Velgar’s fifth birthday in that new world arrived with the same inevitability as a lunar cycle. For the elves of El’thera, it was a day of subdued celebration—a rite of passage marking the child’s official entry into the first phase of communal learning. For Velgar, it meant yet another temporal hurdle to overcome, another anniversary of his gilded imprisonment in a body that grew with exasperating slowness compared to his ancient mind.

  The morning began with the usual routine, but something in the air felt different. Maelyra and Eluthien exchanged knowing glances, and an unusual cheerfulness permeated the house. They presented their gifts—a small flute carved by Eluthien and an amulet featuring a healing stone polished by Maelyra—but their smiles hinted at something more.

  “Today, no lessons, Velgar,” announced Maelyra as she tousled his hair—a gesture he still tolerated with some difficulty, though he had learned not to resist it. “We have a little surprise for you.”

  “A surprise?” he asked, immediately activating his mental protocols of analysis. Surprises were uncalculated variables: potentially inefficient or even dangerous. Yet, learning to manage them was part of his mask.

  “Exactly,” Eluthien confirmed, with a rare glimmer in eyes that were usually severe. “A place you’ve never been—a special spot we reserve for important occasions.”

  Velgar feigned childlike curiosity, though inside he was already formulating hypotheses. An ancient hidden temple? A secret glade used for specific rituals? Perhaps a part of the forest forbidden to children?

  The journey turned out to be longer than expected. They left the familiar village paths and ventured into a region of the En’ternal Forest that Velgar had never mentally mapped. The trees here were older, the trunks more massive, and the roots formed natural arches draped in luminous moss with flowers that seemed to sing with every whisper of the wind. The very air was different—thicker and imbued with a purer, almost primordial mana.

  Velgar observed everything with his usual analytical hunger, yet also with a peculiar sense of… wonder. It was a word his logical mind usually rejected, but it was the only one he could find. The biological and magical complexity of the place was astounding. He noticed creatures he had never seen before—small, luminous beings that appeared to be made of pure, condensed energy.

  “What are those?” he asked, pointing at a swarm of tiny blue spheres of light dancing around a giant flower with crystalline petals.

  “They’re Lumine,” Maelyra explained sweetly. “Minor spirits of pure mana. They feed on the residual energy of enchanted flowers. They aren’t dangerous—just very shy.”

  “It is said that their presence indicates a place where the veil between our world and the etheric plane is thinner,” added Eluthien.

  Velgar registered the information. Spirits of pure mana? Etheric plane? Fascinating concepts. Mana was not merely an energy field—it appeared to have its own ecology, its own hierarchy of beings. He knew he would have to delve deeper.

  Finally, after nearly an hour of walking, the vegetation suddenly opened up to reveal a spectacle that could take the breath away even from the soul of an Emperor. Before them stretched a vast lake, as expansive as a small inland sea, its waters so clear and still they formed a perfect mirror reflecting the sky. But this was no ordinary water. It radiated its own light—a silvery, soothing glow that seemed to emanate from deep within. Along its banks grew trees with trunks of transparent crystal and flowers that changed color with every breath of the wind. The air pulsed with a mana so potent and harmonious that Velgar felt it seep into his body like a warm balm.

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  “This is the Lake of Silent Stars,” Maelyra whispered reverently. “A sacred place, where it is said that the Goddess Elysiara comes to rest and reflect herself on new moon nights.”

  “It’s protected by ancient magic,” continued Eluthien. “Only those with pure hearts—or those accompanied by the village guardians—can ever find its path.”

  Velgar was… struck. An inadequate term, but it was the only word he could muster. He had witnessed technological marvels that defied imagination, walked on Mars, observed nebulae from stellar command bridges—but nothing possessed that kind of peace. That intrinsic beauty which was not constructed or designed, but simply existed.

  They approached the shore. The water was cool to the touch yet not cold; it almost seemed alive. He saw other creatures swimming beneath the surface: fish made of liquid light, small turtles with gems embedded in their shells pulsing in a slow rhythm, and even elegant beings resembling sea serpents, their scales reflecting every color of the rainbow.

  “Those are the Guardians of the Lake,” explained Eluthien, noting his awed gaze. “Celestial Mana Serpents. They never attack but ensure that no one pollutes or disturbs the harmony of this place. They are direct manifestations of the Goddess’s will.”

  Velgar sat by the shore, watching the shimmering dance of light on the water. His parents sat beside him in a silence brimming with affection. Maelyra began to weave a small crown with the luminous flowers from the bank, while Eluthien simply gazed at the horizon—a rare expression of serenity softening a usually austere face.

  And it was in that moment that something shifted. Perhaps it was the overwhelming beauty of the place, or the pure mana surging around him, or the unexpected stillness of sharing this time with the two people he was beginning—against all his previous logic—to consider family. A tiny crack formed in the thick emotional armor he’d built over two lifetimes. A warm, unfamiliar feeling, almost painfully intense, gripped his chest. Was it gratitude? Emotion? Happiness? He couldn’t tell. But for the first time, he didn’t try to analyze or suppress it. He simply let it be. It was like hearing a musical note never before experienced, fragile yet breathtaking—a micro-fracture, imperceptible to the outside yet deeply significant within.

  They spent hours in that surreal peace. They ate the sweets Maelyra had brought, listened to Eluthien recount ancient elven legends connected to the lake, and watched the magical creatures move through water and air. This time, Velgar’s questions sprang not just from analytical curiosity but from a genuine impulse to understand this world that continued to astonish him. He learned about the Living Glyphs—natural runes that appeared on the bark of crystal trees and could foretell minor future events—and about the Etheric Dusts, remnants left by higher spirits that could be used in advanced alchemy.

  As the sun began to dip, tinting the lake with hues of pink and gold, they set off on the journey back. Velgar remained silent—not the usual calculated silence, but a quiet filled with newfound depth and reflections that went beyond strategy.

  That evening, after a quiet dinner, Maelyra put him to bed while singing an elven lullaby about stars and dreams. Velgar fell asleep almost immediately, cradled by the melody and the emotional weariness of the day.

  But in the dead of night, while his elven body rested, his consciousness began to drift away. It wasn’t a dream. It was a familiar sensation—the same one he had experienced at the moment of his death on Earth and his subsequent rebirth here. It was the feeling of detachment, of weightlessness, the surrender of his physical form.

  He found himself floating once again in a white void. Infinite. Silent. The space between worlds—the realm of the gods. He felt prepared this time. He believed he knew what to expect.

  Yet when he looked down at himself, his breath caught in his throat. He was no longer confined to the small, fragile body of a five-year-old elf. He was himself again. The Emperor. He could feel his stature, the familiar strength in muscles honed over decades, the distinctive weight of an adult body tempered by a lifetime of command and discipline. He wore his standard uniform—a dark, almost military suit with a sharp, utilitarian cut, a high collar grazing his jaw, and composite padding on the shoulders. Delicate lines of energetic blue, resembling circuits or glowing tattoos, ran along his arms and chest, pulsing faintly. His hair was short, meticulously slicked back, an almost-white silver that contrasted sharply with his chiseled, austere features—high cheekbones, a defined jaw, and penetrating eyes that had seen too much. This was the face and body of the man who had once dominated the Earth.

  He had returned—if only his soul—to its original form. And he wondered, with a cold shiver that contrasted with the warmth he’d felt by the lake just a few hours before: What do they want from me now?