The morning sun, still shy behind the eastern peaks, cast long shadows across the practice clearing behind our small house. The air hung crisp and cool, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth.

  This patch of flattened ground, usually reserved for Father’s solitary wind magic drills, was today our arena.

  He stood across from me, a familiar figure hardened by years of adventuring and farm work, yet his kind green eyes held a flicker of apprehension I hadn't seen directed at me before. Not since I’d knocked down trees with a punch.

  "Ready, son?" His voice was low, steadying.

  I nodded, settling into a familiar stance, the one etched into my muscle memory from a lifetime of combat, now translated awkwardly to this smaller frame. My right hand, the one that had shattered against a bear and unleashed a shockwave that defied this world's understanding of Ki, thrummed with controlled power.

  The dam held. The raging river inside me was now a manageable current, thanks to a simple, ridiculous idea born from watching the actual river flow.

  "Just like we talked about," he continued, his gaze sharp. "Channel it. Control the flow. Don't let it explode outward unless you mean to."

  I breathed deep, focusing inward. The Ki stirred, responding to my will, controlling it like liquid light before I guided it along the now-familiar pathways through my limbs. It was potent, humming beneath my skin, a far cry from the chaotic, self-destructive surges of months past.

  "I'll come at you slow," he said, shifting his weight. He wasn't wearing his old adventurer's gear, just worn leather and sturdy pants, but his stance spoke of ingrained readiness. He moved with the quiet efficiency of someone who knew how to handle himself, even without the flash of magic.

  He lunged, a simple, direct strike with an open palm aimed at my shoulder.

  I met it not with brute force, but with the same controlled flow I’d discovered by the river. Guiding the Ki to my forearm, I deflected his hand, the energy absorbing the impact rather than shattering bone. A faint white aura shimmered around my arm for a second before dissipating.

  His eyes widened slightly. "You did it. It held."

  He pressed the attack, faster this time, a series of calculated strikes and feints. I moved with him, a dance of defense and redirection, the Ki a responsive shield, a subtle enhancement to my movements.

  It wasn't the overwhelming power I could unleash at full force, but it was enough. Enough to match his speed, to meet his strikes without breaking. Enough to fight without tearing myself apart.

  There was a moment, a beat in the rhythm of our sparring, where our eyes met. His held a mixture of fatherly pride and genuine astonishment. He was seeing not just his son, but the impossible made real. Ki, controlled. It contradicted everything he knew, everything this world seemed to accept.

  We continued for a while longer, the early morning quiet broken only by the soft thud of controlled impacts and our shared breaths. I didn’t launch any shockwaves, didn't try for the devastating external blasts. This was about precision, about mastering the flow, about proving that the beast inside could be leashed.

  Finally, he stepped back, breathing a little harder now, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Incredible, Niko. Truly incredible." He shook his head, a sense of wonder in his voice. "I... I don't understand how you're doing it, but you are."

  "It's about the flow," I said, the words feeling natural. "Like damming a river, slowing the current."

  He laughed, a warm, genuine sound. "A dam. I guess so. Whatever it is, it's working." He clapped me on the shoulder, careful not to put too much force into it.

  He shifted his weight, his hands held loosely at his sides. "I'll start with a little wind now. Low power. Just enough to get you moving."

  Before the words were fully out, a small, focused gust of air shot from his palm. It wasn't the widespread gale of some mages, but a tight, fast projectile aimed directly at my chest.

  My body reacted instinctively, the controlled Ki flowing to my legs, allowing me to shift just fast enough. The wind spell whipped past, rustling the leaves behind me. Another followed, then another, small, sharp bursts from his hands.

  I dodged the first few, weaving and bobbing, the Ki making this body far more agile than it looked. But then one caught me off guard. It wasn't powerful enough to hurt, more like a firm shove, but it threw me off balance for a second.

  Got hit.

  The simple fact landed with the weight of a solid punch. In my old life, dodging physical attacks was second nature. But magic? Spells that moved with unseen force? This was new. This body might have the Ki, but it lacked the instinct for this.

  A decision solidified. Winning this spar didn't matter. Not right now. This was a chance to learn, to imprint the feel of dodging magic into this body.

  I grinned, a genuine, challenging smirk that felt right on my face, even this young one. "Is that it, Dad? That the fastest your wind can go? Pretty slow for an old adventurer."

  His eyes narrowed, not in anger, but surprise, and a flicker of amusement. "Oh? You think so?"

  The wind spells came faster now, more frequent, little invisible fists punching through the air towards me from different angles. They still weren't high-powered, but the increased speed and unpredictability tested my reactions.

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  I focused the Ki, a steady flow that amplified my senses, my reflexes. I ducked, sidestepped, twisted, the wind spells tearing past inches from my face. It was a frantic dance, pushing the limits of this body's agility, relying on raw speed and instinct refined over a lifetime, now powered by controlled Ki.

  My muscles screamed, the effort pushing the dam, the controlled flow threatening to break its banks. I felt the familiar tingle, the sign I was nearing my current limit, the threshold before the power overwhelmed this fragile vessel and risked shattering it.

  Not yet. I held it steady, a tight rein on the internal storm.

  He kept coming, spell after spell, a relentless barrage of focused wind. I kept dodging, the world narrowing down to the space between his hands and my body, the whisper of air against my skin.

  Now. I felt the edge, the point where holding back was as dangerous as letting go. With a final burst of controlled Ki, I surged forward, not away, but towards him.

  I sprinted across the clearing, a low, fast blur, weaving through the incoming wind spells. One ruffled my hair, another tugged at my clothes, but none connected solidly. My feet pounded the earth, every muscle burning, pushing this body to its absolute peak.

  I closed the distance in seconds, the barrage of spells forcing him to focus on offense. As I reached him, I dropped low, channeling the Ki into my legs and hips, the core of a judo throw. It wasn't a powerful, bone-shattering technique like I could manage in my prime, especially in this child's body, but it was enough.

  My arm hooked behind his knee, my shoulder driving into his hip. He stumbled, caught off balance by the sudden shift from dodging his attacks to launching one of my own. With a grunt, I twisted, leveraging my weight against his.

  It was clumsy, awkward in this small form, but the principle held. He went down with a surprised yelp, landing on his back with a soft thud, the wind knocked out of him for a second.

  I stood over him, breathing hard, the controlled Ki receding, leaving behind only the familiar ache of physical exertion. My arms were intact. My body held. The spar was over.

  He looked up at me from the ground, his chest heaving, a look of utter astonishment on his face. "You... you tripped me? With Ki?" He shook his head, a slow, disbelieving motion. "And you dodged... all that. By the gods, Nikolai. Your mother's going to be beside herself."

  As if summoned, the door to the house opened and Mother stepped out, wiping her hands on her apron. Her brown eyes, ever sharp, immediately took us in. "Everything alright out here? I heard... sounds."

  Father walked towards her, a broad smile still on his face. "Better than alright, Freya. Our son here... he's figured it out. He's learned to control it."

  Mother's expression shifted, hope and apprehension warring on her features. She looked at me, searching for confirmation.

  "I can control it now, Mom," I said, offering her a small, tired smile. "It doesn't hurt anymore."

  Relief washed over her face, visible and profound. She rushed forward, pulling me into a fierce hug, burying her face in my hair. "Oh, Nikolai. Thank the gods."

  The scent of roasted rabbit, savory and rich, mingled with the warm, comforting aroma of fresh-baked bread as we sat around the small wooden table. The single oil lamp flickered, casting dancing shadows that made the simple room feel cozy and safe.

  It was a stark contrast to the sterile light of the arena, or the cold, indifferent darkness of the forest.

  My parents, Gunnar and Freya, sat across from me, their faces still holding traces of the morning's astonishment and relief. They watched me as I ate, a quiet wonder in their eyes.

  "Still can't quite believe it," Gunnar said, shaking his head slightly as he reached for a piece of bread. "Seeing you... seeing you dodge those spells, move like that out there... and that control you showed with the Ki." He looked at my hands, calloused despite their size from the recent training. "Just yesterday, it was a wild thing that broke your arm, and today..." He trailed off, searching for the right word.

  "Today, he wrestled the wind and won," Freya finished softly, a proud smile playing on her lips. She reached across the table, her fingers gently brushing my forearm. "And his arm is perfectly fine." Her expression softened further. "That was all I cared about, little one. That you weren't hurting yourself."

  "It's just practice, Mom," I murmured, the words feeling more natural each time I said them. The familiar ache in my muscles was a dull throb, a testament to nearly a year of relentless training, not painful surges of wild Ki. That ache was something I understood.

  "Practice?" Gunnar chuckled, a warm, genuine sound. "Son, I've seen mages train for years and not show that kind of control over their own energy. Whatever this Ki is... the way you use it, it's different."

  "He moved like a seasoned fighter, Freya," Gunnar said, his earlier bewilderment giving way to a proud grin. "Anticipating my moves, redirecting... he even managed to trip me!" He chuckled again at the memory, and Freya joined in, shaking her head with amusement.

  "I still don't understand it," Freya admitted, her smile fading slightly as she looked at me, a flicker of the morning's apprehension returning. "That power... it feels immense. But I'm so, so glad you found a way, little one. That you're not hurting yourself when you use it."

  "The 'dam' idea," I said, remembering the riverbank revelation. "It just... worked. Slowing the flow inside." It sounded ridiculous saying it out loud, but it was the truth.

  Gunnar laughed, a hearty sound that filled the small house. "A dam. I guess so. Whatever it is, Niko, it's working. And seeing you handle yourself out there, even against my wind..." He paused, a thoughtful look on his face. "This world relies heavily on magic, son. Not many understand Ki anymore. But your power... it's real. And it's yours."

  We talked about simple things – the unpredictable rain that might affect the harvest, the need to mend the fence near the woods, news from the nearest market town carried by a traveling merchant.

  Mundane, ordinary things that in my past life would have been background noise, distractions from the singular focus of training and survival. But here, at this table, shared between these two people, these simple worries and small triumphs felt profoundly important. They were threads weaving a life, a real life, and I was somehow a part of it.

  I watched them, the easy affection between them, a silent language spoken in shared glances and comfortable silences. The way their eyes met when Father recounted my morning's spar, their quiet pride evident despite the lingering bewilderment. The comfortable rhythm of their conversation, finishing each other's sentences, anticipating needs without a word.

  They were simple, kind people who had taken in a stranger in their child's body and offered him warmth, protection, and a love I had only ever craved from a distance. A love I'd seen in the stands after a victory, fleeting and impersonal, never directed truly at me.

  As the laughter filled the small house – a genuine sound, sparked by a simple joke Father made about a clumsy chicken – a different kind of warmth spread through me, one that had nothing to do with the Ki humming in my body or the lamp's flickering light.

  It wasn't the surge of power, but something softer, deeper.

  It was the feeling of belonging, of being seen and accepted, not for my strength or my past, but for who I was in that moment, at that table, with them. It was simple, fragile, and something I would fight to protect.

  This was what it meant to have a family.

  And I savored every second of it, the taste of the roasted rabbit, the warmth of the bread, the sound of their voices, letting it seep into the parts of me that had been empty for so long.