After a while, they arrived home.
Denzo, his father, sat down with a tired breath, a faint injury still on his arm. Raiku, with his innocent face and curious eyes, approached him slowly. He pointed to the spot. "Okay, so now show me—where did you get hurt?" he asked with quiet intensity.
Denzo revealed the wound, and Raiku's mother, Genji, gently stepped forward. She knelt beside him, whispered something softly, and a warm glow began to emit from her palm. The light danced in the air, wrapping around the wound like a living ribbon of warmth. The injury slowly began to disappear as if time itself was being reversed.
Raiku's eyes widened in amazement, shimmering like tiny stars. Something deep inside him stirred. This wasn't just wonder—it was memory. Familiar, ancient, powerful.
"Mama! Mama! What is this?" he asked, his voice brimming with excitement.
Genji looked down at her child with a warm smile, brushing her hand through his soft hair. "That, little one, is called Helling magic," she said gently.
"There are five elements of magic in this world—Fire, Water, Earth, Air, and Helling. Each with its own power, its own path."
Raiku leaned in, listening to every word as if it were gold. A king's mind behind a baby's face. In his past life, he ruled with wisdom and command, yet even then he hadn't uncovered the depths of such a magical system. Now, he was being taught anew, in a body so small and innocent.
"And there are five stages a magic user can grow through," Genji continued, proud of her son's fascination. "First comes the Beginner Magician, then Intermediate, Epic Magician, Legendary Magician, and finally... the Mythical Magician. Few ever reach that final stage."
Raiku's eyes lit up as if a fire had been lit inside his soul. Each word was a key unlocking the world around him. Not because he wished to become a magician—but because he had to understand everything. He had been summoned to this world for a reason, and he knew better than to ignore destiny's whispers.
Genji giggled softly, placing a kiss on his forehead. "You're so happy, aren't you? But I'm sure you didn't understand any of that. After all, you're just a one-month-old baby."
She had no idea who her son really was. No idea of the throne he once sat upon, the wars he led, the wisdom he carried. To her, he was just a surprisingly sharp child—maybe a future genius, blessed by the stars.
"Anyway, you're too small," she smiled again, holding him close. "I'm sure you won't remember any of this."
Raiku didn't respond. He didn't need to. He only stared at her, absorbing the warmth of her touch, the strength of her voice. His mother… A word that used to mean nothing in his old life, now filled with emotion he had long forgotten.
She carried him inside, the wooden door closing behind them with a soft thud. The house was quiet, safe. She sat with him on the mat, gently swaying him in her arms and laughing as he reached up to touch her face.
For a moment, Raiku just stared at her. Ah… so this is what a family feels like. He hadn't even been allowed to sit at the same table with his own parents in his previous life. He hadn't even had a final dinner with them before war took him. But now—he was held, loved, protected.
Time passed slowly in that moment, and the silence between mother and son was more powerful than any words. It was peace. It was something a king had never tasted, and a child was finally learning to enjoy.
A while later, as the evening wrapped the house in soft light, Raiku's parents gathered by the fire. His mother prepared a warm cloth while Denzo held Raiku gently. They told him stories—simple tales about magic, nature, and the ancient spirits that watched over the world.
He listened, letting the rhythm of their voices carry him like a lullaby. He didn't understand every word, not because he couldn't—but because this was a moment for feeling, not analyzing. The warmth of the room, the flicker of firelight, the loving tone in their voices—it was enough.
Raiku felt his eyes grow heavy, the weight of the day settling in. His small body curled against his father's chest, while his mother watched them both with a smile only a mother could wear.
He closed his eyes slowly.
In this world, he thought as sleep wrapped him gently, I will learn everything. Not for power. Not for greed. But because I must. Because something brought me here. Because I cannot fail again.
And with that, he slipped into dreams—of glowing magic, of whispered fates, and of the family he never knew he needed.