The seasons began to change, and with them came the first signs of other children in the village—or more accurately, in the nearby parish where children from surrounding towns and orphans often gathered. Though he was still a baby in body, he could observe the world with a clarity far beyond his peers.
The first to notice him was a child with spiky hair, determined eyes, and a confidence that seemed larger than his small frame. The boy was moving awkwardly, tripping over his own feet, yet his presence carried a kind of energy he recognized instantly. That was Yuno, even at this young age, radiating the beginnings of the prodigious talent he had read about in his past life.
Another child, slightly scruffier, a bit more chaotic, came barreling toward them with unrestrained enthusiasm. This was Asta, brimming with boundless energy and determination, though utterly lacking the control of magic he would one day wish for. The baby mage observed quietly from his place on the floor, orbs of faint Star Magic hovering around him like tiny stars, shimmering softly in purple and blue.
Despite his tiny size, his presence seemed to draw attention. Not fear, not awe, but curiosity. The other children approached cautiously at first, peering at him as if they could sense he was different. Perhaps it was the faint glow of his Star Magic, or the way he seemed to watch and analyze everything around him with unnerving intelligence.
Yuno knelt beside him, eyes wide with curiosity. "Who… are you?" he asked softly, not expecting an answer.
The baby mage's adult mind processed immediately how to respond. Words were impossible, of course, but he could communicate subtly. A flick of a purple Star Magic orb hovered in the air, rotating slowly, sending faint light across Yuno's eyes. The boy gasped lightly, fascinated rather than frightened.
Asta barreled over next, bouncing on his tiny feet with uncontrollable energy. "Are you a magic user?" he asked excitedly. Again, words were beyond the baby's reach, but a controlled pulse of Star Magic radiated from him, harmless but undeniable. It lifted Asta's hair slightly in a breeze of energy, making him laugh.
From that moment, a quiet connection formed. The baby, aware of both boys' future importance, observed them carefully, learning their patterns, temperaments, and personalities. Yuno was precise, calm, analytical—he would one day be a mage of unmatched talent. Asta was raw energy, relentless determination without finesse, but with potential that could move mountains.
Even as he interacted, his system whispered subtle guidance: Observe potential allies. Record patterns. Begin early social calibration. He complied instinctively, noting how each child responded to subtle movements of Star Magic, how they reacted to stimuli, and how they approached challenges—like an anthropologist studying the future of his companions.
Over the next weeks, small routines formed. The three of them would sit near the parish garden, the baby mage practicing tiny orbs of light, while Yuno and Asta fumbled with simple exercises, unaware that they were already under the watchful guidance of someone who remembered the future.
He began introducing tiny, controlled experiments. Orbs would hover near Yuno without alarming him, casting faint shadows that shifted with the boy's movements. Asta, energetic as ever, would chase after them, laughing as the orbs spun in playful arcs. These interactions served two purposes: gentle training for the baby mage's Star Magic, and subtle teaching for the boys in perception and spatial awareness.
The baby's mind cataloged everything. Each response, each laugh, each gesture, each failed attempt at magic by Yuno and Asta was a data point. He considered strategies for when they would grow older, how bonds could form, and how their abilities could complement each other. Already, the seeds of camaraderie—and a subtle mentorship—were taking root.
By evening, the trio would settle near the garden fountain, the baby mage's faint orbs orbiting harmlessly, casting tiny, playful lights across the ground. Though he could not yet communicate fully, the other children sensed his presence as calming, strange, yet comforting. They had no idea they were in the presence of someone who would one day rise to unparalleled power—a star beyond stars.
And though the baby could not speak, his mind was already planning. Training. Observation. Preparation. For every laugh, every tumble, every whispered word of the future prodigies, he was learning how to shape not just his own destiny, but the paths of those who would one day walk beside him.
Slowly, carefully, the foundations of friendship—and a future brotherhood—were being laid. And as the sun set over the parish, his orbs of Star Magic danced silently in the fading light, promising that this child, fragile in body but immortal in mind, was destined to rise.