Reincarnated in a Light Novel

The sharp scent of herbs and medicine mixed with the metallic clang of tools filled the room. Dr Solas sighed softly as he eased himself into a chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. The entrance ceremony hadn't even started yet, and already someone was injured.

Not that it was surprising—he already knew who it was—the bastard son of the Rosvault family. Ever since the boy entered the academy a year ago, he had been a frequent visitor to Solas's clinic. The Rosvault name carried its notoriety, ensuring whispers followed Eclair wherever he went.

Solas couldn't help but pity the boy. He wasn't sure if the child had been sent here to die or if Eclair had come willingly to escape his family. 

Either way, the academy was neutral ground—likely the only sanctuary available to him. Still, that didn't protect him from the undercurrent of disdain and hostility the Rosvault name drew.

The Rosvault family, once a collateral branch of the Voltair Duchy, had carved out their infamy over the years. There were rumours of underhanded and dark dealings whispered in noble circles. 

Solas remembered the time when the eldest Rosvault son enrolled, there wasn't a time when he wasn't at the clinic.

Solas sighed again, right as the boy began stirring on the clinic bed. He waited patiently as Eclair's disoriented gaze darted around the room, his expression one of confusion. Solas could practically see the questions forming.

"W-what time is it?" Eclair's voice was hoarse.

"It's eight o'clock," Solas replied casually. "Or two weeks until the entrance ceremony, if that's what you're asking."

Eclair frowned, rubbing his temples. He grumbled something under his breath before stumbling to his feet. "Thanks, Doc," he muttered before hurrying out of the infirmary.

Solas opened his mouth to caution him but stopped short. Something about the boy's demeanour felt... off. Shrugging it off for now, he returned to his work.

***

Eclair hurried back to his dorm, grateful not to run into anyone on the way. He shut the door behind him, leaning heavily against it. His last memory was being ambushed in the hallway on his way to the final class of the semester. That had become a pattern—targeted, beaten down, discarded.

He dropped onto his bed with a heavy sigh. "Another one," he muttered to himself.

His dark, weary eyes stared at the ceiling. They were the eyes of someone who had already surrendered, someone who had long since stopped believing in salvation. 

He raised a hand and conjured a small magic bolt—a technique so basic it was almost laughable. All his classmates had already created their unique Art, while he was still relying on basic techniques.

By the academy's standards, Eclair was a failure of a sorcerer. Graduation felt like a distant dream, and surviving another year here felt just as unlikely. His lips trembled, and before he could stop himself, tears spilt down his cheeks.

Going back to the Rosvault estate would be suicide. But quitting the academy? That would earn him a death sentence too. He'd come here to escape them, after all. His status as an illegitimate child was a stain his family would never forgive.

Eclair's shoulders slumped as he opened the drawer of his bedside table. Inside was a small notebook, a few yellow talismans, and a pendant—his mother's keepsake. It was the only tangible connection he had left to her.

He opened the pendant, revealing a lock of hair and a folded piece of paper tucked inside. His fingers trembled as he unfolded the note.

"When you no longer know which path to take, open the lock inside the pendant, above where my hair is stored."

For a moment, Eclair stared blankly at the note. If ever there was a time he felt utterly lost, it was now. He searched the pendant carefully, finding a tiny notch hidden in the edges. His nail caught the groove, and with a faint click, a hidden compartment revealed itself.

Inside was a small crystal, no larger than a fingernail, and another note.

"Swallow this. But only if you know how to control Omi. Inside lies a piece of you, my son. Whatever it is, I hope it finds you."

Eclair's breath hitched as he read the note. His mother's words felt like a lifeline, though he couldn't understand why. With a sigh, he fetched a glass of water, hesitating briefly before swallowing the crystal.

Minutes passed, but nothing happened. The anticlimax only deepened his despair. He sat on the bed, clutching the pendant tightly. Memories of his mother flooded his mind—the kind smile, the soft lullabies, the day the knights came to take her away. That was the day his suffering began.

Eclair lay down, curling into himself. His father's words echoed in his mind: "If you are of no use to the family, then only death awaits you."

He closed his eyes, wishing for rest. Wishing for escape.

…

…

…

"Yo, David! You coming or what?"

A teasing voice broke through the haze. Eclair's eyes snapped open, his heart pounding.

"Damn, bro, could you fucking wait?" came another voice, accompanied by a boy with a fresh cut on his lip.

Eclair blinked in confusion, the world around him a blur of unfamiliar faces and places. What…?

What was happening?