Chương 5: Chapter 003 Miraculously Healed

The scent of frying butter and warm bread greeted him as he stepped into the kitchen. It was homely, bright, and filled with the soothing clatter of breakfast. He paused, savouring the moment, the smells, the warmth, the comfort of it all. He caught the end of something Polly was saying.

"…this evening."

"Don't be too late," their mother replied, "It's not safe with all the crime. I don't want you out after dark." Polly sat at the kitchen table, attacking a stack of pancakes with childlike determination.

"I won't be late." She stuffed a forkful of pancakes in her mouth and mumbled something unrecognisable, "…rehearsing with my friends." Their mother stood at the aether-powered stove, a wooden spoon in hand.

"Don't forget your sketchpad this time." The stove's brass control dials glowed with imbued runes, and the heat was regulated by more enchanted runes set into the base. Polly nodded and looked up at Jack with narrowed eyes.

"You took long enough…" She jabbed an empty fork at him.

"You better not have drained the crystal again!" Jack smirked and ignored her grumbling as he sat at the table. She had some nerve complaining. Usually, it was Miss I Spend Three Hours In The Bathroom who drained the aether capsule flat, leaving everyone else to have a cold bath. Their mother turned, placing a fresh stack of golden, steaming pancakes before him. They smelled of vanilla, cinnamon, and safety; they smelled of home. She ruffled his damp curls with a warm smile.

"There's honey if you want it. Best grab it before Miss Greedy Guts empties the pot." She gave her daughter a warning glance and, in return, received a cheeky pancake grin. Jack sat at that moment, overwhelmed by the simple joy of being there, being whole, being home. And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, he allowed himself to feel happy. After adding a generous dollop of honey, he sank his teeth into a thick, golden pancake.

The crisp edge gave a satisfying crunch before melting into a soft, cloud-like centre.

"Hmm," he sighed with contentment, his eyes fluttering shut.

"Thanks, Mom. These are the best pancakes I've ever tasted." And he meant it. They tasted even better than he remembered. No one's cooking could touch his mom's. It wasn't just the taste; it was the love in every bite. His mother gave him an appreciative smile.

"It's nice to have at least one grateful child in the family," she said, tossing a glance at Polly. Polly, too busy shovelling another bite into her mouth, remained oblivious. Jack couldn't stop smiling. His family was alive, safe, and together. His body, healed and youthful. He felt a miracle had taken root in the cracks of his ruined life, and for the first time in two decades, he was tasting peace. As he devoured the last of his pancake stack, a sharp cry echoed through the house.

It was high-pitched and indignant, with the unmistakable demands of a baby. Jack froze, fork halfway to his mouth. A smile spread, widening until it lit his whole expression. The clatter of cutlery hitting porcelain broke the silence. My baby brother. Of course. It had to be his little brother. At this point, he would be a few months old. At the sound of a crying baby, Jack's mother let out a resigned sigh and lowered the spatula.

"Every time," she muttered under her breath.

"Can't even eat one hot breakfast." Her shoulders dropped in resignation at not getting to eat hot pancakes. Again! Jack pushed his chair back with a screech across the tiled floor and stood up so fast that Polly stopped mid-bite.

"I-I'll get him," he said, already moving.

"You relax, Mom. Eat your breakfast while it's hot." His mom and sister blinked at his unexpected enthusiasm. His mother turned from the stove, her brow lifting in surprise. Polly, fork suspended in midair, glanced sideways at her mother, mirroring the look of confusion.

"He's never volunteered before," Polly said, waving a fork full of pancakes in the air.

"You think the bucket knocked something loose?" she asked, but her smirk betrayed her true motives.

"I'm sure the bucket didn't hit him that hard." Trying not to laugh, their mother pressed her lips together.

"Are you sure?" She looked at Jack, though her eyes drifted with hope back to the sizzling pancakes. Jack's smile was broad, warm, and real.

"He's my little brother," he said with conviction.

"Of course, I'll help." He stuffed the last piece of pancake in his mouth and strode out of the kitchen towards the sound of tiny demands and a chance he thought he'd never have. As he walked down the hallway, the baby's cries grew louder, insistent, and warbling. But Jack didn't feel anxious or annoyed. No, he felt giddy. The kind of joy that built behind your ribs and made your steps lighter. He was about to see his baby brother again. In his old life, he'd had little time for the boy.

He was too busy working as a scribe and living his own life. This time, he'd do better. Even if it was only for a short time, he'd be a real big brother. Opening the door, he stepped into the soft-lit room. The early morning sunlight filtered through pale curtains, casting golden rays over the cradle. The crying intensified the moment Jack approached. He looked down at the crying baby in the temperature-controlled cradle.

The aether-powered readout displayed 21°C–Optimal Infant Comfort, glowing in elegant calligraphy. Toothless gums dominated his baby brother's bright red, wrinkled face, framed by wisps of dark hair and fists raised like a tiny warrior ready for battle. Tears clung to the creases of his screwed-up eyes as he screamed his little lungs out. He'd never seen such a beautiful baby or heard such a melodious sound.

"Hey, little Dragon Slayer. It's me, Jack." He bent forward, then paused. How do you pick a baby up again? It had been almost twenty-five years since he'd held a baby. Most of his adult life had been spent planning revenge or staring into the bottom of an empty ale tankard, not handling infants. He tried to recall what he'd seen before; support the neck, always support the neck. Scooping up the little Dragon Slayer—Richard—he cradled him in his arms like the baby was the most precious treasure he'd ever held.

The weight was so light, so fragile, it made his heart ache. Jack's eyes started to tear up again. Keep it under control. This could end at any moment. He tried to be logical to control his emotions. It didn't help. Tears started to drip down his face. Damn it, Jack. You're a grown man. Taking a deep breath, he rocked the baby, mimicking what he'd seen his mother do countless times. It didn't work. In fact, Richard's cries grew louder.

"Could something be wrong?" Panic surged.

"I can't lose him again," he whispered, pacing the room holding the crying baby, not knowing what to do. His mind flashed back to the fire. His mother screaming for help as their home burned… He pushed the thought away. They're safe. They're all safe. He took a deep breath to calm his mind. Keep calm. There's no fire. He took another deep breath, his logical mind taking control.

"Richard didn't get sick as a baby. I'll ask Mom. She'll know. Mom always knows." He wiped his tears on his sleeve and rushed to the kitchen, cradling the shrieking infant like a ticking time bomb of screams and snot. His mother looked up from her breakfast. One glance at Jack's panicked expression, and she chuckled.

"He's due a feed. Put a dab of yoghurt on your little finger and pop it in his mouth. Then rock him while I eat." She had just sat down to her pancakes, and come hell or high water, she wasn't getting up until they were finished. Jack did as instructed. His brother squirmed for a moment, then settled against Jack's chest with a soft sigh. Thank the Gods. He was only hungry. Relief poured through him as the panic receded. He paced the kitchen with measured steps, rocking Richard. Polly laughed.

"You'll make someone a lovely wife one day, Jackie. I'll be your bridesmaid." She fluttered her lashes.

"I'll make your wedding dress extra pretty with lace and ribbons." She had dreams of becoming a renowned tailor to the Royals and other nobles. Their mother chuckled as she ate. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Ha. Ha. Ha. Very funny," Jack replied.

"Maybe you should become a Court Jester, or better yet, the Town Fool when it's time to choose your class." Both were real classes, though no one ever chose Town Fool. Maybe Polly would be the first. Their mother laughed so hard she spat pancake across the kitchen table, which set all three of them off. Jack smiled. I missed them so much. He took a deep breath and focused on rocking little Richard so he wouldn't start crying again.

He held him close, resting his cheek against the warm, downy head; the scent of milk and talcum powder was oddly soothing, grounding him in the present.

"I missed you," he murmured, his voice cracking. For a long moment, he stood there rocking, not because the baby needed it, but because he did. A few minutes later, Richard began to fuss again. The yoghurt was long gone, and he'd realised there was no milk coming from Jack's finger. Almost like she'd planned it, their mother finished her pancakes and took the baby to feed him before the tears restarted.

Jack enjoyed the quiet comfort of his mother's company, the cheerful presence of his sister, and his baby brother. The kitchen buzzed with the low hum of idle conversation, the type that filled a home with warmth and made the morning feel soft around the edges. Cups clinked as tea was poured, Jack laughed at one of Polly's insults, and baby Richard gnawed on his fist, letting out a wet, slobbery glorp. Knock-knock-knock. The sudden rapping at the front door cut through the gentle rhythm of the morning.

"Jack, could you get that?" his mom asked, her hands sunk deep into a mound of bread dough.

"Sure, Mom," Jack replied as he stood, brushing crumbs from his lap. He opened the door and froze. A man and a woman stood outside, both middle-aged, both dressed in the crisp, dark robes of the Inquisition. They carried daggers at their side, and expensive-looking wands hung from their belts. Behind them were a half dozen beastkin guards who looked ready for action. Jack's breath caught in his throat as his stomach lurched in horror. The Inquisition did not make friendly house calls. Fuck.

His heart raced as panic surged. What do they want?

"Move aside, boy." The male inquisitor shoved past Jack without ceremony and strode into the house as if he owned it. The female inquisitor gave no greeting. She simply tilted her head and gestured with her dark eyes for Jack to follow her companion. He obeyed without protest as she closed the door behind them. Everyone knew the Inquisition operated above the law. They could enter any home, search any property, and interrogate any citizen they pleased, from beggars in the gutter to dukes in marble halls.

No one was exempt; in theory, even the King could be interrogated by the Inquisition. They were judge, jury, and executioner. A law unto themselves.

"Stop what you are doing," the man ordered as he entered the kitchen. His voice was flat and commanding.

"A magical disturbance was detected nearby. You will all comply with our investigation." Am I the disturbance? Jack's thoughts raced as his heartbeat quickened.

"Yes, sir," said his wide-eyed mom as she wiped her flour-covered hands on her apron. She glanced towards the trays of food and the bubbling pots on the stove that were destined for a local restaurant she cooked for.

"May I adjust the oven, sir? Otherwise, the food will burn."

"Do it quickly." The woman pulled out a chair and sat at the table without waiting for an invitation. Her eyes swept the room like a hawk scanning for movement.

"Are there any other residents in this household?"

"My husband, ma'am," Jack's mom replied.

"But he's at work; he works at the Royal Library as an Expert Scribe." There was pride in her voice. The woman's attention shifted to Polly.

"Name and age?" Polly stiffened. Her eyes looked to Jack, then to her mother.

"It's alright, Polly," their mom said, reaching across to turn off the oven with a soft click.

"Just answer truthfully. Everything will be fine." She automatically placed the kettle on.

"Would you like a cup of tea and something to eat?" she asked the inquisitors. The man didn't react. The woman offered a faint smile.

"No, thank you." She repeated the question to Jack's sister.

"Name and age." Her tone was a little softer this time.

"P-Polly," she said with a nervous tremble.

"I-I'm fourteen." The male inquisitor took a seat and turned to Jack.

"Name, age, and class, boy."

"Jack. Sixteen. Erm… app… scribe. I-I mean, I will be a scribe." He swallowed hard; his body felt hot and clammy.

"I don't have a class yet… Sir."

"He turned sixteen today, sir." His mom's voice was steady.

"He hasn't had time to choose his class yet. He wants to be a scribe to work alongside his father at the Library." Why are they here? This didn't happen before. Jack's thoughts were a mess. I'm in a death dream. That's all. The inquisitor narrowed his eyes at Jack.

"Sit." He pointed to the chair in front of him. A wide-eyed Jack nodded and sat. His mom sat next to him, with baby Richard in her arms.

"Hand," the man ordered. Oh, fuck. He's going to scan me. Jack's fingers trembled as he lifted his arm. Don't panic. I haven't done anything wrong. Most people knew very little about inquisitors and their abilities. But everyone knew they could detect banned classes. If Jack had somehow been marked as a blood mage, a necromancer, or possessed another forbidden class, the man across the table would know. And that would be the end of it; he'd be executed without a trial.

He'd become a warning paragraph or two in the local papers to never choose a forbidden class if offered one. Jack wiped the sweat from his right palm and placed his hand in the inquisitor's grip. The man's eyes glowed golden. Jack's hand trembled.

"Hmm. No class, but multiple high affinities." His intense gaze lingered on Jack as he stroked his clean-shaven chin. Jack's eyebrows furrowed in surprise. What? That's impossible. In his past life, he had average affinities in everything except for the Time affinity, which was a respectable 38% at sixteen and 43% at the time of his death. Affinities had a modest impact on levelling speed.

It would be easier for a time mage with high affinity for Time and low affinity for Earth to learn time spells versus learning earth spells. Where a new Novice Time Mage with an average Time affinity might require ten years to reach level 25, one with high Time affinity might take nine years.

"Has anything unusual occurred here in the past few hours?" the man asked. Jack shook his head.

"No, sir. We-we just had breakfast." He wiped sweat from his brow. And I woke up in my sixteen-year-old body after dying. Shit. It's me. I'm the disturbance. He looked at the kitchen door and considered running. Fuck! The guards.

"Show me the rest of the house, boy," the man ordered while rising to his feet. Jack stood with shaking legs.

"Y-yes, sir." As they left the room, Jack heard the woman speak behind him.

"Hand," she ordered his mom.

"Yes, ma'am." Jack's mom extended her hand without pause. Jack guided the man up the stairs.

"This is my room, sir," he said as he pushed the door open. As he entered his room with the male inquisitor, he heard the woman say.

"Expert Cook, average affinities. Name?" The inquisitor stepped inside and shut the door.

"What happened here?"

"M-my sister pranked me this morning, a-and she poured water on the bed. Just water, sir." He pointed to the mattress, propped against the wall. He felt guilty and had an instinctive need to protect his sister.

"She didn't mean any harm. It was only water." The inquisitor ignored him as his eyes glowed once again as he scanned the space. In a panic, Jack scanned the room for anything that might be out of place. They moved through the rest of the house with the man remaining silent. In each room, the inquisitor's eyes glowed golden. What's he searching for? Jack's pulse was thudding in his ears, and his back was damp with sweat. Ten minutes later, they returned to the kitchen.

"…just like his father and grandfather," his mom was saying as they walked in. Polly was still sitting in the same chair with her hands clenched together like she didn't trust them to stay still. The female inquisitor was drinking a cup of tea and had a small plate with a few crumbs. The man shook his head.

"The house is clean." The female inquisitor stood.

"Thank you for your cooperation… and the tea and cake; it was delicious. If anything unusual comes to mind, if a neighbour acts suspiciously, you must report it to the Inquisition immediately."

"Yes, ma'am," Jack's mom replied with a smile as she bounced little Richard on her knee.

"Thank you for all the good work you do protecting the Kingdom." There would be the occasional newspaper article describing how the Inquisition had stopped some misguided fool from hurting Mercia's populace. Jack's mother considered the Inquisition a force for good. Jack's mom looked at the man.

"Are you sure you don't want a cup of tea before you go? Won't take me more than a minute." The man shook his head, and the woman gave a small smile as the two inquisitors turned without another word and stepped out of the house. Jack let out a long breath and slumped into his chair as he heard the front door close. His body sagged as the fear drained away. Damn, t hat was too close. He wasn't even sure what was too close, but he felt like he'd avoided an early death.

"That was scary," Polly said as she wiped her sweaty palms on her dress. Jack nodded. You have no idea.

"Don't be silly, Polly," their mom said.

"They're doing good work protecting us from evil." His sister nodded.

"They're still scary. Those glowing eyes." She shivered.

"When she touched my hand, it felt like she was… she was looking into my soul." Jack nodded again.

"I wonder what happened?" Polly said.

"Probably nothing," Jack lied.

"I bet they're just randomly knocking on doors so it looks like they're working hard." Polly nodded in agreement, but their mom disagreed.

"Don't be disrespectful to the Inquisition, Jack. Only last week they stopped a group of stupid teenagers from carrying out a dangerous ritual."

"Sorry, Mom," Jack replied. Their mom popped little Richard back in his cradle.

"Well, that's my schedule completely ruined." She looked at the now warm food on the stove.

"I can fix this." She set about getting her kitchen back on track. Their mother, an Expert Cook, was preparing orders for a few local merchants and street vendors. Hand pies, spice rolls, and smoked cheese tarts that would sell out in the first hour. She used to work under a Master Chef in a high-end restaurant near the Crystal Spire district.

A lavish place known for its noble-only clientele and gold-plated clockwork automaton serving staff that moved with grace between tables with silver trays balanced with mechanical precision. With Richard still in nappies and prone to sudden, operatic wailing, returning to that fast-paced kitchen was off the cards for now. Her side work brought in extra coin to supplement their father's earnings as an Expert Scribe at the Royal Library. Polly looked at the time.

"Damn it! I'm going to be late for rehearsals again!"

"Language, Polly!" her mother snapped.

"A young lady doesn't cuss like a common sailor."

"Okay, Mom," she replied while rushing out of the kitchen. Polly was meeting friends to work on a play. An ambitious endeavour by a dozen teens with no budget and no clue, desperate to gain experience towards the classes they hoped to accept at sixteen. As a would-be tailor, she was designing all the costumes, using a battered leather sketchbook and an inherited set of enchanted measuring tapes.

It wasn't just a hobby; it was a real-world task that could tip the scales towards her chosen path and might even open up a range of other classes.