze, the birds began their morning symphony, and in the distance, the sun slowly emerged on the horizon, painting the sky with golden and pink hues.

Captivated by this natural scene, a mix of frustration and resignation filled me. The strict rules imposed by my mother forbade me from leaving the house, a heavy but unavoidable restriction.

Finally standing, I moved to the small table near the window. I grabbed a chipped cup, poured a bit of fresh water into it, and brought it to my lips. The clear liquid flowed gently down my throat, reminding me of the simplicity and vitality of each morning sip as I continued to silently observe the world awakening before me, hoping that one day I could fully join it.

Well, it's not as if I'm going to stay locked in this barely standing house forever. When that witch deems me ready, she'll throw me into the Tower to carry out her stupid revenge.

Thinking of her, I remembered I had to join her in her prayer room and attend those damned rituals, a morning chore repeated every day without respite.

Putting the cup back on the table, I headed to the sink, climbing onto a stool to reach the faucet, too high for my small size. I let the cold water run and, taking a handful, refreshed my face, hoping to shake off all traces of fatigue.

Jumping off the stool, my long brown hair floating around me, I walked to my wardrobe. I took, unsurprisingly, another white robe.

Yes, my beloved mother had simply provided me with the same white robe since my birth. For a woman, she seriously lacked fashion sense.

After getting dressed, I stepped towards the door of my room. I opened it unhurriedly and crossed the threshold, beginning my path through the sinister atmosphere of the corridor.

This corridor was neither particularly long nor wide, but it exuded an aura that always made me uncomfortable, despite my numerous crossings. The walls, like those of the prayer room, were covered with ancient and mysterious frescoes. Each time I observed them, I felt as though they whispered forgotten secrets, adding a layer of mystery and tension to the already austere environment.

Previously, these murals seemed incomprehensible to me, visual enigmas without meaning. However, after hearing part of Arlene's past, their meaning began to reveal itself to me. The frescoes depicted the journey of the thirteen great warriors through the immense structure of the Tower, detailing their epic battles and incredible adventures they faced.

Each depicted scene, although partially eroded by time or deliberately mutilated, evoked in me a mix of fascination and terror. The heroic figures, monstrous creatures, and surreal landscapes seemed to come to life before my eyes, pulling me into a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

It was obvious that the damage to the frescoes was not accidental. Much of these artworks had been erased by natural erosion, but others had clearly been deliberately torn. One didn't need to be Sherlock to deduce that it was Arlene's doing.

I continued to advance, each step echoing in the oppressive silence of the corridor, my thoughts inevitably turning towards the morning rituals I was obliged to attend. The weight of these ceremonies bore down on me, but I knew I had to face them, for there was much more at stake than my simple comfort.

I had to endure this situation until I became powerful enough to sever all ties with this mad witch.

I categorically refused to let my fate be directed by her.

However, the prospect of becoming as powerful as she was frightening. It required time, a luxury she wouldn't grant me. She would never allow her weapon to turn its blade on her.

Emerging from my thoughts, I noticed I had arrived at my destination. I reached the entrance and crossed the threshold into the familiar room.

The same artifacts were carefully arranged on the shelves, the misshapen statuettes positioned in the corners of the room, the ancient frescoes seemed to blend into the walls and the smell of incense which remains unchanged like a timeless melody which rocks my memories, or at least a rather deceptive melody.

And there, at the center of it all, was Arlene. Kneeling before a small altar, her hands clasped, she murmured inaudible words. I could easily guess she was praying, as usual.

The sight of Arlene, immersed in her prayers, reinforced my need to become strong enough to break free from her grasp. I knew that every morning spent observing this repetitive scene brought me closer to that goal, despite the obstacles and time required to achieve it.

I took a deep breath, mentally preparing for what was to come. Moving softly, I ensured I didn't disturb her prayers, even though every fiber of my being wanted to disrupt this charade. I knew my rebellion would come in due time, but for now, I had to play the role she expected of me.

Suddenly, her murmurs ceased, and she turned her gaze upward towards me. Her eyes seemed to pierce my soul, as if she could read my deepest thoughts. A shiver ran down my spine, but I remained still, awaiting her instructions.

She fixed me with her piercing gaze before declaring in a cold voice, "You have risen before the dawn today."

I said nothing, preferring to keep my thoughts to myself. Without another word, she gestured for me to approach. I obeyed without hesitation, moving slowly towards her.

I positioned myself directly in front of my mother, ready to begin the ritual as usual. Yet, to my great surprise, she spoke in a calm but firm voice:

"Today, we will not proceed with the ritual."

I was momentarily confused, my brows slightly furrowing in incomprehension. This sudden deviation from our well-established routine aroused a sharp curiosity in me. What could she have in mind to stray from the chosen path?

Arlene, observing the confusion in my eyes, spoke to explain: "Since you have shown great talent for magic, it is time for me to teach you the basics. I had planned to do so, but perhaps not this early."

This revelation caught me off guard once more, but instead of letting the surprise take over, I remained wary. This woman's intentions were never as simple as they appeared.

Arlene's face remained emotionless as she began a long monologue about the magic. Her words flowed like a torrent of ancient knowledge, blending theory and practice, delving into the depths of mana in a way more powerful and complex than I had ever imagined from my childhood observations on the subject.

"Mana, this life force that permeates all living things, is much more than just mystical energy," she began with a voice calm yet imbued with authority. "It is the very essence of our existence, a ceaseless flow that connects every being to their environment and to the world itself."

She continued, describing the various manifestations of mana, from natural flows to internal reservoirs, explaining how each individual bore a unique magical potential that could be developed with time and practice. Her examples were concrete and captivating, drawn from her own experiences and extensive studies.

"However, your connection with mana far exceeds the norm," she continued, her eyes scrutinizing mine as if to gauge my understanding. "You possess an exceptional resonance, an innate ability to channel mana in a way that transcends ordinary capabilities. It is this aptitude that distinguishes you, that will make you a master of mana like none before you."

Listening to Arlene, a thought crossed my mind. Is this how Cecilia felt? She was one of my few friends in my previous life, considered a goddess due to her immense Ki.

Could it be that in this life, I was, in some way, an Legacy to this world's power, like she was?

But at the thought of Cecilia, a pang of remorse seeped in, reviving the memory of our tragic separation and the rift with my dearest friend.

I hoped he found some solace in the idea that I had perished, at least in my first life.

Arlene then began instructing me on how to truly resonate with mana. Though I could somewhat control a small amount of mana, I realized my method was incomplete.

She revealed the subtleties of mana manipulation, the crucial importance of harmony with natural flows, and the imperative to grasp the symbiosis between the body and magical energy. Her words resonated deeply within me, igniting a fierce thirst to master this esoteric art.

I immersed myself fervently in Arlene's precepts, absorbing each fragment of knowledge with sharp focus. Her instructions were precise and rigorous, pushing me to expand the boundaries of my understanding and abilities. Every movement, every breath had to be orchestrated to achieve genuine harmony with mana.

For hours, we delved into this intense study, exploring the deepest and most subtle aspects of magic. Arlene guided me through complex exercises to refine my perception of mana, so that I could feel it not just around me, but within myself.

As the day progressed, a fragile but tangible connection formed. I felt the mana responding to my invocations, bending to my nascent will. It was as if I was peeking into an unseen, captivating universe brimming with infinite possibilities.

Yet, amid this profound immersion, one troubling question lingered in my mind; how far was Arlene willing to guide me down this path? Her ancient wisdom and knowledge seemed both a precious gift and a subtle chain, binding me to a fate I did not yet fully understand.

Plunging into intense concentration, I strove to grasp the very essence of mana, learning to draw this energy into myself. The techniques she taught were complex and demanding, requiring absolute precision in every gesture and deep harmony with the surrounding energy.

After relentless hours of effort, a shiver ran through me as I finally felt the first particles of mana swirling within me. It was as if I had uncovered a secret gateway to an invisible, powerful empire, both terrifying and exhilarating.

I could finally purify them within my body to use internal mana instead of manipulating it directly from the outside.

Arlene's usually impassive face now betrayed a glimmer of surprise mingled with palpable fear. Her eyes, imbued with captivating intensity, followed every movement of my hands as if I had awakened an ancient, unpredictable force, evoking both admiration and fear in her gaze.

I didn't need to understand that Arlene's look at me wasn't that of a mother, but of a creator evaluating her most dangerous creation. She feared me, as one fears a weapon too powerful to control.

I was merely an instrument of vengeance for her, a weapon molded to execute her will.

I focused on my new discovery, internal mana, attempting to apply the theories I knew, although Ki no longer existed in this world. The principles remained the same, a force to master, a power to unleash.

I stood there, alone with my thoughts, hands extended before me. I closed my eyes, seeking to feel the flow of mana, this energy that permeated everything around me.

I recalled the texts on Ki manipulation manuals. If I could integrate these complex theories into mana, I could control it like a fabric of energy, an interconnected network forming the weave of our reality.

And suddenly, I felt something. A spark, a shiver in my mana flows. I guided the mana carefully, gathering it between my palms. The energy particles were hesitant at first, but under my firm will, they began to coalesce, forming a coherent mass.

A small fireball took shape, flickering at first, then becoming more stable. It wasn't large, but it shone with a bright light, pulsing in harmony with my own heartbeat.

I had managed to create fire, not by mimicking the gestures of a mage, but by reinventing the method through the prism of my memories, using mana as I would have used Ki in my previous life.

Arlene observed, silent, her face betraying a mix of respect and fear. She didn't know who I really was, nor how I had learned a skill so quickly when ordinary people would take years.

"Y-You have crossed a threshold today," she finally said, her voice trembling with an emotion she couldn't hide. "But never forget that mana is a volatile ally; it demands respect and understanding. Never forget that."

I nodded, aware of the significance of her words. Mana wasn't just a source of power; it was a living entity, a demanding partner that could nourish or destroy. And I had ignited a flame that might well change the course of our history.

Arlene abruptly clapped her hands, snapping me out of my trance. The words that followed widened my eyes and froze me in place, revealing her surprising intentions.

"My child, you have reached a level sufficient to fulfill your duty," she declared, her voice imbued with seriousness and resuming its icy tone.

I looked at her, trying to understand the meaning behind her words. It was as if a new phase of my training was beginning, but this time with deeper and more far-reaching implications.

I felt anxiety rise within me as Arlene's words resonated in my mind. My mother, though mad, with her deep mastery of mana and immutable wisdom, was an intimidating and inspiring figure at the same time. Yet, I knew that even with my recent progress, my abilities were still fragile, like a flickering candle facing the storms of the Tower.

I stood there, a child confronted with a destiny he could not yet fully grasp the murals adorning the walls of our home told stories of epic adventures, battles against colossal monsters, and superhuman triumphs.

At just four years old in this world, I could perceive only a fraction of its complex and unforgiving nature.

My mind wandered to scenes of battle, where every blow delivered by the heroes in the murals was amplified by the power of mana. I saw myself there, armed only with my experience as a seasoned warrior in a child's body, struggling for survival against foes I barely comprehended.

Not only did I find it frustrating, but also profoundly unfair. I had never let my feelings show, but now, I was more than weary of being manipulated by individuals hungry to mold me according to their own interests.

I felt a pressing need to scream and confront this woman who was supposed to be mny mother in this life.

Unfortunately, Arlene was different from the Council I had known in my previous world, where I could refuse their proposals due to my position as King and the most powerful warrior. I had a certain authority over them.

But with this cold, relentless woman before me, her decisions were final, with no room for negotiation. Her power was So immense that I could only bow before her, knowing she had the ability to make me disappear with a mere gesture if she wished.

I clenched my jaw, suppressing my darkest thoughts, aware of the danger in provoking this woman that I saw as a witch overflowing with madness.

I lowered my eyes, unable to meet her sharp gaze. "Yes, mother," I finally murmured, my voice tinged with resignation.

A malicious smile stretched across Arlene's lips, intensifying my determination to break free from this oppressive fate. I knew I had to become much stronger to one day face this woman.

And I would kill her.

Arlene then spoke in a calm and authoritative voice: "You have an hour to prepare before we leave."

I simply nodded, hiding my frustration and doubts behind a mask of acceptance.

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Night had spread like a dark veil over the village. The streets, empty and swallowed by darkness, were pierced only by the glow of stars scattered across the infinite sky.

Alongside Arlene, I walked through the cobblestone streets, our hands linked in a way that felt foreign to me. Despite my conflicting feelings towards her, I had to admit, even reluctantly, that it provided me a certain comfort.

Ah, that d*mned maternal bond.

Looking at her, she had really gone all out for this moment. Her long brown hair was held back by a pink flower-shaped barrette, contrasting with her pink dress that floated lightly in the night breeze.

And it wasn't just that; she seemed to have regained some youth, with signs of fatigue disappearing from her face, making her appear to be in her twenties.

Once again, it was hard to admit, but that b*tch was really beautiful. I could understand where my beauty came from.

In contrast, I wore the same simple white dress, sober and devoid of any ornamentation. It was as immaculate as the moonlight that bathed the deserted streets.

The villagers, astonished by our late appearance, exchanged curious and respectful glances. Some hurried home at our approach, while others watched with fascination this unusual scene in their small corner of the world.

Although these gazes were disturbing, I understood their curiosity. It was probably the first time they had seen me, as I had never left my house before, and rumors about the existence of a child were inevitable in a small village.

My eyes fell on Arlene, her face still impassive under the scrutinizing looks of the villagers. Her lack of emotion reminded me of my own in a past life, a strange similarity between two souls who knew each other without really recognizing it.

Despite our bond not being that of a conventional mother and son, I couldn't ignore the parallels between us.

Even though I had my wits about me, unlike this fanatic who kidnaps children.

I noticed that her gaze was not fixed ahead of her but seemed rather lost in the mysteries of the constellations above.

"Why does the night sky fascinate you so much?" I dared to ask, trying to break the heavy silence enveloping our walk.

She turned her head slightly towards me, her eyes illuminated by the faint glow of the stars. "The stars are the guardians of our destiny, my child," she replied in a calm but gravely tone that I couldn't ignore. "They remind us that our actions are but fragments in the immensity of the cosmos, each with its own story to tell."

Her gaze got lost again in the starry sky, as if she were searching for answers in their distant twinkling. I felt that her words carried a deeper weight, a wisdom that exceeded my current understanding.

"And you, my child," she resumed after a moment of silence, "have you ever felt a connection with something greater than yourself?"

I pondered her question, my thoughts intertwining with the recent events that had disrupted my monotonous life. "I'm not sure," I finally replied, feeling uncomfortable under her scrutinizing gaze. "But maybe discovering mana today was a first step towards that understanding."

She nodded slightly, her eyes catching the stars scattered across the night sky. "Mana is much more than just energy. It's a path to a profound understanding of oneself and the world around us," she murmured softly, a hint of coldness persisting in her voice. "Powerful and mysterious, it demands respect and understanding. Never forget that."

I said nothing in response, merely nodding slightly as we moved through the deserted village streets. At the outskirts, we took a natural path winding through a dense forest.

The towering, lush trees rose majestically above us, their verdant foliage obscuring the scattered stars. The varied wildlife filled the forest with its mysteries; vividly colored plants and gigantic creatures, some as large as houses. It all seemed straight out of a fairy tale, except for me, it was a new and astonishing reality.

After tens of minutes of traversing this enchanting forest, I felt that the mana here was more present, denser than in the village. This subtle energy permeated every plant, every animal, possibly explaining their imposing size and vitality.

It was as if every blade of grass pulsed with this primordial energy, inviting me to discover more of its mysteries.

My gaze intensified, marveling at the spectacle of nature in harmony with the Mana.

The ambient Mana was like a silent symphony, extracted, absorbed, and redistributed by every filament of life. The plants, the trees, the creatures of this immense forest, all participated in this energetic ballet, a dance of life and power that I could only admire.

I tried to discern if my so-called mother, Arlene, shared this ability to circulate Mana with such ease. But no matter how much I concentrated my gaze, I perceived not the slightest trace of Mana emanating from her.

It was as if she mastered this powerful force perfectly, retaining it, submerged by her own madness, a control so absolute that it became invisible to my eyes.

Even after all this time spent with her, I always wondered, what was the true nature of her madness?

Was it the desire for revenge that drove her, or something deeper, a connection with Mana so intense that she had lost all humanity?

I could only observe, learn, and prepare for the day when I would have to confront or understand the true extent of her power.

I chased these thoughts from my mind, focusing instead on the fascinating process I had just observed. The living beings of this forest held the key to a formidable technique that I could one day master.

In theory, I would never lack Mana in reserve. I already imagined a perpetual cycle, an endless loop where Mana would be constantly recycled and used to fuel spells and magical abilities.

It was a revelation, a deep understanding of the cyclical nature of Mana. If I could learn to imitate this process, to integrate this ability into my own magical practice, I could reach an inexhaustible source of energy.

I visualized Mana as a renewable resource, a force that I could tap into at will to strengthen my spells, to make them more powerful, more enduring.

With this vision in mind, I knew that I would take a decisive step in my quest for power. Mana was no longer a limited resource, but an ally, a partner in the art of magic. And I, Grey, would become an unparalleled mage, a master of the vital energy that permeates our world.

And it will be at that moment that I will tear away your fate and your head, Arlene.

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After hours of uninterrupted walking, which would have exhausted any child not reinforced by Mana, we found ourselves in the middle of a clearing, where once majestic trees had stood.

Confused, I turned to Arlene and asked, "Uh, and now, where are we going?" To which Arlene simply replied, "We have reached our destination, my child."

Then, with a gesture of her hand, she released a purple light that spread through the grass of the clearing, and the ground began to deform, revealing an underground staircase.

The purple light slowly faded, giving way to the darkness enveloping the underground entrance. I felt the Mana pulsating around us, as if the very air was charged with an electric anticipation. Arlene descended the steps without hesitation, and I followed her, my senses alert, ready to uncover the secrets hidden by this sinister staircase.

Arlene descended the steps with disconcerting serenity, her soft steps resonating in the darkness of the staircase. I did not share her calm. I felt the Mana becoming disturbed, as if perturbed by something in the depths. This sensation only increased my distrust of the destination this witch had chosen for me.

At the end of the rocky staircase, I found myself in an underground corridor, the antithesis of a natural tunnel, clearly shaped by unknown hands or magics. The walls were smooth, almost polished, and the air was charged with an energy that did not bode well.

I stood there, at the threshold of this artificial corridor, wondering what trials awaited me and what revelations this woman, who refused to call me her son, was going to unveil.

We advanced, my mother and I, side by side in the silence of the tunnel. I couldn't ignore the disturbance in the Mana, a kind of vibratory warning suggesting the presence of imminent danger. This sensation only intensified the apprehension that gripped me with each step.

At the end of the wide tunnel, we were confronted by an entrance blocked by piled rocks, each three times the size of my childlike body. But what seemed like a dead end was just an illusion, a façade that my mother dispelled with a wave of her hand, erasing the rocks as if they were mere shadows in the light of her magic.

Behind this stone barrier revealed a chamber, bathed in an ethereal light that seemed to emanate from nowhere and everywhere at once. The Mana here was dense, almost palpable, and I felt its power infiltrate my veins, vibrating with a promise and unknown peril.

Entering the unknown, I scrutinized the circular chamber carved into the rock, which seemed to measure 10 meters in diameter. Apart from being filled with Mana, which in itself was remarkable, it appeared to me only as a trap. The unease within me grew with every moment, my instinct screaming to flee this place, but it seemed that it was already too late.

The chamber resonated with an ancient energy, and I could almost hear the whisper of Mana in the air, a melodious and yet alarming chant. Arlene, unperturbed, advanced as if drawn by something only her deranged mind could perceive.

Suddenly, without me even realizing it, Mana chains wrapped around my entire body. I grunted in surprise, falling to the ground as I struggled to free myself, channeling all the Mana I could muster, but it was futile. The purple chains seemed to suck in my Mana, draining me of my strength.

"I advise you not to struggle,my child. The more you resist, the more these chains will drain your Mana until the last drop," she said in a voice colder than I had ever heard before.

But I paid no heed to her words. Before her, my expression empty, I thrashed about, moving my body with fury like a rabid dog at the end of its leash, accumulating Mana in abundance only to see it continuously siphoned by the chains. With hatred, I roared, "What are you doing, d*mn it?!"

She approached me, her Mana chains clinking with each step. Her once bright blue eyes were now devoid of their usual sparkle. "I did not want this to happen, my child," she said, her voice resonating with a certainty that chilled me to the bone. "You were supposed to stay in that room for a while, until you, the key to the prophecy, were strong enough to free the Tower from the tyranny of that false King."

"But evidently, I did not expect you to become this strong in such a short time," she articulated, her words cutting through the air with a coldness that shattered what little composure I had left.

I screamed, rage surging through me like a wild storm. "And is that a reason to subject me to this? Since my birth, you've never treated me as your own blood!! You've never given me even an ounce of love; the only contact you gave me was filled with violence, treating me as if I were merely a weapon forged to serve your vengeance that you are so obsessed with."

"Just once, have you ever considered me your own son?" My voice broke, betraying my vulnerability as tears streamed from my eyes. The last time I had cried was at Director Willbeck's death, and now, facing my ruthless mother, history repeated itself in this life. Fate seemed to relish these cruel ironies.

Silence fell in the room, only the sound of my sobs breaking the heavy atmosphere, but soon they were joined by a maniacal laughter echoing from all sides. It was Arlene, laughing uncontrollably.

"You? My son? Oh, let me laugh, how could I consider a monster like you my own child?" She spat these words with sarcasm tinged with madness. I stood there, unmoving, not surprised by her revelation but hurt by her cruelty.

Again and again, I had been naive to think there would be even the slightest chance that Arlene could redeem herself, but that hope flickered; it was impossible to reason with this madwoman, and it tore me apart to see myself still being treated like a monster in this life.

"Since the day my true child died by that scum's hand, which led to my husband's suicide, I had no reason to live anymore; only vengeance remained," she confessed, revealing the depths of her shattered soul.

What? What did she mean by "her true child"? My thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the witch. "I'll admit it to you, my child, I knew you would become a monster who, in the future, will devour the Tower entirely upon your resurrection, and you will continue to gain strength," she revealed with an assurance which makes me lose the color in my face.

I stood there, frozen, as Arlene's words echoed in my head.

A monster... was that how she saw me?

"All this time, I knew you did not consider me as your own child. In my distress, I thought you saw me as merely a weapon. But I was wrong. Was it even worse than that? Did you only see me as an abomination?" I declared, my voice trembling under the weight of emotion, like a leaf in a storm.

Arlene, her gaze filled with disgust, opened her mouth and spoke with icy disdain. "You overestimate yourself, miserably. You will never be my child, neither today nor tomorrow. You are nothing but a living curse, a sinister shadow that taints every moment of my existence. And it will be the same for everyone you encounter in the future. Such is the monster you are, indomitable and uncontrollable."

"And it is this very monster that I will cast into the kingdom laboriously built by that false King."

And that's when I collapsed. I didn't know if it was the cruel words of the woman in front of me or the tight chains that continued to absorb my mana, but it didn't matter. The emotions inside me spread like a tidal wave, constantly raging and mixing. Every word she spoke was like a sharp blade, piercing my heart and reviving my deepest fears. I just wanted this to be a nightmare, and I wanted to wake up in my royal bedroom, bathed in the soft morning light, like every day before this torment began.

Why, just why... why did this have to happen to me? Why am I condemned to lead a life so different from everyone else?

Is it the weight of the sins from my past life that condemns me to an existence even more devastating than what I lived before? Am I the victim of an eternal punishment, sinking into an endless abyss?

I never desired the throne for its wealth or its glory. I was never driven by an insatiable thirst for power. I never wished for this burden to cause the deaths of millions of innocents, to plunge lives into darkness.

I wanted none of this!

I only wanted to avenge my mother.... to offer her memory a justice that now seems as unreachable as a distant star in a merciless sky.

And now all the effort I've put in has led me to face a mother who is apathetic, mad, and consumed by a thirst for revenge. No, she is not a real mother; she is just a witch determined to use her own child as a vessel, plunging him into a dark and relentless quest.

The revelation hit me like a clap of thunder, and a burning wrath unleashed within me, overwhelming all the powerful emotions I had been feeling up to that point. This wrath, directed not only against this merciless woman but also against a fate which seemed to be playing with me, invaded me and took precedence over everything else. It was as if every word she had spoken had become a consuming flame, gradually erasing other feelings to leave only a desperate, all-consuming rage.

She approached me, the silhouette of my captivity, and knelt to my level, gently placing her hand on my head. Her fingers brushed my hair with deceptive tenderness. "That's also why I decided to take this path, my child," she murmured, locking her gaze with my golden eyes. "For the sake of the prophecy, I had to slow down your progress - if I let you continue like this, you would be simply too dangerous for our own good."

An ethereal glow emanated from her palm resting on my head, and the next moment, I felt a force entering my mind, tearing away essential fragments of my being – my memories. I could only emit a groan of pain as I saw whole pieces of my memory gradually fade away.

After what felt like an eternity, she withdrew her hand, rising with a grace that betrayed her ruthless nature. The ground beneath us then began to crack and crumble before collapsing upon itself.

Arlene floated in the air, watching me plummet into the abyss of the chasm she had created, murmuring something inaudible: "I wish you a pleasant journey, King Grey."

In free fall, oscillating between consciousness and unconsciousness, I desperately clung to scattered fragments of my memories. My gaze locked onto Arlene's floating silhouette, and an insatiable rage flooded every fiber of my being. This hatred, sharpened like a blade, was directed towards my accursed progenitor, and my eyes, filled with murderous intent, promised vengeance for the unspeakable betrayals she had inflicted upon me.

"I will never forgive you, A̶l̶e̶r̶n̶e̶."