Chapter 3 – A Strange Childhood

“Hold still, Shaelith.” The servant pulled another purple strand through the complicated weave. “Almost done.”

Jacob sat motionless on the padded stool and watched in the mirror as his hair was woven into messages. House Vyrnara above all others. Daughter of the Matriarch. Studies Sorcery. Virgin. The list went on with an incredible amount of information about a seven-year-old child, even a seven-year-old elf child, but he had no control over it. At his apparent age, others decided what his hairstyle told the world.

The face in the mirror stared back. Large lavender eyes, flawless purple skin, features of an almost uncanny symmetry. [Exceptional Beauty], the UI had claimed. Yes, a heartbreakingly beautiful violet elf girl. He saw it, could recognize it rationally, but mostly felt a strange distance. As if he were looking at a particularly pretty painting that happened to bear his name.

Six years. Six years since he’d woken up in that tiny body, seconds after he’d drowned, seconds before he, or rather the tiny body of the child he now was, nearly fell off a balcony. It all hadn’t been easy so far, with the painstaking learning of the melodic Shaeravyn language, the endless lessons in politics and etiquette and the slow realization that House Rynalazel had been behind the first assassination attempt against his life. And learning all the necessary context, to understand what that even really meant.

The first assassination attempt of many.

His small shoulders tense involuntarily. Three more attempts on his life since then, seven on that of his new mother. The matriarch. The old Jacob paranoia of always scanning the room, always cautiously looking out for potential trouble to avoid had blended seamlessly into his new existence. Some things never change.

“Done!” The servant stepped back and admired her work. “Now you are presentable for your Sorcery lesson with Mistress Velathynre.”

He nodded and stood up and smoothes his dress. In my head, I’m still the old Jake. But only there. Most of the time, I’m just… Shaelith.

That was perhaps the strangest thing of all, how natural it had become. How his old name felt like a fading dream, while this new one was etched in his bones. He automatically looked up when he heard it.

If only there weren’t so many lessons. At least it’s magic and not calculus. I hope in this life I don’t get isekai’d away just before the end of school time too. Otherwise I’ll just give up.

Velathynre Delzyndra’s mushroom palais was centrally located and deliberately so. None of the visiting noble houses were supposed to feel favored or disadvantaged.

And Mistress Velathynre certainly had been able to afford to be choosy with the location. If you were the best sorcery teacher in all of Myzelemaerlazin, as the mushroom metropolis was actually called in his new mother tongue, the students came to you, not the other way around.

Jacob sat cross-legged on a glowing mycelium cushion, surrounded by a dozen other girls from different noble houses. They were only girls here, because the Shaeravyn, as his new people called themselves, didn’t teach sorcery to boys.

Directly across from him perched Raleyri Rynalazel. Her bombastic braids rivaled his own and her expressionless face practically screamed, “My family hates your family, but we have to pretend to be civilized while we’re on neutral ground.”

“Today,” Mistress Velathynre announced in her smoky voice, “we will learn to activate the Kinesis Glyph.” She raised her arm, already emblazoned with an accurately drawn symbol in shimmering mycelial ink. “Watch carefully.”

The air around her hand began to shimmer, purple energy pulsed along the lines of the glyph and a small crystal ball on the ground rose gently into the air.

“The key,” the teacher continued, “is not power, but connection. You have to feelthe mana and let it flow within you, but don’t force it. Let it fill you to the brim.”

After learning to draw the glyph on their skin the girls practiced and soon they lit up all over the room. Some girls’ glyphs were flickering faintly, others pulsing erratically. Raleyri pressed her lips together as her glyph went out again and again.

Jacob closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. Because the strange thing was, in fact, that magic felt to him like… well, like breathing.

His glyph lit up in a steady, bright and effortless glow and he had now idea, how he even did it. It just worked. The crystal ball in front of him floated upwards in a smooth motion.

“Excellent!” Mistress Velathynre glided over to him. “You see, girls? Shaelith understands. For some of us, like Shaelith, it’s easier. Others have to work harder. So make an effort!”

Raleyri’s gaze could have burned holes in his skull. One more member of this crazy family who would like to see me dead.

“In the coming months,” the teacher concluded the lesson, “we will move on to more complex glyphs. Emotion glamors, illusion spells.” She smiled. “At least as long as you can keep up. I only teach the best.”

While the other girls were still struggling with their flickering glyphs, Jacob made his orb dance through the air in elegant maneuvers. Weird, how of all things in this crazy mushroom world, magic is somehow the simplest. I wish everything here was that simple.

After the sorcery lesson, he was escorted back to the family area of the Vyrnara mushroom palace and returned to the care of the servants and nannies. Oh no, he thought, as he heard a dreaded splashing among the familiar chatter and giggling. Nude bathing time.

Around twenty of his cousins of various ages frolicked in and around the glowing pools of the living quarters. Naked purple bodies splashed around in the water without even a hint of embarrassment.

In one corner, a ball of at least seven children had formed a so-called “cuddle haven”, where they snuggled together like puppies, tickling each other, chattering and braiding each other friendship braids.

“Shaelith!” Vyriz broke away from the pile and waved at him. His wet lavender hair stuck to his forehead and his pointed elven ears peeked out happily from his hair, proving that elves could have jug ears too. “Are you coming in? We can play cave morays!”

Jacob felt his shoulders tighten. Vyriz was actually okay. No, that wasn’t fair, he genuinely liked the guy. He was smart, funny, shared his fondness for the spicier mushroom varieties at lunch, and he never bullied others despite being a bit taller and stronger than the other kids his age. But the boy had the Shaeravyn-typical notion of personal space that amounted to “What’s that?” and he was particularly fond of Shaelith.

“I… I still have to change,” Jacob mumbled.

“So what?” Vyriz came closer, still dripping wet, and casually grabbed Jacob’s dress, thinking nothing of it. “Why don’t you undress here? I’ll help you with the fasteners!”

Nope. Nope nope nope. Jacob took a step back. “Later, maybe.”

Vyriz’s face visibly fell. “What is it?” His voice sounded hurt. “Don’t you like me?”

“Of course I like you-“

“But you never let me braid your hair. Or cuddle you. Or anything at all.” Vyriz crossed his arms. “Are you embarrassed by me? Or do you think I’m disgusting?”

Damn. How do you explain to a seven-year-old elf boy that it wasn’t him, but that you actually came from a different world with completely different ideas and taboos and ended up in a body of a different sex and weren’t yet – if ever – cool with that?

“Our little shell,” chortled Belyssere affectionately, Jacob’s nanny, who suddenly appeared next to him and stroked his head. “Always so clammed up, like she’d melt away if anyone touched her.”

“I’m not melting,” Jacob protested half-heartedly.

“All little sprouts need warmth to grow strong,” Belyssere continued, stroking his hair lovingly. “Locking yourself away is not healthy, my darling.”

A high-pitched voice shrieked from the pool. “Shaelith is as weird as humans!”

That was Phylleze, one of his younger cousins, who obviously meant it as the ultimate childlike insult. The other children giggled.

The humans in this world, some of whom visited Myzelemaerlazin from time to time for trade, were considered ridiculously prudish and stiff among the Shaeravyn. To be precise, the opinion in the mushroom metropolis was that the humans in this matter, as in some others, had a screw loose.  

If they knew.

After six years, the ubiquitous nudity and casual physical intimacy still felt like a particularly intense episode of a hippie commune documentary. Only with more mushrooms. Well, maybe not exactly more mushrooms, but other mushrooms. And definitely with more assassinations.

“Come on,” Belyssere said gently and put a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have time to bathe now anyway. The matriarch is expecting you for dinner.”

Jacob nodded gratefully for the rescue, even if the upcoming dinner with his “mother” didn’t necessarily make him feel any less uncomfortable.

As he left, he heard Vyriz’s disappointed voice behind him. “She really doesn’t like me…”

No, I really do. I just don’t like you constantly trying to stick to me like a particularly clingy limpet.

~

The matriarch’s private dining room was not intended for the eyes of outsiders but was nevertheless impressively elegant. The matriarch placed great value on aesthetics.

Bioluminescent mushrooms in various shades of purple cast their light on a table of polished obsidian. Jacob settled into his seat and tried not to analyze his mother’s hair too obviously, for skilled Shaeravyn did that inconspicuously.

Matriarch Laenre Vyrnara wore a particularly impressive creation today. Seven main braids joined together in a complicated knot, interwoven with silver threads and decorated with tiny amethysts. House Vyrnara above all others. Alliance with House Delzyndra stands strong. Warning to House Rynalazel. Ready for negotiations, but from a position of strength.

“Shaelith.” Her melodic voice cut through his thoughts. “Mistress Velathynre reports that you have outdone everyone today. Again.”

“The kinesis glyph wasn’t difficult,” Jacob replied and reached for his bowl. The first spoonful of the spicy mushroom soup exploded on his tongue. It was an extremely spicy umami, with tangy flavors that didn’t even exist on Earth and had brought tears of pain to his eyes just a few years ago.

God, how could I ever have lived without it?

“Not difficult for you,” Laenre corrected. “It took Raleyri Rynalazel the entire hour to create even a flicker, I hear.” A small smile curved her lips. “Her mother will be unhappy.”

Jacob took another spoonful and let the spiciness burn through his body. In the past it would have knocked his socks off, now it was like a warm hug from the inside. “Rynalazel seems to be unhappy a lot lately. Especially since their trade route through the West Grotto has been having difficulties.”

Laenre’s eyebrow rose slightly. “And how do you know about these difficulties?”

“The servants are talking about goblin raids in the west,” Jacob replied with a shrug. “And as many as two women from Raleyri’s escort wore mourning messages in their hair today. They have heavy casualties, I’d say.”

“Perceptive.” Laenre leaned back and scrutinized him with that unsettlingly intense look. “In a hundred or two hundred years, you’re going to be a formidable matriarch, Shaelith. Especially with your-” She paused, letting her gaze slide over his shapely face with considerable satisfaction. “-extraordinary appearance. You will be the most beautiful Shaeravyn of your generation. Perhaps of all generations.”

Jacob sighed inwardly. This was not exactly the kind of attention he was looking for.

“Beauty is a gift,” Laenre continued as she noticed his involuntary reaction. “And a tool. It opens doors that would otherwise remain closed. If you know how to use it properly, it can be more powerful than sorcery even. Don’t quarrel with your blessings.”

Jacob wasn’t sure it really was that much of a blessing. “I understand, Mother.”

“Do you?” Laenre’s tone became thoughtful. “You’re so strangely reserved, Shaelith. So clever for your age, so gifted in sorcery, and yet…” She reached for her crystal chalice. “Belyssere reports that you’ve avoided bathing with your cousins the last three times in a row.”

Of course she does, “I had studies to do.”

“Studies.” Laenre repeated the word as if tasting it on her tongue. “Tell me, my clever daughter, what do you study so diligently that you miss the opportunity to forge bonds with your kin?”

Jacob knew a trap when he saw one. “The history of relations between Myzelemaerlazin and the Sylvyn groves. I was interested in the animosities between the Vyn peoples over the last few centuries.”

A genuine smile flitted across Laenre’s face. “And what conclusion did my little historian come to?”

“That since the death of their previous matriarch, House Rynalazel has become increasingly reckless. Their boorishness in dealing with the Sylvyn and their doggedness in dealing with the border goblins are…” He searched for the right word in Shaeravyn. “…short-sighted.”

“Excellent.” Laenre sipped her moss wine. “Your mind is as sharp as a hair pin dagger, Shaelith. But you don’t win wars with a sharp dagger alone.”

She leaned forward. “Bonds forged in childhood often become alliances in adulthood. Vyriz, for example is a loyal boy with impeccable lineage, even though he’s a bit too unevenly shaped to be an eligible breeding male if he’s older. But he still is the son of my favorite sister, and it wouldn’t hurt you to cultivate his friendship. The boy adores you, you know?”

Great. Dating advice from my centuries-old elf mom. “I’ll… think about it.”

“Do that.” Laenre leaned back, her gaze becoming analytical again. “You are a mystery to me, my daughter. So smart and observant and yet so cautious and closed up. As if you carry a head that is too heavy for your young shoulders.”

Jacob’s heart leapt, but he forced his face to calm. “Surely you can’t blame me for being cautious, Mother. There are people out there trying to kill us.”

“Perhaps.” Laenre rose, the sign that dinner was finished. “But remember, Shaelith, for a noble Shaeravyn of your station, heir to a great house and daughter of one of the most powerful matriarchs of our people, isolation is a form of weakness.”

She glided to the door, then paused. “Tomorrow you will attend the afternoon bath. That’s not a request.”

And with that, she was gone, leaving Jacob alone with the remains of his spicy dinner and the uneasy feeling that his carefully preserved distance was slowly crumbling.

~

Cold water filled his lungs. Ben’s panicked face blurred before his eyes, arms clutched at him, pulling him down, deeper and deeper-

No. Not Ben. An assassin was trying to grab him! Purple hands with a razor-sharp hairpin. Mycelium threads shot out of the ground, wrapped around the man, penetrating his skin. Small mushrooms sprouted from his eye sockets as he screamed silently-

Jacob woke up gasping. His small body was drenched in sweat, his nightgown clinging to his purple skin. Damn. Again.

The nightmares came in waves. Sometimes nothing for weeks, then several nights in a row. And it was always this horrible mixture of his death and his new life. As if his brain was desperately trying to merge horrors of both of his lives into a coherent narrative.

“Shaelith?” The door opened quietly and Belyssere slipped in, a glyph glowing on her arm and a small magical light hovering over her palm. The elderly servant wore her hair in simple braids. Partnerless. Childless. Devoted to House Vyrnara for three generations. “I heard you calling, my dear.”

Did I? Jacob wiped his forehead. “It was just a dream.”

“The bad ones again?” Belyssere sat down on the edge of the bed, a gesture that other servants would not necessarily have allowed themselves, since Shaelith was in the reputation not to like the closeness the Shaeravyn were used to. But Belyssere treated his strangeness with good-natured acceptance instead of the usual mixture of incomprehension and concern. “The water thing?”

He nodded. She didn’t know it was a real memory, probably thought it was a childish fear of drowning. There were sometimes catastrophic groundwater intrusions in the grotto.

While Belyssere stroked his sweaty forehead reassuringly, Jacob let his gaze wander upwards in the familiar angle. The UI flickered into his field of view.

[Exceptional Beauty]
[Daughter of the Matriarch]

Still only two entries. Nothing had changed in six years.

Stupid game design. No new skills, no experience points, no nothing. If this is really a kind of game, it’s the most boring RPG ever.

“You’re staring at the ceiling again,” Belyssere remarked gently. “Are you so fascinated by the glowing mushrooms?”

Jacob blinked. The bioluminescent mushrooms on the ceiling pulsed in a slow and sluggish rhythm. “Oh, uh, yes, they’re, uh, calming. I guess,” he lied.

“You know what?” Belyssere smiled. “You want me to tell you a story? It’s an old story that explains why some Shaeravyn children sometimes have strange dreams?”

Jacob frowned. After six years, he knew most of the Shaeravyn tales, but he had never heard one about dreams. “Other children have water dreams too?”

Are there more secret isekai victims here?

“Not water dreams, sweetie.” Belyssere pulled the blanket higher. “Dreams of the mycelium. Of the deepest roots of our city. Some say they’re messages.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “From the sleeping Fungus God.”

“A Fungus God?” Jacob raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“Oh yes,” Belyssere stretched out next to him on the bed and her voice took on the typical melodic storytelling singsong that all Shaeravyn automatically struck up when they told the old tales. “A very, very long time ago, before the first matriarchs braided their hair, before the grotto took its present form, there lived a very old fungus being in the depths beneath our city.”

And let me guess it was a benevolent protector who loved us all?

“This creature was neither good nor evil,” Belyssere continued, contradicting him. “But it was curious and it watched the first Shaeravyn arriving in the grotto as they tried to survive in the darkness. And for reasons no one knows, it decided to help us.”

“How did it help us?”

“The Fungus God taught our ancestors the secrets of the mycelium,” Belyssere’s voice grew reverent. “How to speak to the mycelial web, how to shape it and how to channel its power. Without this gift, we would never have been more than shivering refugees in the darkness. Weak and feeble and unable to do real sorcery, like the Sylvyn in their forests.”

So we pitched our tents right next to a skill trainer back then. That sounds convenient.

“Then what happened?” he asked, cringing at how small and childlike and girlish his voice sounded.

“An evil god became envious,” Belyssere lowered her voice to a dramatic whisper. “A cruel being craving absolute control over all that lives. It wanted to make the Shaeravyn its slaves and imprison our souls. The Fungus God fought against it, deep in the underground, in old caverns that no one can enter today.”

“Who won?”

“The battle lasted nine days and nine nights and, in the end, the Fungus God prevailed, but at a terrible cost. He fell into a deep sleep, too exhausted to ever wake again.”

“But he’s dreaming, I guess,” Jacob whispered.

“Yes!” Belyssere smiled, obviously pleased with his attention. “He dreams. And sometimes, so they say, his dreams touch children with a particularly strong connection to magic and they hear his whispers in a language older than words.”

“But my dreams are nothing like that. I just dream of water.”

Belyssere stroked his head. “Maybe your next dream will be the Fungus God whispering secrets, who knows.”

“Mhh… yeah, maybe. But I don’t believe so.”

“Some say,” Belyssere leaned forward conspiratorially, “that the Fungus God does not sleep forever. After millennia of sleep, one day he will stir again. When the Shaeravyn need him most and when evil comes knocking at our gates again, he will awaken and defend us.”

“I hope he’ll sleep a little longer then.”

Belyssere stood up and smoothed her robe. “And you as well take an example from the Fungus God and sleep now, little Shaelith. And may you dream of pleasant things.”

“Good night, Belyssere.”

“Good night, Shaelith.”

Belyssere left and Jacob lay awake for a bit longer, watching the glowing mycelium blink wearily, before he finally fell asleep.

And he no longer noticed the strange pulsing and flickering as something stirred far below, in the deepest depths of the mycelium.