The Mage Reincarnated

In the dark and stifling corridor, women whispered among themselves, their voices barely audible but laden with indignation. 

— Yes… That bastard marked me yesterday. — one of them murmured, rage evident in every syllable. — I hope he drops dead at his next meal. 

— Shhh… Careful! Don't speak so loud. — the second warned, casting a wary glance around without realizing her own voice had risen just as much. 

— You're both speaking too loudly. — the third whispered, eyes wide, her tone firm and serious. A nearly imploring gesture urged more caution. 

— Sorry… 

— I'm sorry… 

Silence fell heavily as slow, dragging footsteps echoed down the corridor. The three held their breath, fearing it was a certain someone. But it wasn't. Just another young woman, struggling to balance a heavy jug in her trembling hands. They exchanged glances, relieved. 

— I thought it was that bastard Jorvihan… — one of them whispered, stepping aside to let the young woman pass, while the others followed her down the narrow corridor. 

Layla stayed behind, holding the empty jug in her arms. Her eyes followed her companions as they walked away, and a bitter expression settled on her face. She murmured to herself, almost inaudibly, words filled with restrained revolt. 

She was a frequent target of Jorvihan. Not because she was weaker than the others, but because she resisted. She hadn't given in like the rest. Hadn't surrendered the absolute submission he craved. Maybe she should… maybe it would be easier. But something in her spirit refused to bow. 

"Not even if he tore off my arms and legs." 

The desire for freedom still burned in her chest, hidden but alive. She dreamed of the day she would return home, remorseful for the mistakes that had led her here. Being a thief was her sentence. Being sold as a slave, her punishment. And all for so little. 

"Why am I thinking about this now?" 

Daylight blinded her momentarily as she stepped over the threshold. Her thin frame was illuminated under the sun—a flicker of life in the darkness of her existence. 

"Because of that strange boy?" 

Layla shook her head. She tried to push the memory away, but she couldn't forget what her eyes had seen. It was too clear to ignore. 

"It's just my mind playing tricks…" 

Outside, Jorvihan stood near the entrance of his own house. The narrow, winding street, filled with shadowy alleys, was his domain. He ruled there like a tyrant, controlling the stalls, the brothels, even the forges that kept the coin flowing. Slave guards protected him—strong men armed with daggers and swords. They were treated like trash, but the promise of food and shelter kept them loyal. And when he allowed it, they could "enjoy" the slave women. 

The burly man looked Layla up and down and, with a lecherous grin, licked his lips. A silent threat. 

"Fail again," his eyes said, "and I'll have fun tearing you apart." 

Layla showed no fear. But she also didn't want to suffer needlessly. She simply nodded and disappeared into the alley. 

She crossed the narrow lane, passing vendors allied with Jorvihan and hooded figures slipping in and out of the shadows. Her steps led her to a side entrance that provided access to the water channel. 

It was a discreet place, quiet, except for the chirping of a few birds in the nearby trees. That channel sustained the slaves and small-time forgers in Qohor's poorest alleys. 

Layla set the jug down and crouched to wash her face. The water was cold, littered with leaves, but brought a fleeting relief. The black stone structure seemed to absorb her pain. For a moment, she almost forgot what awaited her back in the place she refused to call home. 

— You know… This is a good place to rest. 

The voice cut through the stillness. Layla turned with a start. 

A figure stood out, slowly pulling back his hood. A young man. His face was clean, unscarred, his features well-kept. Black hair, dark eyes, and an oddly intense presence. She had seen him before. And the energy surrounding him… something about it was unlike anything Layla had ever known. 

A long silence stretched between them. They simply stared at each other. 

Until he broke it with a tone far too casual for the tension of the moment: 

— Did I scare you again? 

Layla shivered. She felt that dense energy growing even clearer. She stepped back and stumbled against the edge of the fountain. Before she realized it, she had fallen in. 

He almost laughed but kept his expression serious. He knew he was right to follow her here. Layla was different. She could see it. 

— I'm not here to hurt you. — he said, his voice calm, almost cold. — If that's what you're thinking… you don't need to worry. 

Layla flailed in the water, trying to move away. The discomfort of her soaked clothes was quickly replaced by an instinctive fear. 

— Shouldn't I? Who… what are you? — she stammered, words tumbling over each other.

— You can see it, can't you? — He tilted his head, letting his aura become more visible. — Your eyes perceive it. This is a good thing.

She stared at him, confused. None of it made sense.

— Why are you here? What do you want from me? — Her voice hardened, filled with distrust. The same determined expression she wore whenever someone tried to touch her.

Eigan smiled, confirming his suspicion: Layla had a hidden strength.

— Like I said… I was curious. You saw my aura.

Layla blinked, stunned.

"Aura?"

"Magical presence?"

She almost laughed, remembering her brothers talking about witches and monsters, but this… something about it left her speechless.

— What does that mean? — she murmured, stepping out of the fountain. Droplets fell from her clothes, forming small circles on the uneven stone floor.

— It means I'm a mage. And that you have a gift for it… or something close to it. I'm not sure yet. — The subtle excitement in his voice made Layla shiver.

She stared at him, overwhelmed. She felt like she was being dragged into something far bigger than she could comprehend.

"What kind of madness is this?"

Eigan sighed. He had expected confusion. But even so, it was frustrating to see her so lost.

He glanced toward the exit of the refuge. Someone could show up soon. It was best to end the conversation for now.

— Let's leave that for later, okay?

Layla said nothing.

He flashed an enigmatic smile.

— We'll meet again. Then we'll talk more about it. — And, with one last look at her, he added: — See you soon, Layla.

He pulled his hood back up and disappeared into the dark entrance, leaving Layla alone with her thoughts and the sound of water droplets hitting the ground.

She didn't understand what was happening. But somehow, she knew: this encounter was only the beginning.

***

In Xhalor's refuge, Eigan sat in deep concentration, his mind split between his own thoughts and the small Shadow, who purred softly in his lap. The magical bond between them was so strong that, at times, Eigan felt as if they shared the same breath. 

He did everything he could to help his wolf develop a core of his own—or at least something remotely similar. Shadow was a walking enigma, a cub of a magical beast whose past was lost in the shadows. Eigan suspected that his mother had been used in experiments by some Qohor sorcerer. It made sense. 

In his world, magical beasts evolved by devouring other mystical creatures, but here, in Qohor, Shadow had few opportunities for that. Even Eigan himself had no way to test his abilities without diving headfirst into a fight. The thought made him sigh. The more he reflected, the more Valyria became a necessity. 

And then there was Layla. Their first meeting hadn't been a disaster, but it was far from good. It was... exactly as he expected, maybe a little worse. But he wasn't worried. There was time to sort things out with Layla. Just as there was time to help Shadow. 

Eigan opened his eyes, running his hand through the dark, almost sharp fur of the little wolf. Shadow blinked too, visibly exhausted. 

Eigan chuckled softly, a compassionate smile on his lips. 

— Magic is exhausting, furball

Shadow stared at him, letting out a frustrated growl. 

— Sorry — Eigan said, carefully lifting him from his lap. 

As he stood up, he noticed some fur stuck to his pants. He sighed, brushing it off with his hands, then stretched, trying to loosen his stiff muscles. 

His eyes landed on the refuge's gate. How long had he been there? Judging by the amount of mana he had transferred to Shadow, quite a while. The process he had developed was simple: he transferred mana to the pup and waited for the excess to leak back. It was his way of getting Shadow accustomed to the flow of energy, since hunting and combat were still out of the question. 

Outside, the sun shone brightly. Children ran and played on the stone road while men and carts passed by, a few hooded figures among them. Eigan waited for the right moment to leave, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to Shadow. Even though he only looked like an unusual dog, it was best to avoid overly curious eyes. 

It didn't help much. Some children paused their games to watch the black-furred, pointy-eared "dog." Fortunately, none of them approached. They weren't like Xhalor's children, who saw Shadow as a walking plush toy. 

As he approached the house, he knocked a few times until Xhalor's youngest daughter appeared. She smiled at Shadow and, in a quick motion, tried to grab him. But Shadow was learning. With a swift leap to the side, he escaped the small hands, disappearing upstairs. 

Eigan laughed at the girl's disappointed expression and followed soon after. In the hallway, he passed by Rella's door. His fist lifted slightly, but he didn't knock. He knew she hadn't yet gotten over Kaled's death. No one truly gets over losing someone they love. At most, they get used to it. 

He understood that well. His old world had forced him to live among wars. He had seen comrades fall by his side, one after another, and yet he remained standing. With every battle, he knew death was lurking, waiting for the moment he wouldn't rise again. That was how he earned the title he hated so much. Death always followed him, taking the weak and sparing only those who could endure. Persistence was his only choice. 

Letting out a sigh, he headed for his room. Shadow was already waiting by the door, licking himself all over. 

As soon as Eigan opened it, the wolf prepared to jump onto the bed. 

— Don't even think about it! — He pointed to a pile of fabric on the floor. — That's your bed, furball. 

Shadow stared at him, his red eyes glowing in defiance. His snout wrinkled, forming folds in his skin, and he let out a thin growl, almost like an adult roar. 

Eigan rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. 

— Go. 

Shadow hesitated, then gave in, lowering his head with a small "uff" of frustration and exhaustion. 

"He's getting bolder…" Eigan thought, scratching his chin. He sat on the edge of the bed, but he didn't have much time to rest. A knock on the door made him sigh. 

— Come in. 

Xhalor appeared, his eyes shifting between Eigan and Shadow, now asleep. 

— How was your...— he paused, searching for words. — ...training with the beast? 

Eigan glanced at Shadow. 

— Normal. Why the question? — It was Eigan's turn to question him. Well, he knew Xhalor well enough to know it was just simple curiosity. ...Too much curiosity for just one person. — The process is slow and exhausting, just as I expected. 

Xhalor stepped closer and sat on a chair beside the table. 

— ...Is it because you're not comfortable going all out in your training while you're here? 

Eigan almost laughed. The merchant still feared he would set everything on fire? He thought the reason was that Eigan couldn't train properly in the warehouse. 

He was almost right. 

The truth was, Eigan couldn't test any of his abilities in Qohor. Just as Shadow couldn't be a wild beast inside a house with children who treated him like a dog. 

— A wolf needs to hunt to learn how to hunt, doesn't it? — he said, flashing a wide grin. 

Xhalor blinked and then laughed. 

— Fair enough. 

Eigan kept his eyes on him, curious. 

— You weren't surprised when I told you my wolf- 

— Is magical? Of course not! It's your wolf, it makes sense! What kind of magical child would have a regular wolf by his side?! 

Eigan blinked. 

— ...Yeah, that makes sense. 

— Did you come here just to ask me about training? — Eigan questioned him. 

Xhalor stared at the map on the table. It seemed like the map never left that spot. Eigan really didn't bother putting it away. He was always looking at it, studying, memorizing the vast map, the great expanse of Essos. 

— You left earlier today. Where did you go? — Xhalor asked what he really wanted to know. 

It was incredible how Eigan always seemed to spark Xhalor's curiosity. Whether it was through magic or his actions, he was a child who constantly made Xhalor question his real age. 

— I went somewhere… Nothing important. Just wandering around Qohor. 

Xhalor simply nodded. He wouldn't push for a truthful answer. 

After all, the merchant didn't know how to handle the boy. Just the fact that Eigan spoke a little about his powers was enough. And honestly, Xhalor didn't want to feel that sensation again. The same one he felt when Eigan explained and demonstrated magic. 

His lips were dry, his throat parched, and he had to swallow just thinking about it. He wasn't worried about Eigan walking alone in Qohor or even in Valyria. Not anymore. He had been concerned before seeing up close that incredible ball of fire. 

Even though Valyria was a land of ruins, strange creatures, and brutal, terrifying corners, the boy in front of him seemed more frightening because he was close—because he was real. 

Xhalor scratched his beard before getting up from the chair, which creaked. He walked to the wooden door of the room, Eigan's eyes following him. 

— Well. I also wanted to tell you something… There are basins of water in the bathroom. — He opened the door, grimacing. — ...I think you need a bath. 

— […] 

Xhalor left, closing the door with a stifled laugh. 

Eigan just stared at the closed door in disgust before looking at himself. If Xhalor opened the door again, he would catch him sniffing his own armpits. 

***

The night advanced in silence, and Jon slept in his room, the tangled sheets betraying an invisible restlessness. Beside him, Ghost lay curled up like a small living snowball, his white fur contrasting with the darkness of the room. He was smaller than the other wolves, more solitary, weaker—or, as Theon liked to mock, just a fur-covered version of Jon himself. 

But the young Stark's sleep was far from peaceful. He tossed and turned in bed, his breathing heavy, his face marked by expressions of discomfort. Inside his mind, he saw himself soaring through a night sky, an ocean of shadows stretching below. He didn't know how or why, but he could feel the cold wind slicing his skin, the whistling air wrapping around him like a persistent whisper. 

Below, the land stretched out in dense, dark forests, as familiar as they were unknown. On the horizon, a thin spiral of smoke rose into the sky, dancing with the breeze. Something inside him, a primal instinct, awakened at once. Without hesitation, he dove toward the source of the fire, landing on a high branch with surprising lightness—only then did he realize he had no feet, no hands. He wasn't just dreaming… He was hunting. 

And what he found below made his chest tighten. 

The ground was littered with mutilated bodies, tents consumed by flames, and the metallic scent of fresh blood filled the air, thick as mist. Amidst the chaos, a young man fought fiercely against a group of wild men. He was agile, relentless, and Jon wasn't sure if it was fear or fascination that made him watch without moving. The boy seemed to be around his age, maybe a little older, but there was something about him that made Jon shudder—a dense presence, something wrong and, at the same time, profoundly right. 

Then, the stranger lifted his head, and their eyes met. 

"Red eyes"

A shock ran through Jon like a cold blade, and the world shattered. 

He woke with a jolt, his chest heaving, his body cold and drenched in sweat. The room was swallowed by shadows, but it wasn't the darkness that frightened him—it was the memory of those burning irises, seared into his mind like live embers. 

Ghost let out a low growl beside him, his eyes glowing in the dim light, fixed on Jon as if he had shared the same nightmare. 

Jon ran a hand through the wolf's fur, seeking comfort in the creature's soft warmth. Ghost relaxed under his touch, and Jon, in turn, forced a smile—a weak gesture, almost a plea for a truce with fate itself. 

— It was just a dream… A strange dream. 

His voice came out hoarse, and his lips were dry, though not from the cold. He couldn't tell what was more unsettling: the nightmare itself or the feeling that it wasn't just a figment of the night. It felt like a warning. 

The figure of the boy remained there, like a lingering shadow, etched into his mind like an ancient rune. Jon sighed and looked at Ghost, who tilted his head to the side with that ever-curious gaze. 

— Whatever it was… I hope it doesn't happen again, Ghost — The wolf didn't reply, but his silence said enough.