The next time she woke, an entire week had passed. Emilia’s soul couldn’t stay awake for long in such a young body.

  Slowly, her newborn senses sharpened. Vision grew a little clearer. Sounds became easier to place. And every time she managed to focus, she tried to bring some order to her movements—willing her tiny limbs to respond.

  The results were… inconsistent at best. Awkward twitches, half-controlled flails. Infuriatingly clumsy. But with no other choice, she endured.

  Even while struggling to master her tiny body, Emilia never stopped watching the mana that shimmered around her. She searched for patterns, some hidden rhythm in its flow—but it refused to obey. Mana was everywhere, scattered without order, drifting like dust caught in a sunbeam.

  Still, it wasn’t spread evenly. Certain corners of the house seemed thick with it, while others felt almost empty. Most curious of all, the strongest concentration of mana particles clung to the strange piece of fabric that served as a window.

  It wasn’t quite cloth. Its surface was wavy and faintly greasy, with stray fibers sticking out. When the wind pressed against it, the whole sheet bulged and shivered with a low hum. In the rain, droplets tapped against its oily skin before sliding down in thin rivulets. Here and there, the fabric had worn thin, dotted with pinholes where faint beams of light—and mana—seeped through.

  The smell clung to it: old grease, animal fat gone slightly rancid with age. That sour tang mixed with the scent of rotting wood from the window frame, with dust, dampness, and stale air.

  The odor distracted her, and with it came a realization—babies lose focus incredibly easily. No wonder she struggled to hold her attention on the drifting mana.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  As for the window cloth, Emilia theorized the wind was to blame. Maybe it constantly brought in fresh mana, crashing against the fabric until some of it stuck, wedging itself deep into the threads.

  Seeing the world through a baby’s eyes was… unique. Everything loomed impossibly large. The people were giants. Everyday objects, towering monoliths. Her own body, clumsy and weak, could only reach for them in vain—its nerves still fumbling toward control.

  On her third awakening, almost three weeks after her birth, Emilia was growing weary of the endless struggle with her body. The objects in the small room around her no longer held much interest, and everything felt exhausting—both for her fragile body and for her soul.

  So she made a decision: she closed her eyes and let herself relax. She didn’t want to fall asleep, though. She had no idea how much time would slip by if she did.

  “If I keep dozing off for days at a time, I’ll never get the chance to develop my magical skills. That’s what I prayed for, over and over, when I begged the Goddess—to be reborn in a world of magic, to grow strong in it. I can’t afford to waste this chance sleeping my life away!”

  So Emilia loosened her grip on her thoughts, letting her consciousness drift. She wasn’t aiming for anything specific—she just wanted to rest. She felt her skin, the weight of her tiny body, but none of that mattered. Slowly, rest deepened into something more.

  Her mind let go. Specific thoughts fell silent.

  And then, little by little, other thoughts, usually buried deep in her subconscious, began to rise. She made an effort not to cling to them. Just floating, empty, half-aware.

  Perhaps half an hour passed this way, before a familiar voice rang clear in her mind:

  “Congratulations, Emilia. You have unlocked the skill Meditation.”

  Emilia quickly sent back thanks in her thoughts, then focused on her status:

  Name: Emilia

  Skills:

  Mana Sense 2/100

  Meditation 0/100

  “Aha! So Mana Sense is improving. And now I’ve got two whole skills—even though I can’t even walk yet!” Her heart leapt with joy.

  After that, she let her imagination wander. She daydreamed of saving innocent princes from wicked princesses, of dueling brave knights and cowardly fire-breathing dragons—childhood fantasies from her old life on Earth.

  And, without realizing it, she drifted into sleep.