Reborn as a Girl with a Destiny That Defies Reason
When I came to, I'd reincarnated into a noble family in a medieval fantasy world. As a girl, no less. A noble lady living the medieval fantasy life? I figured this time around, I'd take it easy. But nope.
My father never showed his face except at my birth, and even my mother—who'd gone through labor to bring me into the world—despised my existence. That contempt trickled down to everyone below. The servants subtly snubbed me at every turn, and my siblings were no different. My only bright spot was my little sister, who clung to me sweetly, calling me "big sis." But once her head got a bit bigger, even she'd change, I figured.
And then, the year I turned ten. Inevitably, I was confined to a annex at the corner of the estate. No entertainment in sight, no matter how hard I looked, and the conditions were downright uncomfortable. This is how I'll die here, I thought.
"Is this the child?"
"Yes."
Until the wizards from the tower showed up.
Fantasy world, hell yeah.
"Indeed... there's something unusual about her."
"Is it innate?"
"Perhaps. Child, come with us."
Of course, there was no tearful send-off. My little sister threw a tantrum, wailing away, but the butler swiftly neutralized her with a masterful white-choke-slam. Impressive technique, even on second glance.
I followed the wizards out through the estate's empty front gate.
"Where are we going?"
"To the White Tower."
The wizards took me to a place called the White Tower. My feelings on the whole situation? Half worry, half excitement. The worry stemmed from the uncertainty of heading into the unknown; the excitement from one thing alone.
Magic.
Honestly? I was thrilled. It was like those SF movies or fantasy games from my past life's YouTube becoming real. I'd once heard on a science channel that "sufficiently advanced science is indistinguishable from magic." So, wasn't magic just a form of science? From what I'd overheard in their conversation, there was this energy source called mana, so the tower probably taught how to handle it. If I learned well, maybe I could build a cabin in some forest somewhere and rig up a boiler for hot water. Then live a peaceful, pastoral life.
Clutching those vague, delightful expectations, I stepped into the tower. Greeting me there was a wrinkled old man called the Prophet.
"Hmm. So this is the child."
The old man stared right through my face before opening his mouth.
"The vessel is small and compact, yet the water it holds is an ocean."
"Pardon?"
"It means she has the qualities of a great archmage. However..."
The old man reached out and placed his hand on my forehead.
"Her innate Destiny blocks it. Oh... what blasphemy is this..."
What nonsense is he spouting? I stared at him with a blank expression. As if this wrinkled palm was some barcode reader—fate popping out from one forehead touch? Unhygienic and unscientific. Destiny my foot; from a modern perspective, it was just like an MBTI test or career aptitude exam.
The old man closed his eyes for a moment, as if savoring something...
"This is...! Gasp!"
He snapped his eyes open and gulped. With a loud crash, he toppled from his chair. The surrounding wizards rushed to support him. But the old man ignored the fuss right beside him, pointing at me with a trembling hand.
"A Destiny that... denies Reason."
At those words, the room fell silent as if doused with cold water. All eyes turned to me.
# The White Tower is a bastion of intellect. And wizards are the products of reason and culture born there. So even if she bore an ominous Destiny,
even if it made the great prophet jolt in shock and fall backward,
no one suggested executing a ten-year-old child like some savage.
Instead of execution or imprisonment, a mild-mannered middle-aged man—the Tower Lord—came before me. He knelt to meet my eyes, gazing deeply with piercing eyes.
"...You've been born to a harsh fate, child."
The Tower Lord said no more. He simply observed the heated debate among the elders, then quietly reached a conclusion.
"If she denies reason, teach her until she affirms it. That's the way of our White Tower."
From that day, I was given a small room in a corner of the tower. Rather than kill or lock me away, they aimed to reshape my innate nature through education. Truly humanitarian treatment, befitting learned folk... but.
"I don't buy into that unscientific crap."
What? Fate? Innate nature? No way. If I was wronged, it was wronged. Destiny.
A heaven-ordained fate granted only to a select few. More than half of the legends who shook the continent bore such a Destiny. Those with the Destiny of Inquiry revolutionized magic. Those with Radiance led victory against the demonkin. Those with Calamitous Flame once burned the entire continent.
And my Destiny was...
[That child... denies Reason.]
Reverse Reason. A dreadfully ominous Destiny that directly defies and negates the natural order. Thanks to it, my reputation in the tower plummeted. The Tower Lord and elders were fine, but the younger wizards' attitudes subtly mirrored the estate staff's. They twisted the prophet's words to see me as a seed of rebellion against the world's laws.
It was infuriating. I hadn't rejected or denied reason at all.
Think about it. Denying reason means denying the air on my skin, the scenery in my eyes, the ground under my feet. I need oxygen to breathe; water flows down. Gravity pins me to the earth; my heart beats, consuming energy per thermodynamics. I don't deny it. I affirm it as law and order.
Thus, this "Destiny" notion is flawed. It's just slapping labels like "Destiny" on promising kids, then claiming credit later with hindsight bias when one blows up.
But the tower wizards still blindly believed in Destiny. That damn Destiny. A word utterly unfit for an intellectual hub like the tower. No logic, just blind faith in fatalism. I didn't buy it. Packaging coincidence as inevitability, ignoring cause and effect, lumping everything under one word—I was getting sick of it.
"Hey! Heretic!"
Heretic. That was my nickname among the tower kids lately. Kids' malice is pure, unadulterated—and thus far worse than adults'. They were scions of powerful noble houses. Average talent for magic, but here on "cultural experience" stays. Barely a week in, and they were already forming cliques like true nobles. So I, always alone, was perfect prey.
"Look at her. Not even pretending to listen."
"For real. How's she so unfazed?"
"Black hair too—super ominous."
"Heard something the other day from the teachers..."
Normally, I'd let it slide in one ear and out the other. But that day, it grated extra hard. Something bubbled up from inside; if I didn't vent, I'd snap.
"Quit it!"
"Waaah!"
I grabbed a nearby broom and whacked the clustered kids. Still fuming, I chased the crying escapees, swinging wildly—until young wizards came panting from afar to break it up.
Thus, I was dragged before the Tower Lord and elders again.
"Tsk tsk, the aura denying reason is already corrupting the child's temperament."
"Don't jump to conclusions. Just kids fighting."
"Indeed. Still just a squabble."
"What fault could this young child have? We know it's not your doing."
Surprisingly, the elders didn't blame me. True to intellectuals at learning's pinnacle, they were magnanimous. Just the rough but necessary pains of a quirky kid socializing—that's how they saw it.
But...
"It's not too late. Defiance against reason stems from ignorance-born fear. Your Destiny can be corrected through learning. There are precedents."
Again. That damn Destiny. The word alone ignited rage now. Bursting with grievance, I declared before them:
"I don't accept any of that Destiny nonsense."
The elders stroked their long beards solemnly.
"Oh... Is Destiny already devouring her Heart Image..."
Then they debated my fate among themselves. I interjected, determined to debunk superstition, but they took even that as a harbinger of doom.
"She was so docile when she arrived..."
"The Prophet said her Destiny grows stronger."
"Hmm... This fast? At this rate, her Heart Image will be fully consumed soon..."
As if voicing their anxiety, the elders' beard-stroking quickened.
"I'm fine!"
"Oh..."
That's when it hit me. All wizards are crazy. Our wavelengths never matched. Like insisting the earth is round amid flat-earth lunatics—it's an echo that never returns. Truth is powerless before the majority's madness.
"No choice. Send her to Zepeto. He might have a solution."
In the end, I swallowed my fury and followed their decision. A few days later, I left the tower for a tiny cabin on the city's outskirts.