I opened my eyes.
A red-haired woman was watching me silently. Her clothes were not a shirt or a dress... they were white, light fabrics, wrapped around her torso like a worn Greek tunic.
For some reason, I felt no surprise.
Until I remembered where I was before.
A bar.
Laughter.
Neon lights.
A friend shouted, "Watch out!".
And then... nothing clear. Just snippets.
I'm in my twenties. I'm not the craziest person in the world, but I'm not the most boring either... or so I like to think. I finished school, started working, and began to slowly lose interest in things. I tried sports: karate, basketball, parkour... they all ended up tiring me out.
I wanted something else. Something extreme: bungee jumping, skydiving, motorcycle stunts... but I didn't have access. So I ended up where many end up: alcohol, parties, and nights that are forgotten at dawn.
I wasn't bonding. There were no lasting friendships. I once read, "No one learns to endure loneliness." Maybe that's why I could only connect with people over a drink or two.
I lived alone. My friends were on another continent, my family in another country. Although I got along well with them, there are things you just don't talk about the same way from a distance.
I remember looking up, seeing a white light approaching, and then... feeling cold. Too cold. I shivered. The girl I was with - I don't remember her name - shouted something. Then blurry faces in blue and white coveralls and gowns.
A voice:
«¿What is your name?».
Darkness.
I am here now.
I don't know where. Maybe in a dream. Maybe in a coma.
But an idea comes to my mind.
No... maybe I'm imagining too much.
The only thing for sure is that the people around me speak a language I've never heard before... and believe me, I speak four languages and I've heard dozens more. This... It's like nothing else in the world. Maybe I'm still in a daze, and these people are speaking the local language.
I want to try to sit up, but my body feels smaller than normal.
I think the same thing again.
I try to propel myself with my hands... and stop.
They are tiny, so tiny that both would easily fit inside mine.
But wait... These are my hands now!?
I must be dreaming. No... I don't think this is happening.
Maybe the crazy theory I saw on the internet, the one that said that souls are recycled after death... is it true?
If so... why can I remember everything?
Could it be that God made a mistake in the recycling process, or was there a failure in some automatic system that takes care of this task?
Although it sounds like an idea out of some terraplanner's forum, the live image in front of me does not leave me many logical explanations.
Just as I am lost in these chaotic thoughts, I notice something:
As I raise my hands, the hands of a grown man - I would say the same age as me or maybe a little older - touch my fingers.
My first thoughts were:
«What's wrong with this guy? Who the fuck are you?»
In front of me was a man of about twenty-two or twenty-three, tall, with black hair and blue eyes. He was wearing a somewhat old-fashioned suit: he looked comfortable, but with a strange style... like someone who recycles clothes or lives on the street. Not that I despise people of lesser means, but that outfit had a distinctly old-fashioned feel to it.
Wait...
Is it possible?
Is fate playing a trick on me? Will I have to go through this again? I was poor once before, and it cost me to help my parents so I could have a comfortable life. I don't want to go through this again.
«God, do not give more battles to your best warriors!»
But I paid more attention to his hand and saw something golden glowing.
«Let's go!»
It was a GOLD ring, I don't think you would walk around with that much peace of mind, let alone just wear it around the house.
One thing bothers me, though.
Yes, it is the light.
Why do they use candles instead of flashlights or bulbs?
Is there no light? And also, why am I not in a hospital as I should be?
Damn it!
The answer to all my doubts lies behind the window in front of me. And although I'm excited about the possibility of having been reincarnated, like in light novels or anime, I don't think I've had a good time.
I think I'm in... the Middle Ages.
And there is something that bothers me, something that would bother anyone:
The sewage system surely doesn't exist!
Or worse... basic hygiene things like deodorant or toothpaste!
Well, I think I know how to make us millionaires, new dads.
I will be your pride and joy.
I think I know how to make us millionaire new dads, I'll be your pride and joy.
Six months have passed, and I can finally get around on my own. I don't walk at a normal speed, and I still need help walking down the stairs, but I can crawl easily around the house.
From what I've seen, this house has two floors. In the past, that was a luxury; I barely lived in an apartment, and more than half of my salary went on rent.
Here, on the other hand, we seem to be doing well financially... too well, to be honest. My plan to set up a sanitation system and produce hygiene items is no longer as critical as I thought it would be. Although I still want to do it, it is not urgent at the moment.
I discovered that there are already quite practical solutions. For example, there is a branch that, when the tip is frayed, works as a toothbrush, along with a paste made from herbs to clean the mouth.
«Well, that's convenient…».
I have learned the language of this world, or at least the language of this region. My name is Mikhail; it sounds Russian..
The red-haired woman who gave birth to me, my respected and current mother, is named Isolde. And the black-haired young man who seems to attract the attention of all the damsels is Edrick, my current respected father.
«First time I hear names like these».
Something that caught my attention is that Edrick is very respected in the area. When walking around town, people always call him Sir Edrick, as if he were a nobleman. I think it is because he is in charge of defending these lands.
Now I understand why there are so many weapons at home: swords, shields, and armor. I'm surprised at how old-fashioned the arsenal is, but for this era, I think it's better this way; the fact that there are no gunpowder weapons gives me some peace of mind.
Around here, people are religious, although not fanatically so. I always hear something like: "May the god Raimund bless you".
«I hope that the Holy Inquisition is not yet formed... or at least that it never gets here».
On one of our returns home, I saw someone working with water. I was surprised: aqueducts in this day and age? That's what I think I saw... or maybe my eyes are not yet developed enough to be sure.
I seem to be able to walk now, so I'm going to try walking down the stairs. It's a big risk... but I know I can do it.
The stairs are lined with a fabric that acts as padding.
«Looks like they prepared for everything, huh?».
I went down the first and second steps normally... although I think I have some vertigo.
«Jejeje… I hope I don't fall».
I thought that just before I stepped wrong, and slipped. At that instant, two thoughts went through my mind:
«If I don't get it on the way in, I'll get it on the way out».
«Shit... I'm going to hit myself hard, hopefully I won't break anything».
When I was about to hit the fifth or sixth step, preparing for the blow... nothing happened. I felt like I was floating.
«Maybe it was all a dream and I'm about to wake up?».
I looked down and saw how far away the ground was... but time seemed to have stopped. I wasn't falling. On the contrary, I was descending gently until I ended up in the arms of the redhead waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs.
He looked at me without the slightest concern; rather with pride, and said:
—I knew the programmed magic of these stairs wasn't a bad idea! Although it cost us a bit, it's a good thing it was there.
—Eh?
That was my first word in this body. Well deserved, by the way, because I was completely flabbergasted.
—Mikhail, your mother is a genius. Although we had a hard time applying it to inanimate objects, she managed to make the magic programmed into the stairs functional.
—Eh?
And that... was my second word. And still not understanding anything.
What the hell was going on? Was I dreaming, hallucinating from the blow?
Wait, wait... reincarnation is crazy enough as it is. This shouldn't be normal.
Did magic exist on Earth? Or, rather... am I even on the same planet?
Was I reincarnated in a fantasy world?
Why did I take it for granted that I was in the same world, only hundreds or thousands of years earlier?
«Shit... I'm getting so excited that I can't wait to grow up».
Within seconds, Edrick came out of his study. Quiet. Too calm. As if what had just happened was the most normal thing in the world.
Doesn't he care about my welfare? Did he not even realize what happened?
—What's going on? What's all the noise? —he asked, with that "I came because I was interrupted, not because I'm worried" tone.
—You see —said Isolde, looking up with a proud smile— I am a genius. I knew the application I gave to Programmed Magic would work.
…Is he serious? Not even a "Are you all right, son?" before bragging about his invention?
No, of course not. First the project, then the child's life.
I had just been part of an experiment. And not just any experiment... one that, if it went wrong, would leave me in a coma or worse.
What if that programmed magic had gone wrong?
Well... I'm alive, so I'm not going to pay attention to the small details for now.
About three hours passed, and Isolde was still explaining how she implemented the whole structure of magic in inanimate objects. With gestures, diagrams in the air, and words that sounded as if she had swallowed an entire magic dictionary.
There were many things I didn't understand. And to top it off... I still can't ask anything.
¡So frustrating!!
I turned two, and now I can talk.
That means I can finally ask my parents for things... my rich parents.
I have discovered several books in my father's studio. Well, more than a study, it is a workshop where he dedicates himself to refining and polishing jewelry, his hobby. Among the shelves, I found several volumes, but as I still don't know how to read, I used to ask Isolde to narrate simple stories to me. I try to learn the letters and, by the way, find out if I can use magic. By the way, without any result... unless fast sleeping magic counts.
There is the possibility of being born without that ability. For example, I have never seen Edrick conjure or do any kind of magic. I only see him when he goes out on patrol and is in his study working, and when Isolde explained to him the logic of programmed magic, he just frowned as if she were speaking to him in another language.
Still, I found it fascinating. There's a whole structure behind this kind of magic... although, when Isolde pointed out how a thread went from one point to another, I saw absolutely nothing.
¿I can't see the magic and, therefore, I won't be able to use it either?
At that time, I was unable to express myself well. My words were clumsy, so I was left with doubt and anguish —¿My luck is running out?—. But today everything changed: using the knowledge of my past life, I trained my vocal cords with exercises that I remembered, and as a result... now I can communicate clearly.
So, instead of asking for another children's story, I made my first "serious" request: to be read the book entitled The Story of Magic.