Inside a large room — several odd trinkets and gadgets taking up much of its space — a group of people clamored together around a single bed. On the bed lay a man, his body thin and emaciated after years of fighting an uphill battle. Many a man would have succumbed ages ago. But despite his circumstances, the man had a soft smile on his face as he looked over the people surrounding him.

He'd gone under many names and titles throughout his life. Those closest to him knew him as Anlal Stagast, but the one he was most recognized by was the one he gained on the battlefield over twenty years ago.

The Dimensional Destroyer.

He had never been fond of that name himself. Far too pompous. He also felt that it was misleading, and did not fit who he was. That's why he was glad when, after the great war had ended and he started growing older, some started calling him by a new name.

The Capricious Artificer.

The derisive undertone of the moniker did not escape him, but he didn't mind. He rather liked the name. Although — if it were up to him — he would've chosen a mixture of the two.

The Dimensional Artificer. That was more like it.

The title described him quite well — showcasing the two main aspects he had inherited from his parents.

His mother, Aveline Stagast, had been a dimensional magician of certain renown. Dimensional magicians were rare as they were, and someone of her talent even more so. She was accomplished enough as a magician that she was even given the title of 'Royal Navigator' by the king himself. Although dimensional magicians were relatively harmless in combat by themselves — they were incredibly valuable when working in tandem with others. And outside of combat; worth their weight in gold. They were a highly sought-after asset, both during war and peacetime.

His father, Aramis Stagast, had been an artificer. Much like Anlal's mother, his father had been very skilled in his field. Though he was more of a free soul than his wife and never tied himself down to any kingdom, he was no less renowned. His creations were fought over by many, and golems created by him were worth the same as small armies on the battlefield.

These two people had lovingly raised their only son, teaching him all they knew. Originally, they had fought over what path he should take as a mage. However, to both their surprise, Anlal had shown talent in both fields — deciding to follow both paths. An irregular choice, if any. As mastering a school took an immense amount of time, most people chose not to split their attention between different schools. Those who did focus on more than one school almost always chose more compatible schools of magic: such as geomancy and pyromancy. Choosing to be both an artificer and a dimensional magician had been an odd choice, but it turned out to be a good one as it allowed him to surpass the limits of both paths.

He'd encountered and experienced many things during his life, becoming a master of both fields. On this continent, the number of people that could be considered to be his peers when it came to magic lay in maybe the dozen or so.

And the relationships and bonds he'd formed shaped much of who he was. During his travels, he'd made many comrades, and even taken in several disciples.

Many of whom were currently gathered around his deathbed.

Anlal's soft smile as he reminisced was disrupted as he started coughing heavily., traces of blood flying out of his mouth.

"Da—" *cough, cough* "—Damn curse. Won't let me be even when I'm on my deathbed." he moaned, a pained smile on his face and his voice not much more than a whisper now.

A girl in her teens sat beside his bed, holding onto his bony hand with both of hers. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she watched him. "Master..." — a sorrowful sound escaped her mouth.

His hand covered hers, offering warmth despite their chilliness. "It will be all right, Daria. My time has simply come. I don't have any regrets as long as I have all of you. Live on and be healthy, and I'm satisfied." he smiled at her. "Of course...if someone bothers you...don't hesitate to tell me about it...I'll personally crawl out of my grave and...displace them so far up the behind of...a Blazeworm...that it'll take even a Graveling...weeks to—"*cough*"—dig them out!"

The room was silent, save for Daria's quiet sobbing. Anlal coughed once more — this time more out of boorishness rather than any kind of pain — and looked at the people in the room.

"Ahem. Perhaps not...the wisest analogy for this situation." Anlal grimaced. "...Reirden."

"Yes, master." A tall man with black straight-fitting clothes and a large pair of spectacles immediately answered as Anlal spoke.

"Make a note to have my imagination...reprimanded for its impertinence in thinking up that particular sight."

Reirden went quiet for a second before he gently bowed his head. "...Yes, master."

Another bout of coughing, followed by some more blood, made everybody tense. Anlal looked over the people in the room. "It's a shame that Zazeir couldn't make it," he said. "...I would have liked to see...that stale face of his one last time."

Another of the people in the room, a lizard-like woman, spoke. "Unlike you, Anlal, that old fool can't accept your death so easily. He's still trying to figure out a way to save your life."

He scoffed at her words. "I've told him a mill—"*cough cough cough*"—a million times that it's futile...If he has the time to waste, he should spend it on...something more meaningful...Like solving world hunger...Or gardening. Go tell him that, Halva."

The lizard-woman, Halva, rolled her eyes. "It's more likely that the sun would rise in the west than that man listening to what I tell him."

"...Is that so? You...should have told me that...before I let this curse...weaken me so...If I had known—"*cough cough*"—I would have...started working...on changing...that...years ag—" another coughing fit stopped him from speaking. This one was much worse than the previous one, continuing until it sounded like his lungs would go next. When it finally ended Anlal shakily raised his hand to Daria's chin and gazed over the people gathered around him.

"No more...jokes...it seems...My time has come...I am...truly...blessed...to have...all of you...here..." every word took longer than his previous one as his hand fell to the bed and his eyes slowly closed. "You....have....no....idea......how....proud....I......am..." the whispers left his mouth, one after one, riding on the still air inside the room. "So....proud....of....all....of.....you........."

There was still so much he wanted to say, but there was nothing he could do. As he felt the last vestiges of strength leave his body, his connection to the outside world grew dimmer and dimmer. The quiet sobs of his companions and disciples ever more muted. Eventually, everything faded away into obscurity. All that was left was darkness. No sound, no light, no sense of touch. Just nothingness.

For the longest time, Anlal didn't think a single thought. He was in a state of peace, with nothing to his being. An empty sense of peace like no other.

And then there was something. The conscious part of his being felt itself being pulled at. Small tugs, so insignificant and small as to be almost unnoticeable.

But they were something. Compared to the nothingness that was all, it was like a drop in the ocean and a bright lighthouse at the same time. The pulling continued and the dichotomy of the feeling gave fuel to a growth. He still existed. In this darkness that covered all that was, there was still something that was him. And it was being called somewhere. And he followed. He followed the tugging sensation. Looked for where it began. Tried to find the origin of whatever this sensation was. There was no sense of time. Just the endless pursuit of this feeling. It grew stronger and stronger, and with it, he became more and more aware. And then, he reached it.

Light and sound invaded his mind once again. With confusion and surprise, he blinked his eyes open and stared at the world around him.

What he saw wasn't the same room that he'd been in when he was on his deathbed. Nor were any of the people that had been with him at that time present now. The room he found himself in right now was completely foreign to him. It was large. Large and luxurious. Like the room of an aristocrat.

Anlal furrowed his eyebrows. He'd never cared much for luxury. He was a pragmatist before anything else; those close to him knew this well. None of them had a good reason to bring him to a place such as this.

He was lying down on a long bed on one end of the room. Scanning around the place, his gaze stopped in front of a window to the left of him. In a chair next to the window sat a lady who was humming a low tune as she embroidered what looked like a golden eagle on a white background. If he were to guess she was probably a few years older than him. Seventy, at most.

He lifted himself into a seated with a groan and touched his forehead. Something was wrong. His body was lighter than normal. Not only that, but he felt shorter too. He observed his hand closely.

How odd, he thought to himself. Whilst it was true that his hands had grown quite thin because of the curse, he was confident that they were supposed to be larger than this. Around seventy percent larger, from his estimation.

Of course, his hands usually weren't this young and smooth either. But one problem at a time — that was his motto.

A surprised gasp caught his attention and he raised his head to look at the lady in the chair.

Ah, right. Forgot about her

"Pardon me, madame," he spoke but was surprised to find that his voice was much brighter than before. "More and more bizarre..." he mumbled as he touched his throat. The lady let out another surprised sound, and he brought his attention back to her. He tried sporting a warm smile — the kind that always calmed down an agitated disciple. "You'll have to excuse me, madame. I am experiencing some truly outlandish phenomena, so my attention is somewhat divided. But if you could be so kind as to explain where we currently are, I would be greatly appreciative."

The woman stared at him with her mouth open, her eyes almost bulging out. It was quite similar to a Grobdon, he noted. Although he also felt that her reaction was rather rude. He wasn't sure what he looked like at the moment, but surely it couldn't be that shocking. She was, after all, sitting there quietly just a moment ago.

Suddenly, the woman shot up from her chair, her embroidery falling down on the floor without her paying it any heed. She kept staring at Anlal, and finally moved her mouth as if to speak,

"***** ****** *** ** **** ********!!"

...but what came out was nothing but gibberish to him.

"Would you mind repeating that?" Anlal said. "I think you might have forgotten a vowel or ten somewhere in there."

The lady went on to excitedly scream something so loudly that he instinctively had to cover his ears. He was about to forcibly displace her out of the room — when he realized that he couldn't. To his shock, there was barely any mana left in his body. His current supply of mana was akin to that of a child's!

He froze, before looking at his hands again. He then looked over the rest of his body.

I've become a child... he thought aimlessly.

Just as that particular realization crossed through his mind, a door at the other end of the room shot open and two people clad in servants' clothing entered, walking over to the excited old lady. After listening to her gibberish for a short while, one of the servants quickly left the room whilst the other stayed behind and observed Anlal closely.

Anlal examined the servant intently in return. He was a middle-aged man with slicked-back gray hair and a straight expression.

"Greetings. You wouldn't happen to understand what I'm saying, would you?" Anlal tried. The man's eyes shot open with surprise, but his only answer was some unintelligible mumbling.

"I thought not..." Anlal muttered.

The other servant returned not long after, followed by a tall robustly built man with jet-black hair. Judging from his clothing, Anlal gathered that he was likely the lord of the house. The man looked at Anlal with slight not-so-well-hidden contempt, before speaking in the same nonsensical language as the two before him. Anlal furrowed his brows. "Does none of you speak Alemno?"

Just like with the two servants — albeit in a more subdued manner — the man's face lit up in surprise as Anlal spoke.

The lord turned to the older lady and asked her something but she just shook her head as she answered. An annoyed expression formed on the man's face as he turned back to look at Anlal. He tried speaking to him a few more times before seemingly surrendering to the fact that not a word of what he said was understood.

When Anlal realized that speaking to the lord wasn't going to go anywhere, he instead directed his attention to his body. It really was the body of a child. Quite a young one, at that. The amount of mana in his body right now was also rather pitiful — as was to be expected of a child's body. He would be surprised if he could cast more than a couple of small spells in this state.

While he was glad that he wasn't dead it was a shame that most of his power was gone. He didn't appreciate feeling so restricted in what he could do. It gave him the shivers; just thinking about the possibility of never being able to create something again or not being able to travel as he liked.

Not that he was necessarily doomed to that face. This body did have a decent foundation, at least. It was a bit on the weak side physically, yes. But that could be rectified. More than likely, this was nothing but a temporary setback for him. A more than worthwhile sacrifice if it meant his survival.

What he was more curious about right now was how he survived. As far as he knew there was no cure for the curse that had afflicted him, nor was he aware of any kind of body-switching magic that could have effects such as these. Could Zazeir perhaps have found a way to save his life? If that were true, then Anlal owed that elf several Cinlucites. Maybe he should even gift him that Ataclophane essence that he had been storing away for a future project.

Of course, that was only if he could make it back home. At the moment, he had no idea whatsoever of where he was.

His pondering was abruptly interrupted by a bright squeal, as a woman in her thirties with attractive features and bright blond hair rushed into the room. She asked the black-haired lord a question, and a smile formed on her face as she heard his answer and shifted her gaze to Anlal. Before he could react, the woman had run up to the bed and embraced the thoroughly confused 'boy' in a tight hug, repeating the same words over and over again.

Anlal — feeling quite uncomfortable from the current situation — tried forcing the woman off of him, but his weak body was no match against the tight lock she had on him. "Ahem...My lady, if you could kindly lessen your grip on me it would gladden me quite a bit. After all, we are strangers, and I feel embracing like this might be slightly improper." he grumbled as he tried to breathe beneath her show of affection. "Not that I care much for such customs, mind you, but there are other people here and for your own good I feel the need to at the very least make you aware of this."

The woman did not move an inch, despite his pleading. He let out a sigh. "What is it with you people. It's common sense to at least pretend that you understand the other party..."