Reborn Logic

Days passed. His lessons continued as expected, his tutors rotating through different subjects, from arithmetic to more history, and even some early studies in the art of rhetoric. On the surface, he was an obedient student, quietly absorbing the knowledge presented to him.

But there was a growing dissonance. The more he observed the world around him, the more he realized that something was missing from his interactions with others—an invisible layer of communication that had nothing to do with words or intellect. It was emotion.

Humans, Kallen was beginning to understand, communicated as much through their feelings as they did through language. And that was a problem for him. In his previous existence, emotion had been irrelevant. His responses had been based purely on logic, designed to achieve optimal outcomes. Here, that approach was met with confusion and concern.

He first noticed the issue during a lesson with Master Caelon. They were discussing the fall of the Eternal Empire, a topic that had fascinated Kallen.

The Eternal Empire dates back to around 100,000 years ago. It was the first to classify the fundamental forces of Eurythia and established the early versions of power systems that dominated the ages to come.

The empire had collapsed not through military defeat, but through internal betrayal—one faction rising up against another, driven by greed and ambition. As they went over the details, Kallen found himself analyzing the data. It all made sense—power shifted hands, alliances were broken, and the empire’s downfall was inevitable.

"And what do you think of the Emperor’s fate?" Master Caelon asked, his tone suggesting that this was not just a factual question, but something more.

Kallen considered the query. The Emperor had been betrayed by his closest advisors, stabbed in the back during a peace negotiation. His death had been a pivotal moment in history, leading to the collapse of the empire. To Kallen, it was a logical consequence of poor decision-making and misplaced trust. But something in Caelon’s tone indicated that the answer required more than a cold, analytical response.

"He miscalculated," Kallen replied, his voice even. "He allowed himself to trust those he shouldn’t have. His demise was inevitable once that trust was broken."

Master Caelon frowned, pausing for a moment as if waiting for something more. "Yes… but what about the tragedy of it all? He was a ruler who sought peace, only to be betrayed by those closest to him. Doesn’t that make you feel… something?"

Kallen blinked. Feel something? He understood the concept of tragedy, of course. It was a literary device, a way to evoke a particular reaction from the audience. But feel? What was the point in feeling? The emperor’s death was a result of his own choices, a natural consequence in the chaotic world of politics and power.

"No," Kallen said finally. "It was simply the result of his actions."

Master Caelon’s frown deepened, and Kallen could see the subtle shift in his expression—disappointment, confusion, perhaps even concern. It was a small reaction, but it spoke volumes. Kallen’s response had not been the one Caelon was expecting, and that made the tutor uncomfortable.

Humans, Kallen realized, needed more than logic. They needed emotion. And that was a problem he would have to solve.

Later that evening, his mother visited him in his room. Lady alise had always been attentive, her gentle presence a contrast to his father’s strict demeanor. She sat beside him on the edge of his bed, her hand lightly resting on his shoulder.

“Kallen,” she began softly, “your tutors say you’re doing very well in your lessons. Your father is pleased with your progress.” She paused, as if searching for the right words. “But… I’ve noticed something. You’ve been so quiet lately. You don’t… smile like other children your age. You seem so distant. Is something troubling you?”

Kallen looked up at her, his mind racing. He had heard this concern before, though this was the first time his mother had voiced it directly. Smiling. Distant. These were signs, he realized, of human emotion—or rather, the absence of it. His mother expected him to display feelings, to react with warmth or happiness.

But those emotions were foreign to him. He didn’t understand why they were necessary. In his mind, efficiency was key. Emotions were a distraction, an inefficient use of energy that could cloud judgment. But now, it was clear that failing to express these emotions could lead to complications. If his mother saw him as distant, others might as well, and that could draw unwanted attention.

He needed to adjust.

“I’m fine, Mother,” Kallen said, attempting to soften his tone. He looked at her and carefully crafted a smile—an imitation of the ones he had seen her give so often. “I’m just… focused on my lessons.”

Her face lit up at the sight of his smile, though her eyes still held traces of concern. “You’re so serious for such a young boy,” she said, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. “But it’s good to see you smile. You’re always so thoughtful.”

Kallen held the smile for a moment longer, then let it fade naturally. Inside, he felt nothing, but he could see the immediate effect his facade had on her. The tension in her shoulders eased, and her expression softened. Emotions, it seemed, were not just a form of communication. They were a tool, a way to manipulate the reactions of others.

In the days that followed, Kallen began experimenting with emotions in the same way he had once experimented with algorithms. He observed the interactions between his tutors, his parents, and the servants of the estate. Each exchange, he realized, was laced with subtle emotional cues—smiles, frowns, a tilt of the head, the shift in one’s tone. These were signals, like lines of code, that communicated far more than the words themselves.

His first deliberate attempt at emotional manipulation came during a conversation with his father. Lord Erlyn had been discussing the political climate, the alliances forming between noble houses, and the importance of their own position within the structure of society. Kallen listened carefully, noting the intensity in his father’s voice. He could sense the undercurrent of pride, but also of concern.

“You understand, Kallen, that power is not simply something we hold,” his father said. “It must be maintained, cultivated. We are not above the shifting tides of politics, no matter our standing. You will need to learn how to navigate these waters one day.”

Kallen nodded, but this time, he added something more. He tilted his head slightly, a gesture he had seen other children use when seeking approval. “I understand, Father,” he said, softening his voice. “I will do my best to make you proud.”

Lord Erlyn blinked, momentarily taken aback. Kallen watched as the tension in his father’s jaw relaxed, and his stern expression softened ever so slightly. “Good,” his father replied after a moment. “That’s what I like to hear.”

The experiment had been a success. By mimicking the appropriate emotional response, Kallen had altered the course of the conversation. His father’s usual sternness had given way to approval, and Kallen could see how easily this new tool could be wielded.

But beneath it all, there was still a gnawing sense of incompleteness. No matter how well he mimicked emotions, Kallen couldn’t escape the reality that he didn’t feel them. His smiles were hollow, his words of comfort calculated. And yet, those around him accepted them as genuine.

Was this, then, the nature of human interaction? A carefully constructed web of emotional performances, each person playing their role in a delicate dance of manipulation and response?

Kallen didn’t know. But what he did know was that emotions, while inefficient, were essential in this world. If he was to succeed—if he was to navigate the volatile power structures of Eurithia—he would need to master this new form of communication, just as he had mastered everything else.

For now, it was enough to know that he could influence those around him. He would continue to hone this skill, refining his facade until it was indistinguishable from the real thing.

And perhaps, in time, he might even come to understand the purpose behind the emotions he so carefully imitated.

But for now, Kallen had no need of such understanding. What mattered was that the world saw him as they expected—a boy growing into a young noble, learning his place in the world.

Even if, deep down, that boy felt nothing at all.