Shadow of Self-Reliance. Part 1

After that day at the monastery, something shifted within Wild. The fear that had gripped his heart receded, making way for a quiet, stubborn desire to live. Tekra returned to his world like the sun after a long night, her presence a steadfast pillar. Every day, she came to him—her steps, light and swift, echoing through the estate's corridors—and he knew in advance he'd hear her voice, vibrant and brimming with life. She embraced him, heedless of his crooked bones and cold skin, and in those embraces, he found a warmth unknown to him in either his past life or the early years of this one.

Tekra flourished. Her magic, once a faint spark at her fingertip, now blazed as a vivid flame. She showed him her progress—igniting a small fire that danced in the air, making it swirl like a living thing. Sometimes she conjured tiny whirlwinds of dust or lifted dry leaves brought in from outside. "Look, Wild!" she'd say, her eyes shining with pride. "My mentor says I could be one of the best in the clan!" He watched her, his uneven eyes catching every glimmer of her magic, and tried to clap his hands. But his movements were clumsy, slow, like those of a worn marionette with frayed strings. His hands trembled, the claps emerging soft and uneven, yet Tekra smiled regardless. "You're doing great," she'd say, her voice free of mockery, filled only with sincerity.

More than a decade passed this way. Wild turned twelve, Tekra nineteen. The world around them changed, slowly but inexorably. The Dakota estate, once bustling with vigor and strength, began to fade. Lirena and Xavir, Wild's parents, withdrew from their duties. His mother, whose icy beauty dimmed under the weight of years, secluded herself in her chambers, immersed in old scrolls and silence. His father, scars deepened and hair turned gray, no longer led warrior bands, yielding his place to others. Power within the family shifted to Wild's uncle, Tarvek, Xavir's younger brother.

Tarvek was unlike his father. Tall, with sharp features and eyes as cold as winter ice, he carried a harshness bordering on cruelty. His voice boomed through the estate's halls, his footsteps silencing servants and sending them scurrying. He arrived with new rules, a new will, and his first decree struck like a blow Wild hadn't anticipated. "Cast out all the helpless and hideous," Tarvek declared at a family council, his words sharp as a blade's edge. "I won't tolerate the useless in my domain. Dakota stands for strength, not a refuge for freaks."

In that moment, Wild, lingering in the shadowed corridor where he wasn't invited, felt something inside him constrict. He knew who Tarvek meant. He knew those words were his sentence. His body, though it had changed over the years, remained frail. He'd grown taller, but not stronger—his bones elongated, his skin stretched thinner, and his face, marred by deformity, stayed the same. One eye still loomed larger than the other, his mouth twisted in a pained grimace, and his hands shook even when he merely held a bowl of food. He was useless. Hideous. A shadow Tarvek sought to erase.

Memories of his past life surged like a storm. A room filled with manuscripts no one read. Silence, loneliness, the sense that he mattered to no one. Back then, he'd been a hikikomori, trapped in his own world; now, he was a freak, confined within the estate. History repeated itself, only instead of a gray city, he was surrounded by stone walls and scornful gazes. But now there was something more—Tekra. She'd given him a name, hope, love. And he didn't want to lose that. He didn't want to become nothing again.

That evening, he sat in his room, staring at his hands. They trembled as always, but there was something new—a faint warmth, the same he'd felt trudging to the monastery. Mana. It still lived within him, dormant but alive. He recalled Tekra's words: "You'll be able to do it too, when you grow up." He had grown. And now, for the first time in twelve years, he wanted not just to survive, but to become someone. Not for Tarvek, not for the family, but for himself. He understood his deformity, accepted it, but no longer wished to be its captive. He wanted to stand on his own—to be an individual who could.

Tekra came to him later, as the estate's shadows thickened. Her face was serious, but her eyes still glowed with warmth. "I heard what Uncle said," she murmured, sitting beside him. "But you're not helpless, Wild. And you're not hideous. You're my brother." She took his hand, squeezed it, and he felt her warmth flow into him. "We'll figure something out," she added, her voice resolute.

Wild nodded, his raspy voice managing a faint "Yes." He didn't know what to do, but he knew one thing: he wouldn't just wait anymore. His body was weak, but his mind was not. And perhaps the mana slumbering within him could be his first step toward freedom.