The ruin didn't change much day to day, but Alaric did.
At first, the cavern had felt like a tomb—cold, damp, dripping with whispers of the past. But now the moss was greener, the fungi brighter, the air fresher. It was as if the place itself was responding to him, adjusting to the steady rhythm of life and death that pulsed through his tiny body.
Of course, Ashen noticed too. The pale knight studied everything with his usual silence, silver eyes lingering on details that Alaric himself barely understood. Sometimes he walked the perimeter of the chamber, fingertips brushing the cracked stone, pausing at the altar in the center. He never spoke. He never touched more than he needed to. But his presence alone made the cavern feel less empty.
Alaric, on the other hand, had no intention of spending his days lying around like a normal baby. Not when he could feel the hum of mana tugging at him every time he blinked. He'd experimented in secret, letting little sparks of warmth drift out from his chest into the moss. Half the time, it fizzled. The other half, something sprouted where it shouldn't.
But Ashen wasn't blind.
One morning, the knight crouched in front of him, one pale hand pressing against the moss. Light spilled outward, not wildly, but calm, steady, controlled. The green glowed brighter for a moment before settling back into stillness. Then he withdrew his hand and looked at Alaric.
The message was clear. Your turn.
Alaric groaned in his head.
Seriously? No warm-up? No milk first? This guy doesn't know how to schedule lessons. Peak child abuse.
Still, he placed his palm against the moss, golden eyes narrowing in concentration.
The warmth inside him stirred. Threads uncoiled.
And then the cavern erupted.
Vines shot across the wall, climbing like snakes, fungi swelling into massive glowing lanterns that bathed the chamber in blinding green light. The once-calm ruin transformed into a jungle in the span of seconds.
Alaric's jaw dropped.
"…!"
Okay, that escalated fast.
Before the plants could reach the ceiling, Ashen's other hand slammed down. Cold mana surged outward, slicing through the growth. The vines shriveled instantly, fungi collapsing in on themselves until only the moss remained, limp and wilted.
Silence pressed in.
Alaric turned his head toward Ashen, his tiny face scrunched into the picture of guilt.
Ashen didn't move, didn't frown, didn't scold. He simply pressed Alaric's hand flat against the moss again, his own cold fingers steadying the boy's wrist.
Again.
Alaric puffed out his cheeks in protest, flailing one arm.
"…Eh! Eh!"
You could've at least given me instructions first! I'm not a professional gardener here!
But he knew resistance was pointless.
So, grumbling to himself, he tried again.
The day became a cycle of trial and error.
Sometimes he poured too much mana, and the moss swelled like a balloon before bursting. Sometimes too little, leaving the glow weak and unsatisfying. Each time, Ashen corrected him with the same unshakable patience, guiding his hand, adjusting his angle, waiting for him to find the balance.
By midday, Alaric was drenched in sweat. His small body shook from the effort, his hair sticking to his forehead.
"…Ghh."
I'm done. This is illegal baby labor. Somebody call social services.
He flopped backward onto the moss dramatically, limbs spread wide.
Ashen didn't react. He simply waited, kneeling nearby, gaze steady.
Minutes passed.
Finally, with a groan that sounded more like a squeaky toy than a complaint, Alaric rolled over and placed his palm on the moss again.
"…Hhh."
Fine. But you owe me a nap later.
This time, the mana trickled instead of bursting. The moss pulsed faintly, then steadied into a healthy green glow.
Alaric froze. Then blinked.
"…Hehh."
His smirk was smug enough to light the room on its own.
That's right. Baby prodigy, at your service.
Ashen's expression didn't change, but his silence carried weight. Approval, faint but unmistakable.
And that was enough.
The lessons didn't end with moss.
That evening, Ashen drew his sword and, with one clean flick, sliced a shallow line across his own palm. Blood welled faintly.
Alaric's eyes went wide.
"…!"
Hold on—what?! You're bleeding on purpose? What if I screw this up? That's not a scratch, that's a lawsuit waiting to happen!
But Ashen extended the hand without hesitation, steady, expectant.
Alaric swallowed hard (or made a noise like it, anyway) and pressed his tiny palm against the wound.
The warmth spilled out again, steady this time. The cut sealed, the skin smoothing over as though it had never been there.
Alaric blinked. Then grinned proudly.
"…Hehh."
See? Told you. Natural healer.
Ashen glanced at the closed wound, then at him. The knight's silence lingered longer than usual before he finally pulled his hand back.
No praise. No nod. Just… acknowledgment.
And for Alaric, that was better than words.
Later that night, curled up in his swaddle, Alaric stared at the ceiling as the fungi painted faint light across the stone. His chest still hummed faintly from the day's training, the threads of mana not yet quiet.
Okay… maybe this whole "life magic" thing isn't the worst. Still exhausting, though. And unfair. I deserve hazard pay.
He yawned wide, eyelids drooping.
Tomorrow, I'm demanding milk first. Priorities, zombie-dad.
His thoughts faded as sleep dragged him under, the ruin's hum lulling him into dreams.
Ashen sat where he always did, sword across his knees, silver eyes steady.
The cavern glowed faintly around them, moss pulsing with quiet life.
And for the first time, Alaric felt like he'd actually achieved something in this strange new world.
The next day brought new challenges.
Ashen didn't bother with greetings. He simply placed a shriveled fungus on the moss before Alaric and stepped back, silver eyes steady.
Alaric blinked down at the limp cap, then up at the knight.
"…Eh?"
Really? A plant? What am I, your personal gardener now?
Still, he reached out, tiny fingers pressing against it. Warmth stirred inside him, spilling into the soft flesh.
The fungus twitched, then pulsed with light, color seeping back into its stalk until it stood tall again. Its glow lit the chamber faintly, steady and soft.
Alaric's golden eyes widened, his mouth opening in awe. Then he smirked, cheeks round with pride.
"Hehh!"
Look at me. Baby farmer of the year. Next stop: world's youngest botanist.
Ashen gave no outward reaction. He simply removed the fungus and set down another, dimmer, weaker.
Alaric groaned loudly.
"…Ghh."
What is this, agricultural boot camp?
But he did it again. And again. And again.
By the end of the session, half the cavern glowed brighter than ever, its moss and fungi healthier than they'd been in years, maybe centuries.
Mistakes still came, of course.
One attempt ended with vines wrapping around his own leg, tugging until Ashen cut them away with a clean sweep of his sword. Another time, he accidentally healed a crack in the stone wall, sealing it so neatly that the rune carved there vanished completely.
Alaric winced at that one.
"…Eh."
Uh… sorry about erasing history, I guess?
Ashen didn't react, but his gaze lingered on the wall for a moment longer than usual before he turned back to Alaric.
And then came the suit.
That evening, Ashen returned from a hunt with his sleeve torn open, pale threads dangling loose.
Alaric scowled immediately.
"…Eh!"
Seriously? You walk around like that? People are gonna think you got in a fight with a laundry line.
Before Ashen could even sit down, Alaric crawled over, slapped his tiny palm against the tear, and pushed mana into it.
The threads twitched, knitting themselves together. The fabric drew closed, weaving back into smooth black. Within seconds, the sleeve looked as good as new.
Alaric leaned back, panting, then grinned smugly, eyes gleaming.
"Hehh!"
That's right. I can do clothes too. Baby tailor, reporting for duty.
Ashen stared down at the sleeve, then at him.
There was no smile. No nod. But a pause stretched between them, heavier than silence.
Alaric smirked wider, chest swelling faintly.
You're welcome, zombie-dad.
But if healing moss and mending cloth felt easy, precision was harder.
Sometimes he poured too much mana into a cut, closing it so fast it scarred. Other times he gave too little, leaving wounds half-done. Each mistake drained him more, his little body collapsing onto the moss in a sweaty heap.
"…Ghh."
Nope. I quit. Magic is cancelled. Call me when dinner's ready.
Ashen never pushed, never scolded. He just sat and waited, silver gaze unblinking.
Irritatingly patient.
And somehow, that patience worked.
Minutes later, Alaric would groan, roll back over, and slap his hand down again, grumbling all the while.
"…Hhh."
Fine. But only because you're staring at me like that.
Eventually, the breakthroughs came.
He sealed a scratch on his own knee without sprouting extra moss. He revived a patch of fungi without accidentally lighting up half the cavern. He even managed to close one of Ashen's practice cuts without leaving so much as a mark.
Each success left him buzzing, his chest humming with warmth that refused to fade.
"…Hehh."
Yes. Finally. Natural-born prodigy unlocked.
That night, when he flopped onto the moss bed, something in the cavern felt different.
The air was fresher. The glow steadier. Even the damp chill seemed less biting.
He noticed, of course.
Lying back, stubby arms crossed, he smirked up at the ceiling.
"…Hehh."
Not bad. Baby healer, baby farmer, baby tailor. At this rate, I'll be charging rent.
Ashen didn't reply. He just shifted closer, sword across his knees, silent as always.
But Alaric felt it anyway. That quiet, steady acceptance.
This wasn't just survival anymore.
This was growth.
The first step toward something bigger.
When sleep finally tugged at his eyes, Alaric yawned, eyelids drooping.
Life magic, huh? Guess this world's serious about second chances. Fine. I'll play along. But tomorrow… I'm demanding milk first.
His chest loosened, warmth blooming as he curled against the swaddle.
He drifted into dreams, the ruin's hum steady around him, alive in ways he hadn't noticed before.
Ashen sat guard nearby, gaze sharp, the faint glow of restored fungi reflecting in his silver eyes.
The cavern pulsed with quiet life.
And for the first time, Alaric felt like he was more than just a baby clinging to survival.
He was learning.
And the ruin was listening.