The world rushed past in a blur of icy panic. Water filled my lungs, choking, suffocating. I flailed, my arms heavy, my legs numb, as the current dragged me deeper into the river. My vision darkened, the surface of the water growing distant. I was drowning. The thought struck me with a strange clarity, almost like an afterthought. This is it. This is how it ends.But then, something shifted.The water wasn’t water anymore—it was light, swirling, golden, and warm. I felt weightless, like I was floating, but not in the river anymore. I couldn’t breathe, but I didn’t need to. My chest didn’t burn, my lungs didn’t scream. It was... peaceful.And then, nothing.---I woke to the sound of crackling fire and the smell of something savory—herbs, maybe, or spices. My head throbbed, my body felt like it had been dragged through a storm, and my mouth was dry. I blinked, my vision slowly focusing on the wooden ceiling above me. The room was small, cozy, with shelves lined with books and jars filled with strange, glowing liquids.“You’re awake.”The voice was soft, melodic. I turned my head, wincing at the stiffness in my neck, and saw her. She was standing by a small stove, stirring a pot. Blonde hair, not quite golden but close, falling in loose waves over her shoulders. Her eyes—bright green, like the leaves of a forest—locked onto mine. She was young, maybe my age, maybe a little younger. She wore a simple dress, the fabric loose but not shapeless, and there was something... otherworldly about her.“Where am I?” I croaked, my voice rough.She smiled, a small, almost shy smile. “You’re safe,” she said. “I found you in the river. You were... nearly gone. I brought you here.”I tried to sit up, but my body protested. She moved quickly, setting the wooden spoon aside and crossing the room in a few strides. Her hand pressed gently against my chest, guiding me back down.“Not yet,” she said. “You’ve been through a lot. Rest.”I let her push me back, too weak to resist. “Thank you,” I said. “I’m... Frey.”“Leila,” she replied. “I’m... well, I suppose you could call me a magician.”A magician. Right. Because that made sense. I glanced around the room again, taking in the books, the jars, the faint hum of energy in the air. This wasn’t home. This wasn’t even close to home.“Where is here?” I asked.She hesitated, her gaze flickering away for a moment. “It’s... a small village. Far from where you were, I imagine.”I didn’t press. Something in her tone told me she wasn’t ready to tell me more. Instead, I asked, “How long have I been out?”“A few days,” she said, returning to the stove. “You were in bad shape. I did what I could, but... well, you’re lucky you’re alive.”Lucky. Yeah. I didn’t feel lucky. I felt... lost.---The days blurred together. Leila was kind, patient, and oddly secretive. She didn’t ask about where I came from, and I didn’t offer. I stayed with her, recovering, helping where I could—chopping wood, tending to her small garden. But what fascinated me most was her magic.I’d caught glimpses of it at first—a flicker of light here, a whisper of wind there. But one evening, as we sat by the fire, I asked her to show me.She hesitated, her fingers twitching in her lap. “It’s... not something I usually do for others,” she said softly.“Please,” I said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”She sighed, then held out her hand. A small flame appeared above her palm, dancing, flickering. It was mesmerizing.“How do you do that?” I asked, leaning closer.“It’s... hard to explain,” she said. “It’s something you feel, more than something you learn.”“Can you teach me?”She looked at me, her green eyes searching mine. “Do you really want to learn?”“Yes.”She smiled, a real smile this time, and the flame in her hand grew brighter.---Weeks passed, and I threw myself into learning magic. It wasn’t easy—Leila was a strict teacher, demanding perfection. But I was desperate to understand, to master this strange new world I’d found myself in.And then, one day, I found the box.It was tucked away on a high shelf, hidden behind a stack of old, dusty books. The lock was rusted, but the wood itself was pristine, polished to a shine. I pulled it down, curiosity getting the better of me.“Leila?” I called, turning the box over in my hands.She appeared in the doorway, her expression shifting from mild curiosity to shock as her eyes landed on the box.“Frey, where did you find that?” she asked, her voice tight.“On the shelf,” I said, holding it up. “What is it?”She didn’t answer. Instead, she crossed the room and took the box from me, her fingers trembling slightly.“This... this was my father’s,” she said quietly. “It’s... meant to remain sealed.”But it was too late. The lock gave way with a soft click, and the lid of the box popped open. Inside was a wand, simple but elegant, made of a dark, polished wood. Beneath it was a note.Leila’s breath caught as I picked up the wand. “Frey, you shouldn’t—”But I was already unfolding the note.Congratulations. You have opened the box and proven yourself worthy. From this moment on, you are my daughter’s husband.I looked up at her, my heart pounding. “Leila, what—”She was pale, her hands clutching the edge of the table for support. “My father... he set this seal. Whoever opened the box... it was his way of choosing my husband.”The note continued, the handwriting precise and deliberate: Congratulations, you are now Leila’s husband. My name is Samuel, her father. Before my passing, I sealed all of my life’s magical power within her. To claim it, you must mate with her. But heed this carefully: the first mating will grant you only a quarter of the power, the second mating the same. Only the third and final mating will bestow the remaining half. However, there is one crucial condition— each mating must be with a different partner. If this rule is broken, the magic within her will spiral out of control, and Leila... she will die. The words settled heavily in the air, the weight of their implications pressing down on me like a physical force. I glanced at Leila, her face pale, her hands trembling as she clutched the edge of the table. The gravity of the situation was unmistakable. “This... this changes everything,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. I nodded, the wand in my hand suddenly feeling heavier, its presence a stark reminder of the choice—no, the responsibility—that now lay before us. “What do we do now?” I asked, my voice steady despite the whirlwind of thoughts in my mind. She didn’t answer. The silence between us was thick with unspoken questions, the air crackling with tension. One thing was certain—this was only the beginning.

I was drowning in a river, but then I was in a warm, light-filled place and then I woke up in a small, cozy room with a woman named Leila who said she was a magician. I learned magic from Leila and then discovered a box with a note from her father. The note said that I was now Leila's husband and that we had to follow specific rules to unlock her magical power, or else she would die.

The world rushed past in a blur of icy panic. Water filled my lungs, choking, suffocating. I flailed, my arms heavy, my legs numb, as the current dragged me deeper into the river. My vision darkened, the surface of the water growing distant. I was drowning. The thought struck me with a strange clarity, almost like an afterthought. This is it. This is how it ends.

But then, something shifted.

The water wasn’t water anymore—it was light, swirling, golden, and warm. I felt weightless, like I was floating, but not in the river anymore. I couldn’t breathe, but I didn’t need to. My chest didn’t burn, my lungs didn’t scream. It was... peaceful.

And then, nothing.

---

I woke to the sound of crackling fire and the smell of something savory—herbs, maybe, or spices. My head throbbed, my body felt like it had been dragged through a storm, and my mouth was dry. I blinked, my vision slowly focusing on the wooden ceiling above me. The room was small, cozy, with shelves lined with books and jars filled with strange, glowing liquids.

“You’re awake.”

The voice was soft, melodic. I turned my head, wincing at the stiffness in my neck, and saw her. She was standing by a small stove, stirring a pot. Blonde hair, not quite golden but close, falling in loose waves over her shoulders. Her eyes—bright green, like the leaves of a forest—locked onto mine. She was young, maybe my age, maybe a little younger. She wore a simple dress, the fabric loose but not shapeless, and there was something... otherworldly about her.

“Where am I?” I croaked, my voice rough.

She smiled, a small, almost shy smile. “You’re safe,” she said. “I found you in the river. You were... nearly gone. I brought you here.”

I tried to sit up, but my body protested. She moved quickly, setting the wooden spoon aside and crossing the room in a few strides. Her hand pressed gently against my chest, guiding me back down.

“Not yet,” she said. “You’ve been through a lot. Rest.”

I let her push me back, too weak to resist. “Thank you,” I said. “I’m... Frey.”

“Leila,” she replied. “I’m... well, I suppose you could call me a magician.”

A magician. Right. Because that made sense. I glanced around the room again, taking in the books, the jars, the faint hum of energy in the air. This wasn’t home. This wasn’t even close to home.

“Where is here?” I asked.

She hesitated, her gaze flickering away for a moment. “It’s... a small village. Far from where you were, I imagine.”

I didn’t press. Something in her tone told me she wasn’t ready to tell me more. Instead, I asked, “How long have I been out?”

“A few days,” she said, returning to the stove. “You were in bad shape. I did what I could, but... well, you’re lucky you’re alive.”

Lucky. Yeah. I didn’t feel lucky. I felt... lost.

---

The days blurred together. Leila was kind, patient, and oddly secretive. She didn’t ask about where I came from, and I didn’t offer. I stayed with her, recovering, helping where I could—chopping wood, tending to her small garden. But what fascinated me most was her magic.

I’d caught glimpses of it at first—a flicker of light here, a whisper of wind there. But one evening, as we sat by the fire, I asked her to show me.

She hesitated, her fingers twitching in her lap. “It’s... not something I usually do for others,” she said softly.

“Please,” I said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

She sighed, then held out her hand. A small flame appeared above her palm, dancing, flickering. It was mesmerizing.

“How do you do that?” I asked, leaning closer.

“It’s... hard to explain,” she said. “It’s something you feel, more than something you learn.”

“Can you teach me?”

She looked at me, her green eyes searching mine. “Do you really want to learn?”

“Yes.”

She smiled, a real smile this time, and the flame in her hand grew brighter.

---

Weeks passed, and I threw myself into learning magic. It wasn’t easy—Leila was a strict teacher, demanding perfection. But I was desperate to understand, to master this strange new world I’d found myself in.

And then, one day, I found the box.

It was tucked away on a high shelf, hidden behind a stack of old, dusty books. The lock was rusted, but the wood itself was pristine, polished to a shine. I pulled it down, curiosity getting the better of me.

“Leila?” I called, turning the box over in my hands.

She appeared in the doorway, her expression shifting from mild curiosity to shock as her eyes landed on the box.

“Frey, where did you find that?” she asked, her voice tight.

“On the shelf,” I said, holding it up. “What is it?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she crossed the room and took the box from me, her fingers trembling slightly.

“This... this was my father’s,” she said quietly. “It’s... meant to remain sealed.”

But it was too late. The lock gave way with a soft click, and the lid of the box popped open. Inside was a wand, simple but elegant, made of a dark, polished wood. Beneath it was a note.

Leila’s breath caught as I picked up the wand. “Frey, you shouldn’t—”

But I was already unfolding the note.

Congratulations. You have opened the box and proven yourself worthy. From this moment on, you are my daughter’s husband.

I looked up at her, my heart pounding. “Leila, what—”

She was pale, her hands clutching the edge of the table for support. “My father... he set this seal. Whoever opened the box... it was his way of choosing my husband.”

The note continued, the handwriting precise and deliberate:  

Congratulations, you are now Leila’s husband. My name is Samuel, her father. Before my passing, I sealed all of my life’s magical power within her. To claim it, you must mate with her. But heed this carefully: the first mating will grant you only a quarter of the power, the second mating the same. Only the third and final mating will bestow the remaining half. However, there is one crucial condition— each mating must be with a different partner. If this rule is broken, the magic within her will spiral out of control, and Leila... she will die.  

The words settled heavily in the air, the weight of their implications pressing down on me like a physical force. I glanced at Leila, her face pale, her hands trembling as she clutched the edge of the table. The gravity of the situation was unmistakable.  

“This... this changes everything,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.  

I nodded, the wand in my hand suddenly feeling heavier, its presence a stark reminder of the choice—no, the responsibility—that now lay before us.  

“What do we do now?” I asked, my voice steady despite the whirlwind of thoughts in my mind.  

She didn’t answer. The silence between us was thick with unspoken questions, the air crackling with tension. One thing was certain—this was only the beginning.

A young American college student, Frey, is transported to a world of magic after a near-drowning experience and is taken in by a secluded magician, Leila. As Frey learns to harness his own magical abilities under Leila's tutelage, he uncovers a hidden box containing a note that reveals a secret pact set by Leila's father, dictating that Frey must mate with Leila three times to inherit her magical powers, each time with a different partner to avoid a fatal outcome.

Magic's Unlikely Heir

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