Listen up, everyone! Etch these words into your thick skulls!
Lina Lapis. Two years old. Supposedly still in my "years of innocence."
…Yeah, not so innocent anymore.
Why? I can crawl, baby! And let me tell you, this newfound mobility? A game-changer.
At first, my parents found it adorable—"Oh, look at her go!"—but that didn't last long. I quickly became their tiny, unstoppable nightmare. If there was something to poke, prod, climb, or chew on, you bet I was on it. The world was mine to explore!
And crawling? Pfft. Easy. As natural as scratching my diaper.
Oh. Wait. Did I just soil my diaper…?
*Sniff sniff*
Nah. Still good. Moving on.
Now, I know what you're thinking—"Lina, you're just two! Shouldn't you be entertained by colorful blocks or whatever?"
Nah. My curiosity about Flow and all that mystical blah blah blah wasn't shutting down anytime soon. And since Romeo was too busy to drop knowledge bombs, and my parents' books were starting to repeat themselves, I needed a new source of intel.
A few artifacts in our house stood out.
First up, Elza's phone. She was practically glued to the thing, chatting away in an endless stream of grown-up nonsense. Sadly, it was always too close to her, making any independent research mission impossible.
Then there was Dad's mysterious computer. Now that thing looked promising. Big, flashy, and obviously packed with secrets.
Except… it was ridiculously complicated.
So many buttons. A weird little pad thing that made an arrow float around the screen like some kind of ghost…
I swear, summoning an actual demon would be easier than figuring out this contraption.
Thus, I was left with one intriguing option.
The magical, wall-mounted screen.
Remember that thing I mentioned a while back? Yeah, that.
Most people call it a TV, but let's be real—it was basically a window to infinite knowledge. A superior alternative to Elza's guarded phone and Dad's demonic button-box (aka, his computer).
And the best part? It came with a supporting artifact.
The Remote Control.
Unlike the arcane monstrosity that was Dad's keyboard, this majestic device had far fewer buttons. Simpler. More intuitive. Sure, a regular two-year-old might struggle with it, but hello? I had nearly 30 years of experience. (Granted, 28 of them were in a previous life, but details, details.)
This TV thing was a goldmine of channels.
News, cartoons, sports, mind-numbing reality shows… If you wanted to rot your brain or sharpen it, there was a channel for that.
And I? I found mine.
Forget those sickeningly sweet kids' shows filled with bouncing mascots and annoying singalongs. Ash Wyvern would never stoop so low. Not in this life, not in any life.
No, my choice was far superior.
I stumbled upon a channel dedicated to Flow.
And that's where I met my first Flow instructor.
Marcus Blazehurt.
Oh, Marcus… How do I even begin to describe him?
He had the energy of a sugar-rushed kid, the theatrics of a stage magician, and the fashion sense of a man who lost a bet. At times, I was convinced I was more mature than him—despite my current state of tiny, squishy adorableness.
But hey—if he had Flow wisdom to share, I was all ears.
So, with a determined gleam in my eyes, I cranked up the volume, planted myself firmly on the floor, and locked onto Marcus like a hawk.
Let the learning commence!
"Greetings, Flow enthusiasts! Welcome back to another episode of Unleash Your Flow! Today, we're venturing beyond the studio walls"—Marcus boomed, his voice practically vibrating the screen—"to bring you something truly special.
Buckle up! Because today, we're diving into the fascinating world of manipulating external Flow! But before we unleash the secrets..."
He winked conspiratorially, his grin dripping with mischief as he left the sentence hanging. "Here's a short ad, so stay tuned!"
...Winking? Unleash Your Flow?
I grimaced.
Cringe.
Blugh.
This man… why was he like this?
Pushing past my secondhand embarrassment, I refocused on the screen once the ad ended. Marcus pressed his right hand against a rough bark of a towering tree, his gaze locked onto the camera.
"See this beauty right here?" He gave the trunk a firm pat. "Trees, like all things—except most humans and animals—possess their own Flow. And with a simple touch..."
His fingers dug into the bark. A low hum pulsed through the screen.
"I can establish a connection between my Flow circuits and the tree. Now, its power becomes an extension of mine."
Raising his left hand, he threw a brief glance at it—clearly milking the moment for drama.
"And get this... I don't even need direct contact."
A grin stretched across his face, the kind of grin that screamed 'I know something you don't.'
And then—his bare left hand started to change.
Its skin darkened to a deep green. From his very flesh, verdant branches sprouted, twisting and curling into existence. Gnarled roots coiled like veins, extending from his arm like living wood.
I placed a hand under my chin, narrowing my eyes.
Hmm.
This wasn't conjuration. Nothing had appeared out of thin air. Instead, the Flow from the tree had merged with his own body, reshaping it.
Marcus flexed his new, bark-covered fingers. "My circuits remain linked, allowing me to manipulate the Flow of this tree."
I frowned.
Wait.
That's not what Romeo said.
That's not what my parents said.
Those three insisted on one fundamental rule: "You can't create from nothing."
And yet, here was Marcus, casually turning his flesh into a botanical masterpiece.
A beat of silence.
Marcus, still holding his cool-guy pose, let the moment hang.
I squinted at the screen, my patience wearing thin.
Okay, enough with the dramatic pauses, Marcus. I know you have the answer, so spit it out already!
At freaking last! Marcus's voice boomed with enthusiasm, his eyes glinting with mischief as he resumed his demonstration.
"The most common application," he declared, his tone dripping with showmanship, "is manipulating the Flow within an object!"
The moment his words hit the air, the tree shuddered. Leaves rippled and tumbled, a flurry of green cascading down like rain. The once-sturdy branches, stretching toward the sky, twitched—then writhed.
And then, they moved.
They bent and twisted, coiling like serpents, their shapes shifting, merging, reshaping—until, before my eyes, the gnarled mass of wood solidified into a massive walking stick, its surface rough yet unmistakably crafted with precision.
I gasped.
No chants, no spells, no flashy magic circles—just pure Flow manipulation.
Marcus grinned, "See?" His voice brimmed with amusement. "By manipulating the Flow within an object, I can reshape it at will! A simple giant walking stick for a simple demonstration, wouldn't you agree?"
I barely heard him. My mind was still reeling.
Flow could do this?
Marcus chuckled as if watching my stunned reaction. "Curious, aren't you?" He leaned in slightly, his grin widening. "How did I conjure those roots in my left hand without it directly touching the tree? How did I transform this towering giant into a simple walking stick?"
His fingers drummed against the wooden staff as he paused for effect. Then, with a smirk, he answered his own question.
"The answer lies in the very essence of Flow manipulation. By connecting my Flow circuits with the tree, I wasn't just altering its form, I was coaxing its Flow to intertwine with mine!"
The moment Marcus's hand pulled away from the tree, the verdant glow flickered and faded. The roots coiled back, dissolving into nothing, and his skin returned to normal—as if the transformation had never happened.
But I had seen it.
My heart pounded. This… This Flow—it wasn't magic.
It was something else entirely. A connection. A silent exchange, a harmony between the user and the world around them.
Marcus began pacing, hands clasped behind his back, his expression thoughtful yet brimming with excitement.
"Every object, every being attuned to Flow—even Flow-Beasts—possesses something unique," he said, gesturing to the tree. "A distinct signature of Flow."
I leaned in, absorbing every word.
"This signature is like a fingerprint, one that cannot be forged easily." His fingers trailed over the bark, eyes glinting with amusement. "By introducing just a sliver of this tree's Flow into my own circuits, I extended my reach—coaxing it to respond, to manifest in a form you could see."
Ah… so that's why his hand had turned green.
Marcus lifted a finger, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "But here's the real question! As you all know, the body has a set capacity for Flow." He let his words hang, waiting for the weight of them to settle. "So how did I manage to absorb the tree's Flow without overloading my circuits?"
A long pause. Then—
His smile turned mischievous. "The answer is deceptively simple. It's all about exchange."
His fingers snapped, and I nearly flinched.
"I didn't just take Flow—I gave some of my own." He tapped his chest lightly. "A tendril of my Flow reached into the tree, nudging it to release a sliver of its own back into me. And with that tiny thread connecting us, I gained leverage."
Suddenly, Marcus's expression darkened, his playful air vanishing in an instant.
A cold shiver ran down my tiny spine. Maybe wearing only a diaper wasn't enough after all.
...
...
Oi, oi, what's with the murderous aura?! I know I used to be the greatest assassin in Gloria, but I'm two years old now! If I lost my hard-earned balance and face-planted because of your death glare, would you take responsibility, huh?!
"There's a crucial aspect of Flow exchange you must never overlook," Marcus finally intoned, his voice low and foreboding as he reached back to fix his black ponytail.
Damn, even his hair adjustments felt dramatic.
"Some individuals may attempt to forcefully absorb external Flow without offering their own in return." His sharp eyes gleamed, slicing through the screen as if staring straight into my soul. "Do not entertain such reckless thoughts."
I swallowed.
"This results in what we call Overload."
"Overload occurs when the Flow Circuits are overwhelmed beyond their natural capacity. At best, you'll suffer immediate exhaustion, losing control over the very Flow you sought to command. At worst..." He let the silence drag for maximum effect. "Your circuits could rupture entirely, rendering you incapable of manipulating Flow ever again. Or worse... you die."
...Gulp.
"Unlike non-Flow users, we wielders share a unique bond with Flow itself. It is a part of us, woven into our very being. Too much or too little—either can be fatal. I trust you will remember th—"
**PFFFT—! The screen went black.
...Huh?
What?
WHAT?!
My tiny fists clenched. My mouth dropped into a disbelieving pout.
Who did this?!
WHO DARED TO CUT OFF MY SHOW?!
My furious gaze swept across the room—until I spotted the culprit.
There he stood. Bruno. Remote control clutched in hands.
Oh, BRUNO.
So it was YOU.
You... You remote-thieving betrayer!
GIVE IT BACK!
Of course, I couldn't actually say that.
And my limbs? Still too short, too wobbly to wrestle the remote away from Bruno's hands.
Instead, all I could do was let out a frustrated gurgle—the universal cry of helpless infants everywhere.
Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic.
Bruno chuckled, though there was no real amusement behind it. A nervous laugh. The kind that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Before I could protest further, he scooped me up with gentle but firm hands and carried me toward my tiny, wooden prison—the crib.
The bars loomed around me, caging me in like a captive princess. And yet… as Bruno placed me down, something flickered in his gaze.
Fear.
Was he… afraid of me?
Over a mere outburst?
Maybe if I played the helpless baby card a little longer, he'd give in. Pity is a weapon too, after all.
With a sigh, I turned my head away dramatically, pretending to sulk, hoping for a comforting coo or maybe even an apology.
But when I peeked back…
He was still there.
His hand hovered near the bars, hesitating. His red-rimmed eyes betrayed something heavier than simple worry. He opened his mouth to speak—then hesitated again, his lips pressing into a thin line.
The silence stretched.
And then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he spoke:
"I know you might not understand my words… and that's exactly why I'm telling you now."
His voice cracked slightly. A tremor ran through him—one he tried to hide.
His calloused hand brushed my hair, the roughness so different from the soft toys they'd given me to make my childhood bright and innocent.
"If you awaken as a Flow practitioner, your fate is already set, Lily."
My breath caught.
"That means you'll be different. Separated from us in a way—not physically, perhaps, but… your life will be one of duty, of protecting us, our country."
He exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening ever so slightly against the crib's wooden frame.
"I know most kids dream of adventures, but as your father…"
A pause. A sigh.
Bruno leaned down, pressing a kiss to my forehead. Warm. Gentle. Fleeting.
"As your father, I don't want you to see the darkness, Lily." His voice dropped lower, as if speaking of something forbidden. "The grudges held by those who live in the shadows… things I can't explain."
"But…"
His grip on the bars eased.
"Fate wants you to see it."
He pulled away, and suddenly, the warmth he left on my skin felt too distant.
His eyes softened, his voice steadying as he whispered his final words:
"Still, whatever path you choose, Lily… your mother and I will be proud."
Then—he left.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Leaving me alone.
In the darkness.
Yet, even in the quiet, his words echoed.
Damn it.
Now I was really mad that I had consciousness at two years old.
He never meant for me to understand those words.
…I'm sorry about that, Bruno.
Between Bruno's worried words and the intels I'd picked up in recent days, the picture was clear.
They were afraid.
Not just of Flow. Of what it meant for me.
Unlike them, I possessed Flow—a double-edged sword that could elevate me to greatness or drag me to ruin. With only two in a thousand born with it, Flow wasn't just rare. It was power. A coveted, dangerous force that dictated one's place in the world.
And power like that? It never went unnoticed.
Romeo's warnings slithered through my thoughts.
"Flow-runners lurk in the shadows, sniffing out 'potentially' gifted children. Some are taken. Some are never seen again."
The idea of being hunted down, stolen away, sold like an artifact in some black-market auction—I didn't need to guess. That fear was already carved into my parents' hearts.
And it wasn't just the threat of abduction.
A hierarchy existed—an entire system built around Flow-users.
While normal children basked in the warmth of family, laughed with friends, lived their days carefree…
People like me?
We stood at the crossroads of isolation and exploitation.
The moment my abilities fully awakened, my life would be dictated by training, expectations, and battles I never asked for. I wouldn't get to choose whether I was extraordinary or not. The world would decide that for me.
Greatness always comes at a price.
Loneliness. Duty. The suffocating weight of expectations.
...It was a familiar feeling.
A past life stolen from me. A blade in the dark. Blood on my hands.
But even amid the uncertainty, even with the looming threat of being consumed by this power…
A small ember flickered inside me.
Perhaps Flow wasn't just a curse.
Perhaps—it was an opportunity.
A chance to carve out a destiny beyond the chains of fate. A path not dictated by fear, but by my own will.
And maybe, just maybe…
It could lead me to the truth behind my assassination.
My grip tightened.
Dangerous? Absolutely.
But if Flow held the key to unraveling everything—then I had no choice but to see how far it could take me.