REINCARNATED WITH THE BOOK OF SUPREME LAWS

THE WORLD BEYOND THE DOORSTEP

The morning breeze carried the smell of damp earth and woodsmoke through the small window. Birds were already fighting for territory in the trees outside — loud, dramatic, overly confident for creatures that weighed less than a loaf of bread.

Elior sat cross-legged by the door, tying a bundle of firewood with clumsy fingers. The rope kept slipping.

Again.

One more loop, pull tight.

He bit his lip in concentration, tiny brows furrowing. A normal five-year-old would have tied themselves to the wood by now. Elior only tied the rope to his sleeve once.

Progress.

Aran leaned over him, adjusting the knot gently. “It’s not about strength. It’s about patience.”

His voice was steady, slow, like the river that passed the fields.

Elior nodded. “Patience,” he echoed.

Rina peeked in from outside, a woven basket on her hip. “After you’re done, help me carry herbs to the square, alright?”

He puffed out his little chest. “Okay!”

He liked helping. Helping made him feel… real. Not like a spirit trapped in the wrong phase of life. Not like a secret hiding in a tiny body.

Just… home.

---

The village square was busier than usual. Chickens scattered as people moved about, children darted around playing chase, and the blacksmith’s hammer rang out like a heartbeat echoing across the houses.

Rina’s herbs went to old Granny Mira. A healer, tough as leather and twice as stubborn.

She squinted at Elior.

“Haven’t seen a boy sit still and work quiet like that since… hm. Never.”

Elior tried not to smile too proudly.

A shrill voice interrupted.

“Elior!”

Lana sprinted over — a whirlwind of skinny legs, braids, and boundless energy. She latched onto his arm like an overly affectionate vine. “Come play!”

Before he could answer, another boy strode up — Taron. Taller. Older. Born with the permanent expression of someone chewing a sour fruit.

“He can’t run like us,” Taron said with a smirk. “He’s small.”

Elior wasn’t offended. He was small. Physically. Outside.

But something about Taron’s tone rubbed like sand under a bandage.

Rina reached over and patted his head softly, sensing his tiny spark of irritation. “Go play a little. But stay near the well.”

“Yes, mother.”

He trotted off. Lana grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the other children. Taron followed, arms crossed like a miniature guard captain.

They played tag. Lana ran like she was chased by demons. Taron played like he wanted to impress every adult watching.

Elior… tried.

Short legs only moved so fast. But he kept going, panting, determined.

Lana tagged him.

“Slow turtle!”

He puffed cheeks. “Not slow. Just saving energy!”

Taron scoffed. “Excuses.”

Elior looked at him, then smiled innocently.

“You’re right.”

He let a tiny pause sit.

“But one day I’ll outrun you.”

Taron blinked — like he’d just been challenged by a chick. “We’ll see.”

It wasn’t a dramatic rivalry, no life-and-death glare. Just two children — one competing, one quietly promising himself a future.

---

Later, Elior helped Rina pack dried leaves in cloth bags while she chatted with other women.

Near the well, two hunters whispered, unaware his ears were sharp.

“Tracks again near the fields.”

“Wolves?”

“No. Bigger. And not natural walking patterns.”

Elior’s small hands paused.

Something in the forest… watching?

Before he could listen more, a shadow fell over him. Granny Mira bent, eyeing him like she saw more than she should.

“Weird energy around that one,” she muttered.

Rina chuckled. “He’s just quiet.”

Granny snorted. “Quiet water hides deep currents. Keep him humble, girl. Children with fire in their eyes burn brightest — and fastest.”

Elior blinked. Fire?

He didn’t feel like fire.

He felt like a spark buried under earth, slowly learning how to breathe.

A tug at his sleeve broke his thoughts.

Lana.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “When we're older, we’re going to train like the hunters. I’ll get a bow taller than Taron.”

Elior smiled. “I’ll learn too.”

Taron, overhearing, scoffed. “You? You’ll be sweeping floors.”

Elior didn't argue.

He only tied the herb bundle tighter. Knots neat. Determined.

Someday.

---

Evening painted the sky in soft purples as they walked home. Aran sharpened a small carving knife on the porch.

“Good day?” he asked.

Elior nodded. “I helped.”

Aran handed him a thin strip of wood. “Then help one more time. Shavings small and even.”

Wood curled away in the lightest strips.

Patience.

Steady breath.

Control.

Not cultivation — discipline.

A wolf howled in the distant forest.

Rina stiffened slightly. Aran’s eyes narrowed a fraction.

Elior kept carving.

The wood trembled in his little hand — not from fear. From focus.

This was his world now.

His family.

His path.

Quiet. Slow. Real.

The night fell gentle.

And in a place deep inside, like a heartbeat waiting to wake…

a faint warmth stirred in him again.

Not yet.

But soon.

A child on the outside.

A promise on the inside.

And tomorrow, rumor said, the chief would gather all children turning six soon to speak of a thing whispered in the world like magic and myth.

Cultivation. Laws. The first spark toward the impossible.

Elior didn’t know it yet…

…but the next dawn would begin a different chapter of his life.