It had been a difficult year for Vella's 'parents'. The current year, even more so. Looking to her future was worse for them than the past when she had been lost.

It was during breakfast that they broached the subject for the umpteenth time.

“Lilyan-” her ‘mother’ began.

“Vella.”

“Lilyan,” her mother stressed. Beneath her blonde hair, a pair of piercing blue eyes bore into her daughter. The wrinkles on her face were scribed more by hard work than age, although currently it was a result of her stress.

Her face of modest beauty and her mature physique was more than enough to entice customers to her stall. Vella inherited those looks and would probably grow to inherit her attractive frame too.

“Both your father and I are concerned about you. We really think it is in your best interest to attend the Martial Arts Academy. It will secure your future and help you come to terms with yourself.”

'But there is always an ulterior motive, isn't there?' Vella thought. She wasn't about to get a second chance at life only to have someone dictate it for her. Especially when it was so oppressive the last time.

“I can do the same in the Institution Of Magic,” she reasoned, “Let's be honest here. What you're really asking for is the prestige that comes with being in the Academy.”

Vella's mother screwed her eyes shut as if wincing. It lingered until her husband's hand rested comfortingly on her shoulder. “Lilyan, please don't talk to us in that way. The Institution Of Magic is new. There are risks to your career if you start there and despite what you think, we really do care for your future.”

“Your mother's right,” Vella's father agreed crossing his arms, “Why not go on the tried and tested path? It's what's got us this far.”

As a tool craftsman his forearms were cords of rope, but it only exaggerated his slight build. His bushy and voluminous auburn beard and moustache at odds with what the locals would deem a lesser man. It hid his expression somewhat, but Vella knew it to be sour.

The most striking of his appearance, however, was his deep purple eyes. A truly unusual colour, of which Vella inherited along with the colour of his hair.

“I had gone down a path that others had set for me. It did not end well,” Vella argued, hinting at her past and her unique circumstance, “I want to walk my own path.”

“Don't use your reincarnation as an excuse,” he said, acknowledging the hint but defiant as ever against the fact. Even after three years since Vella's secret had come out, her parents never truly accepted it.

“On the contrary, I can, and I will. I was a full-grown adult. I can make my own decisions and learn from my life's experience. Collectively, I’m as old as you. I'm sure I'll be fine,” Vella disputed, “And didn't grandfather say the same? If you won't take my word for it, take it from the elder who is also a reincarnate.”

Vella's mother threw up her hands in frustration and stalked away. “I can't do this. Fine, fine. Fine! Just go then. Take everything away.”

It may seem like words of a tamper tantrum, but Vella knew better about what that last bit referred to.

Flashes of her childhood memories play in her head. Her mother's joy in raising an innocent child, her father's love in teaching the basics of his craft. Guilt began to form in the pits of her stomach. Then anger.

It wasn't her fault she was reincarnated. It wasn't her fault that the child they raised will never be the same again. It wasn't her fault that she had died.

She will not be manipulated that easily again.

With breakfast routinely ruined, thankfully for the last time, she went back to her room for a last check on her valuables, trying not to draw parallels in her current parent's behaviour with her last.

She was going to find a way to go today regardless of what her parents thought. She wasn't going to miss her first day at the Institution tomorrow. She already paid for it with everything she had. And she had seven years of familial doting to spend.

She thanked her grandfather again for his generous donations. His own experience as a reincarnate who had started with nothing urged him to provide her with a more comfortable start.

While one couldn't say she was starting out with nothing, with a roof over her head and a family to provide for her wellbeing, reincarnates from another world were ultimately alone.

Vella dragged what little possessions she had fit into a box to the front of the house just in time for the carriage to arrive. It wasn't a fancy ride. It was a farmer's wagon filled with potted goods and other perishables. It was next to impossible to contact anyone who would give a child their time of day so a passing farmer was the best she could do. Especially when she did not live in the capital city.

Her departure was a quiet and unceremonious event, her parents didn't even come out to see her off. Likely still stewing in their bitterness. Not that she would have liked to deal with them, but some part of her could not help but feel somewhat disappointed. As if there was a need for at least some token form of concern.

There's no need to get too close with them. They were strangers, acquaintances at best. It was better to treat her extra childhood memories as a dream.

It would be a long ride ahead so she was better off occupying herself with something to do, lest it ate at her throughout the journey.

To that end, she focused within herself. At the centre of her mind she felt her connection to her mana. Having never been taught, she never figured out how to actually cast magic except her family's specific brand, which came naturally.

She went over Lilyan's memories and pushed her mana through the blueprint she had in her mind. Vella let the mana pulse to her palm and a beautiful twin tailed bird solidified into reality.

It was a Dawli. A common bird that inhabited the wilds and cities both.

She let it fly up into the air and the Dawli fed back a stream of information of what it saw. The road wound itself into the horizon. A mountain range behind them stood between Lazla's two main cities. She could even make out her father's favourite fishing spot near the river that ran through the settlement of which she called home, surrounded by farmlands.

As she admired the scene through the eyes of her Dawli, the wagon driver's voice cut into the feed.

“Could you stop that?”

Startled by the sudden confrontation, Vella asked back, “What, the magic?”

“Yes. It's wrong,” the driver replied irritably.

“And why is that?” Vella pressed.

“It just is,” he asserted.

'Great,' she thought, 'Grandpa Ken warned me about this.'

Out of all the clichés, it had to be 'magic was evil'. She knew briefly of this world's history. At least, the one event two thousand years ago.

People were living in a golden age. Of happiness, prosperity, and technological growth. But it was magic that caused the Calamity of the Ancients.

People were thrown back centuries or maybe even millennia of advancement and it was also when Monsters started to appear. Magic's reputation was tarnished ever since as something unstable and to be feared.

The Institution of Magic itself had to fight for fifty years to this very day in order to keep its legitimacy. Its only saving grace was the Empress' favour in advancing any kind of technology to strengthen Lazla, not to mention the need to combat the surrounding Monsters.

Much of the public's opinion, governed by hearsay and a deep-set trust of its community, was much harder to sway. Still, there were a few citizens who were more open-minded to magic and looked closer to its applications regardless of taboo. But those tend to live in Zlantic or Talzc.

It was a long shot, but hopefully, this farmer could be reasonable.

“Well, I'm not hurting you, nor your produce. Why not let me do what I want while you just pretend I don't exist.”

“Look, I'm not about to argue with a child. Just do what you're told. Don't your parents teach you respect?”

Vella sighed through her nose and ignored him. Yet another self-entitled adult. She wasn't about to give respect to those who hadn't earned it from her.

With another push of her mana through yet another blueprint, and with no small amount of spite, she conjured a small single-horned hare. Also known as a Yunare, it was known for being extremely hard to hunt due to its extremely skittish nature and powerful hind legs. They were able to outrun many of their predators, humans included.

She wanted to feel proud that she had been able to capture one long enough to create its mental blueprint. However, this was Lilyan's accomplishment. A distinction she adhered to strictly.

She kept the Yunare in her lap, slowly running her hand through the soft fur and letting it keep her company.

The relaxing moment lasted exactly two seconds when the carriage abruptly stopped.

Vella looked up to see what the holdup was. They were still halfway to Lazla's capital city of Zlantic, and so much of her surroundings were grass, flowers, and trees. A general lack of civilisation.

Still, they were close enough to the city so dangerous animals were uncommon. Even if there were, they generally knew to stay away from the main roads, and from humans. Was there a fallen tree in the way?

Vella was still lost in thought when a pair of hands roughly grabbed her sides and bodily threw her into the dirt road. Dust kicked up from around her point of impact.

She wasn't frail for her age, having lived a more active lifestyle out of necessity. However the landing winded her for several seconds and it was painful enough that she wondered if she had broken any ribs or dislocated her shoulders.

Then something heavy, probably the carriage driver, thudded next to her and she instinctively rolled away with only one conclusion in her mind.

Bandits.

She staggered to her feet, her Yunare by her side, shaking itself off from the fall. She wondered how desperate these brigands were to attack a farmer and a seven year old girl.

Regardless, she was in trouble, and the farmer probably lacked any means of defence. Vella herself had only her family's magic, and her current selection of animals weren't exactly threatening.

Steeling her resolve, she turned to face her attackers, only to be greeted by the sight of the wagon lurching away.

“Witch-child!” echoed the farmer's voice, hanging in the air like a curse.

A dumbfounded Vella was left standing with tarnished clothes and strewn hair in the middle of a long road.