Reincarnation of Nikola Tesla in another world-Chapter 3: Sparks in the Ash

Over time, I started noticing more than just whispers and shadows. The world around Braelor's Rest came alive with sound—the steady bang-bang-bang of the village forge below, sheep bleating in the fields, the wind rustling through dry grass. Inside the orphanage, wooden bowls scraped against tables, fire crackled in the hearth, and sometimes at night, I could hear kids crying in their sleep.

Through the orphanage's windows, I often watched the village below. Green-skinned orcs hauled heavy loads while human overseers barked orders. Goblins scurried between buildings, doing the jobs nobody else wanted, their small forms darting away from kicks and thrown stones.

"Why are they treated like that?" I asked one day, breaking my usual silence as I watched a goblin child get chased away from the village well.

Marga's weathered face hardened. "Because people fear what's different, kim" she said, her voice low. "The Kingdom of Gulbarg won the war fifty years ago. Made slaves of the losing side. Ain't right, but that's how it is." She went back to stirring the morning porridge but added quietly, "Same kind or different ones, cruelty's still cruelty."

Life at the orphanage followed strict routines. Up before the sun, when the air was sharp with cold even in summer. Breakfast was always the same bland porridge, eaten in silence. Then came chores—hauling water from the well, sweeping stone floors, fixing torn clothes. Even the littlest kids had to help.

One morning, while sorting through a pile of donated clothes, I overheard two village women talking to Marga.

"Those orc children you took in last month," one said, wrinkling her nose. "Surely they're too... wild for this place?"

Marga's voice was harsh. "Children are children. Don't care if they're human, orc, or goblin. All of them need food and shelter same as any other."

"But they have no magic," the other woman pressed. "They'll never be proper members of society."

"Neither do half the humans in the village," Marga shot back. "Including you, Lady Merith. Being born with magic doesn't make anyone better. Now, if you're not here to help, the door's that way."

I watched everything with still, unblinking eyes, catching things other kids missed. I saw how Marga could start a fire with just a touch and a whispered word. I noticed Aldric sneaking peeks at an old book about herbs, muttering words that made plants grow faster in the small garden. Lirien wove magic into fishing nets, making them catch more fish than they should. And Mira seemed to know when rain was coming, like the wind itself whispered to her.

But not everyone had magic. Most of the village didn't, in fact. They just worked hard with their hands, like the blacksmith whose hammer rang out every day or the baker who made bread without any magical help at all.

One day Aldric tossed a stone at me to gather my attention, " Why do you always stare at everything you Owl-eyed freak?" he asked playfully.

I turned to Aldric, head tilting slightly. "Observation, young Aldric, is the foundational pillar of comprehension. To perceive accurately is to begin to understand profoundly."

Aldric blinked, momentarily taken aback, then grinned. "'Comprehension'!" he repeated, mimicking my tone exaggeratedly to Lirien and Mira, who giggled softly. "Fancy words for a kid!"

Lirien leaned forward. "Are you ever going to talk properly, Kim? Like... normal words? Not those... big ones?" She held out a small, brightly colored button. "Here," she said shyly. "For your collection... of silence."

I took the button with slow, deliberate movements. "Your offering, Lirien, is... acceptable. While verbal articulation is normal, silence, in its own right possesses a communicative capacity. It allows for... focuse." I turned the button over in my hand. "And this button... it is indeed quite... button-like."

Even Mira cracked a smile.

One afternoon, while sorting through a pile of cast-off items from the noble houses, I found buried beneath torn silks and chipped porcelain—a small, tarnished silver locket. At first, it seemed useless, its clasp broken and dull. But when my fingers brushed against it, warmth spread outward, subtle but there.

I picked it up, turning it over in my small hand. The metal felt alive. The warmth intensified, spreading up my arm, tingling at my fingertips. This wasn't just metal. It was a vessel, a conduit. Something within it made no sense to me.

That evening, by the dying fire, I watched Marga tend to a scraped knee. Her hands had a faint glow as she worked, whispering under her breath. Beside her, one of the orc twins—bigger and stronger than human kids their age—crushed herbs with practiced ease. No magic, but skilled hands all the same.

I reached out toward the fading embers, trying to grab hold of that same feeling I'd gotten from the locket. Nothing happened at first. Just cold stone under my fingers.

Mira sat beside me, her eyes landing on the pendant in my hands. "Is that a fire amulet? Where'd you find it?"

I turned it over, studying the worn edges. "Ah, an interesting little things. Dug it out from the heap of old clothes they brought in today. Quite the unexpected discovery."

She leaned in for a better look. "Looks old... and broken," she said. "But it should still work. These were made for beginners—helps weak magic feel a bit stronger."

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I raised a brow. "And how do i make it work?"

Mira smirked, giving my cheek a quick pinch. "Just say, 'Elda Lithra Fira.' Basic fire spell."

Straightening up, I cleared my throat and repeated the words with great intent.

Nothing. Not even a spark.

Mira tousled my hair, shaking her head. "You either have it, or you don't," she said before getting up and walking off.

I stared at the amulet in my hand, feeling a bit sad. Well. That was unfortunate.

Then—a spark! The embers flared to life for just a second.

Most of the kids didn't notice, too busy with their own things. But Marga's head snapped up, her senses are sharp.

She looked around for a long moment, then went back to her work. But something had changed. She'd felt it. She knew.

I stared at my tingling fingers, feeling that old, familiar rush. Not just power—understanding.

I wasn't just going to watch anymore. I was going to learn. Really learn.

And in the dim light, a small smile crept across my face.