I was three years old.
Barely out of toddlerhood. I couldn't pronounce my R's properly. I still tripped over my own feet sometimes. And yet…
I was already crafting magical machines.
No one else knew that, of course. It's not like I could tell my parents.
We were serfs.
And magic wasn't for people like us.
Lisette wasn't a serf. I learned that the day after I showed her my drill.
Her house had windows.
I didn't know that was a class marker until I saw it with my own eyes—glass panes, foggy and uneven, but real. Our hut had shutters we tied shut with cord.
Lisette's father was a cooper—a barrel-maker. They were commoners. Not wealthy, but free. They paid taxes instead of tithes. They could own things. Move away, even.
We couldn't.
I hadn't thought about the difference before, but it explained a lot.
Like how her older brother got to leave home and study under a court wizard. Or how Lisette even knew the word Flamia in the first place.
Magic was rare. Always had been.
Sorcerers were born, not made. Wizards were made, not born. And both were dangerous.
That's why, in every village under the Count's domain, a Mana Affinity Test was held when children turned six.
They said it was painless. A priest brought a giant crystal that the child would place their hand on. If it glowed, you had the spark. If it didn't, you didn't.+
But if it did glow… your life changed. Forever.
"I think I'm going to pass," Lisette said that afternoon. We were watching birds pick at the field stubble. Her sandals were better than mine. Not fancy—just not falling apart.
She clutched that glass charm again, murmuring under her breath.
"I can feel something when I say the words. Like heat. My brother says that means I probably have it."
I nodded. "Sounds like it."
"You're not six yet, are you?"
"Three."
She gawked. "You're just three?"
"Yup."
"You talk too much for a three-year-old."
I shrugged.
Truth be told, I wasn't sure I'd pass the Affinity Test.
Not because I couldn't feel mana—I could. I could see it in grain patterns and stress fractures. I could feel it hum inside rocks and wood like static electricity waiting to be discharged.
But… would the Crystal work on me? From what id heard from Lisette Regular sorcerors produce magic. I don't do that.
I had a suspicion I wasn't quite like other sorcerers.
That night, while my mother hummed lullabies to Brian (my little brother. Forgot to mention that he was born while I was comatose. Apparently.) and my father sharpened his scythe, I sat near the hearth, pretending to play with wood shavings.
In reality, I was running diagnostics.
[Materials Stored: Straw (x1), Clay (x1), Iron Dust (x1)]
[Essence Capacity: 4/20]
[Mana Flow: Stable]
[Craft Mode: Manual Design Active]
I breathed in and out, slowly. Mana was thickest at night, when the sun no longer fought it for attention.
I pictured a rudimentary pulley mechanism—the kind used in cranes or wells. Simple, yes. But a step toward something better: compound machines.
As I shaped the components in my head, my body stiffened.
A strange, foreign heat brushed the back of my skull—like someone breathing on me from behind.
I whirled.
Nothing.
But I knew I had felt it.
Mana surge? Outside stimulus?
It didn't feel like mine.
[ALERT: External Mana Signature Detected]
[Signature: "Unregistered Source" – Passive Scan Only]
[Risk Level: Unknown]
I swallowed.
That had never happened before.
Someone—or something—had brushed against my mind. Maybe another sorcerer? Maybe Lisette?
Maybe something else.
The next morning, there were rumors.
One of the baron's riders had come through the area. A short visit. Met with the village elder. Left again.
People assumed it was because of the upcoming mana affinity test. Those who turn 6 this year would be tested.
My Affinity Test was still three years away.
But I was already taking it.
Every day I built something.
Every time I pulled raw mana into motion.
Every moment I used my hands like tools and my thoughts like blueprints.
The difference was—no one was watching me yet.
Or so I hoped.