The air didn't just hum; it thrummed against my skin, vibrating with the raw power I had just wrestled into submission. The sharp scent of ozone and something older, like petrichor from a forgotten world, filled my lungs. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, a desperate counter beat to the settling silence.
And there she stood. My answer. My vindication.
A servant. A spirit given glorious, impossible form. My life's work—and the ghost of my past life's catastrophic failure—all hinged on a single, elegant principle: the vessel.
The servant was… perfect. Ethereal, yet solid. Real. Her form was that of a woman in her prime, clad in the stark, professional elegance of a maid's attire—black and white, with a crisp white apron, her dark hair tied in a practical, yet strangely graceful, tail.
"You are the first spirit I have ever successfully bound. Before the contract seals us together, I have questions. Answer with truth. Deceive me, and I will sever the threads before they can take root."
"Understood, my lord," she replied. Her voice was not just a melodic chime, but carried a weight of ages, a calm that seemed to still the very air.
I conjured a rough-hewn chair of earth and sat, my gaze a surgeon's scalpel, tracing every line of her form for a crack in the perfection. "Your appearance," I began, the question feeling dangerously intimate. "Is it your own choosing? Or is it… a reflection of me?"
A faint, knowing smile touched her lips, a spark of ancient insight in her eyes. "We are mirrors, my lord. We peer into the depths of a master's soul, judging their worth through the lens of their memories, their desires… their regrets."
My face grew hot. A bead of sweat traced a treacherous path from my temple to my jaw. I felt my eye twitch—a damning tells.
"That means…" my throat sand-dry.
"I have seen it all, my lord. The tribulation. The solitude." She paused, and the ghost of a genuine chuckle, warm and impossibly fond, escaped her. "And I have seen your reincarnation—your fierce, unbending will to carve a new destiny from the stone of your past. Although, I must confess, some of your habits were… hard to change."
I can see faint blushed on her cheek.
'How could you forget about it? Sindarin!'
I squeezed my eyes shut, wrestling my humiliation back into its cage. When I opened them, I forced myself to meet her gaze, to offer my naked shame.
"Then, having seen the entirety of my failure… my cowardice… are you still willing to bind your fate to mine?"
"Yes."
The word was immediate, absolute, an anchor in the storm of my doubt. It was not just agreement; it was a vow.
A wave of relief so potent it left me dizzy washed through me. I managed a slow, deliberate nod. "Then I grant you the name 'Varda.' It means 'sublime.' For that is what you will be."
The moment her name left my lips, the world shifted. It was a seismic click in the core of my soul, a fusion of our beings. A torrent of knowledge flooded into me—her strengths, her limits, and most precious, most terrifying of all… her True Name.
My breath hitched. A spirit's True Name is the key to their very essence, a power so profound they rarely surrender it, even to their master. To wield it was to command their ultimate strength, but to be given it was an act of faith beyond measure.
"Varda…" I whispered, the name. "Are you certain? You would give me your true name?"
Her smile was a radiant dawn, warm and unshadow by fear. "The foes you will face cast long shadows, Master Oberon. I will not have you falter for lack of a weapon. Use my True Name when the hour is darkest. But be warned, the cost to sustain such a release will be… immense."
"I understand," I breathed, the weight of her trust a mantle upon my shoulders. "Thank you, Varda."
Reaching into my coat, I pulled out a small, velvet-lined box. "A token. For your service."
She accepted it with hands that seemed made for elegance, opening the lid to reveal a pair of spectacles, their frames wrought with impossible delicacy. "Master?"
"Lenses of Far sight. They will sharpen your vision to a hawk's, allowing you to see the finest detail from a league away."
Varda took a single, graceful step back. Then, with a fluidity that stole my breath, she gathered the folds of her long black skirt, lifting it slightly as she dipped into a deep, flawless curtsy, her head bowed in a gesture I had seen a thousand times in a different life. The formal stance of a royal maid. The memory of Aisha and Lilia, of a home I thought lost, struck me with the force of a physical blow.
"Thank you, young master," she said, her voice layered with a gratitude that felt deeper than the moment deserved.
The title, a relic of my past, wrapped around me like a familiar, comforting cloak. "You can thank me with your loyal service, Varda."
She immediately placed the glasses on her nose, the lenses glinting with captured light, making her intelligent eyes seem even more profound. "How do I look, my master?"
A single, unvarnished truth escaped me. "Beautiful."
Her smile widened, beaming with a pleasure that made the very air around her shimmer.
"Now, Varda," I said, my tone shifting into one of command, the mantle of a master settling onto my shoulders, made lighter by her faith. "Time is short. I have your first task."
"Your wish is my command, master."
I gestured to the vast, empty expanse around us, a blank canvas of raw earth. "I want you to build me a castle. A second home, a fortress, right here on this very ground."
She rose to her full height, her new glasses reflecting not just light, but a fierce, unshakeable resolve. "As you command," she vowed, her voice ringing with certainty. "I will build a citadel so grand and so formidable for my Master."
"Good." I turned, already drawing the runes in my mind for the teleportation circle. "I will return as soon as I am able."
She bowed her head once more, a pillar of loyalty in the wilderness. "I understand. Please, leave everything to me."
And for the first time in either of my lives, I truly believed I could.
====x====
Wishe forest
I emerged from the hidden teleportation circle deep beneath my home, the night air cool on my skin. Four hours had passed. Above me, the eternal autumn of my forest was on full display—a sea of gold and crimson leaves shimmering under a clear, cold moon.
I floated upwards, admiring the serene beauty, but a deep unease clung to me. Ever since my encounter with the girl, Sindarin, it felt like a great, unseen gear had begun to turn. I was hurtling toward a future I couldn't see, and the not-knowing was the most terrifying part.
"I'm still only five," I whispered to the night. "This body is still too weak." My new elven vessel was far more sensitive, allowing me to wield my vast mana with precision, but my physical form was still too immature to handle its full power.
I recalled the texts I'd read. With the blessing of the gods, carried in their blood, one can gain superhuman strength.
Then, Sindarin's teasing words echoed in my mind, a sharp and timely warning: "For an elf, you're in such a hurry, my lord."
I took a deep, steadying breath, forcing the tension from my shoulders. Letting thoughts of the future consume me was a path to madness. For now, I had to focus on the present. One step at a time.
====x====
The knock at my door was a sharp, unwelcome sound, pulling me from the pages of my book. I was sprawled on my bed, lost in a world of ancient empires and forgotten magic, when the intrusion came.
"Oberon."
A single word, but it was enough. My spine straightened almost of its own accord. I knew that voice—a baritone that carried the weight of authority and the forest itself.
"Father? Please, come in."
The door swung open to reveal Levos Jarl Wishe. The name 'Jarl' wasn't just a name; it was a title, a royal decree from King Larfal that placed the entire Wishe Forest under his protection and command. He was the only one who bore it, a testament to his strength and honour.
Where my late father, Paul, had been all easy laughter and rough-and-tumble camaraderie, Levos was a statue of duty. He was undeniably handsome, with the charismatic presence of a born leader, but our interactions were still a carefully choreographed dance, stiff and formal. We were playing the parts of father and son, still learning the steps.
Like all elves, he was a vision of ageless grace. A river of beautiful red hair cascaded down his back, nearly blending with the rich crimson of his formal robes. Embroidered on his back was our family crest—a stag's head, its eyes seeming to watch the room with silent vigilance. His gaze, a mix of stern judgment and gentle concern, swept across my chamber before settling on the teetering stack of books on my desk.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. "Geography, magic, and history?" he mused, his finger tracing the spine of a heavy tome. "An interesting choice of companions, son."
"Thank you, Father," I replied, seizing the chance for real conversation. "Although the cartography is frustrating. The maps are incomplete, full of blank spaces and 'here be monsters' scrawls."
"That is because you are reading the whispers of a world thousands of years gone," he said, his voice softening. "If you wish for a clearer picture, we could always ask Princess Riveria to procure newer editions from Orario. I hear the city's libraries are unparalleled."
A genuine, uncalculated smile broke across my face. "Really? Father, that would be… yes, please!"
The sight of my excitement seemed to melt the formal reserve from his features. A warm, fatherly smile—the first I'd truly seen—replaced his usual composed expression. The change was like the sun breaking through a canopy of trees.
"Oberon," he said, his tone now inviting and light. "The books will still be here later. For now, how would you like to walk with me in town?"
====x====
The city named 'Naur Fea' it means fire dome because the city surrounded by a visible doom with red leave living on its fain. The city population are ten thousand for an elf it was large city. The only entrance to the city was by the river and whoever not use the river passing will triggered a barrier magic surrounding the dome.
"Lord Levos and Young master good morning!"
"I am glad lord Levos back home and young master I am glad to see you well."
As we walked through the city meant citizen stopped on their activity and welcome us both warmly. I just replied with simple waving my hand with a smile.
I know this will happen with knowing my home without a wall and lack of security the people are trusting each other especially their lord who protect them. With small number and there is rarely an outsider are inside the city.
I gaze around especially the building are most made from white marble with conical roof. The trees dance on the wall and the roof like binding vine with flower live freely on the wall yet it not overgrown it look like the trees itself bind the very building together.
'This kingdom are far more advance than the elves on my past live. Maybe it had to with they already live more than thousand years? Still, it the most beautiful city I ever laid eyes on.'
Then I saw it a tall building Like a pillar it was hundred meters tall touching the very doom and I can sense a powerful mana.
"That place are a magic school." Levos spoke as he following my gaze "Mostly the place for our people to learn magic. You want to visit it son?"
"That will be great father."
====x====
Calling it a "school" felt like a disservice, a pale word for the reality thrumming before me. This was the Heartwood—a sanctuary where beings from every corner of the realm, even the ancient, whispering depths of the Wishe Forest itself, came to unravel the mysteries of magic. And it was all born from a single, legendary artifact: the 'Roots'.
They said the Roots were a direct conduit to the world's oldest, most sacred trees. Standing this close, I didn't just believe it—I felt it. A palpable energy hummed against my skin, a pure, vibrant force that was the very essence of nature mana. It was like walking into a living breath, the air thick and humid with raw power.
The Heartwood unfolded around me in a series of concentric rings. In the bustling Outer Sanctum, mages wove spells into the air, their practice grounds shimmering behind veils of unseen energy. Deeper in, the Mid Sanctum housed scholars in vine-wrapped classrooms, their quiet debates echoing the fundamental laws of the universe. And at the very centre—the silent, pulsing heart of it all—lay the artifact itself, sealed in a chamber only my family could access.
A chamber I now stood before, my neck craned to take in a door that soared twenty meters into the air, its surface carved with runes that seemed to shift in the periphery of my vision.
"I told you the door only opens for our blood," my father said, his voice heavy with a regret I couldn't yet decipher. "But the truth is… it has been centuries since it last moved for anyone."
"I can feel it, Father. The power is… it's alive." The words left me in a whisper as an involuntary step carried me forward. A strange, magnetic pull tugged at my very core, a siren song woven from magic itself. "Something is… calling to me."
I forced my foot to plant itself, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
A spark—was it hope?—ignited in the weary depths of my father's eyes. "You can?" he breathed, the stoic mask cracking for a single, precious moment. "That… is a better sign than I dared dream. Very few can sense anything in its presence at all."
"Lord Levos." A voice, soft as a breeze, came from behind us.
We turned to find an elven girl. Her hair was the color of fresh-fallen snow, a stark contrast to eyes the pale lavender of twilight. She offered my father a warm smile and a deep, respectful bow. "My apologies for not welcoming you upon your arrival, Lord Levos."
"There is no need, Soen. I am merely showing my son the sanctum."
Her gaze, gentle yet perceptive, then drifted down to me. "It is my genuine pleasure to meet you, Young Master Oberon." She offered a slight, graceful bow. "If it pleases you, I would be honoured to guide you should you enrol at the Heartwood."
I shook my head, my mother's words echoing in my mind. Most of the material is available in the home library. "I'm still too young. Perhaps another time."
"I understand," she said, her smile never faltering. "But please, if you ever require guidance in the ways of spirit magic, know that I will happily oblige."
Just then, a messenger sprinted into the hall, his boots echoing on the stone. He skidded to a halt before my father, thrusting a sealed letter into his hand. The seconds stretched as my father read, his face an unreadable mask of stone. But from the ashen panic on the messenger's face, I knew.
'That is not good news.'
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