“You know I can’t answer that, young master,” said Garrett, Tyr’s tutor in Foundational Mysticism.

  “Why’s that?” Tyr demanded, hands on his hips. “My father forbid you? I’m too young?”

  Garrett coughed behind his hand, poorly masking his smirk. The uncanny symmetry of his face and his solid presence indicated the man was well into C-Grade, despite looking no older than thirty. No upstart toddler could bully him in any way and he knew it, even if he sometimes humored his favorite student.

  Worst of all, Garrett was quite reasonable and charismatic whenever he wasn’t in a teasing mood. Tall, bearded, dressed in an elegant robe—he was everything Tyr was impatient to become.

  Their current lesson was taking place on the outskirts of the woods behind the Hollan estate. Mostly so Tyr could pace about with the infinite stamina the gods granted to all young boys, ranting and raving in an attempt to dispel his anxiety. Pine needles scattered before his imperious march.

  Garrett was content to lay across the blanket of his makeshift picnic setup. A steaming cup of tea rested in his hands, maintained at the perfect temperature through some casual Heat magic or an enchantment hidden within the porcelain. He slurped at it while waiting for Tyr to regain his composure.

  “Even if you turn out to have a high Death affinity,” Garrett finally said, the very image of maturity and sensibility, “I’m not going to teach a three year old how to unlock the Necromancer Class.”

  Tyr resisted the urge to fling the replica wand in his hand off to the side. His childish body loved throwing things. Mother had gifted the wand to him as an early third-birthday present and it would be beyond impudent to fling it around like a piece of detritus.

  He had a day to go before he officially reached the first step to being considered his own man. He couldn’t let anything go wrong. It would be a poor omen.

  “I know what this is,” Garrett declared with the wisdom of age.

  Tyr ground to a halt, frowning. Attempting to infuse a bit of [ Gaze of the Dominator ] into his side-eye failed, as usual. The ability remained as inactive as ever. “You do?”

  Garrett took another appreciative sip of his tea and nodded. “Of course. Every scion acts like this before their third birthday. It manifests in various annoying ways. The main point is that you’re nervous the Trial of Myriad Affinities will prove that you’re common rabble, destined for a Servant Class. The shame! The horror!” He clutched his chest in mock dismay.

  Tyr deflated slightly. “Maybe a little. But I don’t really care if I get a Servant Class. Mother never told me which, but I know she has one. Or it evolved from a base Servant Class. There’s nothing wrong with that, as long as you work hard and do your best.”

  Garrett set his tea onto the ground. A hint of seriousness had entered his expression. Tyr resisted the urge to straighten his back under the weight of his tutor’s scrutiny.

  “You know,” Garrett said, “you responded with a great deal more vigor and sincerity than I expected. You should keep on listening to that mother of yours. She’s basically half a step into Sainthood.”

  The sentiment hadn’t come from Tyr parroting his mother, but denial would just make him look like a brat. Even in the world of Savra, he doubted little children went around naturally extolling the virtues of humility and charity. It was a bit of a vegetarian cat situation, especially since it was actually quite a challenge to resist the many mischievous impulses competing within his impish little form.

  And if Tyr really pressed the issue, he would risk exposing The Truth. How would those around him react to the revelation he was a reincarnator from Earth?

  With how little about the world had been revealed to him so far, he wouldn’t have been too surprised if it turned out that everyone was a reincarnator or transmigrator or something along those lines.

  It seemed unlikely, but what was the chance that James Mclean, upper-middle-class scholarship student, had been the undisputed forerunner for the honor of Magical Chosen One To Save The Magical World? Surely the cosmos held greater mysteries than his rebirth.

  Regardless, there was no point exposing himself before knowing more details. Details everyone was frustratingly withholding from him, as if his life was a joke.

  “Look at you blushing over a little praise,” said Garrett.

  “I’m not blushing! I’m deep in big thought!”

  He meant serious, but correcting himself would draw more attention to the unforced error.

  Garrett set his tea off to the side and smiled. “Well, for having listened to your mother properly—” He paused, as if he expected Tyr to deny the accusation, before carrying on with a hint of disappointment, “I’m a bit willing to break the rules. After all, you really should have figured this one out on your own a while ago.”

  Tyr clenched his fists in tiny triumph. “Reveal your secrets to me at once.”

  Without any obvious incantation or hand signs, Garrett began to levitate above the ground. He casually crossed his legs and linked his hands behind his head like a pillow, as if he was relaxing inside an invisible hammock. His tea floated upward, not spilling a single drop as it settled within arm’s reach.

  “You have at least one major affinity, and it’s one that I can teach you quite well.”

  Various threats and insults leapt to the tip of Tyr’s tongue. Still, he couldn’t deny that the confirmation relaxed some of the tightness in his chest. “Shouldn’t I have, like, eight?”

  Garrett blew a raspberry at him.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  ***

  “Oh no, don’t wake the Little Tyrant—” His mother’s voice. Tyr groggily opened his eyes. Within a second he grasped the situation: he was being loaded into the family carriage, trapped in the comfort of his traveling seat. After a moment of panic, he clenched his fingers around the replica wand in his right hand.

  Still there. Thank goodness.

  Pleased that he had maintained his grip on the priceless relic even during his slumber, Tyr chose to forgive the nickname he had overheard. Sure, he did hate being awakened from a nap prematurely, but this was a special day.

  His first actual foray into Valorwood, in order to attend his Trial of Myriad Affinities.

  After today, he would have a decent understanding of his future path. Affinities weren’t the end-all-be-all determiner of one’s destiny, but Tyr had longed to control magic his entire life. Ever since he had opened his eyes as a newborn and glimpsed the endless swirls of mana present all around him.

  Hells, even before his new life, James Mclean had spent an embarrassing amount of time as a child trying to cast fireballs. The results had been disappointing.

  Not everyone on Savra could become a mage. The strictest requirement was that a person must have at least one major affinity to be granted the official Title.

  With the proper Class, Profession, and dedication, a person could surpass a single-element mage in almost every aspect of their specialty. But, without a base affinity over 40, the System would never grant them the Mage Title.

  Another example of how unfair reality was, but at least the option was available to Tyr. Knowing his affinities would help guide his efforts to unlock a suitable Class and Profession in the future.

  “I’m going to be a spellblade!” Tyr decreed, waving his wand as if it was an enchanted knife.

  His parents shared a knowing look, shaking their heads in unison.

  Unwilling to let anything spoil his mood, Tyr kicked his seat and studied the interior of the carriage. In truth, it was quite an impressive piece of equipment. His life at the estate had led him to believe he had been reincarnated into a medieval world, but every once in a while he came across evidence to the contrary.

  The carriage’s aesthetic reminded him of a futuristic version of the limousine his group had taken to Prom, bumming off his relationship with a well-off friend back in high school.

  The inside was all sleek lines and cozy leather. An enclosure with a cooling enchantment set into one of the walls contained carafes of water, wine, and mysterious elixirs. Crystal screens were embedded into the floor, able to project illusory figures that reminded Tyr of holograms.

  The projectors were currently inactive, but he had seen them in use before. He’d taken the carriage one other time with his mother. During the short trip, she had activated them to study an anatomical depiction of a panther-like beast with tentacles and too many hearts. Gestures and whispers had dissected the monster into slides; additional projections had displayed cross-sectional layers, like images from a CT scan.

  As cool as it was, the Hollan family almost never used the carriage for themselves. It was more for the benefit of their servants and visitors who wanted to escape the rural estate for a while.

  Tyr found himself more excited than ever to visit Valorwood and see a real city.

  It would help prove if his suspicions were correct. He had guessed his parents were the anti-modern sort, preferring a simple life away from the public eye. Maybe they were some kind of Amish nobility. Or just the kind of parents who refused to let their toddler have the newest model of smartphone until they were older.

  Lost in thought, he barely noticed his parents take their seats. Garrett and a pair of grey-haired maids settled into the remaining positions. Tyr found his attention drawn to them—in particular, the plates of crystal armor affixed to their torsos and joints, as well as the arsenal of rings glittering on their fingers.

  Those three looked like a party of Battlemages. An acceptable escort.

  Tyr’s parents looked as plain as ever, clad in their respective pink robes and dark suit. Mother had brought her whitewood staff, keeping it propped between her legs like a gnarled, rune-covered tree. Father didn’t bother with an obvious weapon; his spectacles gleamed in the midday light leaking through the sunroof.

  Noticing his son’s attention, Leon grinned. “By the way, did you know this thing can fly?”

  Tyr’s mouth gaped open.

  A second later, gravity vanished. Realizing why his birthday breakfast had been so light, Tyr fought down a wave of nausea. The child’s seat kept him locked in place, though his weightless limbs drifted every which way. He doubled his grip on the wand.

  Then, the carriage started forward. Directions reasserted themselves. Up was up again, down was down again.

  Head spinning, Tyr glared at his father. As if sensing his son’s attempt to instill [ Gaze of the Dominator ] into his glare, Leon let a few rainbow specks shine through his own black irises.

  “Like House Hollan itself, our horses have a rather distinguished pedigree,” said the prideful braggart. “They’re descended from the Usalt Cloud Formation Pegasi. Obviously they don’t have wings, but they still have potent Sky affinities. Put a few of them together, with the right enchantments, and we have a rather stylish entrance for your debut into society.”

  Mother glanced over at him. “Stop steepling your fingers together and smirking like that, dear. You look like some evil cult leader.“

  “Isn’t it about time we tell Tyr how we met?”

  Mother rolled her eyes and offered Tyr a reassuring smile. “Your daddy wasn’t a cult leader, sweetheart. Growing up as old nobility can be hard, and everyone responds differently. He was just rebelling against his own daddy for a while.”

  Garrett snorted laughter into the palm of his crystal gauntlet. The maids kept up their dignified expressions.

  Mother patted Father on the shoulder. “Anyways, no more monologuing. You can do plenty of that later. Let’s just enjoy the ride for now.”

  The corner of his lip twitching upward in a smile, Leon snapped his fingers. The wooden panel beside Tyr’s head turned transparent, like the porthole of an airplane, offering him a full view of the world rushing past.

  Tyr’s eyes sparkled with wonder.

  Titanic clouds dominated the panorama. Even with his Bloodline sealed, he could see the currents of azure Sky mana weaving intricate patterns through the atmosphere. In some areas it grew thin, until only a few threads flapped about like ribbons; in others, it flowed like a high tide.

  Deep inside one of the clouds, Sky mana had coalesced into a pulsing sphere that called out to him.

  A few seconds later, they had blown past it, leaving behind a vague desire to harvest that natural treasure one day.

  If Garrett hadn’t already made it obvious, Tyr knew that Sky would be one of his major affinities. At least 50/100 if he could detect those high atmospheric concentrations without the aid of his Bloodline or some other mana-sensing ability.

  A rude voice in the back of his mind attempted to bring him back down to reality:

  More than 50, according to that children’s book Father left out for you to find last week, but probably not much higher than that. Or else you’d be able to naturally sense it other times, not just when you’re zooming through the stratosphere.

  Biting his lower lip, Tyr came to terms with the fact he most likely wouldn’t be declared an Archmagus of Sky upon the conclusion of his Trial.

  Archmagus of Destruction or the Shadowvale? That remained to be seen.

  Then, he caught a glimpse of their destination on the horizon, and all spare thoughts were wiped from his mind.

  Oh.