No me responsabilizo de los poderes utilizados por personajes creados por otros autores, en mi historia mi único personaje propio es el protagonista y el mundo el que se encuentra.
Los otros personajes mencionados hacen parte de sus respectivas franquicias.
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Everon was never a big city, but to the eyes of an eight-year-old, it could seem gigantic. True, I hadn't said it before, but one of the first things I noticed was the difference in scale in this world: the fact that a simple town here could be the size of a city in my previous world was enough to leave me in awe.
"This city is too big… I can't imagine what a whole country must be like."
Its gray stone walls, tall and rough, weren't ordinary stones. Once I saw a villager brag about having obtained one, and the ironic part was that even with several people helping him, they couldn't so much as scratch it. Can you imagine how strong those stones must be to withstand the attacks of cultivators? That's how durable they are.
But that's all they're used for: fortifying defenses or, if you're strong enough, forging a weapon.
Inside the city, cobblestone streets twisted between wooden houses with slanted roofs. They were beautiful—far more beautiful than the houses from my old world. Especially because here, wood was so valuable that diamonds from back there would be worthless in comparison.
The nobles lived on the upper side of the city, near the old bastion, with embroidered banners waving proudly over their doors. Commoners like us lived in the lower district, where the smells of freshly baked bread, hammered iron, and horse manure all blended together. A living, bustling city that always reminded me of how small I was compared to everything around me.
That day, however, Everon didn't seem immense or vibrant. Everything felt… muted.
Let me introduce myself: Kael Daryon. Yes, surname included. I don't usually say it out loud because in this place being a Daryon means nothing. We're commoners. My father, John, is a carpenter. My mother, Martha… well, she was.
One of the best things that can happen to you as a reincarnator is being reborn as a baby.
"What?! You don't believe me?"
Well, it's true. As a baby, you have plenty of time to adapt, to learn, to avoid panicking over being an adult in a world where everything can go to hell in an instant. Being a baby gave me the chance to reorganize my thoughts. Because yes, I was scared.
In my past life, I always dreamed of reincarnating, creating a harem, and becoming an OP being, traveling through infinite worlds. In the end, it was just a dream, not something I actually wanted to happen so suddenly. I didn't even get the chance to prepare myself mentally. I was terrified, and it was that woman who helped me.
I loved my parents in my past life—in fact, I'd like to see them again. But being a baby gave me time to form bonds with my loved ones in this life, and even though I doubt they're truly my parents because of our physical differences, she is, and always will be, my mother in this life.
Martha's smile, my mother's smile, brought me joy. She helped me learn about the world, to find some order in it. I even began to think that if I failed to awaken anything, maybe it would be better just to live a quiet life, away from all the madness—to get married, to have children.
But no. Everything changed. I realized how fragile everything truly is.
The only difference is that in this world, you can change that. You can cultivate. You can live longer. And maybe, just maybe… if the power I suspect I have is real, I could bring her back and see her smile again.
Yes… Martha died. She passed away two weeks ago.
The illness consumed her little by little. You'd think that being from another world, I'd have more immunity, but no. When you're not a cultivator, you're just as fragile as the humans in my previous life. And although I, with the mind of a reincarnated adult, tried to understand what was happening to her, I had no way of helping. No herbs, no healers, no prayers to the aether. Nothing worked. Watching her fade away each day, until she went silent, was the first real scar this world left on me.
The house became hollow. My father didn't speak. Neither did I.
"Kael!" —a tiny voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I turned and saw Lya running toward me, with the widest smile anyone could have.
Lya was a seven-year-old girl, the baker's daughter. She always followed me everywhere, like a shadow. I used to say I didn't like kids, but she was the exception. She had that kind of innocence even a demon would have trouble ignoring.
"Look, I brought you a bun," she said, handing me bread wrapped in a cloth.
I took it without changing my expression. She tilted her head.
"You don't smile like before… what happened?" she asked innocently.
I swallowed hard. I didn't want her to see me weak, but she had already noticed the difference.
"¨I'm busy, Lya. Go back to your dad.¨"
"I don't want to," she said, crossing her arms. "If you're sad, I'll stay with you."
I laughed, a dry laugh that even I didn't recognize.
"You're annoying, you know that?"
"Yeah, but you still like me," she replied, sticking out her tongue and grabbing my hand.
That gesture tightened my chest. Not all kids were unbearable. Lya was… different. Like the little sister I never had.
The nights grew darker after my mother's death. One of those nights, when I couldn't sleep, the voice returned to me.
"Don't blame yourself. It wasn't your fate to save her."
"Shut up!" I growled, staring at the ceiling of the hut. "If you're my subconscious, what do you gain by hiding things from me?"
"What you saw during the Pulse wasn't a failure."
"Then what the hell was it? I have a damn power, but I can't even use it! WHAT IS IT?!"
Silence. Then, a whisper.
"Your affinities are all of them."
I froze.
"All… of them? What does that mean?"
"That your body can contain them. But showing it in public would have been dangerous. That's why nothing appeared."
My heart pounded in my chest. I swallowed hard and thought: "Affinities with all elements…" In every story I had ever read, that meant only one thing: being completely broken.
"Tell me everything!" I demanded, losing patience after everything that had happened.
"No. You're not ready."
"What do you mean I'm not ready?! You're me! You're supposed to know everything!"
"I am an extension of you, yes, but also your guide. Revealing more now would only put you at risk."
I covered my face with my hands. It hurt—not just because of losing my mother, but because even in my own mind, I found secrets. That anger hardened me, made me colder.
Days passed. I tried to feel the power within me, tried to find a way to cultivate it, but without a technique, there was no way. I knew it—it was like having a raging river with no channel to guide it. The subconscious repeated it over and over: "You need a technique."
And I had none.
The choice made my stomach turn, but I made it anyway. I swallowed my pride and went to find the merchant's son: Daren.
Right now, it's useless to believe I'm the best just because I reincarnated. So I went and found him.
He was in the plaza, surrounded by other kids who flattered him as if he were a prince. He was only eight, like me, but his silk clothes, neatly combed blond hair, and air of superiority made him look like he floated above the rest.
"¨I need to talk to you,¨" I said firmly, after taking a deep breath.
He looked me up and down and let out a nasal laugh.
"And what does the Pulse's failure want with me?"
There it was—the cliché of the young master. The worst part about reincarnating into a world where power meant everything.
The others laughed. I felt my blood boil, but I held back.
"Your father is a merchant. He has access to cultivation techniques. I need one, please."
Daren widened his eyes in mock surprise.
"And why should I help you? A nobody like you?"
"Because… I need it."
"Oh, he needs it," he repeated mockingly, hands on his hips. He stepped closer and whispered loud enough for everyone to hear: "¨Kneel, Kael. Kiss my shoes and apologize to everyone for being born weak. Maybe then I'll consider giving you something."
The children's laughter cut into me like knives. I clenched my fists. I could smash his face, but I knew it wouldn't get me anywhere. Not without power.
I swallowed hard. For the first time, I understood what it truly meant to be at the bottom of this world's social ladder. The nobles, the merchants, even commoners with a shred of influence—all of them looked down. And there I was, in the mud.
"I can't imagine what those who rule everything are like… I need strength. Strength!"
That night, as I walked home with my eyes burning from restrained anger, the voice returned.
"Now you understand. In this world, power decides everything. Family, friendship, dignity… without power, they mean nothing."
I didn't answer. I just kept walking, heart hardening.
I needed to do something. To find something that could help me. I couldn't waste any more time.
I had to make the most of everything until I turned sixteen.