Between his magical experiments and daily training, Oryth decided it was time to learn more about the world he'd been reborn into. His focus on magic had consumed him completely since gaining access to the library, but he needed context—needed to understand the history and politics of this world if he was going to navigate it successfully.
The history books he'd set aside during his initial frantic search for magical texts still waited on the shelves. He pulled them down one afternoon, carrying several thick volumes to his reading chair, ready to fill in the gaps in his knowledge.
What he discovered was both fascinating and deeply troubling.
This world hadn't always been the way it was now. The books spoke of an age when humanity had possessed far more magical knowledge than currently existed—a time when advanced spells were commonplace, when human mages wielded powers that modern practitioners could barely imagine. The texts didn't go into specific detail about what those spells could do, but the implication was clear: magic had been stronger, more sophisticated, more deeply understood.
During that golden age, there had been multiple human kingdoms scattered across the world, each with their own territories, their own cultures, their own magical traditions. And alongside them had existed Skarreth kingdoms, equally powerful, equally organized. The two races had been roughly equal in strength, neither able to dominate the other completely, coexisting in a tense balance.
The world hadn't been so different from his old one, Oryth realized as he read. The fundamental patterns were depressingly familiar.
Humans had fought among themselves. Kingdom against kingdom, territory disputes and resource conflicts and ideological differences turning into full-scale wars. The books tried to frame these conflicts in noble terms—defense of sovereignty, protection of citizens, righteous causes—but Oryth could read between the lines. Humanity had acted like a virus, turning on itself with the same enthusiasm it showed toward external threats.
And in their arrogance, they'd deemed the Skarreth a lesser species. The texts were surprisingly frank about this, perhaps because enough time had passed for historians to acknowledge the truth. Humans had considered themselves superior—more intelligent, more cultured, more deserving of dominance. They'd treated the Skarreth with contempt, had viewed them as obstacles to be removed or resources to be exploited.
That attitude had brought their downfall.
The Skarreth might have been less intellectually advanced than humans, but they'd been smart enough to recognize opportunity. While human kingdoms tore each other apart, weakening themselves through constant internal conflict, the Skarreth had unified. Had set aside their own differences. Had watched and waited for the perfect moment to strike.
And when they did, they'd nearly wiped out humanity entirely.
The books described it as the Collapse—a period of decades when human civilization crumbled under coordinated Skarreth assault. Kingdoms fell one by one. Cities burned. Knowledge was lost as libraries and universities were destroyed. Magical traditions died with the mages who practiced them. The population plummeted as humans died by the millions, either in battle or in the chaos that followed societal breakdown.
The survivors ran. Scattered across the world, fleeing in whatever direction seemed safest, desperate to escape the systematic destruction of their species. Most never found safety. But some—a lucky few—managed to reach a place far enough from the main Skarreth territories to regroup.
A small settlement formed on the continent of Valdros, the landmass that resembled the Europe of Oryth's previous world. Refugees from dozens of fallen kingdoms converged there, bringing whatever skills and knowledge they'd managed to preserve. It started as little more than a camp, a temporary shelter while people caught their breath and tended their wounds.
But temporary became permanent. The settlement grew. More refugees arrived. Defenses were built, first against wildlife, then against Skarreth scouts who eventually found them. But the scouts never returned with armies. According to the histories, the Skarreth had become too occupied with their own problems—territorial disputes over the lands they'd conquered, power struggles over leadership, infighting that fractured their unity now that their common enemy had been defeated. They were fighting among themselves over the spoils of victory, squabbling over territory and resources.
It turned out the Skarreth weren't so different from humans after all. Give them a common enemy and they could unify with devastating effectiveness. Remove that enemy, and they fell into the same patterns of conflict and competition that had doomed humanity's earlier kingdoms.
That internal strife had bought the human survivors crucial time. While the Skarreth fought each other, the settlement on Valdros could focus on building rather than merely surviving. The refugees organized, establishing leadership, creating laws, pooling their remaining magical knowledge for collective defense and growth.
Over long years—decades, then centuries—the settlement expanded into a proper city, then into a kingdom. They called it Eryndor, a name that meant "Last Hope" in one of the old languages that had since been mostly forgotten. The Kingdom of Eryndor, built on the ashes of humanity's previous civilization, a monument to survival against overwhelming odds.
The history books treated Eryndor's founding with appropriate reverence, describing the heroism and sacrifice of those early generations. But Oryth could read the subtext: humanity had barely escaped extinction. Everything that came after was built on desperation and loss.
The wealth and magical knowledge of the old civilizations hadn't been completely destroyed, according to the texts. Much of it remained out there somewhere, scattered across the world in ruins and abandoned cities. Some had been claimed by Skarreth kingdoms, hoarded as trophies or studied for their own purposes. But much simply sat forgotten, waiting in places too remote or dangerous for either species to regularly occupy.
Modern Eryndor was stable enough now, the books reported. The kingdom had grown strong through necessity, had learned to defend its borders through constant vigilance. The Skarreth still posed a threat—the wars hadn't ended, just reached an uneasy equilibrium—but humans were no longer on the verge of extinction. They'd carved out a space for themselves and held it through military might and what remained of their magical traditions.
And some people actively sought to reclaim what had been lost.
One section of the history text discussed adventurers—groups of people who formed parties to explore the ruins of old civilizations. It was dangerous work. Many never returned, killed by Skarreth patrols or dangerous wildlife or the hazards of crumbling ancient structures. But those who succeeded could come back with treasures: precious ornaments and most valuable of all, books containing lost magical knowledge.
The magical texts were apparently highly sought after. Universities—the books mentioned them in passing, suggesting they were important institutions—would purchase such discoveries, adding them to their collections and studying the spells within. Sometimes greedy nobles outbid the academic institutions, wanting to keep powerful magic for themselves or their families.
Oryth's attention sharpened at the mention of universities. The text didn't go into great detail, but it provided some crucial information: these institutions existed specifically to preserve and teach magical knowledge. They were accessible to anyone who could afford them or find sponsorship.
Noble children had easier access, naturally. Their families could pay the fees, could secure positions through connections and influence. But common folk weren't excluded entirely. Many wealthy individuals—merchants, successful adventurers, established mages—were willing to sponsor promising students in exchange for future service. A mage in your employ was valuable enough to justify the investment in their education.
But the important detail was that universities existed, that they collected magical knowledge, and that he could potentially gain access to them.
Oryth closed the history text and sat back in his chair, processing everything he'd learned.
The picture was clearer now. He was living in the remnants of a once-great civilization, in a kingdom built by survivors who'd barely escaped extinction. The magical knowledge that existed in this world was a fraction of what had once been available—the collected wisdom of centuries, maybe millennia, lost in the Collapse.
But that knowledge still existed somewhere. In university libraries. In the private collections of wealthy nobles. In ruins scattered across the world, waiting to be rediscovered.
If he wanted to master magic fully enough to achieve his impossible goal—to find a way back to his original world, to Mia—he needed access to that knowledge. All of it. Whatever remained of humanity's magical traditions, however much had been preserved or recovered.
The path forward was becoming clearer.
In a few years, when he was old enough that attending university wouldn't seem strange, he'd enroll. His family's noble status would make that easy enough, would ensure he had access without needing to seek sponsorship. Once there, he'd have access to whatever magical texts the institution had collected, could study the advanced spells that basic introductory books like the one in his family's library never covered.
And if that wasn't enough—if the universities' collections proved insufficient for his purposes—then he'd do what other seekers of lost knowledge did. He'd join expeditions. Would venture into the ruins of the past civilizations, would search for the scattered remnants of humanity's golden age.
It was dangerous. The history books made that clear enough. Many adventurers never returned from such expeditions, killed by various threats or simply lost in hostile territory. But Oryth had advantages that most adventurers didn't. He'd been training his mana manipulation since infancy. Had developed a unique approach to spellcasting that didn't rely on traditional runic knowledge. By the time he was old enough to join expeditions, he'd be formidable in ways that would be difficult for others to anticipate or counter.
The risks were real, but acceptable. What choice did he have? Sitting safely in Eryndor for his entire life wouldn't get him closer to his goal. If the knowledge he needed was buried in ancient ruins, then that's where he'd go to find it.
But that was years away still. He was only five years old, trapped in a child's body with a child's limitations. Before he could attend universities or join expeditions, he needed to grow. Needed to continue his training, to expand his capabilities, to develop the magical techniques that would keep him alive in dangerous situations.
And he needed to solve the problems he'd already identified. The fire sphere spell still eluded him—he needed to figure out the right fuel composition to make it work properly. The data storage concept needed testing and development—if he could crack the code for saving and loading spells, it would revolutionize his casting speed and efficiency.
So much to do. So much to learn. But for the first time since his reincarnation, he had a clear timeline. Had a sense of what came next, what steps he needed to take to progress toward his ultimate goal.
Universities in a few years. Advanced magical education. Access to whatever knowledge Eryndor had managed to preserve. And if that proved insufficient, expeditions to the ruins of the past, searching for the lost spells of a civilization that had nearly been erased from existence.
It was a plan. Long-term, requiring patience and careful preparation, but concrete enough to work toward.
Oryth stood, returning the history books to their shelves. His mind was already churning through the implications, already planning how to maximize his time between now and university enrollment. Every day spent training was another day of growth, another increment of capacity added to his expanding mana core. Every successful experiment was another technique mastered, another tool added to his arsenal.
The work continued. The goal remained distant but no longer quite so impossible.
He left the library with a sense of purpose that had sharpened considerably from when he'd entered. History had given him context. Understanding the world's past had illuminated its present and suggested possibilities for his future.
Humanity had nearly been destroyed because of its own arrogance and internal conflicts. Had lost centuries of accumulated knowledge in the Collapse. But some had survived, had rebuilt, had created something new from the ashes of the old.
And now he was part of that rebuilding, whether anyone else knew it or not. A reincarnated soul from another world entirely, working toward goals that no one in this world would understand or believe possible.
But that was fine. He'd never needed anyone to believe in what he was doing. He just needed time, and knowledge, and the discipline to keep pushing forward no matter how impossible the goal seemed.
Time, at least, he had. His child's body would grow. Years would pass. Opportunities would present themselves.
And when they did, he'd be ready.
The library door closed behind him with a soft click. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, painting the corridor in warm golden light. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the household preparing for the evening meal, the familiar sounds of a life he'd become part of.
This life had given him something he hadn't expected—loving parents in Marcus and Elara, a home, a chance to grow up again with knowledge he'd never had the first time. It wasn't what he'd chosen, wasn't the life he'd lost, but it was real. And if he did find a way back to his original world, to Mia, well... perhaps he could find a way to return here too. Magic that could bridge one gap between worlds might bridge it in both directions.
But that was speculation for a distant future. For now, he had work to do.
He headed toward the dining room, ready to play his role as the eager young noble son, to smile and laugh and enjoy the evening with his family.
And all the while, behind that genuine warmth, his mind would be working through chemical formulas and data structures, planning experiments and calculating costs, building toward a future he was still figuring out one step at a time.
The work never stopped. But it had purpose now, direction, a clearer path forward than he'd had before.