The Mage Reincarnated

Magic… The flow of magic. I could say it was the beginning, the foundation, the primordial essence of everything. But in truth, it was only what I could grasp with a young core in an equally young body. A beginning. A breath of something greater that I could barely touch. 

Fire, water, earth, and air. 

The basic elements, the pillars of magic. Each with its own voice, its own call. 

Fire, of course, was the most seductive. 

All mages… Everyone who carried a mana core in the middle of their chest felt its irresistible pull. Fire was the magic of destruction, of purification by flames, of the heat that consumed everything in its path. But… when the mind quiets, when the mist of impulses dissipates, it's easy to see that fire is not just destruction. 

It is light in the darkness, warmth in the cold, life in the shadows. It was not merely a devourer; it was a transformer. 

…And so were all the elements. Each held secrets, nuances, layers that only revealed themselves to those willing to look beyond the obvious. 

It was my master who first cleared my mind. With a few flicks to the forehead, to be fair, but each one carried a lesson. 

He was kind in his own way, but who needs kindness when seeking the truth? Sometimes, a good hit to the head is exactly what you need to get your thoughts in order. And in the end, I couldn't blame him. After all, nothing wakes the mind quite like a well-placed strike, does it? 

With my core still young, using the fire element was easier. 

The explanation is that some are born with this spark, this intrinsic connection to an element. 

Me? I was born with fire running through my veins. 

Creating and controlling elements, however, were distinct things. Creation required mana, and the cost was high for those with limited reserves. It depended on the potential of the element, the complexity of the form, the number of times you conjured it. 

Manipulation, on the other hand, required little or no mana but drained the mind. Controlling a rebellious flame was like taming a wild beast: you had to merge with it, feel its essence, become part of it. Or perhaps, let it become part of you. 

I needed space. A place where I could isolate myself, where the silence was absolute and the peace unshakable. 

Luckily, Xhalor lent me his largest warehouse. Which was… almost that. 

A vast space, full of shadows and echoes, where I could lose myself without fear of causing damage. Of course, it was still surrounded by wagons, crates, and tools, but that was just a minor detail. 

I only needed to be careful not to set everything around me on fire. 

I don't need to say how many times he had to remind me of that. 

"Careful! Careful with my warehouse! Just don't burn everything down… Please." 

Does he really think I'd set everything on fire? 

"When he had that reaction..." Well, I wouldn't blame him. He wasn't familiar with it. Wait... I think no one here would be!? 

There, sitting on the cold ground, legs crossed and hands resting on my thighs, I let the mana flow. It came easily, like a river that had been dammed for too long. 

The days I spent before the Dothaki and after the Dothaki with Xhalor were of relief. A necessary rest.

I wasn't wrong to think that being sold off by my damn grandmother was a blessing. Of course… If I weren't a reincarnated soul, I'd be in the worst situations this world could offer. 

After all, this world seemed like an endless sea of cruelty. Fortunately, everything turned out fine. Even when I was certain I could handle this world alone. Still, having a roof over my head was comforting! 

…Home? 

The word echoed in my mind like a distant bell. It was a strange feeling whenever I caught myself thinking about it. 

What would it be like to see those people again? That damned old woman? 

In the end, this world wasn't mine. Neither the home nor the people. It made no sense to grow attached, to care so much. 

And yet, when Kaled left, I felt a sharp pain, a sadness I hadn't expected. I hadn't spent much time with him, but… He was my friend. The only one I had since… 

Well, forget it. 

I shook my head, pushing the thoughts away. 

Mana resumed flowing around me, transparent and luminous, like a veil wrapping around me. Then, I began feeding it to become something more… 

Into fire! 

A living, pulsating fire that emerged as an extension of myself. The heat particles swirled in spirals, forming flaming currents that danced in the air. My hair stirred with the heat, and the fire grew, taking shape. 

Unlike a simple fireball, this time I didn't try to control it rigidly. I let it flow, let it find its own form. 

The result was a floating serpent of molten lava, slowly spinning around me. My eyes followed its movement, hypnotized, until I extended my hand and the flame stilled in my palm. I took a deep breath, slowly rising to my feet, and watched it. 

Majestic… Always majestic.

The art of shaping an element was to transform it into something more. Like I did with fireballs. But this time, it was different. The amount of mana was lower, and the control more subtle. Since I had begun training, my body had been an obstacle. A budding core, and my mind was divided in two.

My hand moved around it, fingers gliding smoothly as if weaving the air. Molding it into a sphere of lava that pulsed, drops of molten rock escaping and returning in an endless cycle of creation and destruction.

I stretched out my arm, fingers locking beside the sphere, while the other hand approached, two fingers extending towards the agitated core. I took a deep breath, feeling the heat, the energy, and then pulled my fingers back, as if drawing a bowstring.

It began to take shape. Gaining form, gaining life. As my fingers moved back, a trail of fire followed.

From the sphere, a blazing arrow emerged, a bow of living fire forming before me.

I aimed at the warehouse's large gate and, with a sigh, released the arrow. It didn't hiss like a normal arrow; instead, it whistled fiercely. The arrow shone brightly, cutting through the air with precision, but before it could strike the gate, it dissipated into sparks.

Sweat dripped down my face, my body trembled, legs and arms weak like twigs. I crouched, panting, trying to catch my breath. I was improving more and more, but growth demanded a price from this body.

"Well… Well… That was a big step, Eigan," I murmured victoriously to myself, a satisfied smile on my face as I watched the lingering sparks slowly fade while the air remained warm from the fire arrow's passage.

Before I could further appreciate my achievement, the gate opened with a loud creak, echoing through the space.

Xhalor stepped in, his gaze fixed on me, accompanied by an amused smile.

— Did I arrive too late for your presentation? — he asked, his voice teasing.

I almost laughed but held back, merely shaking my head.

— Barely. If you had arrived earlier, you might have passed out this time!

He froze for a moment, as if processing my words, then blinked slowly before approaching me.

— Funny — he said, extending a hand toward me.

I accepted the gesture, rising with his support, mirroring his smile.

— What is it? I thought my magic scared you to the point of not wanting to barge in like this. — I asked, with a teasing look. 

He scratched the back of his neck, his eyes closed for a moment, before taking a few steps back and replying: 

— Of course… Of course… I have no idea what you're capable of. I don't want to stick around and suddenly get burned along with the warehouse!? 

He seemed to notice the faint smell of something burning in the air. 

I wasn't sure if he was being ironic or sincere. In fact, I wasn't sure about anything… But that gave me a good idea of why he had given up the warehouse so easily. 

— It's not quite like that… — I looked at him for another moment but decided to let it go, letting out a light chuckle. — Forget it. 

He laughed, his voice echoing along. 

— I talked to some acquaintances. They'll be making the trip in a few days. So, I thought… — he started to say, but I raised my hand, interrupting him. 

— I appreciate that, but… — my gaze shifted to the ceiling, lost in thought. — I still have something to do here. 

[…] 

Silence hung between us, and when I lowered my gaze, I saw his confused expression. 

— ...I've decided to stay a little longer! 

If Valyria was as dangerous as they said, I couldn't risk leaving so soon. Besides, Shadow… He needed time to grow. Not just him, but me too. The fight against those Dothaki was still fresh in my mind. 

I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling the weight of my decision. 

I couldn't push my core too hard. I had no idea how many dangerous situations could arise, and there was no one to back me up. Shadow, still just a pup, was more of a concern than a help… And, when thinking of someone useful… 

…Maybe there was someone? 

If Valyria was a place of ruins, terrible creatures, and its dreaded magic, I would need someone who could somehow match me. Someone who could understand and manipulate the magical environment around us. Or, at the very least, someone with a strong perception of it! 

Yes, yes!! 

A grin spread from ear to ear—because I already had someone in mind. 

The merchant shot me a strange look, as if trying to decipher my thoughts. He'd have to put up with me for a little longer. Honestly, I couldn't blame him for that look. 

After all, who else would put up with someone so out of place? 

***

The Iron Throne, a monstrosity forged from crude, broken, and twisted swords, some still marked by the fire of war, welded together to form an imposing and uncomfortable seat. It was a symbol of power, yes, but also of pain and sacrifice. Something coveted by many, conquered by few. 

Kings of all kinds had sat there. Some just, others cruel, but few had ever truly appreciated that chair. 

How could anyone appreciate a throne made of rusted blades? 

For some, it was a blessing; for others, a curse that cut both flesh and soul. Some even said the throne rejected certain kings—cutting them, leading them to their deaths. 

Robert Baratheon knew that well. And there he was, at the end of his days, seated on the throne like a man trapped in a cage of steel and iron. His once-imposing figure was now marked by decadence, his fat ass glued to that wretched seat. He knew many thought so just by the way they looked at him. 

He hated it more than he hated the people around him—and he hated many of them. His gaze swept the hall with disdain, throwing looks as sharp as blades. He judged, cursed, despised, all without needing to open his mouth. His countless grimaces spoke more than words ever could. 

Outside, King's Landing boiled like a cauldron of misery. The streets were a tangled mess of filth and despair, where commoners fought to survive among rats and excrement. The stench was unbearable, an odor that invaded the nostrils of anyone daring to set foot in the city's center, a constant reminder of the rot that plagued Westeros. 

Meanwhile, inside the castle walls, the scene was different. Golden tapestries adorned the walls, royal guards in gleaming armor maintained order, and the heavy air of opulence contrasted with the disdain Robert felt for it all. 

In the throne room, nobles clustered like vultures, their whispers dripping with intrigue and their eyes full of hidden intentions. Robert, tired of every face he saw, let out a low whisper, almost inaudible, as if speaking to himself. 

He lamented the monotonous, hypocritical life he was forced to endure. His thoughts drifted to the days of glory, when he wielded his warhammer and crushed enemies without a second thought. He dreamed of epic battles, of the freedom that only war could bring, or of the idea of exploring unknown lands, far from the chains of the throne. 

— More wine! — he roared, his voice booming through the hall like thunder. A blond servant rushed to obey, his eyes full of fear and submission. Robert didn't care about the fear he inspired; in fact, he seemed to feed on it. 

His gaze then fell upon Cersei Lannister, his wife. She sat with her usual impeccable posture, but her green eyes hid a disdain as deep as his own. They exchanged a few words, as they always did—empty phrases, devoid of real meaning. 

Sarcasm and veiled insults were more common between them than sharing the same bed. Robert knew their marriage was a farce, a union that existed only to maintain the appearance of his reign. Beyond that, there was the Lannisters' loyalty, which he hated as much as he hated anyone in that hall. 

Then his eyes landed on Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King. The old lord stood in the corner of the hall, watching young Prince Joffrey, heir to the throne and the supposed son of Robert and Cersei. 

There was something in Jon's expression—a shadow of disgust, perhaps, or fear. He seemed to be on the verge of uncovering a secret that weighed on his soul, a truth that could change the fate of Westeros forever. 

Jon didn't know, however, that other eyes watched him in the same way—or worse. The filth wasn't limited to the royal family; it spread like a disease through every corner of the realm. 

Robert closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing his temples with thick, weary fingers. These endless meetings drained him, sucking the life out of him like a parasite. 

"Ned should be the one sitting here," he thought, remembering Eddard Stark, his old friend, the man he considered more of a brother than anyone in that hall. 

Ned was the only one who could bear the weight of living among snakes. Robert, even with all the power and comfort the throne provided, longed for a life he felt he had lost forever. He would give anything to be the fierce warrior he once was again. 

— Fuck this! Just get on with it! — he growled, his voice echoing. His eyes scanned the hall, staring at each of those faces that all looked the same—full of falseness and ambition. 

"Snakes... All of them," he thought, as the weight of the throne seemed to cut him even deeper. 

***

The mere thought of Layla made Eigan writhe in bed, as if her name carried a weight that forced him to adjust. He knew he needed to find her, but that wasn't all. Convincing her was the real battle. 

Finding the slave wouldn't be difficult; he had the time and resources for that. But convincing her? That was another story. Convincing someone, especially a slave, to trust him and follow him to Valyria? It seemed like an impossible task. 

— What could I even say? — staring at the dark ceiling of the room. — That I'm a mage and I want her to join me on my adventures? 

He knew how that would sound. She would probably laugh at him, or worse, call him crazy. Eigan didn't care much about the label "crazy." He was sure he would be considered that sooner or later because of his actions and choices. But being ignored or rejected by someone he needed? That was different! 

With a sigh, he leaned back on the bed, propping himself up on his elbows until he was sitting. At the edge of the bed, Shadow, his wolf pup with magical inclinations, let out a low, sleepy growl. 

— There's a lot to do… — Eigan muttered, reaching out to stroke Shadow's thick, dark fur. 

The wolf shuddered, curling up more comfortably under his master's touch. Eigan pulled back his hand, resting it on his thigh, and closed his eyes for a moment. He needed to meditate, to strengthen his body and absorb mana slowly. But this time, he allowed himself to go deeper, diving into his inner core. 

In his mind, he floated in an endless white space. At the center, his mana sphere pulsed, but it was not intact. Cracks and deep marks covered its surface—a reflection of the battles and challenges Eigan had faced. 

— It's better than before — he reflected, placing his palm over the sphere. 

It shone intensely, and his eyes reflected the same light. A fleeting smile crossed his face before he withdrew his hand. His thoughts, however, quickly turned to Valyria. The lost ruin was a place of mysteries and dangers, but also of opportunities. It was what he had always wanted: a chance to venture without the chains of duty and sacrifice. 

— At least I don't have to be the damned hero anymore — he said to himself, recalling the times he had to sacrifice himself for causes that weren't his own. 

This time, he wanted to live for himself, to take his own risks. 

When he opened his eyes, Eigan was back in the room. He made a gesture with his hand, opening and closing his palm before standing up. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with air, and then extended his hand. Flames began to dance in his palm, radiating heat as if he had plunged it into lava. 

— I need to master the other elements… — he said, watching the flames with a mix of fascination and frustration. 

Water, earth, air… Each element required different control, and Qohor was not the ideal place to practice them. Maybe Valyria was the answer. There, away from the city's restrictions, he could explore his full potential. 

With a blink, he conjured a fireball, quickly shaping it into a flaming bow and arrow. But the form dissolved almost as fast as it had been created, dispersing into sparks that fell to the ground. 

— Still exhausting… — Eigan sighed, feeling the weight of exhaustion on his shoulders. — I can only do it once a day? 

There was a hint of frustration in his voice, but also a touch of amusement. He knew mastering magic was a journey, not a destination. Eigan staggered to the bed, resting against its edge as sweat dripped down his face. A defiant smile crossed his lips. 

— It's not like it's the first time — he thought, running his tongue over his dry lips. — Not at all!! 

He looked at Shadow, who shifted sleepily on the bed, opening one eye to stare at him. 

It really wasn't. 

He was being tested by his own body. But this was the path he trusted himself to walk. 

He would find Layla, convince her, teach her, and then… Once his body was stronger and more mature, Valyria would be his first destination. 

Shadow yawned, stretching his front paws and arching his back like a cat. Eigan smiled, sinking his hand into the wolf's soft fur. 

— Until then, furball — he said, his tone filled with determination that echoed in the silent room. — We have a lot to work on. A lot to learn. And, of course, a lot to hunt. — He winked, and Shadow responded with a low growl, as if in agreement.