The ninth month started with a plan. Hania had been practicing her crawling for weeks. She was fast now—fast enough to escape the nursery when Kofery was distracted by his anxiety-induced book-reorganization sessions.
She'd been drawing circles for nine months. And while her baby hands were getting better at the mechanics, she wanted her father to understand that she wasn't just mindlessly copying shapes, she understood the theory.
She'd memorized dozens of formations from the training-room floor: the containment circles, the barrier arrays, the binding sigils.
So she thought, Why not prove it?
She waited until Kofery was deep in his “organizing the childcare manuals by publication date, author, and subject matter” spiral, then made her move.
She crawled out of the nursery and down the hallway. Past the library, she paused to wave at the spiders watching from the corners—they'd become weirdly supportive of her schemes. Then down another hallway to her father's laboratory.
She'd only been inside once, briefly, during the teleportation incident. But she remembered the route: left at the floating bookshelf, right at the portrait of the angry-looking wizard, straight past the door that hummed ominously.
She made it to the laboratory door and stopped. There was a formation drawn on the floor right in front of it—one of the practice ones she'd been studying.
She'd stolen a piece of chalk from the training room and hidden it in her mouth during transport, it tasted AWFUL, but it was worth it for the stealth. Now she just had to draw.
She started with the outer circle. Her baby hands made it wobble, but she managed to keep the curve mostly consistent.
Come on. You can do this. You're an adult with a college degree. You can draw a circle.
The fact that you never finished that degree is irrelevant.
Next, the three anchor points. These were critical—they had to be evenly spaced, positioned at specific angles relative to the center. She'd memorized the angles: 120 degrees apart. She couldn't measure precisely with baby hands, but she could estimate.
First anchor: a small circle with a runic symbol inside.
That's... probably right. The symbol is definitely wonky, but the concept is there.
Second anchor. Her hand was cramping already. Baby muscles were useless.
Come on. Just two more. You can complain about your terrible baby body later.
Third anchor. Done.
Now the center binding point—the part that connected everything together.
She drew the final symbol, her tongue sticking out in concentration, a habit from her old life that had apparently carried over.
She sat back to examine her work. It was messy, the lines wobbled, the proportions were definitely off. But the structure was there. Anyone who knew formations would recognize what she'd attempted.
He'll see it. He'll know I understand. He'll finally acknowledge that I'm not just a baby doing baby things. I'm learning. Notice me, you emotionally constipated genius. Notice me.
Footsteps came from inside the laboratory—multiple sets—and voices.
"—absolutely unacceptable! The Archmage must attend! His Majesty specifically—"
Wait. That wasn't Kofery's voice. Someone was in there with her father?
Oh no. Is this a bad time? Did I pick a bad time for my big reveal?
The door opened. Dravin stood in the doorway. Behind him, she caught a glimpse of someone, probably whoever had been talking about “His Majesty.”
Dravin looked down at Hania, at the chalk formation she'd drawn on his floor, with the stolen chalk still clutched in her hand. His expression didn't change, but she saw his eyes trace the lines of her drawing.
Behind him, the fancy-robes person yelled in surprise, “Is that a baby? On the floor? Drawing magic circles?”
Dravin ignored them completely. He crouched down, his face level with hers, examining the formation more closely.
The person in fancy robes kept talking. “Archmage, we really must discuss His Majesty's summons—”
“Proportions are off,” Dravin said, completely ignoring them. He was talking to her. “The binding radius is too large relative to the anchor spacing. It wouldn't hold anything stronger than a minor elemental.”
I know. I'm working with baby hands here. Do you have any idea how hard it is to draw circles with fingers the size of carrots? No, actually carrots are bigger than these damn fingers.
“But the structure is correct,” he continued, his finger tracing the air above her drawing without touching it. “All three anchors are positioned properly. The directional flow is accurate. The binding sigil is recognizable despite poor execution.” He looked at her. She looked back, trying to convey everything she couldn't say with words. I understand. I'm listening and learning. I'm trying to make you proud even though you're impossible to please and I crawled across the entire tower just to show you this so please—
“Are you trying to do witchcraft and put a curse on your father?” he asked, his tone completely serious but maybe with something like humor in his eyes.
WHAT?! NO! I'M TRYING TO— Wait. Was that a joke? Did he just make a joke?
“Huh,” he said, reaching down to pick her up. “Interesting.” He stood, holding her.
“Archmage!” the fancy-robes person protested. “We really must—”
“Get out,” Dravin said, not looking at them.
“But His Majesty—”
“I'll respond to His Majesty's summons in my own time. Get. Out.”
There was a pause, then rapid footsteps and the sound of the door closing. Now they were alone. Dravin carried her into the laboratory, which she could now see properly.
It was amazing. Workbenches everywhere, covered in equipment she didn't recognize. Bottles and jars filled with liquids in colors that probably shouldn't exist. Books stacked in precarious towers. Magical diagrams floating in the air, rotating slowly, shifting and rearranging like living things.
This is so cool. This is everything I imagined when I read fantasy novels. I want to live here.
Dravin set her down on a clear section of workbench, his hand staying on her back to keep her balanced. “If you can draw formations—even poorly—then basic circle practice is no longer sufficient.”
Finally. Finally you're acknowledging that I've outgrown the baby training.
“We'll move to compound circles next week. Three overlapping formations with shared anchor points. The interference patterns are complex, but you should be capable of at least observing the principles.”
That sounds really hard. Wait. Did he just say “capable”? He thinks I'm capable of understanding advanced formations?
A sound from the doorway made them both turn. Kofery stood there, breathing hard, his hair sticking up in seventeen different directions, his eyes wild with panic. “She's gone! The baby is— oh. You found her.” He slumped against the doorframe. “I thought she'd teleported again. Or fallen down the stairs. Or gotten eaten by—” He stopped. Stared at the formation drawn on the floor outside. “Is that... is that a containment circle? She drew that?”
“Yes.”
Kofery looked at Hania. “Master,” he said weakly, “she escaped the nursery. She crawled across the entire tower. She could have—”
“But she didn't,” Dravin interrupted. “She came here to draw formations outside my door and demonstrate comprehension of magical theory.”
“That doesn't make it less terrifying!”
“It makes it impressive.”
“She's a baby!”
“She's my baby. The standards are different.”
Did he just... Did he just claim me as “his baby” in front of Kofery? Not “the baby” or “that thing” but “MY baby”?
Dravin carried her toward the door, walking past Kofery. “Don't let her escape the nursery again,” he said. “Add additional wards. She's getting too mobile.”
“Master, I—yes, Master.”
Dravin paused at the doorway and looked down at Hania. “Your formation was acceptable,” he said. “For a first attempt at independent recreation. Continue practicing. Next time, wait until training hours instead of breaking into my laboratory during meetings.” And then he handed her to Kofery and disappeared back into his laboratory. The door closed.
Kofery stood there, holding Hania, staring at the closed door. “Did he just... did he say your formation was acceptable?” He looked down at her. “Little moon, that's huge. That's more praise than I got in my first year of study!”
It doesn't feel like enough praise. I want him to say “excellent” or “remarkable” or “I'm proud of you.” But I'll take “acceptable” for now.
Lusha appeared from nowhere, because apparently that was just her thing now. “The baby outsmarted both of you,” she said cheerfully. “Escaped containment, navigated enemy territory undetected, and delivered her message successfully. Textbook infiltration.” Lusha walked over and patted Hania's head. Her golden eyes met Hania's purple ones, and there was understanding there. “Well done, little moon.”
Kofery became busy having his own breakdown. “I need to reinforce the nursery wards. And add motion sensors. And maybe a tracking spell? Is there a tracking spell that works on babies? Do I need to invent one? Oh God, I'm going to have to invent one—”
Lusha rolled her eyes and took Hania from his arms. “Come, little moon. Let's leave him to his spiral. You've had enough adventure for one day.” She carried Hania back toward the nursery, and Hania caught one last glimpse of the formation she'd drawn on the laboratory floor before they rounded the corner.
Her father hadn't erased it yet. Maybe he was keeping it. Probably not. He probably just hadn't bothered to clean it yet.
At twelve months, it was her first birthday. Hania could walk, very badly. She looked like a drunk person trying to navigate an earthquake. Her legs were unsteady. Her balance was terrible. She face-planted every third step. But she could walk. And she was determined to walk into her father's laboratory and prove she didn't need to be carried anymore.
The day it happened, Dravin was in the middle of explaining something about mana compression to Kofery. They were both standing near a workbench, examining some kind of glowing crystal.
Hania, who had been placed on the floor near the door, Kofery had started bringing her to the laboratory sometimes, since she kept escaping to get there anyway, decided this was her moment.
She pulled herself up using the doorframe. Stood. Then took one step.
Wobbled.
Come on. You can do this. Just walk across the room. How hard can it be?
Very hard, apparently. Why is the floor so far away? Why do I keep tilting?
Second step. Third step. I'm doing it. I'm actually...
Her foot caught on absolutely nothing and she pitched forward directly toward Dravin's legs. She face-planted into his robes and grabbed the fabric to keep from falling completely. She looked up at him from knee-height, her face probably covered in dust from the floor.
I walked. That counts as walking.
Dravin paused mid-sentence, looking down at her. “You're walking,” he said. “At twelve months, within normal developmental range.”
Within normal, I've been trying for weeks. This is hard. Show some enthusiasm.
He reached down and picked her up, setting her on the workbench next to the crystal. “Acceptable progress,” he said, then immediately went back to his conversation with Kofery like nothing had happened. But his hand stayed on her back, keeping her steady on the workbench.
Is this... is this affection? Is this what passes for affection in this family? I'll take it.
The crystal next to her was pulsing with soft blue light. She reached for it, curious. Dravin's hand caught hers before she could touch it. “Don't,” he said. “Unstable mana crystal. It would burn you.” He redirected her hand to a different object on the workbench—a small stone that glowed faintly purple. “This one is safe,” he said. “Inert magical storage. It won't react to your touch.”
She picked up the stone, examining it. It was warm and smooth, and the glow pulsed slightly when she held it. Pretty.
“She likes it,” Kofery observed, smiling. “Look, she's not trying to eat it.”
Dravin glanced at her, at the stone in her hands. “She can keep it,” he said. “Consider it a... birthday present.”
Birthday present?! He remembered it's my birthday?! Or did Kofery tell him? Either way, he's giving me a present.
“Master... you remembered her birthday?”
“It's documented in the Tower records. She was born exactly one year ago today at approximately sunset. I keep accurate records.”
“You gave her a present, Master.”
“It's a piece of inert stone that's taking up space on my workbench. I'm being practical. Are we going to continue this conversation or discuss mana compression?”
Kofery looked like he was going to cry. Happy tears. “Master cares,” he whispered to himself. “He actually cares.”
“I'm leaving now,” Dravin announced, and walked toward a different section of the laboratory. But he left Hania on the workbench with the stone.
My father gave me a present. It's a rock. But it's a glowing rock. And he gave it to me. I'm keeping this forever.
She clutched the stone against her chest. From across the laboratory, Lusha's voice floated over. She'd been there the whole time, just watching from the shadows. “Happy birthday, little moon,” she said. “One year of chaos. Many more to come.”
Please let there be many more. Please let this keep getting better. Please let him keep noticing me, even in his weird way.
The stone pulsed warmly in her hands.
And for the first time since being reincarnated, Hania felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.
On the morning of her first birthday—not that anyone had mentioned it was her birthday except through Dravin's “practical” gift-giving, something unusual happened. A letter came.