Ray didn't say anything after dinner. He helped Nora clear the bowls, listened to Kael mutter something about fixing the barn door tomorrow, and then slipped off to his small room.
He closed the wooden door gently behind him and sat on his bed, knees pulled up, staring out the tiny window.
The moon cast a pale glow across the fields.
"…I'm forgetting," he whispered.
He had noticed it more and more these past few months. Pieces of his old life — memories, faces, even his own voice — fading like chalk in the rain.
He still remembered the story.
The plot.
The world's rules.
The key characters.
But himself?
His old laugh, his old habits, his old room, the taste of the food he grew up with…
All slipping away.
He pressed a hand to his chest.
"I guess this is who I am now," he murmured. "Ray Asher."
His voice held a strange mix of acceptance and loneliness.
Not pain — just a quiet, inevitable shift, like sand running through his fingers.
He lay down slowly, let his eyes fall shut, and the scene faded.
---
Downstairs, the house was asleep.
But Kael moved with heavy footsteps, each creak of the floorboards carrying a weight only he understood.
He lifted a small trapdoor near the kitchen — one Ray had never noticed — and descended into the dim, cramped basement.
The air was cold.
The single lantern flickered as Kael knelt beside an old wooden shelf and pulled forward a weathered, locked box no bigger than a loaf of bread.
His jaw was tight.
His hands steady… but only barely.
He undid the latch.
The moment the lid cracked open—
A bright blue light flooded the basement.
Cold. Radiant. Unnatural.
Kael winced and slammed the lid shut immediately, breathing hard through his nose as if he'd just touched something burning.
For a long moment, he just knelt there, fists clenched, shoulders trembling with restrained fury.
"Damn it…" he growled under his breath.
He shoved the box back into its hiding place, covering it with old cloths, then stood up abruptly — too abruptly — knocking the shelf slightly off balance.
He didn't fix it.
He stormed up the stairs and shut the trapdoor behind him, chest rising and falling sharply.
His face twisted with an anger Ray had never seen.
An anger not aimed at Ray…
but at something far more personal.
Kael leaned on the kitchen counter, squeezing the edge until his knuckles turned white.
"…Neither I nor Ray will be like you, Father," he whispered into the empty room.
The lantern flickered.
The house fell silent again.
Morning came with the smell of sizzling onions and warm bread.
Ray rubbed his eyes as he stepped into the kitchen. Nora was humming softly while cooking, apron tied crookedly like always. Kael sat at the table with a cup of tea, looking far more tired than he usually did.
Ray didn't comment.
Kael didn't offer an explanation.
"Good morning, sweetie," Nora said warmly, handing Ray a small bowl. "Stir this gently, alright?"
Ray nodded and sat on a chair nearby, glancing at Kael from the corner of his eye.
Something about him felt… heavier today. But Kael's face remained the same steady wall he always showed to everyone.
Nora reached up to grab a jar of spices from the high shelf.
The jar slipped.
It tumbled down—straight toward her head.
Ray flinched.
Kael moved from his seat instantly.
His hand rose, fingers slicing through the air as the space around him distorted.
The jar froze mid-air.
A faint pressure rippled through the room — like the air itself had thickened.
Then the jar drifted neatly back to the counter, settling down as if placed there by an invisible hand.
Nora blinked, startled.
"Thank you, dear," she said, a shocked laugh escaping before she turned back to her pot.
Ray stared.
He knew Kael was a soldier.
He knew this world had magic.
But seeing it like this… so calm, so effortless… it hit differently.
Telekinesis.
A mid-tier, practical magic.
Kael made it look like breathing.
Ray's mind spun.
If I could learn magic like that, I could actually become strong here. Maybe even… overpowered. Maybe—
His thought tripped over itself.
No. No, no. That's exactly what side characters think before dying in chapter three.
He forced himself to breathe slowly.
Magic wasn't simple. Talent mattered. Element mattered. Lineage mattered. And he had none of the original protagonist's background — no noble bloodline, no ancestral sword, no special powers hidden at birth.
Just Ray Asher of a quiet little village.
A kid with a fading past life and a future he hadn't figured out yet.
Kael finally looked at him.
"You're mouth is half open," he said mildly.
Ray snapped his jaw shut. "S-sorry!"
Kael's mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but close.
Breakfast continued like nothing unusual had happened.
But Ray's thoughts kept circling back to that floating jar.
To the way the air had changed.
To that small, reckless spark inside him whispering:
I want that level of power too.
He shook the thought away. But it stayed