Finding the Solution

With eyes closed, I lie on the bed and cast my focus inward.

I expect to find the astral space within which lies my Magic Well, but instead I find numerous astral spaces filled with the light of glowing black mana. I try to peer further into myself in order to get a look at what lies within those astral spaces, but I cannot. Something is preventing me from looking in, and also from taking any of that mana out.

It must be a result of my forced reincarnation. Perhaps due to the fact that Razalith's very much alive soul had way too much mana still affixed to it. That could possibly have caused a large amount of that mana to travel with her, and then bind with Rachel's body and soul.

With no other option, I search through the astral spaces to find the one that houses my Magic Well. Eventually, I spot one that is far smaller than the rest. I look closer, but it vanishes from sight before I can peer into it.

When I find it again, it has grown by a large margin. With all of my concentration, I focus on forcing it to hold that position, then look inside.

This astral space houses a tiny desert world. In this desert world, there is a pit that extends infinitely, unable to be filled. That pit is the Magic Well, and it is something that everyone possesses. As mana comes into the astral space, it must fall into the well in order to be properly contained. If this process is not followed, and the mana is instead allowed to remain free within the astral space, the imbalance will cause the well to destabilize. It will collapse under the weight of the concentrated mana around it.

In my case, the desert world is far too big for the size of well I possess. It is far too easy for the mana to be trapped in the sand of the desert, and never find its way to the Magic Well.

With a thought, I summon the mana that lingers in the air of the desert world. It rises from the sand and flows like a steady stream of water, into the well and lost in its endlessness.

The more I do this, the less I feel the drawback from the exertion. My mind is clearing, no longer as exhausted as it once was. The aching pain from when David grabbed me by the shoulders is gone as well.

Once all the saturation is dealt with, I must find a way to discontinue it. The cause is that the astral space is too big, which is why the desert world is so large. In comparison to its size, the well is nothing.

Usually, I would have simply changed the structure of the astral space. As a demon, I had that freedom of choice regarding my own body. However, now, I am not a demon.

Rachel is a human, despite the strict criteria I attempted to set when forcing my reincarnation. Therefore, I can only find another solution.

I recall the Royal Magus speaking fondly of humans at some point, marveling at their inherent ability to adapt to mana without needing to control it.

All mana needs to be controlled in order to be used. On its own, mana is as free and aimless as the breeze. It requires harnessing and proper control in order to be made useful, just like any natural force.

As a human however, I do not require the mental fortitude to absorb and direct a large amount of mana; I am much too tired for that kind of work. All I need to do is allow my body to work naturally, while keeping an eye on the size of the astral space. The moment it shifts in size, I have to alter the flow of mana. At some point I take in more, at another, I take in less.

This is necessary in order to slow down the shifting process. With less mana to fuel it, it will slowly fail. Then, once I have killed the function entirely, I will cut off all autonomic absorption of mana.

That solves one problem, but it is not the true solution. The solution lies in my body's inherent ability to adapt.

I look to the sealed astral spaces, filled with Razalith's demonic mana, and feel my mouth curl into a villainous smile. If I had fangs, like one of the demonkind, they would have revealed themselves with this smile. As such, I know that it is the half of my soul that belongs to Razalith that has caused me to smirk like this.

All I need to do is rest, eat and recuperate. Once I have enough mental energy, I will attempt to shatter the seal of one of those astral spaces, then direct all of that mana into my Magic Well. Once it is there, I need only rely on my human body to do the rest.

In theory, the insane adaptability of the human body when faced with demonic mana will allow my body to attain characteristics of that mana. Once I accomplish that, I should easily be able to change this body into something of a demon-human hybrid- at least with regards to mana and the Magic Well.

I believe that will permit me to alter the structure of my Magic Well, and force it into a constant size.

It takes me almost an hour, but I am able to put an end to the constant shifting of my Magic Well. Now, my body's automatic function of absorbing mana from the outside world is shut off. I simply need to rest and wait.

My vision returns to the bedroom, and I see David kneeling at my bedside again. My skin is still pale, but it is a bit more rosy and slightly smoother than before. He seems to have noticed, since he is caressing my face when I open my eyes. His stubble is wet, and I follow the trail up to his brown eyes. He has been crying. Tears of joy, no doubt.

"Had a good nap, Rachel dear?"

I shake my head, "Not at all, Father."

He frowns when I tell him this. His frown bothers me, and so I all but blurt out, "I've been busy sorting out my Magic Well. In a few days, I'll be able to properly use magic."

David's brow shoots upward and his head tilts slightly to the left. His hand moves from my cheek to my forehead, and he says, "Are you feeling alright? Want some water? Bread? Porridge?"

"I'm fine, Father-"

"What's with this 'Father, Father' business? I thought I was Papa."

My words are stuck in my throat, and I fumble before I can respond. "I'm just feeling a bit out of it, but I'm okay Father."

Though he seems to buy it, the glint of worry in his eyes remains. It is a tough thing to deal with- that look. I cannot recall the last time Razalith has seen it; Rachel has seen it far too much.

Neither half of me can grow used to it, as it only bothers them more and more. In an attempt to ease his mind, I say, "Papa, actually, I would like some water- a-and some porridge as well."

He hears this and pauses for a moment before his face lights up. He leans off of the bed and raises himself up, a resolute look in his eyes. He seems happy to finally be of use, but perhaps it is due to the fact that I seem to be doing much better now.

I do not know, and he is gone before I can discern much from his expression.

When he returns, he is holding a wooden bowl, chipped all along the rim. There is some kind of adhesive holding the cracked bits together, enabling it to hold the porridge within. It is lukewarm, almost cold.

As for the water, he brings it in an old metal cup that once had a handle. Rachel recalls the many times that she has been served food and water in those exact same utensils, but Razalith grimaces at the sight.

I try to sit up and find that I can move a lot easier than before. I am able to adjust the pillows and raise myself up, much to David's surprise.

When he sets the bowl of porridge down on my lap, he brings the cup to my mouth and makes a show of opening his mouth. I sigh inwardly.

I may be in the body of a child, but its a still a twelve year old girl, is it not? What need is there for all these theatrics?

Not saying this, I place my lips on the cup and prepare to sip some of the water. I catch a whiff of that water, and almost gag. Thanks to part of me that is Rachel, I am able to control my reflex. Even so, Razalith cannot bear to drink the garbage that David refers to as water.

Not only does it reek of rust and rot, but it is slightly discolored as well. Following a brief but intense internal struggle, I swallow a mouthful of water. It is not as bad as I expected, and goes down easy. Even so, the aftertaste makes for a horrible experience and I regret everything.

David smiles with his eyes, then places the cup on the floor. He is about to feed me the porridge, but I hurry to take the bowl myself before he can get it.

"Don't worry about me, Papa. I can do it myself. See?"

I make a show of drinking some of the cool, thick porridge, in order to convince him I am quite capable of doing it myself. The smell isn't bad, so I suck in a mouthful and hope for the best. This time, I taste the sourness of milk that has been masked by the blandness of oats, preventing me from smelling it. Not only that, but there is also a faint trace of that accursed water.

This time, neither Razalith nor Rachel can bring themselves to swallow. Razalith because she has never tasted something so horrible; Rachel because she always tended to steer clear of the porridge, choosing to eat the tough, stale bread instead.

David sees my face turn dark blue, and he takes hold of the bowl in order for me to desperately scrape the porridge from my tongue and back into the bowl. He chuckles and shakes his head, then proceeds to drink all of the porridge in my stead.

I stare at him as if he is some kind of inhuman beast, but he laughs it off. Instead, his eyes narrow and his expression becomes somber.

"You've never called me 'Father,' and you never ask for porridge when bread is an option. I know you hate the taste more than anyone. You don't like the water- no one does- but I've never seen you make that expression before. Then this thing about you fixing your Magic Well- and you're feeling better too, all of a sudden."

My eyes widen, and I instinctively rise further from my laid back sitting position. I can't be sure, but it seems as if he suspects something. I have no idea what will happen if that is the case, and so I hurry to assess the situation.

"You are my Rachel, but you are also different."

Sweat pours down my face and the stress gives me a headache. To make matters worse, the water is also giving me a stomachache.

"You did die earlier today, didn't you. Are you still... my Rachel?"