"Look, Tarin, it's magic!"

  Mom's voice arrived from somewhere above me, warm as freshly baked bread.

  Magic.

  The word bounced in my head strange, but familiar. Like I'd heard it in a dream I no longer remembered.

  Water dancing. Trembling sphere. Light filtered through impossible liquid.

  The thought slipped away before I could grasp it, replaced by the present: legs trembling under me, rough, warm wooden floor where the sun beat down.

  "You're almost there, Arek. One more little push."

  One.

  Tw…o. Two.

  My knees betrayed me with every step, but I held on. Clench my teeth. No, I didn't know how to do that yet, but clench something inside that said don't fall, not now.

  Three steps. Hooray!

  Exactly at that moment my damn knees melted and the floor hit me. The impact was cushioned by that swelling of fabric wrapping my pelvis: thick, warm, soft. A dull, humiliating sound of crushed fabric.

  You're useful, damn rag, but how I hate you so much!

  A sting went through the base of my back. It was a tiny pain, almost invisible, yet it stirred something inside me. A small dam was about to break.

  "My champion walks! This is better than magic, Mirina!"

  Tarin's eyes competed with Mom's, loaded with pride and admiration.

  Better than magic?

  The thought arrived bitter, inexplicable.

  No, Dad. You don't understand.

  Walking wasn't magic. Walking was torture. A body that refused to obey, muscles that responded like wet wood, balance that slipped away with every breath.

  Magic was something else.

  Water rising. Sphere trembling in the air. Hands guiding something impossible with the same ease with which I…

  With which I what?

  The memory closed like a fist.

  But the tingling in my fingers remained. Insistent. Like an unspoken promise.

  Again!

  Why did that sensation claw at my stomach?

  My legs kept trembling, shaken by an instability I didn't accept. I was falling. An invisible weight crushed me.

  Yet every fiber of my body rowed against it. Why this titanic effort?

  Mom and Dad moved with a naturalness that hurted me; they made it seem like child's play. I knew, in a remote corner of my mind, that it was easy. So why did every fiber of my body seem to row against me? Why this massive effort for such a mundane gesture?

  Damn it, legs, listen to me!

  I clenched my fists and planted my palms on the wood.

  Up again. I have to get back up.

  I fell again even before I could lift myself this time. I was trapped in a prison of skin and bones that didn't respond.

  How is it possible that it's this hard, dammit?! Come on!

  The dam gave way all at once. It wasn't a collapse of flesh, but something deeper, something inside me had failed. I couldn't explain. Tears exploded before I could erect any defense, gushing warm, stupid, and humiliating.

  I felt them sliding down my cheeks, tracing burning paths on skin too new, while my breath broke into a broken, jerky rhythm, completely out of control. Each sob was a lash to my pride.

  No! No, no, no. Stop. Stop right now!

  I tried to swallow the lump clawing at my throat, but it was useless. My body ignored my orders, abandoning itself to that visceral crying that shook my lungs.

  Why can't I stop?

  But the body, that slimy traitor, didn't listen. My arms remained inert, my legs refused to obey and even my tongue, my last ally, had joined the revolt.

  Damn it! What's wrong with this lump of flesh?

  Tears began to gush with new force, an unstoppable torrent.

  I wanted to scream. How hard it was. How much it hurt. Every single instant in this shell was wrong.

  Everything is…wierd…almost out of proportion. This body is too tiny, too weak. Mom is too insistent, Dad too proud and I... I’m too heavy for this body.. I’m exhausted.

  Why do you want me to do the hardest thing in the world? Why do you insist?

  And I'm also hungry, damn it!

  I cried like a baby because I was a baby, and that truth was a blow more brutal than hitting the floor.

  Air stopped entering. Breathing was replaced by short, broken sobs that shook my ribs. Every time I tried to catch my breath, pressure built beneath my ribs even more, like an invisible lock was clicking inside me, locking me out of my own life.

  Why is it so hard? Why, why?

  My legs were there, just past my nose. Two sausages of flesh and bone that should have supported an insignificant weight, a body that occupied almost no space in the world. Others shifted without thinking about it, crossing the room like it was the most natural thing in the universe.

  And not me. I fell. I always fell.

  "Oh, little one."

  Two hands lifted me with gentle, sure strength. They smelled of that visceral love that asks nothing in return and of warm bread. Suddenly, the world stopped spinning emptily and reorganized around a soft, enveloping chest that rose and fell with slow, regular, almost hypnotic rhythms.

  "Shh. It's okay. Everything's okay, my little one."

  The warmth of Mirina's hand filtered through the skin of my back. Her caresses traced slow, circular movements, as if she wanted to rub away my frustration along with the tears.

  "You did so well, you know? Three steps. Three! Yesterday it was only two."

  Her voice possessed that rare quality that made lies absolute truths. It was kindness without pity, pride devoid of any condescension.

  Something in my chest, that icy grip blocking my breath, finally began to melt, even if sobs continued to shake my shoulders like aftershocks.

  Three steps.

  Yet, deep down, that number seemed wrong to me. Like I'd already taken more. Many more. The thought made no sense, but the feeling remained.

  "It takes time, sweetheart. The body needs to learn. The legs need to become strong."

  A kiss on my forehead, light, soft.

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  "And you're already so strong. Stronger than you think."

  No. I'm not. If I were strong, this wouldn't be so hard.

  But I couldn't say it. I couldn't say anything. I could only press my face against the rough fabric of her apron and breathe her smell. The warmth filled every empty space, soft and unexpected, and something inside melted, rebuilding brick by brick the dam that had just collapsed.

  "We'll try again tomorrow, okay? And the day after, and next pentaweek. And every day it takes."

  She lifted me gently, bringing me to the height of her gaze.

  My reflection, tiny and lost, floated in her deep blue eyes.

  Her nose brushed mine and we stayed like that, fixed on each other, for an instant that seemed to dilate.

  "Don't be in a hurry to grow up, Arek. You don't need to be."

  But... but I am, Mom. I have to, I have to do it.

  I didn't know how to explain why, but I couldn't and didn't want to wait. I didn't understand why. But every day like this, small and useless, weighed on me. Like I was wasting something. Something important. But what? I didn't know.

  It was a visceral sensation, like I was wasting something I couldn't afford to lose, a debt I didn't know I had.

  I didn't understand why, but the urgency burned inside me.

  I only knew it was true.

  I have to grow up faster.

  I have to learn how to use this body.

  I don't have time. I don't know why, but I don't have time.

  Tears stopped flowing, replaced by a heavy, empty tiredness that pressed on my eyelids.

  Mirina kept holding me tight, rocking me barely, until my breathing returned to regular. My eyelids grew heavy, each blink slower than the previous one.

  "There. Better?"

  My cheeks still burned hot and damp where tears had dried.

  I nodded against her chest, sinking into her warmth.

  Mom.

  As I slipped into darkness, something emerged from the depths of tiredness.

  Clear water. Dancing between slender fingers, hands that seemed to know every secret of the world.

  It drifted in perfect, impossible circles, and I couldn't stop watching it.

  I want to do it too.

  The thought arrived small, insistent, from deep in the dream.

  I have to learn.

  I didn't know why. But I knew it anyway.

  Dust shone, dancing in the cone of light filtering from the window.

  ***

  One, two, three, four, five. Quick, quick, just like that!

  I held my arms stretched outward, two small meat sausages used as outriggers not to collapse, while I hopped around the room. I chased those floating specks, trying to catch them directly with my mouth.

  "Mirina, your son is still trying to eat dust."

  Tarin barely lifted his gaze from the pipe he was loading with methodical gestures. A few moments later, the sound of quick steps came straight from the kitchen.

  I froze, bringing a finger to my chin, trying to give myself composure while logic fought against my infant reflexes.

  Dust isn't food. Stop.

  But a golden speck danced right on my nose and my dignity plummeted. My legs shot forward on their own, driven by an instinct I couldn't control.

  "Arek, no! You don't eat dust."

  Right, makes sense.

  I nodded gravely.

  "Unn!"

  That one's huge!

  I launched myself at maximum speed, mouth wide open toward a gray tuft swaying in the air before me.

  "Tarin, can you do something?" Mom huffed, planting her hands on her hips and shaking her head.

  "All right, all right." He set the pipe on the little table next to the rocking chair, getting up with a grunt. "Come here, little champ."

  He took me and settled me on his knees, sitting back down. "I swear Arek, sometimes you seem so smart that when you do things like this... so normal, well, I'm almost glad. But you don't eat dust, got it?"

  Yes, Dad! I thought.

  Mirina had meanwhile returned to the kitchen. The sound of rushing water and her usual song were the signal that everything was back in order.

  She reemerged a few moments later with a bucket of water that seemed to weigh as much as the house.

  With each step the water in the bucket swayed, dropping a few drops on the dark wooden floor.

  "Thanks for the help, dear," she said, with sarcasm that cut the air.

  "You're welcome, Mirina," Tarin answered, dismissing her with a lazy wave of his hand.

  Mom sighed so hard that her bangs shifted by the air displacement.

  She set it down near the chair with a dull thud. Her shoulders relaxed, relieved of the weight.

  Her index finger rose, a flag demanding attention. "Stay right there, you two. Now." Her gaze nailed us in place.

  We nodded together, synchronized.

  She started humming that usual nameless melody she always used when cleaning. Her hand drifted up with a lazy, distracted gesture, like she was shooing away a bothersome fly.

  The bucket gave a start. A small, clear tremor.

  What?

  I lowered my gaze to see better, senses alert. The water's surface was no longer still; it trembled, rippling like a stormy sea contained in a few palms of metal.

  Then, the water at the center bent upward, like a submerged ball pushing to free itself.

  It began to rise toward Mom's hand, a liquid creature dense as molasses that, for some absurd reason, had learned to fly.

  I rubbed my eyes with closed fists, almost incredulous. When I reopened my eyelids, it was still there.

  The water mass stabilized right between the tips of her fingers. It swayed and oscillated, an irregular, pulsing bubble; a few drops escaped control, dripping downward, but were immediately sucked back into the main core.

  "Uff." Mom sighed, her voice loaded with an effort I hadn't noticed before. "Nobody speak now. I need to concentrate."

  She brought her other hand to her forehead to dry the sweat. The melody had disappeared, replaced by short breathing. Dad covered my mouth with his hand. When I glanced at him, he mimicked closing a lock on his lips, winking.

  Mirina lowered her arm and the water pressed against the wood, but without splashing.

  My mouth fell open. That liquid mass was no longer just water; it seemed alive, a transparent animal submissive to my mother's will. Under the guidance of her fingers, the water transformed into a thin sheet that began to slide over the boards.

  It was a methodical dance. Mom's hands swept through the air, back and forth, and the water responded to each oscillation. It slipped into the cracks. Emerged from them loaded with crumbs and dust. Liquid filth that responded to a raised finger.

  It shone in the window light, but the more it proceeded, the more that crystalline reflection faded. It became murky, grayish, loaded with all the dirt it trapped in its liquid belly. Mom guided the water with her hands. Each time it hit something solid it foamed like sea waves, then compacted again immediately after.

  So that's how you do it?

  "Almost done. Arek, are you... enjoying yourself?" Mirina smiled looking at me. She was amused, but in her voice there was a subtle fatigue.

  "Beo!" Yes, it's beautiful.

  Once it passed through the whole room, the water was no longer crystalline: it was murky, with dark crumbs suspended. My mother's hands rose and the water followed them. She pointed at the bucket and the water, obedient, dove in without protest.

  In that instant Mirina let herself fall onto the chair next to us. "I think I'm getting better."

  My father removed his hand from my mouth and applauded thunderously. I imitated him, striking my palms hard.

  "Very good, dear, but you shouldn't strain yourself so much."

  "Okay, dear, take the bucket out now. And give me Arek." She said dismissively.

  In an instant I passed from one warmth to another. While my father grabbed the bucket handle to go empty it, my hands shifted on their own toward him. My fingertips still tingled, lit by something I didn't understand.

  I'd seen water move, dance, obey.

  My hands still tingled. I wanted to try. Right now.

  "Ahahah!" My mother's laugh was warm, like crusty bread. "It's too soon, my little one. But in the meantime I can give you the first lesson. All right?"

  Yes, Mom, yes!

  I nodded energetically.

  "Good, listen carefully. You can never create anything. You can only move what's already there, understand?"

  Yes. Move, don't create. Then what?

  "Good boy." She set me down on the floor. "Now go back to playing, mommy needs to prepare lunch."

  The cold of the clean floor welcomed my legs. Mom got up, started singing again and returned to the kitchen smiling to herself.

  That's all for the first lesson? Really?

  The thought slipped away almost immediately. The sensation persisted. Not discomfort, something deeper. Like those fingers had already danced water, many times, in a time that didn't exist.

  I crawled toward the bucket Dad had left near the door after emptying it. On the bottom, a few drops reflected the light filtering from the window.

  Can't create. Only move. Mom's words echoed simple and perhaps obvious in my mind.

  I stretched out my hand, but the water was too far. My fingers stopped a palm's distance from the bucket's bottom.

  Move! The command came naturally, almost too much. Not like when I tried to walk or talk. This was different.

  The water seemed to tremble.

  Just a moment. A tremor, a vibration of the drops on the bottom.

  My heart pounded in my chest.

  I made it move. Or... did I almost remember how to do it?

  I pulled back my hand. The tingling faded and died down, leaving only confusion. I crawled to the rocking chair and pulled myself up against it, legs dangling.

  From the kitchen, Mom kept humming. I turned toward the sound of her voice, warm, sure, filling the house as always.

  She's teaching me something I already know.

  I don't need to learn. I just need to... remember. Remember something that... mmh...

  An annoying pain spread from my right temple to my entire forehead.

  A baby doesn't have memories after all...

  My eyelids grew heavy and the tiredness of a body too small demanded rest. Before closing my eyes, one last thought brushed my mind.

  I need to manage... to... speak... and ask Mom...

  I'd already fallen asleep when the word I was looking for surfaced somewhere between darkness and dream.

  "Teach me, Mommy."

  I used to be a guy named Keiko. A hunter wannabe. A total dud. Zero powers in a world where having none is basically a crime.

  One night, while doomscrolling the Hunter's Forum, I saw a veteran hunter whining about how everyone else was “wasting their potential.” Naturally, I told him to shut up in a very normal, very reasonable 5,700-word rant.

  His reply? “Bet.”

  Next thing I know, I'm dropped into an actual dungeon with monsters, traps, and no refund policy.

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