**Age Four - Self-Awareness and Vocabulary Fatigue**
I'm lying in bed one morning, staring at the ley lines visible through the gaps in our wooden ceiling, when a thought strikes me with embarrassing clarity: I've been mentally narrating my own life like some kind of walking advertisement.
*"The Infinite Skill allows me to..."*
*"Thanks to the Infinite Skill, I can..."*
*"My Infinite Skill activates and..."*
Seriously? How many times can one person think the same phrase before it becomes a weird internal tic? It's like I'm trying to brand myself, slap a logo on my forehead and call it a day.
I roll over, groaning into my pillow. Miren pokes her head into my room.
"Everything alright, Ren?"
"Just... thinking," I mumble.
"Well, think quieter. You're four, not fourteen." She smiles and closes the door.
Four years old. Four years in this world, and I've been stuck on repeat like a broken record—if records even exist here, which they don't, because this is a fantasy world and I need to stop comparing everything to my previous life too.
Right. New internal policy: diversify the vocabulary. My rare gift doesn't need constant name-dropping. It can be *this peculiar talent*, or *my accelerated learning*, or even *that annoying thing that makes me way too good at everything*. Anything to break the monotony of my own thoughts.
"Infinite Skill this, Infinite Skill that," I mutter, testing out alternatives. "Masterful instinct? Nah, sounds pretentious. Enhanced aptitude? Too clinical. Legendary learning speed? Now I sound like a training manual."
From the next room, I hear Toren's voice. "Ren, are you talking to yourself again?"
"No!" I call back, then wince because that's obviously a lie.
"That's what I thought. Get dressed—we're going to the market today."
I roll out of bed, still mentally workshopping names for my gift. *The Beast Mode Brain*? Too modern. *Skill Supreme*? Absolutely not. *The Thing That Makes Adults Nervous When They Watch Me Learn*? Accurate but wordy.
By the time I'm dressed and stumbling into the main room for breakfast, I've settled on a rotation: sometimes it's my *gift*, other times my *unusual talent*, occasionally my *rapid adaptation*. Anything to spare my internal monologue from becoming a single-phrase loop.
Kaela would probably call it "Ren's Weird Brain Thing" and be done with it. That girl has a gift for cutting through complexity.
Speaking of which...
**Market Day Mischief**
The market square buzzes with its usual chaos—vendors hawking everything from enchanted trinkets to fresh vegetables, children weaving between stalls, the ever-present hum of magic mixing with human noise. I walk beside Miren, my hand loosely holding hers while my eyes catalog everything.
There—a merchant demonstrating a minor levitation charm on copper coins. My mind immediately breaks down the gesture, the incantation, the flow of magical energy. Not because I'm actively using my *exceptional learning ability* (see? variety!), but because it happens automatically now. Like breathing.
"Ren, focus," Miren says gently, tugging my hand. "We're here for herbs, not distractions."
"Everything's a distraction," I point out reasonably.
She laughs. "Fair enough. But try to limit yourself to five distractions today instead of fifty."
A flash of red catches my eye—Kaela, arguing loudly with a merchant about the price of practice sword oil. She's gesturing wildly, her face flushed with indignation.
"That's robbery! My aunt says it should cost half that!"
The merchant, a portly man with a remarkably patient expression, sighs. "Your aunt buys in bulk. You're buying one bottle."
"Then I'll buy in bulk too!"
"You have enough coin for bulk?"
Kaela's face falls. "...Not exactly."
I tug free from Miren's hand. "I'll be right back."
Before she can object, I'm already weaving through the crowd toward my friend. Kaela spots me and her face brightens immediately.
"Ren! Tell this guy he's charging too much!"
I study the bottle in question, then the merchant's expression. My *rapid analytical gift*—okay, that one's awkward, scratch that—my *unique perception* reads the situation instantly. The merchant isn't actually trying to cheat her; she just doesn't understand bulk pricing economics.
"The price is fair for a single bottle," I say diplomatically. "But if you wait until your aunt comes, you can add it to her bulk order and save money."
Kaela blinks. "Oh. That... actually makes sense."
The merchant nods approvingly. "Smart kid. You two related?"
"Friends," Kaela says proudly, slinging an arm around my shoulders hard enough to nearly knock me over. "He's the smart one. I'm the one who hits things."
"A classic combination." The merchant chuckles. "Tell you what—I'll hold a bottle for you until your aunt's next order. No charge for the reservation."
Kaela beams. "Deal! Thanks, mister!"
As we walk away, she punches my shoulder affectionately. "See? Your weird brain is useful."
"'Weird brain,'" I repeat slowly. "You know, that's actually not bad."
"What?"
"Nothing. Just... thinking about branding."
She gives me that look—the one that says *you're being strange again, but I'm used to it*. "You think about the weirdest stuff, Ren. Come on, I want to show you something."
She drags me toward the training grounds, where a group of older kids—maybe eight or nine years old—are practicing formation drills. I've seen these before, but Kaela seems particularly excited today.
"Watch the girl in front," she whispers. "The one with the dark braid."
I focus on the indicated fighter. She's good—better than the others in her squad. Her movements are crisp, her transitions fluid. But there's something else, something my *masterful intuition* (getting better with these alternatives) picks up immediately.
"She's compensating for a weak left ankle," I murmur. "See how she shifts weight differently on that side?"
Kaela's eyes widen. "I didn't notice that. How do you—" She stops herself. "Right. Weird brain."
"Exactly. My weird brain at work." I grin at her. "Though honestly, 'Infinite Skill' sounds way more impressive. 'Weird brain' makes me sound like I need a healer."
"You *do* sound like you need a healer sometimes," she points out. "Like right now, talking about branding yourself like a merchant's product."
I laugh because she's absolutely right. Here I am, four years old, internally workshopping marketing terminology for my supernatural learning ability. In what world is that normal?
This one, apparently.
**The Herb Garden**
After rescuing Kaela from her merchant negotiation disaster, I return to Miren, who's now deep in conversation with an elderly herbalist at her permanent stall. The woman—Elder Greenleaf, I remember—grows and sells medicinal plants enhanced by careful magical cultivation.
"The moonvine is thriving this season," Elder Greenleaf is saying, holding up a cutting of the luminescent plant. "Perfect for clarity potions and sleep draughts."
Miren examines it carefully. "The leaves are more vibrant than last month's batch. What did you change?"
"Ah, I adjusted the water mixture—added a touch of diluted ley-crystal solution. It seems to enhance the natural properties without overwhelming them."
My attention locks onto the plant. I can see the faint magical signature it carries, the way the ley energy has been incorporated into its cellular structure. My *enhanced perception*—yes, that works better—analyzes the technique automatically. It's elegant, a perfect balance of natural growth and magical enhancement.
"Can I see?" I ask, reaching up.
Elder Greenleaf glances at Miren, who nods. The old woman lowers the cutting so I can examine it more closely. The moment my fingers touch the leaves, I feel the life force within—not just the plant's normal vitality, but something enhanced, refined.
"You have sensitive hands, young Amaki," Elder Greenleaf observes. "Your mother's gift runs strong in you."
If only she knew it wasn't just Miren's healing talent I'd inherited—or rather, rapidly learned through observation. But I just nod politely and hand the cutting back.
As Miren completes her purchase, I mentally catalog the technique. Given time and opportunity, I could replicate it. That's the thing about my *accelerated learning ability* (much better than saying the full phrase constantly)—it doesn't just apply to physical skills or spells. I can learn agricultural techniques, crafting methods, even social strategies with the same enhanced speed.
It's both incredible and exhausting.
"Lost in thought again?" Miren asks as we leave the stall.
"Just thinking about moonvine cultivation," I say honestly.
She raises an eyebrow. "Of course you are. Sometimes I worry you're going to think yourself into exhaustion, little one."
"Is that possible?"
"With you? I wouldn't rule anything out."
We continue through the market, and I force myself to be more present, less analytical. It's a constant balance—this gift, this curse, this *thing* that makes me different. Sometimes I need to remember to just be a kid, even if my mind operates on a different frequency than other four-year-olds.
"Mama?" I ask as we near the market's edge.
"Yes, love?"
"Do you ever get tired of being good at something?"
She stops walking, crouching down to my level. Her hands cup my face gently. "What brought this on?"
"I don't know. I just... sometimes it's a lot. Being different."
Her expression softens with understanding—and that ever-present worry that shadows every interaction we have. "Being gifted is both blessing and burden, Ren. The key is learning when to use your talents and when to simply exist. You don't have to be extraordinary every moment of every day."
"But what if I can't help it?" The question comes out smaller than I intended. "What if my brain just... does it automatically?"
"Then you learn to give yourself grace. And you let the people who love you help carry the weight." She pulls me into a hug. "You're four, sweetheart. You're allowed to be overwhelmed. You're allowed to just be a child."
I hug her back, breathing in her familiar scent of herbs and home. She's right, of course. But she doesn't understand that my mind doesn't have an off switch. My *unique cognitive gift*—okay, that one's terrible—my *enhanced learning* is always active, always processing, always cataloging information whether I want it to or not.
But I can try. For her sake, and for mine, I can try to find moments of peace amid the constant influx of knowledge and understanding.
"Thanks, Mama."
"Always." She kisses my forehead and stands. "Now, let's go home. I believe your father promised to teach you a new sword form tonight."
My eyes light up despite myself. "Really?"
She laughs. "See? Still a child after all."
**Evening Training - The Gift Has Limits**
That evening, Toren demonstrates the new form—something called the River's Flow, a defensive sequence designed to redirect rather than block attacks. I watch carefully, my mind automatically breaking down the movements... and that's when I discover something interesting.
My *rapid mastery* (yes, I like that one) has limits.
I can understand the *principle* of the River's Flow immediately—the way it uses momentum, the philosophy of redirection, the tactical applications. But when I try to execute it, my four-year-old body simply can't keep up with what my mind comprehends.
The frustration must show on my face because Toren chuckles.
"Problem, son?"
"I know what to do," I say through gritted teeth, trying again and nearly tripping over my own feet. "But I can't make my body do it."
"That's called being four years old." He ruffles my hair. "Your mind might race ahead, Ren, but your muscles need time to develop. No amount of talent—"
"—can overcome basic physical limitations," I finish, repeating something he's told me before.
"Exactly. So be patient with yourself. The understanding will wait in your mind until your body catches up."
It's a frustrating revelation. All this accelerated learning, this *exceptional aptitude*, and I'm still limited by the physical constraints of being a child. No wonder I haven't tried anything too advanced—my body would simply give out before my mind finished processing all the ways to execute a technique.
"Can I ask you something?" I venture, moving through the form again with slightly better results.
"Always."
"When did you know you wanted to be a warrior?"
Toren considers this, moving alongside me to demonstrate the proper hip rotation. "I was about seven. My father—your grandfather—took me to see the guard trials. Watching those warriors move, seeing them protect people... I knew that's what I wanted to do with my life."
"Did it come naturally to you?"
"Not at all." He laughs. "I was clumsy as a child, always tripping over my own feet. It took years of practice before I was even halfway decent. And even longer before I was good."
This surprises me. "But you're one of the best warriors in Verdwood."
"Now, yes. But I wasn't born with talent, Ren. I earned every skill through blood, sweat, and more bruises than I can count." He pauses in the form, looking at me seriously. "That's something I want you to understand—your gift makes learning faster, but it doesn't make it effortless. You'll still need to work. You'll still need to practice. The difference is you'll reach mastery in years instead of decades."
"Is that why you're training me so young?"
"Partly. But mostly..." He trails off, and I see him wrestling with how much to say. "Mostly because I want you prepared. The world is becoming more dangerous, and you're going to be at the center of something significant. I can feel it."
The weight of prophecy and destiny settles over the courtyard like a shroud. Even at four, I understand what he's really saying: *You're marked. You're different. And that difference will bring danger.*
"I'll work hard," I promise. "Even if my body is slow to catch up with my brain."
He smiles, pride and sadness mixing in his expression. "I know you will. You always do."
We continue training as twilight deepens and the ley lines grow brighter overhead. Me, stumbling through forms my mind has already mastered. Him, patiently correcting and encouraging, preparing me for a future neither of us can fully predict.
And I make peace with the fact that even my *rare gift*—my *enhanced learning*, my *accelerated aptitude*, my *weird brain* as Kaela calls it—has limits.
Understanding isn't the same as mastery.
Knowledge isn't the same as skill.
And sometimes, you just need to be patient and let time do its work.
Even when time feels agonizingly slow for a mind that races ahead.