3. Kal: Words and Music

  Kal had learned a lot in the past nine months since he was reborn.

  His mind remained sharp, even as his baby body lagged behind – too small, too weak to do the things he once had. But he had made peace with it.

  For now, he had to focus on learning.

  His new home was in Terenhill, a quiet farming village nested within the Kingdom of Stulan. The village lay in the kingdom’s south, far from the large cities, but not too far to escape the tensions brewing across the realm.

  From what Kal had gathered – through careful observation and listening to the conversations between his parents and travelers that passed through their village – there were five great kingdoms in this new world called Terra, each holding dominion over vast lands.

  But the best part? This world had magic.

  And he had witnessed it with his own eyes!

  A lonely traveler – akin to a circus performer – had passed through their village. Gusto the Great, they called him, and he delivered quite a show.

  He juggled balls with the power of his mind – only the balls were made of fire and dissolved whenever he felt like it. He floated in the air, pretending he was walking up a staircase. And he even disappeared – for only like two seconds, but it was still impressive.

  That was when the adults used a word Kal didn’t understand. Slowly, he understood the word they were using must have been the word for magic.

  There was also something about Threads that they constantly mentioned, and Kal wondered what does sewing have to do with magic.

  Still, Kal couldn’t wait until he was old enough to use magic. He hoped he wasn’t born magicless like the rest of the villagers of Terenhill – including his parents. That would suck.

  Stulan, his home, was one of the five great kingdoms. It was a land of fertile plains and rich harvests, a nation who had built its prosperity mainly upon the sweat of its farmers.

  Kuizar, Stulan's closest neighbor to the east, had long been both a rival and an uneasy ally, and rumors had whispered of a war on the horizon.

  Kal felt relieved that Terenhill was relatively far away of theses troubles – but the tension remained. The men of the village spoke about the possibility of conscription, and Kal was afraid his father would have to enlist.

  Stulan and Kuizar weren’t the only ones on the brink of war. Across the sea, another war was steering up, one between Kareth and Ostia, the other two of the great five kingdoms. Their conflict had been simmering for years, and now, many believed it was reaching its boiling point.

  Overall, the feeling of a great war coming was palpable and Kal wondered if that’s how the people of Earth felt at the brink of World War I and II.

  Trade routes had been disrupted, mercenaries were on the move, and even a small village like Terenhill felt the effects – fewer goods in the market, higher prices for imported items, and a grand sense of uncertainty.

  Kal heard it all and was afraid.

  But for now, he was just a baby. Not much he could do about it.

  He was a baby in a farmer’s home, with parents who were too young to have seen war firsthand but old and experienced enough to fear it.

  His father was Reiner Varren. A farmer first and musician second. He worked in the golden rye fields. The long hours under the sun had darkened his skin, and his hands were rough from heavy labor, yet he carried himself with warmth that made him loved by all the villagers. He was always ready to lift Kal into the air no matter how exhausted he was. And when the day was done, he would sit by the hearth of their house with his voutar, which was, for all intents and purposes, an acoustic guitar.

  The body was slightly rounder, the neck a bit shorter, but the shape was unmistakable. It had six strings, strung over a wooden soundhole, and a fretboard. The tuning pegs weren’t metal – or plastic – but rather wood.

  But even so…this was a guitar.

  The first time Reinar played it, Kal felt something stir within him – an ache, a longing. He wanted to grab the instrument from his father’s hands and strum all his favorite melodies. But he couldn’t. He was too small, and far too weak.

  For now, he could only sit, listen, and wait for the day his fingers were strong enough to hold the voutar himself.

  His father, on the other hand, enjoyed strumming beautiful melodies to him whenever he wasn’t busy working the fields, recognizing Kal’s joy of music.

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  His mother, Elara Varren, was just nineteen when she gave birth to him, yet she looked nothing like a teenager her age. She was practically Kal’s age when he died, but she was nothing like him – she was a real, actual grown up.

  Her brown hair and green eyes made her striking, but it was her patience and control that made her presence felt. She tended to the small olan orchard, cultivating some red fruits that resembled pears, but tasted like plums. It wasn’t her job, though, a hobby at most.

  And she was always talking to him.

  Even if she didn’t expect him to understand, she would hum softly as she worked, carrying him in a baby sling. She told him stories about their world, whispering hopes and worries about their future.

  Slowly, over the past nine months, Kal had learned.

  He had spent countless hours listening, piecing together the meaning of the words spoken around him. He understood far more than he let on – staying careful. Too much, too soon, and he might scare his loving parents away. He had promised he would make the most out of this life for his sake, and his brother’s.

  Still, there were moments when he wanted to push things forward.

  Tonight was one of them.

  Reinar sat beside the hearth, his voutar resting against his knee as he cleaned it, while Elara sat across him with Kal in her lap. The night was cool, but the fire and their love kept them warm.

  “Kal,” Elara murmured, her fingers brushing gently through his brown curls. “Can you say Mama?”

  Kal blinked up at her, feigning confusion. He had been expecting this. His mother had been trying to get him to speak for weeks now. He couldn’t recall how early he was able to speak in his previous life, so he remained warry. But they were so nice, so loving, he wanted to give them something in return.

  “He’s still too little for this, El.” Reinar interjected. “My father used to tell me kids don't speak their first words at least until their two. At least that’s how it was for me and my sister.”

  ‘Challenge accepted!’ Kal thought, determined to prove his father wrong. ‘Prepare to be amazed!’

  Kal furrowed his tiny brows, tilting his head, trying to speak the new language he was listening to all this time.

  “…Mah.”

  Elara let out a soft gasp, her hands flying to her mouth. “Reinar! Did you hear that?!”

  Reinar, immediately turned his attention to them, his expression a mix of excitement and disbelief.

  “I did.” He said, setting the instrument aside, leaning closer to them. “Say it again, baby boy. Mah-mah.”

  Kal scrunched his nose, making sure to appear as if he were really trying. He let the word sit on his tongue slowly, deliberately, repeating. “…Mah.”

  Elira laughed, gathering him in her arms and pressing a barrage of kisses to his cheeks and forehead. “My baby is a genius!” she exclaimed, swaying him lightly. “Reinar, our baby boy is talking already!”

  Reiner let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “I mean, of course, he is my son after all.”

  Elara rolled her eyes. “That’s the reason. Sure.”

  “Well, he’s your son as well.” Reiner tried to salvage the situation.

  ‘Oh, my…’ Kal internally rolled his eyes at the attempt.

  Coming to his aid, Kal tried to disarm the tension, trying to get his father to play the voutar. Music can always fix everything.

  Reaching out with his tiny hands, he gave Reiner an expecting look. Kal wished his father could play ‘Winds of Ruin’, but for now he’d settle for anything really.

  The room went quiet.

  Elara was the first to react. “Reinar…did he just…?”

  Reinar exhaled slowly, shaking his head in surprise and reaching for the voutar.

  Kal immediately giggled.

  “Gods, he understands more than we thought.” Reinar reached out, ruffling Kal’s hair. “You want me to play, huh?”

  Kal gurgled, clapping his hands. Of course he wanted him to play.

  Reiner laughed, pulling the voutar back onto his lap. “Well, I can’t say not to that, can I?”

  Then, Reinar began to play.

  He strummed gently with his thumb, open chords ringing out with a mellow warmth. The instrument’s resonance was rich and full.

  The chord changes were simple, shifting between a few familiar shapes in a steady, predictable pattern. The way his father strummed was measured, brushing smoothly over the strings. It gave the song a soft, rocking motion – something that was meant to soothe a restless mind rather than throw off a show.

  Kal couldn’t help but silently judge his father’s technique.

  No palm muting to give the chords a sharper sound. No accented strokes to make the melody pop. No variation in picking technique. Just steady, warm chords, held for a little longer for the lullaby effect.

  The playing was clean, his transitions were smooth, his rhythm never faltered. But Kal still wanted more.

  Then Reinar began to sing.

  “Little bird, little bird, gliding so high,

  What do you seek in the vast, endless sky?

  Do you race the wind? Do you chase the sun?

  Do you drift till the night’s begun?”

  His baritone was deep, carrying strength and warmth. He wasn’t a trained singer, but he had a natural richness in his voice – something many professionals could’ve only dreamed of.

  Then, for the first time ever, Kal heard his mother sing, and it made his world stop.

  “Tiny bird, tiny bird, where will you go?

  When the night creeps in and the dusk winds grow?

  Do you dance with the stars? Do you follow the moon?

  Will you soar through the dark till the dawn comes soon?”

  Her voice was soft and breathy, complimenting his father’s by contrasting it. But it wasn’t just soft – she had control, precision, and a natural vibrato that made the melody feel alive.

  More than that, she wasn’t just singing along, her voice didn’t simply follow Reinar’s – it moved just above or below his notes, slipping into harmony rather than singing the same melody. Sometimes she sang slightly higher, sometimes slightly lower, always beautifully.

  Kal recognized what she was doing. ‘She’s harmonizing…’

  Elara was creating depth, her voice finding the sweet spots between the main melody. Sometimes she drifted into a third above the note, sometimes a fifth below, shifting with ease.

  Kal was amazed by her voice and natural talent.

  Before he even realized it, his tiny hands shot up, clapping – more like hitting –together in pure excitement. A bright laugh burst from his mouth, high-pitched and giddy, stopping the melody.

  Elara gasped, eyes widening as she looked down at him.

  Reinar blinked, looking puzzled.

  ‘Too much?’ Kal wondered.

  Then his parents burst out laughing.

  “Look at that!” Reinar grinned, strumming a quick flourish on the voutar. “I think our boy’s got a love for music!”

  Elara’s expression melted as she hugged Kal close, and rained down kisses on him.

  “Oh, my sweetheart.” She murmured lovingly.

  Kal giggled again, glad he didn’t freak them out.

  Reinar played a few extra cheerful chords, the music lighting up their house.

  ‘It’s not metal…but I guess it’s fine too.’ Kal thought. ‘I wish you could’ve been here too, brother…’