《Re:Birth: A LitRPG Mage Regressor》


 Chapter 01. The Deal

    huff... huff...


    A figure dragged itself across the sand.


    The sun was setting, bathing the world in shades of amber and gold. It was beautiful. Perfect, even. The kind of sunset that made people stop and stare, that made them write poetry or take pictures or call their loved ones.


    huff... huff...


    The figure''s name was Adom. Adom Sylla.


    Today, Adom had decided he was going to die. By drowning, specifically.


    It was supposed to be peaceful, poetic even - just him, the waves and that perfect sunset. Instead, he''d somehow managed to get attacked by a troll.


    A troll, of all things, on his carefully chosen quiet beach.


    The irony that he''d fought so hard to stay alive against something that could have done his job for him wasn''t lost on him. But getting his head repeatedly smashed against rocks hadn''t been part of the plan. He had standards, after all.


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    The final reading of the connected wheelchair flashed through his mind:


    CRITICAL SYSTEM FAILURE


    Mana Stability: 12% [DANGEROUS]


    Neural Sync: ERROR


    Life Support: OFFLINE


    Connection Lost...


    At least he''d made it to the beach.


    He couldn''t breathe right. Each gasp tore through his lungs like broken glass, leaving the taste of blood in his mouth. The sand felt wrong under his hands - coarse and wet with something that wasn''t just seawater.


    His legs wouldn''t work. Hadn''t worked since the fall, or maybe it was the explosion. Everything after the screaming started was a blur. He forced another handful of sand behind him, dragging his body forward.


    The sea breeze carried salt and rot and the beach stretched out ahead, empty except for the bodies. So many bodies. The tide was trying to take them, pulling at uniforms and civilian clothes alike. A knight''s armor, somehow still pristine except for the dark stains, bobbed in the surf.


    War didn''t care about perfect sunsets or final moments. War just left things broken.


    Another push. Another few inches gained.


    His chest hurt. The diagnostic warnings had gone quiet minutes ago. Or hours. Time wasn''t working right anymore.


    "Just... a little... more..."


    His voice also didn''t sound right anymore. Too weak. Too old. Each word cost him more breath than he could spare, but the silence was worse. The silence meant hearing the waves lap against dead things.


    Something massive lay half-submerged near the pier. Probably a leviathan. Best not to look at it. Best not to remember what it did before the artillery finally brought it down. Best not to think about the sounds it made.


    Blood dripped onto sand. His blood, this time. A cough wracked his body, and for a moment the world went dark around the edges.


    It hurt. It hurt so much.


    But he kept crawling. One hand in front of the other. Away from the bodies. Away from the thing in the water. Away.


    Just a little more.


    He could almost hear the echoes of laughter, see the ghostly outlines of those long-gone structures. The phantom sensation of sand between his toes, the warmth of the sun on his skin, the salty air that engulfed his lungs - all these memories washed over him, as relentless and bittersweet as the tide itself.


    Seventy-nine years of life. A lifetime for most, an eternity for some.


    Few were those who could boast of such longevity, and fewer still who''d want to, given the circumstances. Adom Sylla''s case was, to put it mildly, a surprise to everyone - himself included.


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    At 79 years old, Adom had been sick for 67 of those years. A record, perhaps, though not one anyone would be eager to claim. It had started when he was 12, a persistent cough that refused to go away. By 13, he was spending more time in hospital beds than his own. The disease - a rare magical malady that fed on his very life force and mana pool- had been his constant companion ever since.


    Despite the odds, Adom had carved out a brilliant career as a mage. Was it talent? Determination? Or just sheer, pig-headed stubbornness? Whatever the reason, the man had refused to give up, even as his body slowly crumbled around him.


    He outlived so many people. Family, friends, acquaintances. Had accomplished so many things as a mage.


    Yet, Adom felt he had nothing but disappointments to show for it. Disappointments in himself, in others, and something else. Something he couldn''t quite put his finger on. Oh well, it would come back to him later. If there was a later.


    There wouldn''t be.


    Unfulfilled dreams, too. So many of those.


    This was Sam''s dream, actually. To die by the beach.


    His vision blurred, then sharpened suddenly, mind crystallizing with a clarity he hadn''t felt in years. Ah. Sam. There was a name he hadn''t heard or pronounced in... how long? Like Mother. Like Father. All long gone now, so long he couldn''t even remember their faces anymore. Just impressions, feelings, the ghost of memories that refused to fade.


    A bird picked at something that might have been a decapitated head nearby. Right there, that exact spot - that''s where he''d had his first ice cream. Every Sunday, mother and father would bring him here. And there, where that massive thing lay dead in the water, that''s where his mana had manifested for the first time.


    "This is so cool!" The echo of a voice, young and excited. Sam. His best friend back then.


    What had happened between them? They''d been so close. He could still hear Sam''s voice, the way he''d tease him constantly, how they''d practice dueling behind the school. How they''d get beaten up by the stronger kids just because. Just like that.


    He should have stood up to them.


    "Should''ve... stood up..." The words came out as a wheeze, followed by another cough.


    Ah. There it was. The something else he couldn''t remember earlier.


    Regrets.


    Yes. That''s what his life could be resumed to.


    They piled up like the bodies on this beach, didn''t they?


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    His hearing started to fade, replaced by the thundering of his own heart. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Each beat slower than the last. A countdown he knew too well.


    Sweat mixed with blood on his face, despite the cool breeze. Above, a shadow circled - patient, waiting.


    Thump-thump.


    Fifty-six heart attacks throughout his life. Fifty six near-death experiences. Not many people could put that on their resume. Each one had taken something from him - a bit of liver here, kidney function there, pieces of himself left behind in hospital rooms that became more familiar than his own bedroom.


    His arms shook as he tried to pull himself forward again. Failed.


    You never really appreciate your legs until you wake up one morning in your third-favorite hospital room and can''t feel them anymore. Puts things into perspective, watching nurses wheel you past the playground you used to run in. Watching life continue while yours just... stopped.


    ...Thump... thump...


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    ...Thump... thump...


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    Thump... ...thump...


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    The heartbeat slowed, each pulse feeling like it might be the last. Adom''s fingers finally touched the water''s edge, but it was a hollow victory. His hearing dulled, the sound of the waves fading to a distant roar.


    Thump...


    Everything was going black. Adom felt himself slipping away, consciousness flickering like a candle in the wind.


    Thump-


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    And then... nothing.


    A peculiar lightness spread through his limbs. His fingers wouldn''t move anymore, no matter how much he willed them to. His chest felt like concrete had been poured into it, heavy and still. The world tilted sideways, or maybe his head had. Sand pressed against his cheek, each grain suddenly fascinating in its clarity.


    Just... a little... more...


    His hands trembled one final time, then stilled. Through dimming vision, he watched the bird land near his face. Its talons left tiny imprints in the bloodstained sand. So this was it - he''d become another feast, another corpse among the others. The bird cocked its head, studying him with one bright eye.


    Number fifty-seven did the trick it seemed.


    Go ahead, he thought, unable to form the words anymore. At least... something good... can come from this...


    The bird hopped closer, beak aimed at his eye. Then, inexplicably, it spread its wings and took flight, abandoning him there in the sand.


    What... not good enough for you either?


    Something shifted beside him. Not a shadow - there was no shadow to be seen - but a presence, as real as the sand beneath his cheek. The smell of incense cut through the salt and rot. Filling Adom''s nose.


    And there were red flowers suddenly growing all around him. Chrysanthemum, by the look of it. Was that magic? Hallucination? He could not feel any mana though, but then again, he could not feel anything.


    Hallucination it is then.


    "Good evening," said a calm, almost cheerful feminine voice. "Beautiful sunset today, isn''t it? The clouds are particularly lovely - all those shades of purple and gold. You don''t often see them mix quite like that."


    Huh?


    "Though I must say," she continued, "the monster birds are being rather picky today. Usually they''re not so discriminating about their dinner choices."


    A strange calm washed over Adom, despite the situation. Despite his stillness. Despite everything.


    The voice intrigued him - melodious, warm like honey in summer. She must be beautiful, he thought. An elf, perhaps? No, that sweet tone, and here by the sea... a mermaid? Were those still around these days? He hadn''t heard of one being spotted since the wars began.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    To his surprise, when he tried to speak, words actually formed. His voice was weak, barely above a whisper, but it was there - though he couldn''t feel his lips moving anymore. How strange.


    "Who... are you?"


    He still couldn''t see her, couldn''t turn his head. Just the sand, the darkening sky, and that lingering scent of incense mixing with the salt air.


    Adom heard her sigh - not an exasperated sound, but something almost fond.


    "Oh, Adom. I''m a bit disappointed you don''t recognize me," she said, "but I understand. It''s always different, face to face."


    "Do I... know you?"


    A soft chuckle, like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. "Well, I know you. We''ve met many times before." A pause. "56 times, to be exact. This would be our 57th encounter."


    Silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant waves. Understanding dawned slowly, like the last rays of the setting sun.


    Ah.


    "You seem shocked." She said, amusement coloring her voice. "Why? You quite literally invited this encounter."


    "It''s not every day we get to talk to you."


    He felt more than heard her settling beside him in the sand, a movement without substance.


    After a moment of comfortable silence, she spoke again. "Rise, Adom Sylla."


    Suddenly, he was light - impossibly, wonderfully light. Like a dandelion seed caught in a summer breeze. And there, just below, lay... himself. Blue eyes stared unseeing at the darkening sky, mouth slightly parted, skin already taking on that peculiar waxy quality that belonged exclusively to the dead.


    One hand still reached toward the sea, fingers half-curled as if trying to grasp something just out of reach.


    What a strange thing, to see your own corpse. Like stumbling across a wax figure of yourself in an abandoned museum - familiar yet fundamentally wrong.


    He''d always wondered how others saw him. Mirrors showed you what you expected to see, photographs captured moments rather than truth. But this... this was different. This was real.


    The old man on the sand looked smaller than he''d imagined. Thinner. Years of illness had carved deep lines around his eyes and mouth, but there was something else there too - a stubborn set to his jaw that even death couldn''t quite erase.


    His white hair, still thick despite everything, was matted with sand and blood and troll drool. The mechanical chair lay broken several yards back, its pieces scattered like fallen autumn leaves.


    His first reaction was shock - surely that couldn''t be him? But then... a sigh escaped him, followed by something that might have been a smile. The tension he''d carried for sixty-seven years finally began to ease from his shoulders.


    He turned to look at her properly for the first time, and... oh.


    She looked human, and yet clearly wasn''t. Like a painting of a person that somehow stepped out of its frame, too perfect to be real. Her skin was Sun-kissed bronze hue, seeming to absorb the dying sunlight rather than reflect it.


    Hair white as the whitest of moons flowed around her face as if underwater, defying gravity in gentle waves. A midnight blue robe draped her form like liquid shadow, moving with impossible grace even in the stillness.


    Her features were regal, elegant - high cheekbones, full lips curved in a gentle smile, a straight nose that would have made ancient sculptors weep.


    "I... didn''t expect you to look like this."


    Who would have?


    She turned to him then, and Adom found himself staring into eyes that contained entire universes - deep green pools filled with spinning galaxies and dying stars. Her smile widened slightly.


    "Everyone sees me differently," she said. "Some see an old man with a beard. Others, a young boy or young girl. A grim reaper with a scythe. A wolf. A bright light." She chuckled, the sound like distant wind chimes. "Some people even saw me as a truck."


    Even her laugh was elegant, Adom noticed.


    "I''m not unhappy with this form, I must say," she added, running a hand through her cosmic hair. "It suits the evening, don''t you think?"


    "It does," he agreed, watching the sun sink lower.


    It was strange - he had no lungs to breathe with, yet he could feel the air. No skin to feel with, yet the breeze touched him. No nose to smell with, yet the incense scent lingered. But apparently, even as a soul, his legs still didn''t work.


    Seriously?


    As the sun dipped closer to the horizon, he asked, "When do we go?"


    "What do you mean?"


    "You came here to take me, didn''t you?"


    "Hmm." She traced patterns in the sand with a finger that left no marks. "Did I?"


    "What do you mean?"


    Adom then drew in what felt like a breath - funny how those habits lingered even without a body. He wanted to say something.


    ''Im ready.''


    The words were difficult to push out, weighted with all his regrets and unfinished business. He wasn''t ready. Not really. But at least... well, at least this confirmed something, didn''t it? An afterlife. The possibility of seeing them all again, make amends - Mother, Father, Sam, everyone...


    Wait.


    The realization hit him like a bucket of ice water. Adom had never believed in any of the old gods or the new ones. Had actively rejected them all, in fact. If there was an afterlife, then there was probably... everything else too. Paradise. And its rather uncomfortable alternative.


    Oh.


    Oh no.


    He looked at the woman beside him, suddenly very aware that he might have seriously miscalculated his entire philosophical stance on existence.


    Adom gulped audibly, the daunting question lodged somewhere in his non-existent throat.


    She smiled at him then. "Do you really want to go?"


    Confusion washed over Adom. He turned back to look at his body lying in the sand, then at her, then back at the body again. There was no ambiguity there - no rise and fall of the chest, no flutter of pulse at the throat, not even the smallest twitch of muscle. That was, without question, a corpse. His corpse. Dead as dead could be.


    "Do I... have a choice?" he asked slowly, the words coming out uncertain and slightly baffled.


    The lady''s smile curved into something more enigmatic. "Well," she said, "I have a deal for you."


    Hmm. A deal. Not suspicious at all. No matter what the fairytales said about absolutely never striking deals with mysterious cosmic beings. Very normal.


    "...What kind of deal?" he asked anyway, his spectral voice cautious.


    "A second chance," she said simply. "To go back. Live your life again. Make different choices. Be happier."


    The words felt unreal at first. Adom''s non-existent heart seemed to stop all over again. The sunset, the beach, even his own corpse - everything blurred around him as her words echoed in his mind.


    Go back?


    The images flashed through his consciousness in a torrent - the day the bombs fell, the screams of people as magic tore reality apart, his father''s last breath in his arms as the healing spells failed one by one, the burning cities, the mass graves, the dead marches, the endless refugee camps, the final devastating war that had turned the world into a wasteland, as mages unleashed powers that should have remained forbidden.


    He''d watched it all crumble. Watched as humanity tore itself apart, watched as the fairy realms collapsed, as corruption poisoned everything good, as hope itself died a slow, agonizing death. He''d lived long enough to see the last tree wither, the last clean river turn toxic.


    Lived to see the World Dungeon rise.


    And now... now this being was offering him a chance to...


    His mind couldn''t even process it. The sheer magnitude of what she was suggesting - the possibility of maybe, just maybe...


    His ghostly form trembled. All his carefully constructed acceptance, his hard-won peace with death, his resignation to the end - it all shattered like glass.


    A second chance.


    Those three words contained everything he''d ever wanted and everything he''d forced himself to stop hoping for.


    "...What?" was all Adom managed to whisper.


    Another thought cut through his shock - everything had a price. What was Death''s?


    As if reading his thoughts (and perhaps she was), she spoke. "You''re wondering about the cost." She drew patterns in the air with her finger, leaving trails of stardust that formed and reformed into spiraling galaxies. "But there isn''t one. This moment, right here, was always meant to be."


    She gestured at the darkening horizon. "Everything that happened - every tear, every loss, every moment of despair - it shaped you."


    Her voice grew gentle. "You''re not here to correct a mistake, Adom. You''re here because this is exactly where you''re supposed to be. Think of it less as a second chance, and more as... the next step in your journey."


    "Why me?" Adom asked, his voice small against the vastness of what she offered. "I was just a mage. But not..." he gestured helplessly at nothing and everything, "not nearly enough to change whatever''s coming. Not powerful enough to stop all... that."


    "Why not?" she replied. "Others have walked this path before you. A simple farmer once changed the course of history, and all he wanted was to grow wheat."


    She turned to face the sea again. "If you could go back, with all your memories intact, what kind of man would you be, Adom Sylla?"


    Adom considered her question, really considered it.


    He wanted everything he did not have the pleasure to experience in his life. He wanted to travel the world. Go on adventures. Eat the most succulent meals. To drink the most bizarre drinks. Talk and befriend people of all intelligent races, visit their lands, experience their culture.


    Adom wanted to live. Simply live.


    But then a flicker of fear crossed his spectral features.


    In order for him to do that, there would need to be a world to begin with. So, would he be burdened with the mission of stopping that?


    He felt the fear of failure, fear of watching it all crumble again, fear of being too weak, too late, too little. But then... something else kindled in his eyes. A spark of defiance, bright and sharp as the first star appearing in the darkening sky.


    The same defiance that had kept him studying when others said magic was beyond him after the illness. The same fire that had made him push forward when his body wouldn''t work. The same stubborn light that had kept him fighting long after hope had died.


    The spark that, even after everything, had never quite gone out.


    "Yes," she said, satisfaction in her voice. "That is exactly what you need to feel."


    Adom confirmed then that she was indeed reading his thoughts. Though... he had no actual head anymore, so she was reading his... what exactly?


    The metaphysical implications were starting to give him a metaphysical headache.


    She rose to her feet, and Adom found himself looking up, and up, and up. She seemed to stretch into infinity, her robes merging with the darkening sky, stars dancing in their folds. She extended her hand down to him - a hand that somehow remained elegant and human-sized despite her cosmic proportions.


    "Accept the deal," she said, her voice now echoing all over the space. "Fight for the world you would like to live in."


    Her voice grew softer, gentler. "And when it''s all over, when all is said and done, and you have completed a hopefully long, satisfying life..." She paused, her star-filled eyes warm. "Then I will take you."


    Being promised collection by this entity, even one who looked like a beautiful lady, should not have felt reassuring. Yet somehow, it only made Adom more determined to make that meeting as distant as possible.


    He smiled and reached for her hand. It felt like touching starlight and shadow at once, warm and cool, solid and ethereal, impossibly ancient and perfectly present.


    "Deal."


    The moment their hands clasped, everything - the beach, the sunset, his corpse, even Death herself - simply... ceased. No fade to white, no dramatic flash. Just sudden, complete nothingness. No up or down, no light or dark, no sound or silence. Not even the concept of empty space. Just...


    Nothing.


    Through the nothingness, her voice came one last time:


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    "Make it count, Adom Sylla."


    *****


    Adom floated in the nothingness, formless and senseless.


    Time lost all meaning. He couldn''t tell if seconds or eons had passed. The emptiness was absolute, oppressive.


    Then, a flicker. A pinprick of awareness in the endless. It grew, expanding like a bubble in the void. Suddenly, glowing blue text materialized before him:


    [System Initializing...]


    The words hung there, impossibly bright in what was now darkness. More text appeared, each line bringing a surge of sensation back to Adom''s formless consciousness:


    [Name: Adom Sylla]


    [Race: Human]


    [Life Force: 100/100]


    [Class: Mage]


    [Date: 5th of Sapin, 847 AR]


    As the last line faded, reality crashed back into existence around him.


    The first thing that came back was sensation - a dull throb that seemed to exist everywhere and nowhere at once. Then pressure, the weight of his own body, real and solid and impossibly heavy. His lungs burned as they remembered how to breathe, each heartbeat thundering in his ears like a drum.


    Consciousness trickled in like water through a cracked dam.


    "...dead?"


    "...poke him with a stick..."


    "...your wand away before..."


    The voices faded in and out, mixing with the ringing in his ears.


    "Mr. Sylla?"


    Everything felt too much - the cold wetness on his face, the taste of blood in his mouth, the hard ground beneath him, the scratch of rough fabric against his skin. His nerve endings fired all at once, relearning what it meant to be alive.


    "...dom? Adom?"


    "Leave him..."


    "...should we get the..."


    "...breathing, look..."


    His eyelids flickered, impossibly heavy. Light stabbed at his retinas, making the world swim in blurry patches of color. Something shifted nearby - shadows moving against brightness.


    "Mr. Sylla? Can you hear me?"


    The world slowly began to arrange itself into recognizable shapes, like a painting coming into focus. The ringing in his ears faded to a distant hum, replaced by the clear voices of...


    The world swam in and out of focus, faces hovering above him. Faces he''d forgotten he once knew. Faces that had haunted his dreams for decades. This was like watching a memory play out, except...


    [Attribute Unlocked: Regressor''s Memory]


    The memories crashed into Adom like a tidal wave. The beach. Death. Her star-filled eyes. The deal. The deal!


    "AH!" He jolted upright, earning a chorus of startled gasps from the crowd around him.


    "I think you broke him, Damus."


    Damus? His head whipped left, then right, taking in the sea of young faces staring at him like he''d grown a second head. They all looked so... small. So unbearably young.


    Strong hands gripped his shoulders, steadying him. "Easy there, Mr. Sylla. You need to breathe. That was quite the hit you took during the duel." The adult voice paused, hardening slightly. "For which you will come and see me in my office, Mr. Lightbringer."


    Adom heard a tsk somewhere in the crowd.


    It worked. It really worked! He was-


    Wait. He squinted at the man holding his shoulders. Who was... ah, The stern face, the scarred face that could only come from battle, the silver-streaked beard...


    ...Crowley? Professor Crowley!


    His heart hammered against his ribs. There was Damus Lightbringer, standing awkwardly to the side, looking so young it hurt. No scar carved into his face, no hollow darkness in his eyes. Just a boy who''d cast a spell too powerful for a practice duel.


    The fifth of Sapin. The day he''d spent a day in the infirmary because little Damus couldn''t control his temper. Look at him, that little-


    "Adom?"


    Adom''s eyes widened. That voice. That impossible voice.


    He turned slowly, looking past Crowley, and there...


    There was Sam.


    Alive. Whole. Young. Stupid, wonderful Sam, with his crooked grin and worried eyes, his ginger hair catching the sunlight like copper wire.


    Adom''s trembling fingers found his own face - smooth, impossibly elastic skin, the sharp sting where Damus''s spell had hit him, cool water droplets still clinging to his cheeks. He felt the roundness there, the absence of decades of worry lines. Young. He was young.


    A laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep inside him, wild and uncontrolled, bordering on hysterical.


    "Did he hit his head?"


    "Should we get the healer?"


    "He''s gone mental..."


    "Adom?" Sam''s voice cut through the whispers, concerned. "Are you alright?"


    Adom threw his head back and shouted to the sky, not caring how crazy he looked, not caring about anything except the air in his young lungs and the beating of his restored heart:


    "I''M BACK!"


    "Yeah. You definitely broke him, Damus."

 Chapter 02. The Rules Of Street Fighting

    "What is your name, young man?"


    Nobody had called him young in ages. The thought made Adom chuckle, earning him a sharp look from the nurse.


    A movement near the door caught his attention - the nurse''s familiar, a large Sunhound whose name danced frustratingly at the edge of his memory.


    What was his name again? Buddy? Bailey? Something with B...


    The creature was watching him with unusual intensity, his head tilted in that peculiar way animals do when they sense something isn''t quite right.


    "Adom Sylla, ma''am." The words came automatically while his eyes wandered, trying not to meet the Sunhound''s unnervingly perceptive gaze.


    The infirmary smelled exactly as he remembered - bitter herbs and sweet-scented healing potions, with that underlying tang of antiseptic magic that always made his nose itch.


    Afternoon light streamed through tall windows, catching dust motes that danced in the air and making the Sunhound''s fur shimmer like gold. He''d forgotten about those windows, how they filled the room with golden light at this hour.


    "Is something wrong, Biscuit?" The nurse asked, noticing her familiar''s unusual behavior.


    Biscuit! That was it. The name clicked into place in Adom''s mind with an almost physical sensation of relief.


    The Sunhound''s nose twitched, and Adom could feel the creature''s innate magic reaching out, sensing... something. Something different. Something changed. Sunhounds were known for their ability to detect illness and magical anomalies - it was why they made such excellent familiars for healers. But surely it couldn''t...


    Adom looked away.


    There were the familiar white curtains separating the beds, starched so stiffly they could probably stand on their own. And those shelves - rows upon rows of colored bottles, their contents shimmering with barely contained alchemy. Blue for mana restoration, red for blood replenishment, that peculiar shade of green for bone-mending...


    "And what day is it?"


    "Fifth of Sapin." His gaze caught on the ceiling beams. Dark wood, worn smooth by centuries of magic. How many generations of students had laid here, staring up at those same beams?


    "Year?"


    "847 After Restoration." He''d always wondered about that crack in the third beam that looked exactly like a dragon. Strange how some memories stay with you, crystal clear, while others...


    "And who is our current Archmage?"


    "Sir Gaius the..." Adom caught himself just in time. Sir Gaius the Dead, his mind supplied. Sir Gaius the Betrayed. Sir Gaius whose body would be found in three years, after...


    "...the Wise," he finished smoothly.


    The nurse - Miss Thornheart, that was her name - narrowed her eyes at his hesitation. She''d been old when he was young (the first time), her hair already steel-grey and pulled back in that severe bun. But her hands were steady as she held up her wand, its tip glowing with diagnostic light.


    Ah, wands. He hadn''t seen one in years - they''d fallen out of fashion in his time, as wand and staff users became increasingly rare. Not by choice, of course.


    Hard to maintain a tradition when most of its practitioners were dead.


    Wands were mainly used by those who struggled with manual spell-weaving - the "spell-dyslexic" as some unkindly called them - and first years just starting to learn the basics of magic. The runic inscriptions helped focus and guide the mana flow that some mages couldn''t naturally control with their hands. So strange seeing one here now.


    So strange seeing everything here.


    Miss Thornheart sighed, finally lowering her wand. "He seems perfectly fine, Professor Crowley. Just a mild concussion. A night''s rest should set him right."


    Professor Crowley, shifted uncomfortably, his dark robes rustling. "Are you certain this isn''t a case of..." He hesitated, then leaned closer to Miss Thornheart''s ear, "possession?"


    The nurse''s expression hardened. "That was the first thing I checked when you brought him in, babbling about being ''back''. The diagnostic showed nothing unusual. No foreign essences, no spiritual intrusion. He''s perfectly normal."


    Crowley turned to Adom, his bushy eyebrows furrowed. "Then what was that about, young man? That shout about being ''back''?"


    Adom managed what he hoped was a suitably embarrassed smile. "I... got knocked out, sir. Wasn''t thinking straight when I came to."


    He couldn''t exactly tell them he''d traveled decades back in time. They''d either think he was mentally unstable - and wouldn''t that be an interesting first day back? - or assume he was making light of serious magical principles.


    Or worse, label him a deviant.


    The Three Absolute Rules of magic were drilled into every mage from their first day: Nothing is created, everything is transformed. Death is irreversible. Time is uncontrollable.


    These weren''t just theoretical principles - they were fundamental laws that defined the boundaries between responsible magic use and dangerous deviation. Breaking them wasn''t just impossible; the mere suggestion of trying marked you as someone who couldn''t be trusted with magic.


    Luckily enough, even the mad respected these boundaries. The last recorded attempt to break them was some 800 years ago - a rather unfortunate case of ''skill issue'', as modern mages would say. So at least no one''s first thought upon hearing him say "I''m back" would be time travel.


    Time travel, in particular, was considered dangerous nonsense, the kind of thing that got you funny looks in the better cases and serious discussions about your fitness to study magic in the worse ones.


    For the absolute worst case, as a deviant, you''d find yourself having a very final discussion with the Mage Council''s executioner. They were quite efficient about it too - no dramatic trials, no last words. Just a very quick solution to a very dangerous problem.


    Adom almost smiled at the irony. He''d spent years believing the same thing, dismissing the very notion as absurd.


    Then he broke the Second and Third Rules an hour ago.


    Which in itself would be fine to explain if he could prove it. Not that he could - or should. That would involve explaining things to people who solved magical anomalies by removing them permanently.


    Well, in their defense, when entire civilizations are wiped out overnight and continents reshape themselves because someone decided to be "innovative" with these rules, you tend to take them seriously. The Fourth Age ended that way. And the Third. And the Second.


    The ruins of those ancient magical societies stood as silent warnings, their perfectly circular voids in reality still studied by modern mages. So their zealousness in enforcing these rules was... understandable.


    "Must have been quite a knock to the head," Crowley muttered, not quite convinced.


    "You have no idea," Adom grinned, then noticed both adults staring at him with unsettled expressions. Right. Teenagers didn''t usually respond to authority figures with knowing grins.


    He swung his legs off the bed. "I''m leaving now-" The words were out before he could stop them, and he immediately saw Professor Crowley''s eyebrows shoot up while Miss Thornheart''s lips pressed into a thin line.


    Decades of being an accomplished mage, of making his own decisions, of being the authority figure - he''d completely forgotten how these interactions were supposed to go.


    Students didn''t announce their departures to professors; they asked permission. Basic manners that had been drilled into him as a child, now completely forgotten in the habits of adulthood.


    Adom caught himself and cleared his throat, fighting back another inappropriate grin. "I mean... may I be excused, Miss Thornheart? Professor?"


    The nurse''s expression had shifted from stern to oddly curious, while Crowley was looking at him as if he''d grown a second head.


    Adom gestured vaguely at his own temple, forcing an apologetic smile. "The concussion, remember?"


    The excuse was becoming quite convenient, really.


    Biscuit finally seemed to make up his mind, padding over to Adom and pressing his warm nose against his hand. Whatever the Sunhound had sensed earlier appeared to have been dismissed as non-threatening, though Miss Thornheart''s thoughtful expression suggested she''d be keeping a closer eye on her newest patient.


    Much to Adom''s displeasure.


    "You may go, Mr. Sylla. Please be careful, and you do not have to come to tomorrow''s practice. Get some rest."


    "Thank you, Professor." And then Adom ran.


    He ran.


    Here''s the thing about running: when you''ve spent decades barely able to walk, dragging yourself around in a wheelchair, watching your body betray you bit by bit... well, running becomes something of a dream.


    A half-forgotten memory that makes your heart ache. Young people at the Celestial Academy of Mystical Arts or for short, Xerkes, took it for granted - this ability to just pick up your feet and move, to feel the wind in your face, to cover distance with nothing but the strength of your own legs.


    Adom ran through the courtyard, his feet pounding against the ancient stones, past startled students with their various familiars.


    Xerkes had only one rule about familiars: as long as it didn''t burn or kill other students or furniture, and could fit in a classroom, it was allowed.


    Hmm. That was two rules...


    Anyway.


    Students stared at the weird kid sprinting and laughing like a maniac. He didn''t care. He ran in place, feeling his muscles respond instantly, perfectly, no pain, no stiffness, no betrayal. Just pure, beautiful motion.


    The late afternoon sun cast the Academy''s white towers in gold, their spiral tips reaching into the cloudy sky like they always had.


    ¡°Sylla,¡± someone greeted with a nod, while another called out, ¡°Watch it, Sylla!¡± as he nearly collided with them. He waved a quick apology, laughing as he ran on. Snatches of conversation followed him¡ª¡°Is he racing death?¡±¡ªand a few curious glances turned his way - children who would become colleagues, rivals, friends, some even enemies.


    But right now, they were just confused teenagers watching another teenager have what appeared to be a mental breakdown in the middle of the school grounds.


    It felt like flying. It felt like freedom. It felt like a dream.


    Except it wasn''t a dream. And that? That was even better.


    "Hey, shrimp!"


    Adom stopped automatically, his body responding before his mind could intervene. What was that called again? Ah yes, reflexes, and in this case, it seemed his body was still wired in a way that made him answer to specific things still.Stolen novel; please report.


    A habit he would have to correct soon.


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    Damus Lightbringer. Now there was a story.


    Heir to House Lightbringer, descendant of the last Sword Saint, and one of the most talented student in their promotion. Everyone knew who he was - how could they not? His magical potential was off the charts, and he had the kind of natural charisma that drew people to him like moths to flame.


    Adom and Damus had known each other practically since birth. Their fathers - Duke Jasper Lightbringer and Arthur Sylla - had been adventurers together, part of the "Jolly Jumper" party. They''d even survived being trapped in the Midnight Labyrinth, an infamous Dungeon, for three years, and came out of it as its conquerors. The stories about them were still told in taverns across the continent.


    Funny thing was, Adom couldn''t quite pinpoint when Damus had changed.


    The two of them been close as children, practically brothers. Then they came to Xerkes together, and something... shifted.


    It started small - a joke here, a comment there, always about Adom''s insecurities, always in front of others. The "friendly" sparring matches that left bruises. The way he''d wait until others were watching before pulling his little pranks.


    And of course, there was the nickname - "Shrimp."


    How lovely.


    Though to be fair, looking down at his current body, Adom had to admit he was rather scrawny at this age. All knees and elbows and absolutely zero muscle. No wonder Damus had started calling him that.


    Wait. Started? Was starting? Time travel really did mess with your verb tenses.


    They crowded around him, that special kind of teenage intimidation disguised as playful roughhousing. Marcus Blackthorn grabbed him in a headlock, ruffling his hair with knuckles just a bit too hard to be friendly.


    Finn Cooper and Leon Walsh flanked them, creating that familiar wall of bodies that always made escape impossible.


    "Man, you really got your ass handed to you," Marcus laughed, still not letting go. "For a moment there, I thought you were dead!"


    "Crowley''s got some nerve," Leon added, his freckled face split in a grin, "matching you with Damus. Everyone knows he''s the best fighter in second year."


    There we go...


    "Third year too," Finn chimed in, always the eager one. "Remember when he beat Jules from third year in practice?"


    Third year? really?


    "Fifth year," Marcus added, finally releasing Adom. "Don''t forget about Catherine from fifth year."


    It was a miracle their nose where not brown yet from all the licking.


    Damus stood slightly apart, that familiar half-smile on his face as he watched his friends roughhouse with Adom. He had that look - the one that said he was above it all while secretly orchestrating every moment.


    "Sorry about that spell from earlier, shrimp," he finally said. He always insisted on finishing all his sentences addressed to Adom with that word. Then came the usual patronizing remarks."You had it coming though. Your footwork''s terrible. No wonder you keep falling." Good old Damus. So predictable.


    Ooh. There goes that half-smile again, this meant it was time for the false sympathy, in three, two, one..."Hope you''re not holding a grudge. Are you? S-"


    "Shrimp." Adom finished. Earning him the widened eyes of Damus and his fanboys.


    It was strange.


    Back then - now? - when all this started, Adom had refused to believe Damus could be like this. They''d shared too many childhood memories, too many secret adventures. Then, gradually, that disbelief had turned into fear. And anger. Mostly at himself, for never fighting back, for letting it happen.


    It was also, as Adom only now realized, the reason he hated eating shrimps. The taste of them, the sight of them, the word itself. It always reminded him of how passive he was back then when clearly, he had no reason to be. Others would end up paying the price for that passive acceptance, unfortunately.


    But now? Looking at Damus, Adom felt more baffled than anything else. How had he ever been intimidated by... this?


    Because this was just a kid. A privileged kid with that spiky blond hair that used to be the trend at this point in time (God, it looked ridiculous now that he saw it again). His face was scattered with acne that no amount of magical remedies seemed to cure.


    His uniform was perfectly pressed, of course - couldn''t have the Lightbringer heir looking anything less than perfect - but his tie was deliberately loose in that "I''m too cool to care" way that took at least ten minutes to get right.


    Just another noble kid with pimples playing at being a big shot, really. Funny how perspective changes everything.


    "What are you looking at?"


    Adom smiled. A window!


    "Actually, you should avoid scratching those," he said, gesturing vaguely at Damus''s face. "Moonweaver Apothecary makes this really effective magical ointment for acne. Not very well-known, but it works wonders."


    Marcus, Finn, and Leon froze, their heads swiveling back and forth between Adom and Damus. Their expressions shifted from confusion to shock to something approaching horror.


    Ah, right. The unwritten rule: thou shalt not mention Damus Lightbringer''s skin condition. Ever. It was like the sun - everyone saw it, everyone knew about it, but nobody dared speak of it. Not even to offer help. Especially not to offer help.


    Damus''s eyes went wide, and his face... oh, his face was turning a fascinating shade of red that had nothing to do with acne.


    "...What did you say?" Damus''s voice was low, his eyes darting around to check if anyone had dared to laugh.


    "Oh," Adom said, raising his voice to ensure perfect clarity across the courtyard. "I SAID," He inspired, then, "YOU SHOULD AVOID SCRATCHING YOUR ACNE." He enunciated each word with deliberate precision. "AND THAT MOONWEAVER APOTHECARY MAKES A REALLY EFFECTIVE MAGICAL OINTMENT FOR IT. NOT VERY WELL-KNOWN, BUT IT WORKS WONDERS."


    The words rang out across the suddenly silent courtyard. A few students who hadn''t heard the first time stopped to stare. Someone gasped. A group of third-years paused their conversation mid-sentence.


    Adom maintained eye contact with Damus, his expression perfectly neutral, as if he''d just commented on the weather rather than committed what amounted to social suicide in the hierarchy of Xerkes.


    One might argue there was no need for this - Adom was technically an adult now, and stooping to teenager-level provocations seemed beneath him.


    But this was long overdue.


    Because here''s the thing about letting people treat you however they want: you''re not just setting your own boundaries, sometimes you''re teaching them how to treat others around you. Adom''s passivity, his weakness, his desperate hope that things would get better if he just endured it quietly - all of that had consequences. Consequences that extended far beyond his own suffering.


    Sam.


    It started in their third year. The signs were all there, crystal clear in hindsight. Sam switched rooms suddenly, made excuses not to be seen with Adom anymore. Then came the bruises he couldn''t explain, the way he''d flinch at sudden movements.


    The final straw came at their third end-of-year ceremony. Damus'' friends thought it would be hilarious to project images across the great hall - images of Sam, naked, being forced to dance and pose, tears streaming down his face. They played it in front of everyone: the entire school, visiting dignitaries from the city, Sam''s family. His little sister had been there.


    If Adom had just once taken Sam aside, really talked to him, instead of pretending not to notice. If he''d asked about those bruises, about why Sam suddenly couldn''t look him in the eye anymore. If he''d just... done something. Anything.


    But he hadn''t. Even though his own illness was already starting to show back then, even though his legs would sometimes give out without warning, even though he was scared and in pain - that wasn''t really an excuse, was it? Because he could have still spoken up. Could have told a professor, could have confronted Damus, could have at least let Sam know he wasn''t alone.


    Instead, his silence had sent a message: if Adom wouldn''t even stand up for himself, he definitely wouldn''t stand up for Sam. It made Sam an easy target - the quiet kid whose only friend wouldn''t even snitch. Free game, as they say.


    One conversation. That''s all it might have taken. One moment of courage, one decision to set boundaries, one friend actually being a friend instead of a coward.


    But he''d chosen to watch instead. To stay quiet. To hope it would all just go away on its own.


    It didn''t.


    Sam didn''t live to see the next sunrise. He preferred ending his life than facing the humiliation.


    And Adom? Adom just watched. Like he always did.


    But not this time.


    Not. This. Time.


    The reasonable course of action, the mature one, would be to report any bullying to a professor. That''s what any sensible adult would advise.


    But sometimes, kids didn''t need a scolding. Especially not privileged, self-absorbed little shits who were completely oblivious to the suffering they caused others. Sometimes, what they really needed was a good punch in the face.


    Of course, it would be completely unethical for an adult to go around punching twelve-year-olds. That would be wrong on so many levels.


    Oh, but wait.


    Technically speaking, in this exact moment, Adom wasn''t an adult at all. In fact, he was very much twelve years old too.


    His lips curved into a smile.


    Damus grabbed Adom''s collar, yanking him close. "Have you gone completely insane?!"


    "Easy, Damus, we could be se-"


    "SHUT UP, LEON!"


    Leon''s mouth snapped shut.


    "Mind letting go? I don''t like being this close to people." His eyes flickered to Damus''s face. "Especially with a face like that."


    Damus''s face contorted, a vein visibly pulsing in his forehead. His free hand clenched into a fist, drawing back.


    Here we go.


    Now, Adom wasn''t a battle mage by any means. Though decades of practicing defensive and offensive spells did count for something. In his current physical state, he probably couldn''t win a straight-up fight with Damus - the boy had at least twenty pounds on him, all muscle.


    But street fights didn''t work like duels.


    Adom had read about this during one of his longer hospital stays, in a book that definitely shouldn''t have been in the children''s ward. Rule number one of street fighting:


    The element of surprise.


    As Damus''s fist came sailing toward his face, Adom''s mind was already moving, conceptualizing the pattern of a barrier spell. No time for hand gestures - just pure visualization, drawing mana from his surroundings and shaping it with practiced precision. The geometric patterns formed in his mind: hexagonal reinforcement, distributed force dispersion, minimal energy waste.


    [Aegis Barrier]


    Damus''s fist slammed into the barrier with a sound like hitting thick glass. He stumbled back with a howl, clutching his hand. "What did- what did you do?!"


    The translucent barrier shimmered around Adom, its hexagonal patterns catching the sunlight. He hadn''t moved an inch, hadn''t even raised his hands - the spell had simply... appeared.


    "FIGHTING!" someone excitedly shouted as gasps and whispers rippled through the growing crowd.


    "Isn''t that an Aegis Barrier spell?" a voice cut through the murmurs. "That''s a third-year defensive spell. How''s he weaving it without gestures or grimoire?"


    The barrier hummed softly, steady and unwavering, while Damus stared at his reddening knuckles in disbelief. His eyes darted between his injured hand and Adom''s calm face, trying to process what had just happened.


    Second rule of street fighting: double down on the surprise.


    While Damus was still blabbering, Adom charged forward.


    The fifth of Sapin, year 847 after restoration - today, when Damus had used the spell ''Hardening'' during their "practice session," knocking Adom unconscious with a blow to the face. That''s when he''d returned to this time, waking up on the ground with the taste of blood in his mouth and decades of memories suddenly crammed into his twelve-year-old brain.


    He couldn''t avoid taking that hit - it had already happened. But now? Now he was grateful for it.


    Because it made this moment so much sweeter.


    As he closed the distance, mana flowed around his fist, condensing into a dark, metallic coating that seemed to drink in the light.


    The little shi- no, the little noble''s mouth was still open, probably forming some threat or insult, when Adom''s mana-enhanced fist connected with his jaw. The impact rang out like a hammer striking an anvil, a satisfying CRACK that seemed to echo across the suddenly silent courtyard.


    Damus spun, actually spun, from the force of it, saliva and blood arcing through the air, before crumpling to the ground like a puppet with cut strings.


    This felt really, really good.


    [You have dealt 32 damage.]


    [You have received 5 recoil damage.]


    [+1 Endurance]


    [+1 Agility]


    Adom froze momentarily as the words materialized in his mind.


    What was that?


    It was there when he came to. And here again. It surely was not magic. Spells could easily be identified since they had mana traces in them. This felt... like nothing at all.


    Adom quickly glanced around. Had anyone else noticed? No, it seemed not.


    Damage? Recoil? He instinctively understood their meaning, though the implications were foreign and troubling.


    He pushed the thought aside, forcing himself to focus. This wasn¡¯t the time.


    Damus groaned, his hands pressing against the ground as he tried to push himself up. Blood trickled from his split lip, and his eyes were unfocused, but somehow he was still conscious. Had to give it to him - the guy was stubborn.


    Rule three of street fighting: When in doubt, hit them again.


    Adom took two quick steps forward and brought his foot up in a clean arc, connecting solidly with Damus''s face just as he managed to get his head off the ground. The impact made a sound that was somehow both wet and crunchy and the strange blue messages appeared again.


    "STOP!"


    Leon and Marcus rushed forward, with Marcus grabbing Adom''s arm while Leo positioned himself between them and Damus, who had finally, properly collapsed.


    "You''ve lost your mind!" Marcus shouted, trying to pull Adom back. "You could have killed him!"


    Adom looked at the hand gripping his arm with the same detached interest he''d shown Damus earlier. "Let go."


    Marcus flinched at his tone, and Finn - who''d been watching from the side - cleared his throat. "Marcus. Let him go."


    At least one of them was smart.


    As they hauled Damus''s limp form toward the infirmary, Adom called after them: "If any of you want some more, you know where to find me."


    They didn''t answer.


    The courtyard erupted.


    "Did you see that?!" "Without hand gestures-" "He just-" "Someone get Professor Meris!" The voices overlapped, creating a wall of sound.


    "That was AMAZING!" a first-year practically bounced in place.


    "He''s going to be in so much trouble," a prefect muttered, already heading for the faculty wing.


    "Damus had it coming," someone whispered, then louder when others nodded. "He really did."


    "Professor Meris is going to FLIP-"


    "Did anyone else see the barrier pattern? That was advanced geometric-"


    "But from HIM? Isn''t he barely passing-"


    "I heard Damus was bullying-"


    Adom looked up, scanning the growing crowd, and there - on the second-floor balcony - stood Sam. His eyes were wide, mouth slightly open, hands gripping the railing.


    He smiled, gave a little wave, then pointed up: ''I''m coming there.''


    The crowd parted as he approached the stairs. He could feel their stares - most of them just confused. A few older students were already theorizing about his spell work, gesturing at each other with academic excitement. Others whispered behind their hands, no doubt already drafting letters home about this.


    "Someone should tell a professor," a girl insisted.


    "Shut up, Maya, that was the coolest thing I''ve ever seen!"


    "Did you see his face? He wasn''t even worried-"


    "Damus was bleeding-"


    "Good."


    His legs worked - for now at least - and he savored the simple ability to climb stairs without pain. The students on the stairwell pressed themselves against the walls, giving him a wide berth.


    "That barrier spell though-"


    "Forget the barrier, did you see that punch?"


    "My sister said Finn made someone cry yesterday-"


    "Yeah but this isn''t the way-"


    "Isn''t it though?"


    He kept climbing, one step at a time, heading toward Sam.


    Toward a future he was going to change.

 Chapter 03. Catching Up

    "What the hell was that?!" Sam''s arms were flailing wildly. "Since when do you fight like some- some kind of mystical warrior monk from the eastern mountains?! Did you secretly train with shadow assassins while I wasn''t looking?!"


    Adom couldn''t help but chuckle. God, he''d forgotten how Sam could turn everything into some fantasy novel reference. "It''s so nice to see you, Sam. I missed you a lot." He opened his arms. "Want a hug?"


    Sam''s face contorted into an expression of pure confusion. The students around them exchanged glances, whispering behind their hands. Adom couldn''t care less.


    "Why are you being so weird, dude?" Sam took a step back. "Miss me? We literally share a dorm. We saw each other at breakfast." He squinted. "Did you hit your head? Because that would explain the sudden martial arts skills AND the weird emotional stuff-"


    It had been decades for Adom though.


    He just kept smiling, arms still wide open. "Hug?"


    "Come on. Stop it." Sam looked around frantically. "People are staring! This is NOT helping your reputation after that whole thing you just pulled and- and- stop looking at me like that! Why are you looking at me like that?!"


    Adom didn''t budge, just stood there smiling.


    "FINE!" Sam threw his hands up in defeat. "One side-hug! Like normal people! Like bros do! Just- stop with the puppy eyes!"


    Sam awkwardly shuffled closer, giving Adom the most hesitant, rigid side-hug in the history of side-hugs, complete with the mandatory two pats on the back that apparently made it more masculine.


    The two-pat side-hug was so perfectly, awkwardly Sam that he had to bite back a laugh. Sixty years, and some things never changed.


    He matched the awkward energy, giving his own two pats in return, playing along with the whole "bros being bros" thing that had seemed so important when they were actually twelve. It was ridiculous and perfect and absolutely everything he needed.


    "There. Done. Happy now?" Sam pulled back, adjusting his robes and eyeglasses like they''d been somehow disheveled. "Can we talk about the fact that you just went full warrior-mage on Damus? Because that feels like the more pressing topic here."


    "Saw it in a book," Adom said, grinning.


    "What book? Because l-" Sam glanced around, suddenly very aware of the dozens of eyes still fixed on them. He hunched his shoulders slightly, that familiar nervous tic Adom had almost forgotten about.


    "Hey, uh, maybe we should go to the library? Or the dining hall? You know, somewhere less..." Sam gestured vaguely at their audience.


    "Wait." Adom''s eyes lit up. "Is Xerkes still doing that tomato soup?"


    "Are you serious right now?" Sam''s jaw dropped. "Xerkes'' tomato soup? The soup that literally has whole tomatoes floating in it? The one that made people actually cry? That soup?"


    "That''s the one."


    "The soup that started a petition to ban it last term? The one they say violates at least three cooking regulations? The one that-"


    "Yes, Sam. That soup. The awful one. I want some."


    "Did that punch scramble your brain? Because I distinctly remember you saying it tasted like ''someone boiled old boots in tomato juice and then forgot about it for a week.''"


    Adom was already walking. Maybe his palate had changed after sixty years. Or maybe he just missed how horrifically bad it was. Sometimes you don''t appreciate truly terrible things until they''re gone.


    "Are you coming?" he called back to Sam. "I want to see your face when I actually enjoy it."


    "This is definitely brain damage," Sam muttered, hurrying to catch up. "We''re going to need to get you checked out. Right after you explain about that book. And the fighting. And why you''re suddenly craving food crimes."


    *****


    "Urgh." Adom''s face scrunched up as he swallowed.


    "See? SEE? I told you!" Sam was practically bouncing in his seat. "What did you think was going to happen?"


    Apparently, sixty years hadn''t changed his palate at all. If anything, the soup was worse than he remembered - chunks of barely-cooked tomatoes floating in what tasted like hot water someone had waved a tomato at. From a distance.


    No salt. No pepper.


    "Ah, that feels nostalgic." He took another spoonful.


    Sam stopped mid-rant, staring at him. "Are you... are you actually eating more?"


    The dining hall of Xerkes brought back memories. Just like before, it had a glass dome ceiling. Blue fire orbs floated near the top, mixing with the daylight. Round tables were spread across three levels, connected by staircases and floating platforms. Plants grew everywhere - on the walls, in hanging baskets - and some of them would steal food when students weren''t looking.


    "By the way, where are your eyeglasses?"


    Adom blinked.


    Ah. That explained why everything had been slightly blurry.


    In his time, they had developed a complex artifice-enhanced spell for vision correction - it had taken decades to perfect the layered runes and enchantments needed to handle different types of vision problems. But that was still twenty years away from being created, and another five again from being perfected.


    Now, he''d have to make do with regular eyeglasses. "Must have lost them during the thing with Damus this morning. I''ll check the found objects later."


    "Speaking of Damus..." Sam leaned forward. "What was that all about? Seriously?"


    "Sam." Adom set down his spoon. "Starting today, we''re going to fight back."


    "We?"


    "Yes, we." Adom grinned. "You wanted to know about those spells, right?"


    "Uh, yeah?"


    "An adventurer mage taught them to me. I''ve been practicing in secret."


    Sam''s eyes went wide. "What? Who? What other spells did you learn? When did this happen? Why didn''t you tell me?"


    "She made me promise not to tell anyone." Adom''s smile turned mysterious. "But... she had floating white hair and galaxies in her eyes."


    Sam stared at him for a long moment. "Why are you doing this?"


    "Doing what?"


    "Bullshitting me."


    "I''m not though."


    "Right. You''re saying you talked to a girl? You?"


    Adom froze for a second. He''d expected Sam to not believe him anyway, but not the reason of his disbelief.


    "Wait," he said, "that''s the only thing you retained from what I said? I told you she had white hair and literal galaxies in her eyes. Galaxies, Sam."


    "But she was a girl? Pshh, right." Sam''s face couldn''t have been more serious if he tried.


    Right. That''s who they had been - two awkward, bookish nerds who could barely string two words together when a girl walked by. God, this was embarrassing. He''d somehow forgotten that part of his past self.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Adom laughed.


    "Excuse me?" A hesitant voice interrupted them. "Are you going to finish that?"


    Adom turned to find a round-faced boy hovering by their table, his black robes bearing a single red line on the shoulder - a first year. Blonde hair fell into clear brown eyes, and his cheeks were slightly flushed, either from the stairs or from gathering the courage to approach upper-years.


    Something about the boy''s jovial expression tugged at Adom''s memory. Do I know this guy?


    "The soup," the boy clarified, pointing at Adom''s bowl. "If you''re not going to..."


    "Please, save me from myself." Adom pushed the bowl toward him. "I''m Adom, by the way. This is Sam."


    "Leo!" The boy plopped down beside them, already reaching for the spoon. "I saw what you did earlier, with that barrier spell. That was incredible! Was that really a multilayered weave? We''ve only just started learning basic patterns in Professor Kern''s class - you know, ''straight lines for Push and Pull, direction matters more than force.''" He mimicked their professor''s droning voice perfectly.


    Sam snorted. "Oh man, Kern''s still using that line? When we were first-years, he made us recite it before every practical session. ''Direction before force, focus before flow.''"


    "It was a multilayered spell," Adom cut in, watching Leo attack the soup with surprising enthusiasm. "Double hexagonal pattern with flow variation."


    Leo''s eyes went wide, spoon frozen halfway to his mouth. "But that''s third-year material! Are you taking special classes as a second year?"


    "That''s what I''ve been trying to figure out," Sam said, grinning at Leo. "Our mysterious prodigy here won''t tell me where he learned it. Says a warrior-mage taught him during summer break."


    "Really? Could you teach me?" Leo blurted out. "I mean, not the advanced stuff, obviously, but maybe some tips? The professors keep saying visualization is key, but honestly, I''m still struggling with keeping my line straight for Push spells."


    A glob of soup dripped from his forgotten spoon, and a vine darted down to catch it before it could hit the table.


    "Where are you at in Fundamentals right now?" Adom asked. "Still working on basic Push?"


    "Yeah. We just finished the first chapter in Kaveth''s Primer. ''Forces and Control.''" Leo grimaced. "We''re supposed to master pushing at different strengths before moving to Pull spells next week."


    Sam perked up. "Ah, the control exercises? Learning to push a feather without sending it flying across the room?"


    "Exactly," Leo sighed. "I either barely move it or blast it away. Can''t seem to find the middle ground."


    "The grimoire''s focusing phrase helped me with that one," Sam offered. "''Gentle as a summer breeze, steady as a river''s flow.'' Really helps calibrate the force. I still use it sometimes when I need extra precision."


    "You don''t have to use the words," Adom added, noting Leo''s surprised look. "It''s all in the head, but they''re in the grimoire for a reason. Same with the hand movements - they''re training wheels, helping you build the right mental pathways. Once those are solid, you can weave with pure intent."


    "Like Professor Kern''s demonstration last week?" Leo asked eagerly. "He moved like five different objects at different speeds, all at once!"


    "Exactly." Adom drew another line, letting mana particles dance visibly along it. "But before you get there, you need to master the basic forms. Have you been doing your daily weaving exercises?"


    Leo shifted uncomfortably. "Well..."


    "They seem pointless, right?" Sam grinned. "Just tracing lines in the air over and over, practicing different pressures. But trust me, they work. My fine control was terrible until I actually committed to doing them properly."


    "Want to try pushing something light now?" Sam continued. "We can walk you through it. Right, Adom?"


    "Well..." Adom considered for a moment. "Every spell has its own geometric pattern. The simpler the pattern, the easier the spell. As you know, Push and Pull are the most basic - just straight lines. That''s why they teach them first."


    "The trick is," Adom continued, "mana particles want to follow certain paths. They''re like... you know when sunlight hits dust motes?" Leo nodded. "Imagine those dust motes actually wanting to form shapes. The straight line is just the simplest shape they can make."


    Sam leaned forward. "I''ve never heard it explained quite like that."


    "Right. So when you''re struggling with your Push spell, you''re probably trying to force the mana. Don''t. Just..." Adom drew another line, slower this time, and Leo gasped as tiny motes of light followed his finger''s path. "Show it where to go. The particles will do the rest."


    "Want to try a basic Pull spell?" Adom asked.


    Leo straightened up, nearly knocking over his spoon. "Right now?"


    "Why not? Just remember - don''t force it. Visualize the line, feel the mana, and..." Adom gestured encouragingly.


    "Here," Sam leaned forward, "the trick that helped me in first year was thinking about what you want to happen. Don''t focus on the mana yet - just think about what you want. Intent."


    Leo raised his hand, face scrunched in concentration as he attempted to Pull the soup bowl. His fingers twitched, but the bowl didn''t move.


    "Your line''s wobbling," Adom said gently. "Try this - close your eyes."


    Leo did.


    "Now, open your palm," Sam added, "and think about reaching for that bowl. Just... feel the distance between you and it."


    "Oh, I''m starting to get it."


    "Good," Adom said. "Now visualize the path to it. A perfectly straight line, like a string connecting your palm to the bowl."


    "I... I think I see it," Leo whispered, eyes still closed.


    "Perfect. The mana particles will want to follow that line," Adom explained. "Now, keeping that image in mind, make a smooth, straight movement with your hand - like you''re pulling on that string."


    Leo took a deep breath and drew his hand back in a clean, straight motion. The bowl slid smoothly across the table toward him, stopping right at his fingertips. His eyes flew open in delight.


    "I did it!" He beamed at them both. "I really did it!"


    "Nice work," Sam grinned. "Clean movement, clear intent - that''s exactly how it should look."


    "And I said this before, but with practice," Adom added, "you won''t even need the hand movements anymore. The mana will respond to your intent alone. That''s how more experienced mages can weave without gesturing - but for now, the movements help train your mind to direct the mana properly."


    "Leo!" A voice called from across the hall. "We''re going to be late for Fundamentals!"


    "Coming!" Leo scrambled up, somehow having already finished most of the soup. "Thanks for this! And, um, if you ever have time to help a first-year..." He let the sentence hang hopefully.


    "We''ll see," Adom said, finding himself smiling at the boy''s earnest enthusiasm.


    "Thank you!" He shouted one last time to them, before disappearing in the sea of students.


    Sam sat back with a satisfied smile. "You know, I always wanted to be that cool senior who helps the little ones. Guess we''re doing it already."


    "We''re second-years," Adom pointed out, amused.


    "Details, details." Sam took a spoonful of his soup and grimaced. "Ugh, it''s gone cold." He traced a quick square pattern in the air, and a warm glow settled over the bowl. "Besides, remember how lost we were last year? Would''ve killed for some friendly advice beyond ''direction before force, focus before flow.''" He affected Professor Kern''s monotonous drawl again.


    Then, with a gasp, Sam''s spoon suddenly froze halfway to his mouth, his shoulders tensing visibly. He stared intently at his soup as if it held the secrets of the universe. Something about his friend''s deer-in-spellfire expression triggered an inexplicable surge of anxiety in Adom''s gut. He fought it down, irritated at his body''s betrayal.


    "What¨C" Adom started to turn.


    "Don''t," Sam squeaked. A blush crept up his neck. "It''s... it''s Mia Storm."


    "Hello, boys."


    Sam managed a slight nod, his eyes still fixed downward. His mouth opened briefly as if to speak, but nothing came out.


    Adom''s heart did a strange little skip that had no business existing in someone his age. He turned to face Mia Storm, and for a horrifying moment, his adult perspective and teenage memories collided. His throat went dry.


    Seventy-nine years of experience meant nothing to teenage hormones, apparently.


    Around them, Adom noticed the familiar signs - a boy nearly spilling his drink while pretending to read, another one trailing off mid-sentence, several others suddenly finding reasons to fix their hair or straighten their uniforms. At least he wasn''t alone in this particular brand of teenage awkwardness.


    Her presence seemed to fill the entire cafeteria - not just because she was the most popular student at the Academy, but because of the way she carried herself. Silver curls framed a face that always seemed to hold a hint of amusement, as if she knew something you didn''t.


    In another timeline, Mia Storm would become the youngest Archmage in history, only to fall during the catastrophic Dungeon Break of Valanya. And, embarrassingly enough, she had been Adom''s crush throughout his years at Xerkes. Perhaps ''crush'' was too mild a word.


    "Oh, hello Mia. How''re you doing?" Adom managed, his voice cracking slightly. Fantastic.


    Sam let out an audible gasp, making both Adom and Mia turn to look at him.


    "Is he okay?" she asked, her eyebrows raised slightly.


    "He''s practicing to be a mime," Adom said automatically, his mouth running on autopilot while his brain tried to sort out which memories belonged to when. "Very method."


    The corner of Mia''s mouth twitched. "Actually, Adom, I was looking for you."


    That was new. In his previous run through adolescence, their most meaningful interaction had been when she''d sneezed and he''d dropped his entire lunch tray. He didn''t even know she knew his name back then.


    "Found me."


    "Your glasses." She pulled them from her bag. "From the duel? You left them behind when Damus, um..." She made a vague exploding gesture.


    "Thank you," Adom smiled, taking them back. "You spared me a trip to the lost objects office." His fingers brushed hers, and his treacherous teenage body decided to send his pulse racing.


    "My pleasure," Mia said, then added with a slight tilt of her head, "It''s actually the first time I''ve seen you without them. It suits you pretty well."


    Sam gasped again, louder this time.


    Adom sighed, shooting his friend a look before turning back to Mia. "Thank you. I¨C"


    "Mia!" One of her friends called from across the cafeteria. "We''ve got five minutes!"


    "Oh, right - I have Healing next," she said, then paused. "Aren''t you in that class too?"


    Adom opened his mouth to answer, then closed it. Was he? The class schedules blurred together - this was so long ago he couldn''t remember. "Different section," he said finally, hoping he wasn''t lying.


    "Ah, that explains why I haven''t seen you there." She adjusted her bag. "I should go. Talk later?"


    "Yeah, bye," Adom replied casually.


    As Mia walked away, Adom turned back to find Sam staring at him with an expression that could only be described as religious awe. A fresh wave of remembered anxiety washed over him - that old, familiar feeling from his first time through adolescence. His palms were actually sweating. Seriously?


    This problem would need to be addressed.


    "You okay there?" Adom asked, trying not to smile.


    Sam''s response was muffled by the table. "How do you just... talk? Like that? To her?"


    "Sam," Adom said finally, "she''s just a person."


    Sam was... not convinced.


    Adom sighed, fighting another wave of unwanted teenage anxiety. His body might be betraying him with racing hearts and sweaty palms, but his mind was clear enough - he just had to survive puberty. Again.

 Chapter 04. System

    "We should head to the Spell Weaving class," Sam said, gathering his things. "Professor Thane hates when people are late."


    "Actually," Adom said, rubbing his temple, "I think that duel with Damus affected me more than I thought. I''m going to skip today, get some rest."


    Sam''s face immediately shifted to concern. "Where are you hurt? Should we go back to the infirmary? Did they miss something? I knew that punch looked too strong-"


    "It''s okay, Sam." Adom cut him off. "I just need to lie down for a bit." He paused, then added, trying to sound casual, "Actually, could you take me to our dorm first?"


    "Our dorm?" Sam''s brow furrowed. "Is it that bad? You can''t even remember- I can stay if you need-"


    "Sam," Adom said firmly. "I''m fine. Just a headache. But yes, everything''s a bit... fuzzy right now."


    Sam nodded, and they made their way through Xerkes'' winding corridors. The academy hadn''t changed much in sixty years - or wouldn''t change much, depending on how you looked at it. Still, Adom was grateful for the guidance as Sam led them up three flights of stairs, down a corridor lined with enchanted paintings, and finally to a door marked "214."


    Their shared room was exactly what you''d expect from two teenage boys studying magic - scrolls scattered across desks, crystal formations growing in the window, and what appeared to be a failed attempt at an automated clothing-folding spell still sparking weakly in the corner. Sam''s side was meticulously organized chaos, while Adom''s... well, he''d have to figure out which side was his.


    Normally, Xerkes assigned three students to each dorm room - a tradition dating back to the founding fathers of the academy. But either through administrative oversight or luck, Adom and Sam had ended up without a third roommate.


    The extra space had quickly been converted into an impromptu potion-making station, complete with a small ventilation charm that Sam had rigged up after their third failed attempt at brewing Clarity Extract had filled the room with purple smoke.


    "We should probably put some order in here soon," Adom said, surveying the room.


    Sam let out a surprised laugh. "You? The guy who thrives in chaos?"


    I''m not that guy anymore, Adom thought, memories of his meticulously organized office at the Council floating through his mind. Sixty years of fastidious record-keeping had a way of changing habits.


    "Thanks for showing me back," he said, starting to head toward one of the beds.


    "The one on the left is yours," Sam called out, making Adom correct his course.


    "Thanks again."


    Sam sighed, hovering by the door. "I''ll bring some snacks and ice cream when classes end." He adjusted his bag. "Stay safe, man."


    "I will."


    "Bye then," Sam said, lingering for a moment longer before finally heading out, the door clicking shut behind him.


    Adom exhaled deeply as he lay on his bed, staring at the familiar-yet-strange ceiling. Just this morning - was it even this morning? - he''d woken up in his bunker, bones aching, joints creaking with the weight of his 79 years.


    The last twenty-four hours felt surreal - from his final moments on that beach to his conversation with that mysterious woman, and now... here. Back in his twelve-year-old body. Back when the world still made sense. When his biggest worries were exam scores and whether he''d embarrass himself in front of Mia Storm.


    Back when his parents were still alive...


    His chest tightened at the thought. They were alive right now. Not just alive - they were probably going about their daily routines, completely unaware that their son had just lived an entire lifetime without them. He wanted, more than anything, to see them. But from this place...


    He should write them a letter soon then.


    The lack of long-distance communication crystals in this era meant that correspondence was still largely done the old way. The current crystals could barely manage conversations across a city block, nothing like the continent-spanning network that would revolutionize communication in a few years. For now, his parents were just a letter away - achingly close, yet frustratingly distant.


    Adom''s exhaled as his thoughts drifted to all the possibilities this opportunity at a second chance gave him.


    Maybe this time he could actually see those places he''d only dreamed about. He could wander through elven cities, explore the depths of dwarven strongholds...


    At this point in time, getting a travel permit to any non-human territory would be nearly impossible. The elves especially were notorious for turning away human visitors - something about "preserving cultural purity," though everyone knew it was more about the lingering tensions from the perpetual conflicts.


    The dwarves were slightly more welcoming, if only because they enjoyed trading their metalwork. Still, they rarely allowed humans past their surface markets. The deeper halls of their cities remained a mystery to most.


    An adventurer''s license would help - it was one of the few documents respected across all territories. He''d seen a few lucky guild members brandish those badges like keys to the world. But getting one meant proving yourself capable of handling whatever dangers lay beyond city walls and dungeons. No small feat for a twelve-year-old, even one with sixty years of memories.


    He smiled, picturing himself at some small tavern in a far-off port, trying dishes he couldn''t pronounce, trading stories with travelers from across the sea. Or maybe camping under strange stars, sharing a meal with new friends around a campfire. Simple pleasures he''d never gotten to experience in his previous life.


    Then, when he got tired of all the traveling, he could find a quiet place somewhere, eventually. A little home where he could grow his own herbs and vegetables, invite friends over for dinner, watch the seasons change...


    "Ah, damn it."


    Adom''s smile faded as reality crashed back. These sorts of thoughts in his situation should not be welcome. All those dreams meant nothing if he didn''t prevent what was coming. That''s what the deal had really been about, hadn''t it? Not a gift, but a responsibility wrapped in the illusion of choice.


    The magnitude of what lay ahead of him was almost overwhelming. He had decades now - decades to prevent the catastrophes he knew were coming. The Valanya Breach. The Fall of Sundar. The Great Collapse. The World Dungeon. Among others. So many others.


    All the horrors that would transform the world into the wasteland he''d just left. And he had to do it all starting as a 12-year-old boy who still had to stand on tiptoe to reach the higher shelves in the library.


    I guess it could have been worse... He thought as he imagined himself coming back as an infant. Still, that would have left him time to enjoy the little things of life too.


    ...Okay, maybe this was worse after all.


    Anyway!


    Adom sat up.


    Before he could even begin to tackle that monumental task, there was something else he needed to understand. That blue thing - that strange, shimmering presence he kept seeing today.


    It appeared every time he worked with mana now, something he''d never noticed in his first life. Whatever it was, it definitely hadn''t been there before.


    As if responding to his thoughts, the blue shimmer coalesced in front of him, transforming into a translucent window of information:


    [Name: Adom Sylla]


    [Level 1]


    [Race: Human]


    [Life Force: 100/100]


    [Class: Mage (Runicologist*)]


    [Mana Pool: 387/400]


    [Unique Skills] (1/10)


    [Identify] Lvl 1 (Very Rare)


    [Merged Skills] (0/10)


    [Active Skills] (0/10)


    [Passive Skills] (0/10)


    [Inventory: 0/5]


    [Stats]


    [Expand to see more...]


    [Physical Condition: Very Weak]


    Suggestion: Physical training required. Current body requires conditioning to handle advanced magical output.


    "Whoa..." The moment he saw it, an instinctual understanding flooded his mind. The System - that''s what this was.


    But how did it work exactly?


    He reached for his notebook and quill on the bedside table. "Let''s test this inventory thing," he muttered, tapping the [Inventory] section. Five empty slots appeared before him, shimmering with a faint blue light.


    Cautiously, he held out the notebook toward the first slot. The item seemed to dissolve into motes of light before vanishing completely. He did the same with the quill in the second slot.


    "Interesting... It''s like a dimensional storage bag, but with fixed slots instead of space limitations."


    As if responding to his musing, text appeared below the inventory display:


    [Maximum item dimensions per slot: 2m x 2m x 2m]


    [Maximum item weight per slot: 100kg]


    "Oh, so you''re interactive," Adom said, raising an eyebrow. He retrieved the notebook and quill with a simple thought, watching them materialize in his hands. "Convenient."


    Then he put them back in.


    His eyes drifted to another section: [Unique Skills]. Unlike the empty active and passive skill slots, this one contained a single entry: [Identify].


    "What''s this about?" he wondered aloud.


    [Identify Level 1: Reveals basic information about objects, creatures, and phenomena. Can detect monster levels. Current range: 10 meters]


    "Level... like, how strong they are?" He tested it on his notebook:


    [Correct. Combat potential is calculated and displayed as a numerical value. Higher numbers indicate greater threat levels.]Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    "Just monster levels?" Adom asked, thinking about all the potential applications.


    [Correct. Level detection is limited to monsters and hostile entities. Other targets will display relevant information based on skill level]


    He tested it on his notebook:


    [Notebook]


    Class (Quality): D (Poor)


    Durability: 72%


    Notes: Contains various spell diagrams and half-finished homework assignments. Several pages have ink stains.


    "Huh." Adom flipped through the notebook, confirming the accuracy of the description. "That could be useful." He turned his gaze to the shimmering window itself:


    [System Interface]


    Type: Unique


    Status: Bonded


    Notes: A manifestation of the agreement. Further features will unlock as conditions are met.


    Well, that was deliberately vague.


    The agreement...


    Adom frowned at a thought. "Hey, why does my body react in ways I don''t... intend to? Like earlier, with Mia, I..." He felt his cheeks heat up. "I got nervous just because she smiled at me. Or even earlier, when those kids tried to intimidate me - my body just froze for a second when they called me. These aren''t my reactions. Well, they are, but... they''re not the reactions I should have with my future memories, right?"


    [Your understanding is incomplete. You are not two separate entities - one past, one future - sharing a body. When you regressed, your future consciousness merged completely with your past self. You are both versions simultaneously.]


    "I don''t understand. "


    [There is no "future self" or "past self" anymore - they are now one and the same person. Think of it like this: You didn''t replace or kill your future self, nor did you simply add memories to your past self. Instead, both versions merged completely to create who you are now. You have all the experiences, memories, and wisdom of your future life, and all the physical responses, emotional patterns, and fresh perspectives of your younger self. Neither version died - they became a new, complete whole.]


    [It''s similar to how you don''t say your five-year-old self "died" when you became ten. You simply grew and integrated new experiences. In this case, instead of linear growth, you''ve merged two points of your timeline into one consciousness.]


    Adom leaned back, processing this. "So I''m... both? Or rather, I''m just me, with everything from both times?"


    [Correct. You are Adom Sylla, with twelve years of lived experience and seventy-nine years of memories, all integrated into who you are now. Your future experiences weren''t erased or killed - they''re part of your current consciousness, just as much as your present experiences are.]


    "That''s... actually kind of reassuring." Adom smiled slightly. He wasn''t carrying around a dead future version of himself. He was just... him. All of him.


    Then he glanced at his stats again. "Wait a minute... why am I level 1? I mean, even in this body, I have decades of magical knowledge."


    [Level primarily represents current combat effectiveness against baseline monsters. Knowledge alone does not translate to physical capability. Current form requires significant improvement to handle higher-tier encounters.]


    "Okay, but why do I need to ''handle encounters'' at all? Why have levels?"


    [Levels serve as psychological motivation. Humans naturally seek improvement when presented with measurable progress markers.]


    Adom snorted. "So you''re basically trying to trick me into training?"


    [Not trick. Encourage. System cannot grant power directly. Can only reflect growth achieved through personal effort. Think of it as a mirror showing potential.]


    "And what''s the point of that?"


    [Your mission requires significant capability improvement. Current form is inadequate for challenges ahead. System provides framework for growth tracking and incentivizes development through unlockable features.]


    "Like more inventory slots?" Adom asked, thinking of how useful even these five slots already were.


    [Correct. Inventory expansion, enhanced identification range, additional interface features unlock with demonstrated growth. System does not provide power - you must earn it. System merely measures and rewards.]


    "Sooo... you''re just a fancy way to track progress."


    [...Correct.]


    His eyes moved down the window, noting the detailed stat breakdown:


    [Physical Stats]


    Strength: 6


    Agility: 8


    Stamina: 5


    Dexterity: 7


    [Mental Stats]


    Intelligence: 142


    Wisdom: 138


    Focus: 91


    Memory: 145


    [Basic Abilities]


    Reading: Advanced


    Writing: Advanced


    Mathematics: Intermediate


    Physical Education: Poor


    And dozens more...


    "Hold on," Adom said, frowning at the empty skill slots. "Why don''t I have any skills? I mean, I know how to do plenty of things. And what exactly counts as a skill anyway?"


    [Skills are complex action sets that combine multiple stats and basic abilities. Example: Cooking skill requires:


    <ul>


    <li>Knowledge of ingredients and techniques</li>


    <li>Manual dexterity for cutting and preparation</li>


    <li>Understanding of heat and timing</li>


    <li>Memory for recipes</li>


    <li>Focus for consistent execution</li>


    </ul>


    When these components are mastered through repeated practice and understanding, System registers them as unified skill.]


    "So just knowing how to do something isn''t enough?"


    [Correct. Knowledge without practical mastery does not constitute skill. Current form has knowledge but lacks physical conditioning and muscle memory. Previous life''s physical skills must be relearned.]


    "Another question." Adom raised his hand, and wove a [Flame] spell. A small fire flickered to life above his palm. "Spell weaving is definitely a complex skill. Why can I do this?"


    [Class: Mage (Runicologist) provides baseline magical capabilities. Class skills are inherent, not counted in skill slots. Soul-based abilities persist across physical changes.]


    "So because I''m classified as a mage, I automatically have the basic skills that define what a mage is?"


    [Correct. Class designation reflects core identity and fundamental capabilities. Magical knowledge and control are soul-anchored traits, preserved despite physical reset. Additional magical specializations beyond class baseline would require skill slots.]


    Adom''s eyes lingered on his class designation. "What''s this little star next to ''Runicologist'' for?"


    [Indicates current primary specialization path. Progress: Level 300/1000


    Available Mage Paths:


    Runicologist (Current: 300)


    <ul>


    <li>Healer (Locked)</li>


    <li>Divination (Locked)</li>


    <li>Battle Mage (Locked)</li>


    <li>Elementalist (Locked)</li>


    <li>Alchemist (Locked)</li>


    <li>Druidism (Locked)</li>


    </ul>


    Complete mastery (Level 1000) of all paths enables class evolution: [True Archmage]]


    Three hundred? The number stung a bit. For someone who''d been praised as brilliant in runic studies, that felt... low.


    Then there was the system''s mention of ''True Archmage''...


    Among humans, that title had never been more than an honorary position. The current Archmage, Sir Gaius, while undoubtedly powerful, was simply an exceptional battle mage who''d been chosen to oversee the Magisterium¡ªa towering bastion of arcane authority responsible for governing and safeguarding all matters pertaining to mages and magic within the Empire of Sundar.


    His role was more administrative than anything: protecting and directing the Empire''s mages.


    And because humans needed the position to be filled, if only to avoid the embarrassment of being mocked for having none, someone like Sir Gaius had been the natural choice.


    The elves, now they had a genuine True Archmage. Adom had never seen them personally, but tales spoke of their mastery over all seven paths of magic. The dwarves too had boasted one, until their passing two centuries ago. But humans? The task seemed beyond their reach.


    Even with magic extending their natural lifespan - assuming they weren''t cut down early - human mages typically lived to around 150 years. Lady Verana had set the record at 202, and even she had only fully mastered two paths. The time required to truly master all aspects of magic, to reach the pinnacle of each specialization... it simply exceeded what even the longest-lived humans could achieve.


    So human mages faced an impossible choice - either spread themselves thin attempting to learn everything, becoming mediocre at all, or focus on one path while barely scratching the surface of the others. Even those rare few who managed to master two paths had dedicated their entire lives to the pursuit.


    A thought nagged at Adom''s mind as he considered his situation. In this new life, he''d most definitely need to fight, so combat skills would be essential. Since he was already accomplished in runes, he''d need to become a battle mage this time around.


    At Xerkes, the path-choosing ceremony was a pivotal moment in every student''s third year. After experiencing the basics of all seven magical disciplines in their first two years, students would gather in the Celestial Pavilion during the spring equinox. There, before the Academy''s masters and their peers, they would declare their chosen path. It was more a tradition, really.


    In his previous life, Adom had stood proudly before the maesters and chosen the path of runes. He remembered how natural that choice had felt, how right. But next spring, when his turn came again, he''d have to make a different choice.


    A different choice...


    Crossing his legs, Adom focused on his mana core, that well of energy nestled deep within. The mana pathways throughout his body were still developing - they would continue to do so until he turned twenty-one. Like a second circulatory system, they carried mana instead of blood. He could feel the potential there, raw and untapped.


    It was fascinating how knights used the same energy so differently. While mages like himself could manipulate raw mana directly, knights compressed it into what they called ''Fluid,'' transforming it into pure physical enhancement. Battle mages were unique in that they learned both arts - pure mana manipulation and Fluid transformation.


    "I wonder..." Adom murmured, trying to recall those basic lessons from his father. Perhaps he could get a head start on the path.


    He closed his eyes, recalling his father''s patient instructions from years ago. His old man had spent countless hours trying to teach his academically-inclined son how to transform mana into Fluid. The knowledge was still there, buried in his memories - the theory, the process, the visualization.


    "Feel it," his father would say, "let your emotions guide the transformation."


    A droplet of sweat rolled down Adom''s temple as he concentrated on his mana core. The energy was there, swirling, ready to be used. But Fluid required something more than just technical understanding. It needed emotion - raw, powerful, overwhelming emotion.


    He''d always found that requirement ridiculous. The idea that feelings could catalyze a physical transformation of energy seemed absurd to his analytical mind. Yet history proved otherwise. Every knight, every battle mage who''d ever manifested Fluid had done so through the power of their emotions. Rage, exhilaration, love, despair - any emotion would do, as long as it burned hot enough.


    The problem was quantifying that "hot enough." How much emotion was sufficient? How did one measure the intensity of a feeling?


    Adom focused on his current emotional state. Joy bubbled within him at his second chance at life. Anxiety churned in his stomach about the challenges ahead. Hope burned bright when he thought about changing his fate. He tried to amplify these feelings, to let them fill his entire being.


    The mana in his core responded, stirring faster, flowing through his pathways with increased speed. But despite his concentration, despite the sweat now dripping down his face, the crucial transformation remained elusive. His mana stayed as it was - raw, untransformed energy.


    With a frustrated sigh, he opened his eyes. Perhaps he needed something stronger than hope and anxiety to trigger his first transformation.


    A small window expanded as Adom kept pondering:


    [Alert]


    [Life Force Status: Currently stable]


    [Warning: Potential development of Lifedrain Syndrome detected]


    [First symptoms estimated to manifest within 2-3 months without intervention]


    Adom''s breath caught in his throat. Lifedrain Syndrome. The magical degradation that had slowly eaten away at his body for decades. It wasn''t until he was in his fifties, after years of research and desperate searches for a cure, that he''d discovered the cruel truth - his body had been prone to it from birth.


    His perpetually skinny frame, which no amount of food could ever change, every unexplained exhaustion, every failed attempt to build stamina during his childhood - they hadn''t been normal weakness. They were early symptoms no one knew to look for.


    He remembered the concerned looks from the school healers during his second year at Xerkes, He was exactly his current body''s age when the first visible symptoms had appeared in his previous life. The way they''d dismissed the occasional tremors and mana fluctuations as puberty-related magical instability.


    As if responding to his mounting dread, a new window materialized:


    [Quest Alert]


    [The Race Against Time]


    Find a cure for Lifedrain Syndrome before visible symptoms manifest


    Time Limit: 2 months, 21 days, 14 hours, 48 minutes


    Reward: Life


    Failure: Death


    Accept? Y/N


    Without hesitation, Adom mentally selected ''Y''. He''d spent years watching this disease ravage his body. He wasn''t going to let it happen again.


    [Quest Accepted]

 Chapter 05. The Perks Of Being A Regressor

    Funny thing about Lifedrain Syndrome - they actually found a cure for it.


    About thirty years into the future, Adom himself led the research team that cracked it, working with some of the most brilliant healers and alchemists left in the world. It took them the better part of a decade, countless sleepless nights, and expeditions to places most sane people wouldn''t go near just to gather ingredients.


    The cure worked. That wasn''t the problem. The problem was its timing.


    If you caught the disease early enough - before any visible symptoms appeared - and took small doses of the treatment over several months, you had an 90% chance of never developing Lifedrain Syndrome at all.


    If you''d already shown symptoms, but caught it within the first year, you could try the more aggressive approach: direct injection into the mana pathways. The survival rate for that was 3%.


    Three percent didn''t sound great. Then again, when you consider that untreated Lifedrain Syndrome had a death rate of 99.99% - with that 0.01% mainly consisting of people who technically hadn''t died yet - suddenly three percent looked like a miracle.


    Not that any of this had helped Adom in his previous life. By the time they perfected the cure, he''d been living with Lifedrain Syndrome for decades. Well past that one-year window that might have given him even that slim chance at survival. He''d spent years developing a cure he couldn''t use himself.


    Now, back again, he had exactly 2 months, 21 days, 14 hours, 37 minutes before the first visible symptoms would appear. The System''s precision would have been amusing if it wasn''t so terrifying.


    Adom was supposed to be sleeping now, but his mind kept circling back to the cure''s ingredients. Most of them were surprisingly common - herbs any student could gather, plants found in the academy''s own grounds, those ubiquitous blue mushrooms that dotted the forest floor.


    But then there were the two components that made seasoned alchemists pale: a fresh wyvern''s heart and some water of jouvence.


    A single wyvern''s heart could bankrupt a merchant family. The kind of expense that would force his parents to sell their home, and probably still leave them in debt. And that was assuming he could even convince them to help - somehow he doubted "I''m actually your son from the future and I need this to prevent a magical disease I haven''t fully developed yet" would go over well.


    The nearest wyverns were in the Ranges of Darakya, a good ten days'' journey from Arkhos by boat. Even if Adom somehow managed to slip away from school without raising suspicions - and good luck explaining that absence - actually obtaining a heart meant either facing a wyvern himself (suicide) or finding someone willing to hunt one (ruinously expensive).


    Then there was the water of jouvence. Everyone knew it could only be found in one place: the Wellspring Dungeon, deep in the Northern Wastes. The dungeon itself was supposedly only accessible during the winter solstice, and even then, its challenges had killed more adventurers than anyone cared to count.


    The few vials of water that made it to market each year cost more than most people earned in a lifetime.


    That left Adom with only one choice.


    Crime.


    Legal channels would take too long and were impossible anyway. No reputable merchant would sell a wyvern''s heart and water of jouvence to a student without proper documentation, official research permits, and a master alchemist''s sponsorship. Even worse, these components were notorious for their use in forbidden magic. The questions alone would draw exactly the kind of attention he couldn''t afford.


    And then there was the waiting list for water of jouvence. With only a handful of vials making it to market each year, legitimate buyers often waited years for their turn - noble families and prestigious research institutions had standing orders that stretched back decades. Two months? He might as well wish for wings.


    The black market was his only real choice. Criminal enterprises didn''t care about permits or credentials, and they knew better than to ask why their clients needed certain ingredients. He''d pay more than legal prices - probably far more, given the risk premium smugglers charged - but at least they''d sell to him at all. Still, he''d need more money than his entire allowance for the year. Far more than he could explain away to his parents without raising questions he couldn''t answer.


    And so, tomorrow he''d have to visit someone. The thought made him both nervous and oddly excited - he''d never done anything truly illegal. Strange how being young again made even the prospect of criminal activity feel like an adventure.


    But excitement wouldn''t pay for a wyvern''s heart. Or water of jouvence. Especially with the underworld''s steep rates, he needed funds. Significant funds. The kind of money a student simply didn''t have access to.


    Adom sighed into his pillow. Think, think, for God''s sake, how does a regressor makes money fast?


    Ah! He gasped.


    Of course. He smiled.


    By using a regressor''s greatest advantage: knowledge.


    Then Adom deflated almost immediately.


    He was starting to regret all those times he''d scorned gambling halls in his past life. And horse racing. And Krozball betting. And stock market speculation. And pretty much anything that would have given him reliable knowledge of winning odds or future market changes.


    He''d been too busy with his research, his books, his experiments. Even sports - he couldn''t name a single winner of any major tournament from this period.


    What kind of regressor didn''t know next week''s winning lottery numbers?


    Adom groaned into his pillow, then rolled onto his back. There had to be something from this time period he could use. Something, anything... what did he know about this year that could make him rich? What happened, what changed, what was discovered...


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    "The treasure!" he shouted, bolting upright.


    He started pacing his room, careful not to bump into anything. Two years from now... what was that guy''s name? It started with a T... or was it an M? Thomas? No... Martin? No... Trevor... Marcus... Thom... Tim...


    Some dude.


    Two years from now, some dude would become the talk of every tavern and newspaper across the isles. The lucky bastard had stumbled into a cave while chasing his goat and found what turned out to be a leprechaun''s hoard - 500,000 gold pieces from the Krona reign. The coins were still legal tender, their value unchanged after all these centuries.


    Adom remembered it vividly because for weeks, you couldn''t walk two steps without hearing someone discussing the discovery. Every detail had been repeated ad nauseam - the cave''s location, how the guy had nearly broken his neck getting in there, how he''d thought the glinting was just mineral deposits until he got closer...


    <div>


    Adom nodded to himself. Tomorrow after classes, he''d head to the cave, retrieve the treasure, and then visit his... contact. Get the ball rolling on acquiring the ingredients. Simple enough plan.


    He got into bed, crossed his arms behind his head, and stared at the ceiling.


    Minutes ticked by.


    More minutes ticked by.


    Adom was lying there, having literally traveled back through time after watching the world end, carrying the weight of preventing that future on his shoulders, and he was supposed to just... go to sleep?


    "No!" he shouted, then immediately winced at the volume.


    This was ridiculous.


    He needed to go to that cave right now. What if someone else found it first? Which was, objectively speaking, completely absurd - the treasure wouldn''t be discovered for another two years, and he hadn''t told a soul about it. But still. STILL.


    He was already pulling on his boots before his rational mind could catch up with his paranoia. Sometimes the only way to quiet an irrational fear was to do something equally irrational about it.


    Getting out of school was surprisingly easy. Nothing technically prevented students from leaving as long as they had a valid reason, and "feeling unwell" was as good as any. The nurse barely glanced at him before signing his permission slip.


    It was late afternoon. In any other circumstances, Adom might have paused to take in the sight of Xerkes - the floating pavilions drifting lazily above the city''s spires, the familiar streets he hadn''t walked in decades, the merchants closing their shops for the day.


    But not today. He just grabbed the forty silver pieces he knew he always kept in his drawer and headed straight for the merchant district.


    He ran, cursing his younger body''s poor stamina, a simple run left him winded. He spotted a shop called ''Garrett''s'' just as the merchant was pulling down his shutters.


    "Wait!" Adom called out between gasps, doubling over with his hands on his knees. "Please... just... one moment."


    Garrett - or so Adom assumed his name was - paused, one eyebrow raised as he watched Adom struggle to catch his breath. He was a stocky man with calloused hands and laugh lines around his eyes.


    "We''re closing, boy," he said, though he didn''t continue with the shutters. "Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow."


    "Dimensional bags," Adom wheezed. "The cheapest ones you have. It''s for a school project at Xerkes."Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    Garrett''s expression shifted at the mention of the academy. "Xerkes, eh?" He looked Adom up and down, taking in his disheveled appearance. "Funny how that name opens doors in this city." He sighed, pushing his shutters back up. "Alright, come in. But make it quick."


    Inside, Garrett rummaged through a back shelf, muttering to himself. "Let''s see... got some basic ones here. Nothing fancy, mind you. Half-cubit capacity each, rough stitching, but they''ll hold."


    He placed four small, worn leather bags on the counter. They looked unremarkable, save for the faint shimmer of enchantment around their openings.


    "Ten silver for the lot," Garrett said, then added with a hint of pride, "Cheapest you''ll find in the district. They''re not pretty, but they''re honest work. Won''t fall apart on you mid-transport like some of that fancy rubbish they sell up in the floating markets."


    "Perfect," Adom said, counting out the coins. "Thank you. Really. And you can keep the change."


    "Hmm. Just don''t come running back tomorrow saying they''re too small," Garrett warned. "And next time, maybe don''t wait until closing?" He looked at Adom''s still-flushed face and shook his head. "Or at least work on your running first."


    "Thanks again," Adom said, and headed straight for the strider station.


    The massive razorback strider squawked when he approached - twelve feet of irritable, feathered transportation. He paid the rider fifteen silver for a trip to Redcliff Valley, trying not to wince at the price. The creatures might look like overgrown, bad-tempered ostriches, but they could cover more ground in an hour than a horse could in three.


    The beast slowed to a stop at Adom''s signal. "Here''s good, sir."


    Redcliff Valley lived up to its name - rust-colored cliffs dropping sharply to meet the sea, white foam crashing against their bases.


    The setting sun cast long shadows across the scrubland, and in the distance, the first lights of Arkhos port were beginning to twinkle. Even after everything, this corner of the island still took his breath away.


    The rider, a weathered man probably in his fifties, frowned down at him. "Night''s falling, kid. Not usual to see a boy your age out here at this hour." He hesitated, then added with careful neutrality, "Everything alright at home?"


    Adom almost laughed when he realized what this looked like - a child heading to a remote location at dusk, alone. Every indication of a runaway. "Oh yes. Everything''s fine, sir. Just have some business to attend to. I''ll be heading back tonight."


    The man studied him for a long moment, thumb absently stroking his graying beard. "Tell you what. I''ll be at the Salty Dog for a while." He pointed to a distant building where warm light spilled from windows onto the clifftop. "When you''re done with your... business, come find me. I''ll give you a ride back."


    "I''m not sure I can afford the evening rates..."


    "No charge." The man''s eyes crinkled. "Just don''t want a kid wandering around these cliffs after dark."


    "Thank you, sir. I''ll find you when I''m done then."


    They parted ways, the strider''s heavy footfalls fading into the growing dusk. Adom watched them go, oddly touched by the stranger''s concern. He''d forgotten how people could be kind for no reason at all.


    And so, Adom surveyed the cliffs. Caves dotted the red rock face like holes in cheese, some barely more than shallow indents, others yawning black mouths that disappeared into darkness. At least forty of them, he counted. Somewhere among them was his ticket to survival.


    What did he remember about the cave? He squinted, trying to drag details through sixty years of accumulated memories. It was... high up. Yes. The guy had been chasing his goat up a narrow path when he found it. And there had been something about the entrance being partially hidden by... rocks? Plants? Something that had made it easy to miss.


    He also remembered people making a big deal about how the cave entrance looked like a crescent moon when you stood at the right angle. Or was it a fish? No, definitely a crescent moon. That detail had stuck because someone had spun a whole theory about leprechauns and lunar magic that had made the rounds in the papers.


    And there had been something about water... right. The cave had to be above the high tide line, because the treasure would have been long ruined otherwise. That at least narrowed things down - he could ignore all the caves near the bottom of the cliff.


    Still left him with about fifteen possibilities to check. Adom sighed and started climbing. At least his younger body made this less likely to kill him.


    He channeled mana through his pathways, the familiar tingle of [Levitation] making him lighter. Not enough to float - that would be too conspicuous - but enough to make climbing feel like walking up stairs instead of scaling a cliff face.


    One by one, he checked the caves above the tide line. The first one was barely deep enough to count as a cave. The second was promising until it opened into a natural chimney. The third was just right except for being shaped like a lopsided triangle. The fourth...


    Hours passed. The sun disappeared entirely. Still no crescent moon.


    He sat on a ledge, frustrated and confused. He was absolutely certain about this location - the newspapers had mentioned Redcliff Valley dozens of times. The crescent shape had been a major talking point. The treasure had definitely been here.


    Hadn''t it?


    Darkness had fully settled now, and Adom was starting to wonder if maybe his seventy-nine-year-old memories weren''t as reliable as he''d hoped. After all, what were the odds of remembering exact details of a newspaper story from six decades ago?


    He looked up at the moon, now fully visible in the night sky, and froze.


    Oh.


    Oh.


    Adom''s eyes widened. Of course. A leprechaun''s treasure wouldn''t just be sitting in some obvious cave. These creatures were infamous for their deceptive magic, hiding things in plain sight through complex enchantments.


    They''d been known to conceal entire castles as pebbles, or turn forests into single trees that only revealed their true nature under specific conditions.


    And now that he thought about it, that guy had found it at night, hadn''t he? Chasing his goat under moonlight...


    "If I was a leprechaun," Adom muttered, "what kind of magic would I use?"


    He activated [Identify], scanning the cliff face systematically. The system''s descriptions appeared in his mind:


    ''Natural rock formation''


    ''Common cliff moss''


    ''Cave entrance (shallow)''


    ''Thorny brush, indigenous to Xerkes''


    ''Cave entrance (15 meters deep)''


    ''Weathered limestone deposit''


    ''Ancient ru-''


    He blinked. Wait, what was that? He''d looked away too quickly.


    "What was that last one?"


    He turned back, focusing his [Identify] on that specific spot again. There - almost hidden among the natural patterns of the rock:


    [Ancient runic array (purpose: concealment), estimated age: 537 years]


    As soon as he deactivated [Identify], the rune vanished completely - invisible to the naked eye. He activated it again, studying the intricate pattern.


    Runes were the architecture of magic - geometric patterns that shaped and directed mana flows like riverbeds guiding water. Each symbol was a command, each connecting line a channel, each intersection a transformation point. The truly fascinating part was how they could tap into the natural mana currents that flowed through the world, creating enchantments that could sustain themselves for centuries.


    This concealment array was a masterwork. The primary sigil spiraled outward in the Pattern of Endless Return, sacred to leprechaun runecraft. Secondary marks branched off at spirit-angles, creating a cascade that bent both light and perception around it. But the true genius lay in the lunar resonance marks woven through the pattern - tiny runes that shifted the array''s power with the phases of the moon.


    Adom had to admire the craftsmanship. These were the kind of runes you only saw in museums or old ruins. Modern runesmiths used much simpler arrays, more efficient, built on centuries of streamlined magical theory. But these old patterns... they had an artistry to them that modern runecraft had lost in its pursuit of practicality.


    Knowledge of runes had survived since the time of Law, the Farmer Mage himself, who was said to possess natural runes - something Adom had never seen in his long life. Not much was known about natural runes, but they had helped Law create the foundations of artificial runecraft that mages used today.


    But admiration, Adom realized, wouldn''t get him inside. He needed to figure out how to disable it - or at least work around it.


    Adom studied the rune carefully. Different runes responded to different triggers - some needed blood, others specific words, many just raw mana. But this one...


    "If it''s tied to moonlight," he muttered, thinking aloud. "Then entrance would only show under moonlight, so the rune must use it too. And if leprechauns made it..." He remembered something from his magical theory classes. "Leprechauns always built redundancies into their magic. They never relied on just one key."


    The pattern seemed to flow toward a central point, currently obscured by centuries of vine growth. Working carefully, keeping [Identify] active to ensure he didn''t lose sight of the rune, he cleared away the vegetation. Each time he exposed more of the pattern, new details emerged - smaller runes branching off the main array, all converging toward that center point.


    "Okay, so moonlight''s one component," he reasoned. "The rune needs to see it directly." He stepped back, making sure the moon''s light fell squarely on the newly exposed pattern. Nothing happened, but the lines seemed to shimmer slightly.


    "And if it''s using moonlight, it''s probably designed to channel mana the same way." He traced the pattern with his eyes. "Look at how all these lines spiral inward - like a funnel. It''s not just blocking magic, it''s... directing it?"


    He placed his hand on the central point and channeled his mana carefully, trying to match the flow suggested by the pattern. For a moment, nothing happened. Then he felt it - a subtle resonance, like two tuning forks harmonizing. The rune began to glow faintly, moonlight and mana interweaving through its ancient lines.


    "That''s it," he breathed. "It''s not about forcing it. It''s about matching its rhythm..."


    The rune flared with silvery light, matching the moon''s pale glow perfectly. The illumination spread through the pattern like liquid mercury flowing through glass channels, until Adom no longer needed [Identify] to see it.


    Then came the transformation - it started at the edges, the ancient geometric patterns beginning to flow like water, yet somehow maintaining their precise mathematical beauty.


    The lines twisted, curved, and reformed themselves in a hypnotic dance. Where rigid angles had been, now flowing scripts emerged. The transformation rippled inward, each ring of runes morphing in sequence, like watching a language being born.


    What emerged was... writing? Yes, definitely writing, but in no script he immediately recognized. The letters - if they could be called that - had a certain angular quality to them, each character precise and purposeful. He squinted at them, trying to make sense of the flowing shapes.


    Wait. He''d seen something like this before, in the books about the outer kingdoms. The way the characters were constructed, each one built from straight lines meeting at sharp angles...


    "Dwarven?" he muttered in disbelief. "Why would there be Dwarven writing on a leprechaun''s treasure cave?"


    Something wasn''t adding up. And how had that shepherd managed to get past this? This wasn''t the kind of puzzle you solved by accident - it required knowledge of ancient languages, understanding of complex magical theory, and...


    Adom ran his hands through his hair, sighing deeply. The writing seemed to mock him with its incomprehensible angles. He could decipher it, but the idea of going back and get the documents he''d need felt daunting. Then a thought struck him - perhaps... perhaps [Identify] could give him some insight?


    He did not think the skill could translate things. It was a long shot, but at this point, what did he have to lose?


    [Identify] displayed its findings:


    ''Writing style: Late Second Era Dwarven Common Script


    Origin: Mountain Holds of Khahazad


    Approximate dating: 2,847 years old


    "Great. Very helpful," Adom sighed, turning to climb down. Then new text appeared in his vision:


    [Would you like to translate this language?]


    "YES!" Adom practically shouted, then caught himself, grinning like a child. "Oh system, I love you, I really do! Actually, wait - are you a he or a she?"


    [This system does not possess gender]


    "Well, I can''t keep calling you ''system.'' That''s so... impersonal. What about a name?"


    [You may designate any title you prefer]


    "How about... Sir Blue the Magnificent?"


    [No.]


    "Wait, do you have sentience? Because that was a pretty definitive ''no.''"


    [This system does not possess sentience]


    "Right... we''re definitely coming back to this conversation later," Adom said, his curiosity piqued. But the moonlight wouldn''t last forever. "For now, let''s see what this writing says. Please translate."


    The ancient Dwarven script began to shimmer and shift, each character dissolving and reforming in Common before his eyes. Like watching ink bleed through paper in reverse, familiar letters emerged from the angular shapes:


    "What dies each night but rises anew,


    Never the same yet always true,


    Marked forever by what came before,


    Yet clean as dawn upon the shore?"


    It was a riddle.


    "Huh."


    Adom hated riddles.

 Chapter 06. The Cave

    Adom paced back and forth, muttering the riddle under his breath for what felt like the hundredth time. His footsteps had probably worn a path in the dirt by now.


    "Dies each night... rises anew..." He pinched the bridge of his nose. Give him a complex spell formula, and he could break it down in minutes. Present him with an ancient magical theorem, and he''d find three different ways to prove it before breakfast. Back in his previous life, he''d written a twelve-volume treatise on theoretical applications of crystalline mana structures while bedridden with fever.


    And yet here he was, stumped by four simple lines of poetry.


    He let out a dry laugh. The irony wasn''t lost on him - the man who had once been a hair''s breadth from becoming Archmage, defeated by a riddle that a shepherd had apparently solved. Though to be fair, that part still didn''t make sense.


    "Focus," he told himself, returning to the glowing text. The words swam before his eyes, taunting him. In his old study, he''d had a wall covered in theoretical proofs that had made even senior mages'' heads spin. But riddles? They required a different kind of thinking - lateral, intuitive. His mind preferred straight lines, clear paths from A to B.


    "Something that dies... but comes back..." He started pacing again. "Something marked by the past... but clean..."


    The moonlight was starting to fade. Soon he''d have to either solve this or come back another night. And wouldn''t that be a blow to his pride - the former almost-Archmage, having to admit defeat to a leprechaun''s door puzzle.


    Adom sat down, crossing his legs. Fine. If his mind wanted logic, he''d give it logic. He pulled out his notebook from his inventory and began writing.


    "Dies each night, rises anew... The sun?" He looked up expectantly. Nothing. "No, the sun doesn''t really die..."


    He scribbled more notes. "The moon? No, always the same... Stars? Same problem... Dreams?" He spoke each answer to the glowing text. Nothing.


    "Something marked by the past but clean..." He tapped his quill against the paper. "Water? It carries sediment but looks clean... No, doesn''t die each night. The tide? Close, but not quite..."


    An hour passed. His notebook filled with crossed-out answers.


    "Dawn? Day? Twilight? Night itself?" Each answer met with silence.


    Finally, he threw his quill down. "Why?!" His voice echoed off the cliff face. "Why was I chosen to come back if I can''t even solve a simple riddle?!"


    He stood up, frustration boiling over. "How am I supposed to change anything? How can I possibly alter the future when I can''t even..." His voice cracked. "How can I... how..."


    Wait.


    The future.


    His breath caught in his throat. "Rises anew... never the same..." The words took on new meaning. "What''s never the same but always happens?"


    He glanced up at the moon, thinking about coming back the next day. Tomorrow...


    His eyes widened.


    "Tomorrow," he said slowly, testing the word. "Dies each night - because today becomes yesterday. Rises anew - each dawn brings a new tomorrow. Never the same but always true - because each tomorrow is different, but it always comes. Marked forever by what came before - because every tomorrow carries the weight of yesterday, but..." He smiled. "Yet clean as dawn upon the shore - because it''s always a fresh start. A new beginning."


    "Tomorrow," he said with certainty. "The answer is tomorrow."


    The silvery text hung motionless in the air. One second passed. Two. Three.


    Adom''s smile began to fade. His certainty wavered. "Oh, come on," he whispered, that familiar frustration starting to bubble up again. "That has to be¡ª"


    The rune pulsed once, brilliant moonlight flooding its channels. A deep rumbling sound emanated from within the cliff face, like the mountain itself was waking up. Adom stumbled back as the rock wall began to shake.


    Dust sprayed from hairline cracks appearing around the rune. The rumbling grew louder, accompanied by mechanical clicks and the hum of old magic awakening.


    The wall split along those cracks with precise, geometric movements. Segments of rock shifted and retracted, layers sliding against each other like the workings of some ancient machine. Each piece moved with purpose, accompanied by that grinding sound and puffs of centuries-old dust.


    When the movement stopped, a crescent-shaped entrance stood before him, edges too clean to be natural, too rough to be purely magical. Moonlight spilled through, catching the dancing dust motes.


    Adom let out a laugh that was half relief, half disbelief. "I did it," he breathed. Then louder, "I actually did it!"


    He stared at the crescent-shaped entrance, his heart still racing. What if he''d been wrong? What if the wrong answer had triggered some ancient defensive magic?


    "Nope," he said firmly, shaking his head. "Not going down that road. Some questions are better left unanswered."


    And for someone who''d spent two lifetimes pursuing knowledge, it was probably the first time he''d ever been happy not knowing something.


    [New Location Discovered: Moonfall Cavern]


    Adom waited for the worst of the dust to settle. Still, better safe than sorry - he pulled his shirt collar up over his nose and mouth. Years of working in ancient libraries had taught him that centuries-old dust was never pleasant to breathe.


    He wove [Flame] with ease, a small but steady fire materializing above his upraised palm. The light illuminated the path ahead, and he could not see how deep the cavern was.


    Taking one last deep breath through his makeshift filter, Adom stepped into the opening. The grinding sounds had stopped, but he could still hear the occasional settling of stone, like the mountain was slowly exhaling after holding its breath for too long.


    The air inside was stale, carrying that distinctive smell of long-sealed spaces - a mix of old stone, mineral deposits, and time itself.


    As his flame cast moving shadows on the rough walls, tiny creatures scuttled away into cracks - mostly beetles and cave crickets that had somehow made their way in over the centuries. Spider webs, ancient and dusty, stretched between jutting rocks.


    The passage wasn''t natural - while not perfectly smooth, the walls showed signs of deliberate shaping, with geometric patterns occasionally visible beneath years of mineral buildup. Water had dripped down some walls, leaving behind crystalline streams of calcium deposits.


    Adom paused, frowning. Something wasn''t adding up. None of this - the rune, the mechanical entrance - had been mentioned in the news when this place would be discovered. In his past life, he''d read about a shepherd simply finding a cave with treasure. He''d always wondered about that...


    "The rune must have expired," he muttered, his voice echoing slightly. "That''s why the shepherd just walked in. All this..." he gestured at the walls with his flame-bearing hand, "would have been sealed away until the magic finally failed. Dude probably just had the dumb luck to be here when it happened."


    He snorted. "Five hundred thousand gold pieces. Just like that." The sum still boggled his mind.


    Something caught his eye - a faint glint in the darkness ahead, different from the usual mineral sparkle. The way it reflected his flame''s light was distinctive, almost like it was responding to the magical energy itself...


    "Is that a mana crystal?"


    As Adom approached the glinting object, he used [Identify]. The response was immediate:


    [Object: Waypoint Crystal


    Type: Transportation Focus


    Status: Active (Auto-triggering)]


    "Wait, what do you mean auto-triggering¡ª"


    The crystal pulsed with azure light. Adom tried to step back, but it was too late. The light enveloped him, and the sensation that followed was like being pulled through honey - slow, disorienting, and slightly uncomfortable. The world stretched, twisted, and then...


    He hit something with a metallic clinking sound. Multiple metallic clinking sounds, actually.


    Something was digging into his back, hard and irregular. Groaning, he pushed himself up to sitting position, and froze.


    Gold.


    Not just a few coins. Not even a chest''s worth. Gold coins spread out beneath him like a metallic beach, flowing down in gentle slopes. Gems caught the light of... wherever it was coming from, throwing rainbow sparkles across the chamber. Ornate cups and plates peaked out between coins, their precious metals tarnished but unmistakably valuable. A sword hilt studded with rubies protruded nearby, its blade still miraculously gleaming after all these years.


    His mouth went dry. He''d seen the imperial treasury once, during a special ceremony. This... this was more.


    [Location Discovered: The Serpent''s Labyrinth - Treasury Chamber]


    He stood carefully, coins sliding and tinkling around his feet. The chamber was vast, its ceiling lost in shadows above. The treasure spread out before him wasn''t a mountain - you couldn''t swim in it like those ridiculous children''s stories - but it was more wealth than he''d ever seen in either lifetime. Enough to buy a small kingdom. Enough to...


    Something moved in the shadows at the far end of the chamber.


    Adom''s heart stopped.


    This, he realized with growing dread, was definitely not in the shepherd''s story.


    Adom''s mind kicked into survival mode. First rule of unknown magical environments: gather information, don''t panic. Stay alive long enough to think.


    He maintained [Identify] as a constant thread of magic while his eyes scanned the chamber methodically. The skill''s feedback was concerning - multiple magical signatures, some he''d never encountered before. Ancient protections, probably. No one left this much wealth unguarded.


    His hand found the ruby-studded sword, lifting it carefully. The balance was surprisingly good.


    [Item: Flamebrand Sword (Class S)


    Type: Enchanted Weapon


    Status: Active


    Properties: Unknown]


    Better than nothing.


    He kept his casting hand free - in his experience, magic was always more reliable than steel. The [Flame] spell still hovered above him, casting moving shadows that made everything more uncertain.


    Another movement in the darkness. Then another, from a different direction. The coins shifted somewhere to his left with a gentle tinkling sound.


    He was in the open. Exposed. Amateur mistake.


    Slowly, deliberately, Adom began moving backward toward the nearest wall. Keep your back covered. Control what can approach you. Basic combat principles he''d read lifetime ago.


    The magical signatures were getting stronger. Or closer.


    Something slithered in the darkness.


    The chamber suddenly felt a lot smaller, and the shadows a lot deeper.


    Adom canceled [Flame]. Relative darkness swallowed him for a heartbeat. In that same instant, he wove [Fireball], launching it high into the air above.


    The chamber exploded with light, and time stopped.


    There was no time to see all the details, but one thing Adom was sure of.


    Snake. Massive snake. Jaws open. Coming straight for him¡ª


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    Adom''s body moved before his mind could process. Pure instinct threw him sideways as the massive head struck. The impact shook the chamber, stone cracking where he''d stood a fraction of a second before. Coins sprayed everywhere like metallic rain.


    Adom rolled to his feet, already weaving another [Fireball], this one with enough power to drain half his mana. The spell struck the creature''s scales with a thunderous roar. The beast screamed - a sound that belonged in nightmares - as flames engulfed its head. There was no smell. No smoke.


    The first fireball above was fading. In its dying light, Adom spotted an archway across the chamber.


    He ran.


    Gold coins scattered under his feet, treacherous as marbles. Behind him, the creature thrashed, its massive body sending treasures flying. Something hot brushed his back - its breath? Poison? He didn''t want to know.


    "Shit shit shit shit¡ª"


    He vaulted over a fallen pillar, nearly lost his footing on landing. The archway seemed impossibly far. The sound of scales on coins grew closer. Too close.


    A fang caught his shirt, almost ripping it away. Adom didn''t look back. Looking back meant death. The archway was just ahead, ten steps away, five¡ª


    The beast lunged. Adom dove forward, rolling through the arch as massive jaws snapped shut behind him. He scrambled to his feet, running blindly into the darkness beyond, the creature''s frustrated roar echoing off the walls.


    He wove [Flame] with shaking hands, nearly botching the spell. The light revealed stone corridors branching in multiple directions.


    "A maze?!" His voice cracked. "A MAZE?! That idiot shepherd just found some gold in a cave my ASS!" He stumbled forward, still trying to catch his breath. "Nobody said anything about a giant snake! Or a labyrinth! Or¡ª" Another roar echoed through the corridors, making him jump. "Or THAT!"


    The sound of something massive moving through stone tunnels came from... everywhere? Nowhere? The maze''s acoustics made it impossible to tell.


    "If I survive this," he wheezed, picking a direction at random, "I''m finding that shepherd and¡ª" He caught his foot on an uneven stone, barely keeping his balance. "And I don''t know what I''ll do, but it''ll involve a very long conversation about the difference between ''I found some treasure'' and ''THERE''S A GIANT SNAKE GUARDING IT IN A MAZE!''"


    Another roar, closer this time. Or was it? Damn these echoes.


    "And what kind of idiot am I?!" He turned a corner, then another. "Oh look, a mysterious rune and a sealed cave! Let''s just walk right in! Brilliant, Adom. Absolutely brilliant!"


    Adom slumped against a wall, chest heaving. No. Panic wasn''t helping. Panic would get him killed. He needed to think.


    He forced his breathing to slow, trying to quiet his thundering heart. Think. Analyze. Solve.


    The crystal had transported him directly to the treasury. No path in, just... there. Which meant finding his way back to the entrance wasn''t an option - there might not even be one. And now he was in a maze with...


    Another distant roar. Right. That.


    "Okay," he whispered, organizing his thoughts. "Facts. That fireball was strong enough to kill a horse. It''s still alive. Probably resistant to fire magic." He grimaced. "Would''ve been nice to know that before using half my mana."


    The sound of something large moving through stone echoed again.


    "Can''t fight it. Can''t outrun it forever. Can''t find an exit I don''t know exists." He closed his eyes, thinking. "There has to be a way out. Nobody builds something like this without an escape route. The crystal brought me in, so..."


    He opened his eyes. "There has to be another crystal."


    The question was: how to find it before that thing found him?


    As Adom caught his breath, something moved in his flame''s light. He instinctively tensed, but it was too small to be the snake.


    [Creature: Cave Hopper


    Type: Indigenous Maze Dweller


    Status: Alert]


    The creature looked like a rabbit, if rabbits had evolved in darkness - pale, with oversized ears and eyes that reflected his flame''s light. It froze upon seeing him.


    "You survive down here," Adom whispered. "You must know safe places..."


    The hopper bolted. Without thinking, Adom followed. These creatures always knew where to hide, where predators couldn''t reach. The hopper bounded ahead, surprisingly fast. Adom''s [Flame] bobbed as he ran, casting wild shadows that made following harder.


    "Wait, you little¡ª"


    The ground vanished.


    There was a moment of weightlessness, a sharp intake of breath, and then¡ª


    Impact. Pain shot through his side as he tumbled down a steep slope. His [Flame] spell flickered out. Something cracked under him - multiple somethings. He rolled to a stop in complete darkness, groaning.


    When Adom rewove [Flame], the light revealed what had broken his fall. Bones. Hundreds of them. Small ones, large ones, complete skeletons and scattered remains. Some belonged to cave hoppers. Others to creatures he didn''t recognize. All picked clean.


    His hand had landed in a ribcage big enough to belong to a deer.


    "Oh no," he breathed, scrambling to his feet. A skull rolled away, disappearing into a pile of other bones. The chamber wasn''t large, but every inch of floor was covered in remains. This wasn''t just a pit - it was a feeding ground.


    Something moved in the tunnel above.


    The sound of scales on stone grew closer.


    "Hsssssssssssss..."


    The sound made his blood freeze. Adom''s hand found the sword in the darkness, gripping it tight. He adjusted his glasses while his heart hammered so hard he could hear it over the rattling of disturbed bones beneath his feet.


    Two enormous eyes appeared in the tunnel above, reflecting his flame''s light like mirrors. Adom quickly used [Identify] while preparing [Barrier].


    [Creature: White Wyrm


    Level: 10


    Life force: 500/500


    Type: Guardian


    Status: Enraged]


    The eyes drew closer. Adom''s grip on the sword tightened. Wait for it. Let it commit to the strike. Don''t waste energy on useless movements.


    A massive head emerged from the tunnel, scales gleaming dully in the flame light. The creature''s mouth opened, revealing rows of teeth longer than daggers. Muscles tensed along its neck.


    Adom''s breath seemed unnaturally loud in the sudden silence.


    The wyrm struck.


    [Barrier] flared to life as Adom dove sideways. Fangs scraped against magic with a sound like nails on glass. The beast''s head smashed into the bone-covered floor where he''d stood.


    Now.


    Adom swung the sword with everything he had, aiming for the creature''s neck¡ª


    The blade bounced off scales with a metallic clang.


    "Oh, that''s not fair."


    The wyrm''s head snapped toward him, jaws opening wide.


    Adom rolled through bones as massive jaws snapped shut where he''d been. His mind raced through facts like flipping pages:


    Immune to steel. Immune to fire. But it reared back from the flames. Why? Why fear something that can''t hurt you?


    The wyrm''s head tracked his movement. Those eyes. If he could just¡ª


    He grabbed a handful of small bones, hurling them at the creature''s face while weaving [Fireball]. Not a massive one - just enough to¡ªFind this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    The beast''s head jerked back instinctively from the flying debris. Perfect.


    Adom launched the fireball directly at its eyes, already moving, already reaching for the sword again. The flames wouldn''t hurt it, but the light, the surprise¡ª


    The wyrm reared back, exactly as he''d hoped. Adom charged forward, sword aimed for those massive eyes¡ª


    Something massive swept his legs. The world spun. His newly made [Barrier] shattered like glass.


    [-24 Life Force]


    [Status: You Suffered A Moderate Injury]


    Adom slammed into a pile of bones, air rushing from his lungs. His glasses cracked. Pain exploded across his ribs. The sword clattered away somewhere.


    "Hssssssssssss!"


    The wyrm thrashed wildly, still blinded by the fireball''s light. Its massive body whipped around the chamber, smashing into walls. A rib cage larger than Adom went flying.


    Then he saw it.


    Through cracked glasses, he watched the beast''s underbelly scrape across a jagged bone. A tiny cut appeared.


    [-0.5 Life Force] (498.5/500)


    Adom''s eyes widened. He spotted a narrow crevice leading up out of the pit.


    "Alright," he whispered, scrambling toward it. A plan crystallized in his mind.


    "[Pull]!" Adom''s hand shot out, magic yanking the sword through scattered bones just as the wyrm''s jaws struck.


    He caught the blade and dove into the crevice, brushing past plant leaves that partly obscured the narrow opening. Fangs scraped stone inches behind him, the beast''s frustrated roar vibrating through the rock itself. Too narrow for it to follow.


    The sound of the massive body thrashing against the opening echoed after him as he climbed. But he kept going. He had a weakness to exploit now.


    Adom stumbled into a cavern where crystals caught his [Flame]''s light, throwing scattered rainbows across pools of water. Cave hoppers and other small creatures scattered at his approach, their tiny feet pattering away into darkness.


    The sword clattered to the ground as he practically fell forward, plunging his face into the nearest pool. The water was cold, almost painfully so, but he didn''t care. His throat felt like sandpaper.


    He kept his head submerged longer than necessary, letting the silence calm his racing thoughts. The water muffled everything except his heartbeat and the soft echo of drops falling somewhere deeper in the cave.


    When he finally came up for air, his mind was clearer. The beast had found him multiple times now, always after he''d made noise. The running, the fighting, even just talking to himself - sound carried far in these tunnels.


    He touched his bruised ribs gently, wincing. The snake''s reactions were almost predictable - it struck at movement, at sound. It would rear up to deliver killing blows, exposing its belly in the process. If he could somehow...


    Adom picked up a small stone, tossed it into a far pool. The splash echoed weirdly, seeming to come from multiple directions at once. Just like the snake''s movements had seemed to come from everywhere earlier.


    His eyes narrowed, studying the cavern''s layout. The uneven ground. The pools. The crystal formations creating natural acoustic channels.


    He could use this.


    If he positioned himself just right, created noise in specific places... he could make the snake strike exactly where he wanted. And when it reared up for the kill...


    Adom picked up the sword again, testing its weight. He''d only get one chance at this.


    "Alright," he whispered, "let''s set up a welcome party."


    The cavern''s acoustics revealed themselves with each careful step. Adom''s fingers traced the crystal formations, feeling vibrations travel. Three large crystals created a natural funnel for sound - perfect. A tap here echoed precisely where he needed it.


    His boot slipped on wet stone. The scraping sound echoed.


    He froze.


    Nothing.


    Breathing slowly through his nose, he began digging near a pool''s edge. Each movement had to be silent. The ground gave way easily, softened by centuries of water seepage. His hands worked methodically, measuring depth against his arm''s length. The sword laid carefully aside, he widened the hole just enough - no more, no less. Extra space meant extra sound.


    A crystal tumbled.


    Adom''s heart stopped.


    Silence.


    Sweat dripped despite the cave''s chill as he positioned loose stones around the hole''s edge. When struck right, they''d create a sequence of sounds like running prey. The echoes would lead straight to¡ª


    Something shifted in the tunnels beyond.


    Adom didn''t breathe for ten seconds.


    False alarm.


    Water from the nearest pool was already seeping into his trap, softening the earth further. The snake''s weight would do the rest. He tested the hole''s depth one final time, calculating the sword''s arc. It had to be perfect. One chance.


    A distant hiss froze his blood.


    Too soon.


    He eased himself into position, every movement measured. The sword aligned just so. Loose stones ready to create their deadly symphony.


    Now came the worst part.


    Waiting.


    As expected, the wait was unbearable.


    One.


    Two.


    Three.


    Water dripped somewhere. Each drop echoed like thunder in Adom''s ears. His arms ached from holding the sword at the perfect angle, but he didn''t dare adjust his position.


    Four.


    Five.


    A pebble shifted near the tunnel entrance. His heart stopped.


    Too soon. Please be too soon.


    Silence returned. His muscles screamed to move.


    Six.


    Seven.


    "Hsssssssss..."


    The sound came from everywhere and nowhere. Adom''s fingers tightened on the sword grip. Sweat rolled down his forehead, but he couldn''t risk wiping it away.


    Eight.


    Ni¡ª


    A crystal shifted. Wrong timing. Wrong place.


    The hiss grew closer.


    Don''t move. Don''t breathe. Don''t¡ª


    Something heavy scraped against stone above. Particles of dirt rained into the hole. One landed on his nose. It itched unbearably.


    Ten.


    Eleven.


    The massive body slithered past his hiding spot. He could feel the ground vibrate. Just a little further. Just a little¡ª


    His leg cramped. The sword trembled slightly.


    The movement above stopped.


    Twelve.


    Thir¡ª


    The snake''s head snapped toward his position.


    A heartbeat of perfect stillness.


    Adom''s free hand found a loose crystal. One chance.


    He flicked it.


    The carefully arranged stones responded, creating a cascade of sounds - prey running, stumbling, panicking. The acoustics carried the symphony exactly as planned.


    The massive head whipped away, following the phantom prey.


    Almost... almost...


    The wyrm''s body tensed, coiling. Adom could feel its weight shifting above him, preparing to strike. The ground groaned under its mass.


    Now.


    "AAARGH!"


    The sword thrust upward as the snake struck downward. Scales parted. Resistance, then - a give. The blade sank deep into soft flesh. The beast''s own momentum did the rest.


    Steel tore through the wyrm''s entire length as it shot forward. Blood cascaded into the hole like a red waterfall, hot and thick, drenching Adom completely. The creature''s shriek shattered crystals, a sound of pure agony that echoed through every tunnel of the maze.


    Internal organs spilled from the massive gash, splattering across the cavern floor. The snake''s body thrashed wildly, its coils smashing against walls, its blood painting everything crimson.


    Adom held the sword steady, even as more blood poured over him, into his mouth, his eyes. The blade kept cutting, kept tearing, until the wyrm''s momentum finally ceased.


    The massive body collapsed, twitching, organs still sliding out of the horrific wound that had split it nearly in half.


    A final, wet hiss escaped its jaws.


    Then silence.


    [Achievement Unlocked: Serpent Slayer]


    [You have slain the White Wyrm (Level 10)!]


    [Level Up! Level 1 ¡ú Level 2]


    [Stat Increases:


    Intelligence +3 (Quick thinking in combat)


    Strength +2 (Wielding sword against massive resistance)


    Dexterity +2 (Precise movements under pressure)


    Vitality +2 (Survival against overwhelming odds)


    Wisdom +3 (Strategic planning and execution)


    Agility +2 (Evasive maneuvers)]


    [Life force 100 ¡ú 205]


    [Inventory increased to N/10]


    Blood-soaked and trembling with exhaustion, Adom let out a shaky breath. The sword slipped from his fingers, clattering against stone. He was alive.


    "I''m alive."


    Somehow.


    "Wait a minute," he frowned, addressing the System, "I thought you didn''t grant power? Why do I have stat increases?"


    [Clarification: System does not grant power directly. Recent combat experience has pushed your body and mind to their limits, resulting in natural growth. Stat increases reflect your own achievements and adaptations during intense stress.]


    Adom nodded slowly, processing the information. He glanced at his hands, flexing his fingers. The trembling had subsided.


    "And the life force increase? The inventory expansion?" he pressed, still skeptical.


    [Life force increase is a natural result of pushing beyond previous limitations. Inventory expansion is a System feature unlocked by demonstrated growth, as previously explained.]


    "I see..."


    Every inch of Adom dripped red as he hauled himself from the hole. The blood had seeped everywhere - under his fingernails, between his toes, in every fold of clothing. His hair was matted with it, thick and warm. It filled his ears, coated his tongue with a familiar metallic taste that made him pause.


    His boots made wet sucking sounds as he pulled them from the red pool that had collected in his hiding spot. Blood ran down his glasses in rivulets, turning the world red.


    He took them off.


    The wyrm''s massive corpse stretched across the cavern, internal organs still spilling from the terrible gash. Parts of its tail still twitched, muscles remembering life. The wound gaped like a second mouth, showing just how perfectly his sword had split it.


    [Warning: Ancient Blood Detected]


    [Analyzing...]


    [Wyrm Blood properties integrating with host body]


    [New Passive Skill Acquired: White Wyrm Body (Very Rare) (Level 1)]


    [White Wyrm Body: Your flesh remembers the serpent''s blood that bathed it. Each instance of body damage will gradually strengthen your physical resistance. Current defense multiplier: 1.01x. Through successive damage and healing, your body will develop resistance potentially surpassing the White Wyrm''s own scales while maintaining human flexibility and adaptability. Maximum potential: Unknown.]


    Looking at his blood-soaked reflection in one of the pools, Adom raised an eyebrow. "So, let me get this straight - you want me to get hit. A lot. Repeatedly. For this to get stronger?"


    [Yes.]


    "Alright, just making sure we were on the same page," he muttered dryly, wiping futilely at his face and only managing to smear more blood around. "Because getting beaten half to death is exactly what I had planned for my weekend anyway."


    The system offered no response to his sarcasm. The wyrm''s corpse just continued its death spasms behind him, as if to emphasize exactly what kind of punishment his body would need to endure to reach that level of defense.


    "Awesome."


    [Note: A critical area remains unaffected. Upper mid-back unexposed to Ancient Blood. This will remain normal and vulnerable.] The System displayed.


    Adom froze. His hand reached for the spot between his shoulder blades, where he found a leaf. Probably from the earlier crevice. It was the only place untouched by the wyrm''s blood.


    "Oh, no you don''t," he muttered. He turned back to the still-pooling blood, crouched, and scooped a handful into his palm. Without hesitation, he reached over his shoulder and smeared the warm liquid onto the bare spot.


    It soaked into his skin instantly, leaving a faint, almost imperceptible tingle in its wake.


    "There. Perfect."


    Adom glanced at the still-warm blood pooling around his feet. "Hey. Can I store some of this? You know, just in case I missed a spot somewhere important?"


    [Analysing...]


    [Blood absorption window has expired. Current blood properties: Normal. No special qualities remain.]


    "Of course," he sighed, then turned his attention to the wyrm''s split carcass. "Well, might as well not waste everything."


    He waded through the gore toward where the massive heart lay exposed through the wound. Even in death, it was larger than his torso. The organ would fetch a considerable price - monster hearts always did. And if he was lucky, he might find a Constitution-gifted individual willing to pay even more. Those rare few who could consume monster hearts and gain their properties... a gift Adom unfortunately never possessed.


    He picked up his sword again, carefully cutting away the crucial connecting tissues.


    "At least something good came from getting a blood bath," he muttered, working the heart free. "Besides the whole ''please hit me harder'' skill."


    [Heart of the White Wyrm has been added to inventory]


    [Item will remain in stasis until retrieved]


    Adom looked at the sword in his hands, still dripping with wyrm''s blood. The memories came unbidden - his father''s frustrated sighs, the countless dropped practice swords, "Son, you need to learn how to defend yourself." But Adom had always found another book to read, another spell to practice, another excuse to avoid training.


    It wasn''t just that he was terrible at it - though he absolutely was. The countless bruises from dropped guards and mistimed parries proved that. No, the bigger problem was that he''d never wanted to learn. Why spend hours swinging a sword when he could be learning about the theoretical foundations of elemental magic?


    His father had eventually given up, though the disappointment never quite left his eyes.


    "Well," Adom muttered, "looks like I don''t have that luxury anymore." This world wouldn''t let him hide behind books. "System, what exactly does a rank S weapon mean?"


    [Rank S represents one of the highest quality classification possible. This blade was forged from Star-fallen steel, a material of celestial origin.]


    The corner of his mouth twitched upward. A Star-fallen blade. The kind of weapon that made collectors lose their minds - and their fortunes. The type that, in the right hands, could carve its way into legend itself.


    In his hands, though... He shook his head. That would need work.


    "The treasure," he suddenly remembered. The sword wasn''t the only secret this place held.


    He spotted a deeper pool nearby and waded in, watching clouds of red disperse in the clear water. The cold bit at his skin as he scrubbed wyrm''s blood from his clothes, his hair, his skin.


    Once reasonably clean, he climbed out, clothes soaked but at least no longer crimson. He oriented himself, trying to remember the path back to the treasure room through the maze of tunnels.


    The route now eerily quiet without the wyrm''s presence. When he finally reached the treasure room again, he let out a low whistle. He hadn''t been dreaming - this was far beyond the reported 500,000 gold pieces. This had to be at least 50 million, maybe more. The disparity between historical records and reality was puzzling. How had such a vast difference gone unreported?


    A question for another time perhaps but for now, he had more pressing matters.


    Reaching into his inventory, Adom pulled out the dimension bags he had purchased earlier.


    He began filling the bags methodically, watching as the system confirmed each one''s capacity. One bag full. Two. Three. Four. Five. About fifty thousand gold pieces secured, and it barely made a dent in the massive pile.


    "That''ll do for now," he decided, storing the bags back in his inventory. He''d need to check the rune at the cave''s entry later, make sure it wouldn''t expire at an inconvenient moment. The rest of the treasure would have to wait.


    Adom cast one last look at the glittering hoard. "Don''t worry, I''ll be back. But first, I need to find a way out of here."


    The exit, as it turned out, didn''t require an epic quest through winding tunnels or another death-defying swim. No, it was right there in the treasure room, because of course it was. A seemingly innocuous crystal jutted from the wall behind where the wyrm had originally coiled, barely visible unless you knew to look for it.


    Adom stared at it for a solid minute, fighting the urge to facepalm. All that running, all that planning, all that blood... when he could have just... He shook his head, choosing to file this under "things we don''t talk about" along with that time he spent three hours trying to open a locked door before realizing it opened outward.


    The crystal hummed at his touch, and the world shifted. In an instant, he found himself back in the entrance chamber. As he stepped out into the moonlight, the cave entrance sealed itself behind him with a soft grinding of stone on stone.


    He turned back, eyes narrowing as he studied the rune patterns etched around the now-sealed entrance. His fingers traced the air, memorizing each curve and line. He''d be back, of course. Fifty thousand gold pieces was nice, but there were still millions more waiting down there. Not to mention whatever other secrets that treasure room might be hiding.


    "The Salty Dog," Adom corrected himself as he made his way down the cliffs, his steps careful in the darkness. Midnight had probably come and gone, and he felt a twinge of guilt about keeping the kind stranger waiting - if he was even still there.


    The strider was the first thing he saw, its massive form silhouetted against the tavern''s warm lights. The creature turned its long neck toward him, letting out a soft warble that was surprisingly gentle for such an intimidating beast. Adom reached up to pat its feathered neck, earning another pleased sound.


    "At least you''re still here," he murmured to the creature, trying not to think about how much trouble he''d be in if the rider had given up and left. The walk back to Xerkes would be... unpleasant.


    Taking a deep breath, Adom pushed open the heavy wooden door of The Salty Dog. The tavern smell - ale, smoke, and something vaguely resembling food - washed over him as he stepped inside.


    The tavern fell silent the moment he stepped in. The music was interrupted, conversations died mid-sentence, and every head turned toward the door.


    "Oi, Garth," a grey-bearded man slurred, swaying on his stool. "Garth. Garth. Y''see what I''m seein''? There''s a... there''s a li''l ghoul right there. Right by th''door. Ain''t there? M''not... m''not seeing things again, am I?"


    "For heaven''s sake, Morris, that''s a child," a woman''s voice cut through the silence. She stood up from behind the bar, wiping her hands on her apron as she approached Adom. She crouched down, her face a mixture of concern and alarm. "Sweet merciful God, child, are you lost? What happened to you?"


    Adom caught his reflection in the mirror by the door and finally understood their reaction. His hair was plastered to his head, clothes torn and mud-stained, and despite his earlier attempts at cleaning up, dried blood still caked parts of his skin and clothes. He looked like something that had crawled out of a grave.


    "Oh, it''s not my blood," he said helpfully.


    The woman''s expression froze.


    "I was hunting," Adom added quickly, "There was an accident..." He raised his hand, conjuring a small [Flame] that danced above his palm.


    "Ahhhhh," the entire tavern seemed to exhale in unison.


    "Magic student," someone muttered.


    "That explains it."


    "Remember when my nephew started at the academy? Came home looking like he''d fought a tornado."


    "Mages," several people said simultaneously, shaking their heads and returning to their drinks.


    The woman laughed, it was a very memorable one. The kind of warm laugh that made her whole face light up. Her eyes crinkled at the corners "Must have had quite the adventure, haven''t you?"


    "You have no idea."


    "Come sit, I''ll fix you something to eat¡ª"


    "Actually," Adom interrupted, glancing at the strider outside, "I''m looking for someone. The owner of that strider out there?"


    "Oh, you mean Kai? He''s just gone to the privy. Mentioned having one last fare tonight ¨C that''d be you then?"


    Adom nodded.


    "Well, come on then," she said, taking his hand. "At least have some milk and cookies while you wait. You''re skinny as a rake, child."


    Adom chuckled, about to politely decline when¡ª


    "Oi, Tara!" came a slurred voice from the corner. "Can I ''ave some milk an'' cookies too?"


    "Me too!" another drunk chimed in, then turned to Adom with an exaggerated wink. "Don'' turn ''er down, lad. Best chocolate chip cookies this side of the isles, I tell ya!"


    "Are you grown men really trying to mooch cookies from a child''s plate?" Tara put her hands on her hips.


    "Noooo," came the collective response, followed immediately by, "Maybe a little?"


    She sighed the long-suffering sigh of someone who''d been dealing with these regulars for years. "Come on, love," she said to Adom. "Before this lot tries to adopt you just to get at my baking."


    "Too late!" someone called out. "I already picked out a name for ''im!"


    Adom settled at the counter while Tara bustled behind it. "Just took a fresh batch out of the oven," she called over her shoulder. "Give them a minute to cool."


    "Thank you, ma''am."


    Tara''s smile warmed. "Such nice manners."


    He felt it before he saw it - that distinct sensation of being watched. Turning slightly, he caught sight of a man with an impressive red beard staring at him intently. Adom looked at the counter. The ceiling. The door. Anywhere else.


    The man kept staring.


    "Warm or cold milk, dear?"


    "Warm, please."


    "Coming right up!"


    The staring continued. Then - poke.


    Did he just-  Adom thought while facing him.


    "What?!"


    "Do a trick."


    "...What?"


    "A trick. Do a trick."


    Like moths to a flame, other patrons gravitated toward them. "Yeah, you''re a mage, ain''t ya? Show us somethin''!"


    Before he knew it, the whole tavern was chanting, "Trick! Trick! Trick!"


    Adom glanced around and sighed at the eager faces, clearly belonging to men who''d had a few too many drinks. He supposed he could entertain them, even for a bit.


    "Anyone have a deck of cards?"


    "Ooooh, a card trick!"


    The red-bearded man produced a weathered deck from his pocket, nearly dropping it twice before successfully handing it over.


    Adom shuffled the cards with practiced ease - one of the few useful skills he''d picked up in his past life''s countless nights of solitary research. The familiar motion drew everyone closer.


    "Sir," he addressed the red-bearded man, "would you like to assist?"


    "Me?" The man straightened up proudly. "Name''s Shawn!"


    "Alright, Shawn. Pick a card, any card." As Shawn reached for the deck, Adom channeled a tiny thread of mana into the cards. Just enough. Not too much.


    Shawn selected a card, showed it to the crowd (Seven of Hearts), and returned it to the deck.


    Adom shuffled again, then paused. The bard, who had resumed playing softly in the background, caught his eye. With a slight nod, the musician changed his tune to something more dramatic.


    "Now," Adom said, raising his voice slightly, "your card will come to me." He held the deck in his left hand, raised his right, and snapped his fingers. A small [Flame] appeared above his palm, and simultaneously, a single card floated up from the deck, spinning slowly in the air.


    The tavern went silent.


    The card continued rising until it was eye level with Shawn, then flipped to reveal - the Three of Clubs.


    "That''s... not my card," Shawn said, disappointed.


    "Oh?" Adom feigned surprise. "Are you sure? Maybe you should check your pocket."


    Shawn reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a card. The Seven of Hearts. His eyes widened.


    "But how did you¡ª"


    "Wait," Adom interrupted, pointing at the floating Three of Clubs. "What''s that behind your ear?"


    Shawn reached up and found another card. The Three of Clubs he''d just been looking at was now somehow behind his ear, while the one that had been floating was gone.


    The tavern erupted.


    "MAGE! MAGE! MAGE!"


    Tara, returning with the milk and cookies, had to weave through the celebrating crowd. "Well," she said, placing the plate in front of him, "I haven''t seen them this excited since the time Old Morris convinced everyone he''d caught a mermaid, and it turned out to be a painted cod."


    "Thank you, ma''am," Adom said, reaching for a cookie. The moment he bit into it, time seemed to slow down. The chocolate chips were still melting, creating perfect pockets of richness that contrasted with the crispy edges and soft center.


    The buttery sweetness spread across his tongue, accompanied by hints of vanilla and... was that a touch of cinnamon? The cookie somehow managed to be both delicate and substantial, crumbling just right without falling apart.


    The system displayed: [+1 Life Force]


    He closed his eyes, savoring each note of flavor like it was a symphony. In seventy-nine years of living, he''d never...


    His eyes snapped open. "Hey!"


    Where there had been a plate full of cookies moments ago, there was now a single lonely survivor, surrounded by guilty-looking crumbs. The drunk men around him were all chewing suspiciously, avoiding eye contact.


    Tara''s laugh rang out. "Don''t worry, dear. I''ve got more batches cooling. I''ll pack you a tray to take with you, since you seem to be enjoying them."


    "These are the best cookies I''ve ever eaten," Adom said with complete sincerity, the kind that could only come from seven decades of comparison.


    "TOLD YOU!" shouted the man from earlier, spraying cookie crumbs everywhere. He swallowed hard and pointed at Adom triumphantly. "What''d I say? Best cookies this side of the isles! This side of ANY isles!"


    "I''ll definitely come back here whenever I can," Adom said earnestly, reaching for the last cookie before anyone else could steal it.


    Tara laughed. "You sound just like my boy. He''s around the same age as you too. Gets this same look in his eyes every time I bake a fresh batch."


    "Really? Your son is lucky to have these at home," Adom said softly, then added more quietly, "Makes me miss my mother''s cooking even more." He made a mental note to visit home as soon as possible. Maybe take a leave?


    "Say, Tara," one of the men piped up, swaying slightly on his feet, "wasn''t your little one wanting to be a mage too? Should introduce him to our cookie mage here. At least he''d be paying for his treats, unlike some of us freeloaders."


    Adom felt his cheeks burn - the drunk had a point.


    "Oh, no, I couldn''t possibly¡ª" Tara started.


    "I''d love to help," Adom interrupted. "I could be his sponsor at the academy."


    Tara fell silent, her hands stilling on the counter. "Are... are you sure?"


    "Absolutely. These cookies are more than worth it," he smiled. "Has he been tested already?"


    "Yes, since he was four. The stone turned silver for him."


    "Oh?" Adom''s eyebrows rose. "Why wasn''t he taken in then?"


    Tara''s expression flickered, her hands twisting her apron. "There were... some complications with the process..."


    Noting her discomfort, Adom quickly changed the subject. "Well, I''ll do my best to have him join Xerkes by next semester. I mean it."


    "Thank you!" Tara''s eyes were suddenly bright. "I... thank you."


    She looked like she was about to cry, and probably, to not ruin the mood, she exclaimed, "Oh! Wait just a moment," before disappearing into the kitchen. She returned moments later with a cloth-wrapped bundle that smelled heavenly. "Here you go, dear. Still warm."


    Adom accepted the package, the warmth seeping through the cloth into his hands. "Thank you, really."


    At that moment, a deep voice came from behind. "You''re here."


    Adom turned to see Kai, looking exactly as he had hours ago, as if time hadn''t passed at all.


    "I''m sorry for making you wait," Adom said, but Kai waved it off.


    "Not a problem. Usually head out around this hour anyway." He looked Adom up and down, taking in the dried blood, torn clothes, and general dishevelment. "Rough night, huh?"


    "Very. Yes."


    Adom turned to Tara, who was still dabbing at her eyes with her apron. "Good night, ma''am. And thank you."


    "GOOD NIGHT, KAI!" the entire tavern erupted in unison, then, "GOODBYE, COOKIE MAGE! COME BACK SOON!"


    Adom waved, unable to suppress a smile as he followed Kai out, carefully clutching his precious bundle of cookies. The last thing he heard was someone attempting to start another round of "MAGE! MAGE! MAGE!" before the heavy door swung shut behind them.


    The journey back to Xerkes was quiet, largely because Adom fell asleep almost immediately after settling into Kai''s cart. He woke to a gentle shake of his shoulder.


    "We''re here," Kai said.


    "Oh. Thank you," Adom mumbled, still groggy. "See you around."


    Kai just waved, his strider letting out a soft whicker as they turned away.


    The academy structures loomed unchanged before him - thank goodness. He made his way to his dorm, feet moving automatically along familiar paths.


    "HOLY SHI-!" The scream pierced the quiet as he opened the door. Sam''s eyes went wide. "Dude! What the hell happened to you?!"


    "Went hunting," Adom said casually. It was a perfect excuse, really - mage students, especially those in their first three years, were actively encouraged to practice their spells through hunting, particularly if they were interested in becoming battle mages.


    "You wanna be a battle mage?" Sam''s eyebrows shot up.


    "Been thinking about it."


    "You''ve been so weird today. Like, cool, kinda. But weird."


    "Thank you, Sam."


    "You''re welcome¡ª wait, is that... are those cookies I''m smelling alongside all the blood on you?"


    Adom chuckled. "Best cookies ever." He unwrapped the bundle, the aroma filling their room. "Wait, should we get milk?"


    "There''s the distributor down the corridor. Still should be working at this hour," Sam said, already heading for the door. "Don''t start without me!"


    Adom settled on the floor, exhaustion finally catching up with him. There was something nagging at the back of his mind, something important he''d forgotten, but no matter how hard he tried to grasp it, it slipped away like smoke.


    Sam burst back in with two bottles. "Only one cow milk left. The rest is mooyak," he said, holding up a bottle of familiar blue liquid.


    "Dibs on the mooyak then."


    "Fine by me. I prefer cow anyway." Sam tossed him the blue bottle and dropped down beside him. "These smell amazing."


    "Try one."


    Sam bit into a cookie and his eyes immediately closed, just as Adom''s had done earlier. "Who made these?!" he demanded through a mouthful of crumbs.


    "A nice lady back at a¡ª" Adom''s eyes suddenly went wide.


    "What? Are you having a stroke or something?"


    "His name."


    "Huh?" Sam asked, already reaching for another cookie.


    "I didn''t ask for it!" Adom groaned. "Her son''s name! I just... I promised to help get her son into Xerkes and I don''t even know his name..."

 Chapter 07. The Dregs

    After twenty minutes of navigating the academy''s ever-helpful (and occasionally over-helpful) corridors, deflecting three duel challenges, politely declining to recount his fight with Damus for the seventh time that morning, and somehow ending up in the West Wing twice despite explicitly heading east, Adom finally arrived at his destination. In the East Wing. Where he''d been trying to go all along.


    Little victories.


    He doubled over, hands on his knees, catching his breath. Adom''s lungs, he noted with clinical detachment, were definitely not built for this much walking. Adding "cardio" to his mental to-do list, he reached for the classroom door¡ª


    BOOM!


    "Whoa!"


    Adom jumped back instinctively as a wave of purple smoke seeped under the door, bringing with it the distinct smell of burnt sugar and... was that peacock feathers?


    Several gasps echoed from within, followed by the tinkle of shattered glass and what sounded suspiciously like something still bubbling.


    When he finally opened the door, he found the classroom divided between students hiding behind their cauldrons and others trying very hard not to laugh. In the center of it all stood a girl, her face and robes covered in sparkling purple residue, her notebook now sporting several smoking holes.


    Professor Mirwen had an arm around the sniffling girl''s shoulders, somehow managing to look both sympathetic and amused.


    "Now, now, Miss Chen. As I always say, if you haven''t blown up your cauldron at least a hundred times, you haven''t really tried. Though I must say, adding the moonflower essence before the stabilizing agent was... a creative interpretation of the instructions."


    A few poorly disguised snickers came from the back of the room, quickly silenced by the professor''s raised eyebrow.


    "Ah, Mr. Sylla," she said, noticing Adom in the doorway. "How kind of you to join us. Please find a seat before someone else discovers an exciting new way to redecorate my classroom ceiling."


    Everyone''s eyes instinctively looked up at the various colorful stains marking the stone above.


    As he stepped inside, the whispers rippled through the classroom like wind through leaves.


    "That''s him¡ª"


    "The one who fought Damus and won¡ª"


    "THE Damus?! That skinny kid?"


    "I heard he used forbidden magic¡ª"


    "Never even talks in class¡ª"


    "My sister said he glowed like¡ª"


    "Probably just got lucky¡ª"


    "Did you see the lightning though?"


    Just what kind of person did the rumors make Adom out to be?


    "Silence!" Professor Mirwen''s voice cut through the chatter. Her eyes settled on Adom, who had just spotted Sam waving enthusiastically from their usual spot near the window.


    "It seems you''ve become quite popular this morning, Mr. Sylla," she said. "I trust it''s for good reasons?"


    "Always, Professor," Adom replied, trying to channel his younger self''s earnestness.


    "Good." She nodded, returning to wiping purple residue off Lisa Chen''s textbook.


    Adom was halfway to his seat when¡ª


    "Forgetting something, are we?"


    He turned back, perplexed. What was she talking about? His books were in his bag, his wand was... he never used a wand in his second year. His thoughts scattered as he finally noticed what everyone else was wearing. The mandatory protective glasses. Of course. He was about to confess he''d left them in his room when¡ª


    "I knew you''d forget," Sam whispered, pressing a spare pair into his hand. "You always do."


    "Thanks, Sam" Adom whispered, sliding the glasses on. Sam just grinned, already flipping open his notebook.


    "Now then," Professor Mirwen said, finally finishing with Lisa''s cleanup, "since Miss Chen has concluded her... energetic presentation, next we have..." She consulted her list. "Ah, Mr. Sylla."


    You''ve got to be kidding me. Adom had barely caught his breath from the morning marathon through the academy''s corridors. But there was no helping it now.


    As he approached the demonstration desk, Professor Mirwen explained, "You''ll be preparing a Resonance Draught today. As you know, a properly brewed potion should create harmonic vibrations when exposed to specific sound frequencies. The liquid must maintain a perfect azure hue and produce three distinct tonal responses when tested. This will account for 25% of your final grade, so do be careful."


    Behind him, Lisa''s sniffling crescendoed into fresh sobs.


    That''s it?


    He began arranging his instruments with practiced precision.


    "Mr. Sylla, please narrate your process for the class."


    "Right." He cleared his throat. "First, we need a copper-bottom cauldron for this specific brew - iron would interfere with the sonic resonance. I''m setting the flame to exactly three-quarters strength, as the Resonance Draught requires precise temperature control."


    His hands moved with quiet confidence as he spoke. "Adding the base solution - pure spring water with a three-drop measure of morning dew. The dew acts as a natural frequency conductor."


    "And why morning dew specifically, Mr. Sylla?" Professor Mirwen interjected, quill poised.


    "Because it''s naturally attuned to the day''s first vibrations, Professor. Evening dew would create discordant frequencies."


    He continued, measuring ingredients with fluid grace. "Now, powdered quartz crystal, but it must be added in a spiral pattern to establish the initial resonance field. You can see the liquid beginning to shimmer - that''s the crystalline matrix forming."


    "Excellent observation. And the timing for the next step?"


    "We wait exactly thirty-seven seconds - there''s a subtle shift in the surface tension that..." He trailed off, watching intently. "Now. Adding three clockwise stirs with a silver rod, followed by one counterclockwise to stabilize. The color should begin shifting toward azure, starting from the edges."


    The class watched as the liquid transformed exactly as described.


    "The critical step is the sonic essence," he explained, carefully uncorking a small vial. "It must be added drop by drop while humming a perfect middle C. This creates the base frequency the potion will later respond to."


    The liquid rippled with each drop, perfect concentric circles spreading outward as Adom hummed the note.


    "And finally," he concluded, "three drops of liquid moonstone to lock the resonance pattern. When done correctly..." He picked up a tuning fork from his kit, struck it, and held it near the cauldron. The potion swirled, producing a clear, pure tone. He adjusted the fork slightly - a different note emerged. One more adjustment - a third distinct tone rang out, each one perfect and crystalline.


    Professor Mirwen examined the potion, its azure surface still swirling with subtle iridescence. "That''s... rather impressive for a second year. Have you been practicing, Mr. Sylla?"


    "A bit lately, yes." For about sixty years, he added mentally.


    "Class, take note of Mr. Sylla''s precise technique. Twenty out of twenty. You may return to your seat."


    As he walked back, the whispers started again:


    "Did you see how steady his hands were¡ª"


    "Perfect pitch on that humming¡ª"


    "Show-off¡ª"


    "How did he know about the surface tension¡ª"


    Adom slid back into his seat, and Sam immediately leaned over. "Dude, how did you get this good at alchemy?"


    "I''ve always been good at alchemy," Adom reminded him. "It''s one of my favorite disciplines."


    "You''re good, but not that good. That''s Mia Storm level good!"


    Adom was about to explain when¡ª


    "Mr. Harbinsky."


    Sam froze mid-whisper.


    "Mr. Harbinsky?" Professor Mirwen repeated, more firmly this time.


    "...Me?" Sam squeaked.


    "Are there two Samenel Harbinsky in this class that I''m unaware of?"


    The class erupted in laughter as Sam, his face almost matching the color of his hair, stumbled to his feet and made his way to the front.


    Sam''s presentation was a study in controlled chaos - he dropped his notes twice, accidentally added ingredients in the wrong order, then somehow saved it with quick thinking and rapid stirring.


    His Resonance Draught ended up a shade too turquoise but still produced the required tones, if slightly off-pitch. Professor Mirwen awarded him 16/20, making him beam with pride as several classmates congratulated him on scoring third highest.


    The rest of the day flowed like a well-worn stream. In Theoretical Magic, Professor Thane went off on another tangent about the proper geometry of ancient incantations, only to be interrupted by his own demonstration backfiring and turning his mustache bright pink.


    During Magical History, half the class dozed off while Professor Hans enthusiastically detailed the Rise of House Borealis in 3832 BR, though they perked up considerably when she mentioned it was likely to appear on next week''s test.


    At lunch, a malfunctioning spell made the cafeteria''s self-serving plates get into an argument with the floating drink pitchers about proper meal sequencing, resulting in several students getting their dessert before their main course.


    Adom found himself repeatedly explaining that no, he hadn''t used any forbidden magic against Damus, while Sam helpfully deflected the more persistent questioners with increasingly outlandish theories about hamsters being involved.


    Where did that even come from?


    The afternoon brought Practical Applications class, where a student managed to accidentally merge his chair with his desk while attempting a simple transformation spell. It took three teaching assistants and a very amused Professor Kirna to separate them, though the chair maintained a distinct desk-like aesthetic afterward.


    By the time the final bell chimed at 3 PM, Adom had answered forty-seven questions about yesterday''s duel, declined twelve more challenges, and somehow acquired a small fan club of first-years who trailed him between classes until Sam scared them off by claiming Adom was contagiously radioactive.


    "Library?" Sam asked as they packed their bags. "We could start prepping for the exams. I found this great corner where the bookshelf actually suggests relevant readings based on your stress levels."


    "Think I''ll pass," Adom said, suppressing a yawn. "Still feeling yesterday in my bones."


    "Really?" Sam studied him with genuine concern. "Then yeah, definitely go rest. You look kind of pale anyway."


    "Says the guy planning an all-nighter."


    "Hey, these runic sequences aren''t going to memorize themselves. I still can''t tell if Professor Thane was saying ''ethereal manifestation'' or ''eternal constipation'' in her drawing."


    "We''ll see each other tomorrow then," Adom said, watching Sam hoist his overstuffed bag. All-nighters, he thought with a slight shudder, remembering the years of caffeine-fueled study sessions that seemed to stretch into eternity. Some experiences he definitely didn''t miss from his first time around.


    They parted at the corridor junction, Sam heading toward the library''s towering spires while Adom turned toward the dormitories.


    Adom gratefully shed his school uniform - the black robes, white shirt, tie, waistcoat and his ring that marked him as a Xerkes student - and changed into his own clothes: worn leather boots, comfortable dark pants, a soft gray henley, and his favorite navy blue jacket with brass buttons. Simple, practical clothing that helped him blend in with the city crowds.


    Arkhos, the capital of Lumaria, the Borealis Duchy, sprawled across its island like a living thing, equal parts ancient stone and modern innovation. The city had grown around Xerkes Academy over the centuries, until the two became inseparable - much like magic and progress themselves.


    Steam-powered trams wound through cobblestone streets. Ancient buildings with their weather-worn gargoyles stood shoulder-to-shoulder with sleek new constructions of glass and steel. The air hummed with both mechanical and magical energy, the scent of sea salt mixing with coffee from countless cafes and the ever-present undertone of alchemical experiments.


    In the older district, where the streets still followed their original meandering paths, tourists and locals alike gathered around the preserved Farm of Law - a humble plot of land that had somehow survived millennia of urban development. Its simple wooden fence and modest farmhouse seemed almost impossible amid the city''s grandeur, yet there it stood, protected by both law and legend. Children pressed their faces against the fence, hoping to spot some sign of the mysterious farmer-mage who had reintroduced magic to humanity before vanishing without a trace. Some 3000 years ago.


    The markets were in full swing as Adom walked through the city center, where merchants sold everything from mundane vegetables to bottled starlight. Street performers entertained crowds with minor illusions while automated brass musicians played on street corners. Students from Xerkes, easily identifiable by their rings despite their civilian clothes, mingled with the crowd, taking advantage of their freedom to explore the city until classes.


    Above it all, the great lighthouse of Arkhos stood sentinel at the island''s edge, its eternal flame - said to have been lit by Law Borealis himself - still burning after all these centuries, guiding ships through the often treacherous waters around the Lumaria archipelago that consisted of an impressive 12,025 islands with 4,672 Dungeons scattered throughout.


    Adom wandered through familiar streets that existed now only in his memories - and wouldn''t exist at all in about forty years when the bombardments began. But today, those same streets pulsed with life: merchants haggling over the price of enchanted trinkets, children playing hopscotch with chalk that changed color with each jump, elderly couples sharing spiced tea at corner caf¨¦s.


    There were so many restaurants to try here. More than he ever cared to count. But he wanted to discover them.


    He stopped at the crowd gathering around a street performer named Old Jack. The man was creating elaborate fire dragons that danced above the audience''s heads, weaving between floating rings of blue flame. Adom remembered this act; he used to be so entertained back when he would visit Arkhos with his parents as a kid.


    A child in the crowd gasped as a fire butterfly landed on her nose, warm but not burning. "Are you a real mage, mister?"


    Jack smiled. "The Seeker''s stone turned silver for me when I was your age, little one. Should''ve gone straight to Xerkes then." He created another butterfly, this one changing colors as it flew. "But I made some bad choices, unfortunately."


    The girl''s mother pulled her closer, whispering something about "generational opportunity" and "secure future." It was true - having a mage or knight in the family meant wealth and status for generations to come.


    It was why the Empire sent Seekers every five years to test children across every province, every island, every remote city and village. Missing a potential mage was considered a tragedy.


    The crowd applauded as Jack''s dragons performed one final spiral before dissolving into a shower of harmless sparks. Some things, Adom mused, had a way of working out differently than expected. He dropped a coin in Jack''s hat - for the nostalgia - and continued his walk through the living city.


    It was still so entertaining.


    Here, a fish seller chasing a cat that had made off with his prized catch, over there, on the left, an old man feeding pigeons some breadcrumbs. A beggar sat in his usual spot, his sign reading "Will do magic tricks for food"


    Then there was the Weird Stuff Store.


    Yes, that was literally its name. Someone, presumably the first Mr. Biggins, had looked at their shop five centuries ago and thought "yes, this is the pinnacle of creative naming." The current Mr. Biggins, from the long line of Mr. Biggins, was supposedly the 102nd owner, though nobody quite knew how that math worked out.


    You could buy regular candy bars right next to Levitating Licorice that actually tried to float away if you didn''t hold onto it tight enough. They sold ordinary sandwiches alongside things like Pocket Dimensions (Small Size, Perfect for Lunch Storage!) and Crystallized Dragon Sneezes, a sort of spicy candy. Very sour at the start, and very sweet in the middle, only to end up even more sour at the end and make you sneeze fire from the nose.


    No longer regulatory.


    Suffice to say, a lot of the other things in the Weird Stuff Store were no longer regulatory compliant these days for obvious reasons, yet, the store kept selling them. And people kept buying. And no problem ever arose.


    Then there were the Frosties - hundred flavors of frozen heaven (or hell, depending on your choices). Adom and Sam had tried every combination possible. Cloud Nine mixed with Summer Sunset had been their masterpiece, and "Lightning in a Cup" - Storm Essence and Rainbow Rush that actually made you feel tiny lightning bolts crackle between your teeth.


    <div>


    Their worst creation? Pickle Surprise. Sam''s temporary transparency and time-bubble hiccups had been... interesting. Though somehow, That flavor had its dedicated customers.


    The store was called "Weird Stuff" - it had to cater to its demographic.


    "Actually, you know what..." Adom pushed through the door, its bells chiming their eternally unfinished melody. He found himself craving their old favorite.


    The flavors he wanted to mix were already front and center in the Frosties machine.


    Right. The store was one of the many enchanted shops on the islands - which wasn''t surprising, being neighbors with Xerkes Academy and all. The building''s enchantment, generated and maintained by runes, would show you exactly what you wanted to buy, sometimes before you even knew you wanted it.


    Of course they were.


    That kind of spell was... problematic these days. Mind reading without customer consent had been perfectly normal maybe fifty years ago, but progressists had been pushing hard against it at this point in time. Most stores had abandoned the practice as customers grew more privacy-conscious. But not the Weird Stuff Store.


    Mr. Biggins didn''t give a shi-


    "Why hello there, young man!" The old shopkeeper materialized behind the counter, his white hair sticking out in all directions as if he''d just been electrocuted (which, given some of his inventory, was entirely possible).Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    "Hello Mr. Biggins. It''s been a while. How have you been?"


    "Oh, splendid, splendid! Had to wrestle a Pocket Dimension this morning - nasty little thing tried to eat my socks. Again. But otherwise, feeling fresh as a spring chicken! Could probably take on a dragon today." He paused, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Though perhaps a small one." His gaze returned to the glasses. "Those have seen better days. Not like you to be careless with your things."


    Adom couldn''t help but laugh. Classic Biggins - the man made no sense half of the time.


    "Just went hunting last night," he replied casually.


    "Hunting..." Biggins murmured, almost to himself. "How peculiar indeed..."


    "Speaking of troublemakers," Biggins continued, reorganizing an entire shelf without looking at it, "where''s that partner-in-crime of yours? Young Sam, wasn''t it?"


    "Sam''s back at Xerkes," Adom replied, watching as three different types of candy sorted themselves out  on a nearby shelf.


    "Xerkes?" Biggins stopped his stacking. "Correct me if I''m wrong - though I''m only wrong on Thursdays, and this is clearly a Wednesday, unless the calendar''s lying again - but aren''t you supposed to be there too?"


    "Just running some errands," Adom said, moving toward the Frosties machine and grabbing a cup. He glanced at the candy display. "Could I also get a bag of those hard candies? The mixed fruit ones."


    "Well, well," Biggins chuckled, unwrapping a piece of chocolate. "That''s a change - quite the change indeed. You usually never come on a Wednesday at this hour - become quite bold, haven''t you?" He laughed then popped the chocolate in his mouth, then held out the bar. "Want some?"


    "It''s really just errands," Adom said, pulling the brass lever for his Frosty. "For a project. An important one."


    "No doubt, no doubt!" Biggins said cheerfully, still holding out the chocolate. He reached behind the counter and grabbed a paper bag, starting to fill it with candies.


    The bell chimed its discordant melody as a group of first-years entered the store.


    "Welcome, welcome!" Biggins called out cheerfully.


    "Hello, Mr. Biggins!" they chorused back.


    "That''s him," one whispered to her friends, not nearly as quietly as she thought. "The one who fought with Damus."


    The girls huddled near the candy display, their whispers and giggles punctuated by quick glances in Adom''s direction. He regretted hitting Damus in front of everyone.


    "You know," Biggins said casually, organizing some jellybeans that were trying to escape their jar, "it feels like just the day before yesterday you could barely look at a young lady without turning red as a Flame-Breathing Gummy Bear." He chuckled. "Time does fly."


    Adom barely registered the comment as he placed his Frosty on the counter and accepted a piece of the chocolate. "Thanks. Though you know, merchants aren''t supposed to eat their own products."


    Biggins let out a hearty laugh. "Ah, the tragedy of being a shop owner with an incurable sweet tooth! Can''t help myself, I''m afraid." He laughed again, adjusting his spectacles. "That''ll be on the house, by the way. Last customer of the day."


    "Closing early today?"


    Biggins laughed, the sound like wind chimes in a thunderstorm. "Time is just yesterday wearing tomorrow''s hat backwards."


    "Right," Adom said, deciding it wasn''t worth trying to decode that one. He pocketed the bag of candies. "Thanks, Mr. Biggins. I''ll see you around."


    "Welcome back!" Biggins called as Adom reached the door.


    "But I''m leaving," Adom said, pausing with his hand on the handle.


    "Exactly!" Biggins beamed, as if that explained everything.


    Adom shook his head with a smile and, catching the first-years'' eyes, gave them a small wave. They waved back enthusiastically, breaking into fresh giggles as he stepped out.


    As the door''s bell chimed in three different octaves, he could hear their excited chatter through the closing door and couldn''t help but think that if he''d known standing up to his bully was all it took to be this popular with girls, he might have done it in his first life. The thought made him chuckle.


    He took a sip of his Frosty as he walked. Cloud Nine and Summer Sunset swirled on his tongue - cream and citrus and something ethereal that tasted like sunlight through morning mist. Even better than he remembered, and he remembered it being amazing.


    But enough nostalgia. He had a cure to find.


    *****


    Beneath the gleaming spires of the merchant district and well past where cobblestone streets gave way to mud paths, there was a part of the island that tourist guides conveniently forgot to mention. Even most locals pretended it didn''t exist, though everyone had heard the whispers.


    The Undertow, they called it.


    Funny thing about the Sundarian Empire - they didn''t actually mind the illegal trading, the smuggling, or even the occasional theft of priceless artifacts. What really got under their skin was that sweet, sweet tax revenue slipping through their fingers. When investigations revealed that the Undertow''s annual turnover equaled roughly 5% of the entire Empire''s economy... well, let''s just say a lot of bureaucrats needed their fainting couches that day.


    It had been around for centuries, they discovered. All the way back to the 23rd Duke of House Borealis.


    A sprawling web of underground markets and secret warehouses, spreading beneath every major city in the Empire. Merchants who could get you anything from legitimate artifacts to things that definitely "fell off the back of a cart."


    Need a banned spellbook? They had those.


    Experimental potions that hadn''t quite gotten Ministry approval? Sure thing.


    Regular stuff too, though nobody went there for that - why brave the Undertow''s dangers just to buy something you could get at the corner store?


    Adom had never ventured there himself - in this life at least.


    Though he knew that in about three decades, when the final bombing of Arkhos would tear open the ground like an overripe fruit, everyone would see what had been lurking beneath their feet all along. A whole shadow economy, complete with its own rules, hierarchies, and a very strict "no questions asked" policy.


    The Empire had tried to shut it down countless times, of course.


    But trying to catch Undertow operators was like trying to grab smoke - just when you thought you had them, they slipped away through hidden passages and secret doors that seemed to appear and disappear at will. Not that the Empire''s heart was really in it.


    As long as the goods kept flowing and society kept functioning, they mostly just grumbled about the lost tax revenue and pretended not to notice.


    After all, even some of their own officials were known to make discrete purchases there from time to time. Not that anyone would admit it, of course.


    The best way into the Undertow - if you were either brave or desperate enough to try - was through the Dregs, the lowest part of Arkhos in every sense of the word. Down where the city''s grand floating platforms cast permanent shadows on the streets below, where the air hung thick with factory smoke and failed enchantments.


    The Dregs weren''t just poor - they were forgotten. The bottom rung of a city that prided itself on soaring ever higher. Here, buildings sagged against each other like rotting teeth, their walls stained with the residue of magical waste that rained down from above.


    Street kids played with broken enchanted trinkets while their parents worked jobs the upper districts preferred not to think about.


    Adom had always been one of the fortunate ones. His father had started as just another fortune-seeking adventurer, but year after year of successful expeditions into dungeons had built him both wealth and reputation.


    Enough of both that he''d eventually traded his adventuring gear for a knight''s ceremonial sword, while his mother''s healing magic kept noble families paying in gold and favors.


    They were the kind of rich that meant Adom had never had to think about being rich - the kind that got him into Xerkes without a scholarship, that kept him far from places like this and the sharp lessons they taught.


    The kind of rich that made him an obvious target for the boy currently sizing him up from the shadows.


    Three...


    Adom kept walking, pretending not to notice.


    Two...


    The soft scuff of worn boots behind him.


    One...


    "Aha!"


    His hand snapped back, catching a bony wrist mid-reach. The would-be thief couldn''t have been more than thirteen - all angles and hungry eyes, wearing clothes that looked like they''d been inherited from inheritance.


    "Why, hello there," Adom said. "You know, you could have just asked."


    "Let go!" the boy hissed, trying to twist free from Adom''s grip.


    Adom released him, watching with barely concealed entertainment as the pickpocket stumbled back, face flushed with equal parts anger and embarrassment. "You might want to work on being a bit quieter. I could hear you breathing from three steps away."


    The boy''s face darkened, jaw clenching. "Shut up. I''m the best pickpocket in the Dregs."


    Is he... proud of that?


    "Is that so? The best don''t usually announce it," Adom finally. "They prove it."


    The boy''s mouth twitched in irritation.


    "You know what though?" Adom continued. "Since you''re the best, you probably know your way around here pretty well."


    "Depends what you''re looking for."


    "I need to meet someone. Man named Cisco."


    The boy let out a dry laugh. "Right. Some pampered rich kid thinks he can just waltz in to meet Cisco?"


    "One silver piece."


    The boy''s stance shifted slightly, words stumbling. "That''s not¡ª"


    "Two. Three if you can do it today."


    "Ten," the boy said, crossing his arms. "And I''ll take you straight to him."


    "You think a boy my age would be walking around with ten silver pieces?"


    "How much you got then?"


    "Three. Final offer."


    "Fine," the boy huffed. "Pay up."


    "Ah ah ah," Adom waggled his finger. "Wouldn''t be very smart of me to pay before getting what I''m paying for, would it?"


    "Half now, half after."


    "And how do I trust you?"


    The boy straightened his spine, chin lifting. His voice dropped an octave, attempting gravitas. "I may be a thief¡ª"


    "A bad one."


    "¡ªshut up!" His shoulders tensed, but he recovered, clearing his throat. "But I am not. A liar." Each word carried the weight of practiced nobility, like he''d heard it in a street performance once and saved it for just such an occasion.


    Adom''s eyebrow arched slightly. A beat passed.


    Then another.


    His laugh was short and sharp. "Really? That''s what you''re going with?"


    The boy''s attempt at dignity crumbled. His ears turned red first, then the rest of his face followed. "I¡ªjust¡ªstop laughing! I meant every word!"


    The theatrical solemnity of moments before lay in shambles around his feet.


    "Do you need me or not?" the boy snapped, fists clenched at his sides.


    "Alright, alright, calm down. Damn, you have no sense of humor, do you?"


    Adom flicked a silver coin through the air. The boy snatched it mid-flight, then frowned at his palm. "This isn''t half."


    "I may be a clown," Adom intoned, matching the boy''s earlier theatrical gravity with exaggerated precision, "a good one¡ªbut I am not a liar."


    The boy let out a long-suffering sigh.


    "You''ll get the rest when I meet Cisco."


    They wound their way deeper into the Dregs, Adom taking in everything with careful eyes. This was his first time here - in this life, or the other - and the reality hit harder than the stories. Shadows seemed deeper here, clothes more threadbare, hopes worn thinner. A woman stirred a pot that seemed to hold more water than ingredients. Children played with broken trinkets that still sparked with dying magic, while their parents watched from doorways with hollow eyes.


    The contrast with the upper districts felt like a physical thing, heavy in the air. A few hard-eyed men sized him up from an alley entrance - expensive clothes, clean hands, easy target - but Adom kept his gaze down, staying close to his guide. Not too close though. His fingers remained near his coin purse.


    "So," Adom said, stepping around a puddle that smelled nothing like water, "do you have a name, or should I just call you Pickpocket?"


    "Don''t call me that," the boy muttered, earning Adom''s confusion.


    I thought he was proud of that. Huh. Not totally hopeless, I guess.


    "I''m... uh, Barn."


    "Barn?" Adom glanced at the weathered sign of the tavern they''d just passed - ''Barns & Targ'' - and bit back a smile. "You definitely didn''t just get that from¡ª"


    "Of course not!"


    "Eren! Eren, you''re back!"


    A group of smaller children came tearing around the corner, faces lit up with gap-toothed grins. They swarmed around them, tugging at the boy''s sleeves. "Did you get anything good today? Can we see? Did you¡ª"


    Eren''s face had gone the color of old chalk.


    Adom cleared his throat, adopting the same noble gravity Eren had attempted earlier. "I am not a liar."


    "Shut up."


    "Not now, you guys," Eren continued. "I''m working. But I''ll bring you all some candies when I''m done, alright? Promise."


    "You always say that!" a tiny girl with missing front teeth protested.


    "Did I break my promise last time, Maya?" He ruffled her hair. "Or the time before that, Tim?"


    "Pinky promise?" A small boy with a soot-streaked face held up his finger.


    "Pinky promise, Rook." Eren linked fingers with him, then looked meaningfully at the others until a chain of pinky promises had been made.


    "Is he your job?" Maya pointed at Adom.


    Before Eren could answer, Adom stepped forward. "Yeah. Name''s Law."


    "Law? Like the farmer mage from the stories?" Tim''s eyes went wide.


    "Just like that. Hey, would you all like some candies?"


    "You have candies?" Several pairs of eyes locked onto him.


    Adom reached into his pocket, pulling out a paper bag from the shop he''d visited earlier. The children crowded around as he handed them out.


    "Thank you, thank you!" They chorused, sticky fingers already working at the wrappers. Maya immediately popped hers in her mouth, cheeks bulging. Tim carefully wrapped his back up, probably saving it for later.


    Rook split his in half, offering the other piece to Eren.


    Eren glanced at the offered half-candy, then flicked Rook''s forehead. "Keep it. You''re skinny enough already."


    The liitle boy rubbed his forehead, pouting, but quickly popped the candy in his mouth before Eren could change his mind.


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    "Want one?" Adom said as he popped a candy in his mouth, holding another out to Eren.


    Eren looked at the offered candy, then clicked his tongue. "No. Let''s go." He turned sharply, leaving Adom to wave goodbye to the children as they headed deeper into the Dregs.


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    "Sometimes."


    "Good. Try it."


    "Well, if you don''t want the candy..."


    Eren''s eyes flickered to the wrapped butterscotch, trying and failing to look disinterested. For all his street-hardened act, he was still just a kid. The sweet would probably cost him half a day''s pickpocketing.


    Adom sighed. "Oh, come on. Stop with the side-eye." He grabbed Eren''s wrist and pressed the candy into his palm.


    "I don''t¡ª" Eren started to protest, then stopped. His fingers closed around the wrapper. "...thanks."


    "You''re welcome, Barns."


    "You never let anything go, do you?"


    Adom''s laugh echoed off the cramped walls. "Can''t help it. You make it too easy."


    As they made their way through the maze of cramped alleys, the buildings pressed closer, their foundations sinking into the perpetually damp ground. Finally, they reached what might''ve been a tavern once, before time and neglect had their way with it. Two men flanked the door, the kind whose muscles weren''t just for show.


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    "Wait here," Eren said, moving toward them.


    Adom leaned against a wall, looking perfectly at ease. His fingers traced a subtle pattern in the air - [Echo-thread] - and suddenly the conversation by the door became clear as if whispered directly into his ear.


    "Got someone wants to see mister Cisco," Eren''s voice came through.


    "Yeah? Who''s the fancy boy?" One of the guards grabbed Eren''s collar, yanking him closer. "Better not be wastin'' our time, rat."


    "Dunno who he is," Eren said, voice steady despite the grip. "But he''s got coin. Good stuff too, not that copper shit."


    The other guard spat. "Rich little bastard probably got lost on his way to buy silk underpants."


    "Nah, he asked for mister Cisco specific. By name."


    "Did he now?" The first guard released Eren with a shove. "And what''s your cut for bringing him, street trash?"


    "Just doing my job," Eren muttered, straightening his shirt. "You gonna let him in or what?"


    The guards exchanged looks. "Tell pretty boy to come here."


    Eren beckoned, and Adom strolled over, hands in his pockets.


    "Name," the first guard growled.


    "Law. Son of Count Bardeaux." Adom''s posture shifted subtly - chin lifted, shoulders back, the practiced arrogance of nobility. "Perhaps you''ve heard of him?"


    The guards exchanged glances. "Bardeaux, eh? Bit far from your fancy towers, aren''t you?"


    "I wasn''t aware the Dregs had restricted access." Adom''s tone was mild. "Is there a problem?"


    "What''s your business with Cisco?"


    "That''s between him and me."


    The second guard stepped closer, trying to use his height advantage. "You got some balls on you for someone who looks like they haven''t even dropped yet."


    "Thank you," Adom replied pleasantly. "I do try."


    The first guard''s jaw clenched, but after a long moment, he jerked his head toward the door. "Wait here." Both men disappeared inside, leaving Adom and Eren in the damp afternoon air.


    They stood in silence broken only by distant shouts and the constant drip of water from rusted pipes. The guards'' absence felt heavy, deliberate.


    "I honored our deal," Eren said finally. "The rest of my money."


    Adom pulled out two silver coins, then after a moment''s thought, added a handful of candies. "Here. Thanks."


    Eren stared at the unexpected extras, his jaw tightening. For a moment, he looked like he might throw them back. Instead, he pocketed everything with quick, sharp movements. "Want me to wait?"


    "Think I can find my way back. No need to worry."


    "Tsk. Wasn''t worried. Could''ve charged you more is all."


    Adom laughed. "Bye, Mr. Pickpocket. See you around, maybe."


    Eren turned to leave, then paused. "...Law''s not your real name, is it?"


    "Of course not. What do you think I am, stupid?"


    "Right." Eren started walking away, raising a hand without looking back. "Take care."


    Adom stood lost in thought, wondering what Cisco looked like. The reports he''d read in his past life only spoke of the man''s actions - how as an information broker, he''d organized the underground escape routes when Arkhos burned, saved hundreds of lives. A ghost of a hero, known only by name and deed. Now, after all this time...


    "Come in, Lord Bardeaux. The boss will be seeing you."


    "How joyful." Adom''s smile held genuine anticipation.


    The tavern''s atmosphere hit like a slap of bitter wine. A fiddle cried somewhere in the smoke-thick air, its notes threading through rough laughter and rougher conversations. Cards slapped against sticky tables, coins clinked, and somewhere a woman''s laugh cut sharp as broken glass. The whole place reeked of spilled beer, unwashed bodies, and desperation worn comfortable as an old coat.


    "Not the usual entertainment young master''s used to, eh?" The guard''s laugh rasped like rusted hinges.


    "Not really, no." Adom breathed in. "But it has its charm."


    Eyes tracked Adom through the room - hard eyes, measuring eyes. "Pretty little lordling," someone muttered. "Rich boy''s lost his way." A burly man at the bar spat. "Since when we babysitting?"


    At the inner door, one of the guards caught Adom''s arm. "Word of advice, young master. Boss don''t like smart games. Keep it simple, keep it straight."


    "Wouldn''t dream of anything else."


    The door opened to reveal a spacious office. A tall man in crisp white clothing stood beside a massive desk - dark-skinned, blond, with wire-rimmed glasses that caught the lamplight. He had the steady presence of someone used to authority. Cisco, Adom thought, just as a deep voice rolled from behind the desk.


    "Young Master Bardeaux. Welcome."


    Huh. Not Cisco then.


    "Thank you," Adom said, advancing into the room.


    "I hear you were asking for me. By name." The voice carried amusement. "Curious, that a noble would know of such a humble personage."


    "I have good contacts."


    "I see." A sharp clap echoed. "Turn me around, Marco."


    Marco moved toward the chair with practiced grace. Each step seemed to stretch time, the leather creaking as the massive chair began to rotate. Adom''s prepared speech died in his throat.


    First came the tail, long and elegantly curved over the armrest. Then tiny hands folded over a silver-headed cane. Finally, the chair completed its turn, and Adom found himself staring at... nothing.


    He lowered his gaze.


    Lower.


    Lower still.


    There, barely visible above the polished desk, sat a mouse beastkin in a perfect miniature suit. Silver-grey fur caught the lamplight, each whisker precisely trimmed. Behind tiny spectacles, dark eyes studied Adom with centuries of cunning.


    Adom''s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.


    Cisco. The most dangerous information broker in the slums was... cute.


    Don''t laugh. Don''t you dare laugh.


    "A pleasure to meet you, Mister Cisco."


    "You''re even younger than I expected." The mouse''s deep voice seemed impossibly large. "What can I help you with?"


    Adom opened his mouth, but Cisco raised one tiny paw.


    "Before you start, young Master Law Bardeaux..." He adjusted his suit with delicate precision. "I prefer to build partnerships on respect and dignity. There can be no respect in a relationship founded on lies." His whiskers twitched. "Perhaps you''d like to start with your real name?"


    Adom smiled. He''d hoped to avoid this, but wasn''t surprised. "I''d prefer to maintain my anonymity, for now. Law will suffice."


    "So you confess it''s not your real name?"


    "No, it''s not."


    "Honesty." Cisco''s tail curled thoughtfully. "I respect honesty. Most who come here try to maintain their lies even when caught. You admit your deception openly - which means you have good reason for it." His dark eyes studied Adom with renewed interest. "And in my experience, those with the best reasons for secrecy are often the most interesting clients." He leaned forward, paws folding atop his cane. "Let''s cut to the chase then. What do you want?"


    "I need water of jouvence. One liter, minimum. And a wyvern''s fresh heart. Within a month."


    Cisco''s whiskers stilled. The silence stretched until it hummed.


    "Interesting requests." He tapped his cane thoughtfully. "Rare items. Expensive items. Hard to locate, harder still to acquire." His dark eyes glinted. "As an information broker, I can certainly find them and connect you with the right people for retrieval. But..." He studied Adom carefully. "No disrespect intended to a potential client, but you don''t strike me as someone with that kind of capital."


    He turned slightly. "Marco, calculate the operation costs. Including expedited delivery."


    Marco adjusted his glasses. "Water of jouvence requires highland spring access, six months minimum aging, specialized alchemists - twenty thousand for production alone. Premium for immediate stock acquisition, fifteen thousand. Transport through three secured checkpoints, eight thousand. Bribes for customs, three thousand. Security detail, five thousand." He paused, barely breathing. "Wyvern heart - tracking party for two weeks minimum, twelve thousand. Professional hunter team, twenty-five thousand. Medical preservation, four thousand. Transport costs in specialized containers, seven thousand. Rush delivery fees across territories, eighteen thousand. Additional bribes and miscellaneous expenses, eight thousand. Total operation cost: one hundred and twenty-five thousand gold pieces, excluding our standard fees."


    Cisco''s tail swished. "So, what do you think?"


    Adom smiled, moving his hand behind his back. Marcus tensed, stepping forward, but Cisco raised one tiny paw. "Stand down."


    Adom grunted with effort, muscles straining as he pulled out a leather bag from his inventory. It crashed onto the desk with a sound that made the wood groan. "One," he wheezed. "Ten thousand."


    "Magic..." Marco murmured, adjusting his glasses.


    Another grunt, more strain. The second bag landed with a heavy thud. "Two," Adom panted, wiping sweat from his brow. "Another ten."


    "You seem quite out of breath for someone so young," Cisco observed with amusement. "Perhaps more exercise would do you good."


    "That''s..." Adom straightened, still catching his breath, "exactly what I plan to do soon."


    One final effort, face reddening. "Aaand... three." The last bag hit the desk with a decisive bang, scattering a few papers. "Ten thousand more. Thirty thousand total. Feel free to count it - it''s all there."


    Three bags sat before them, their presence as heavy as their weight.


    "The remaining ninety-five thousand upon delivery," Adom said, finally recovering his composure.


    Cisco chuckled. "What an interesting young fellow. Normally, I wouldn''t accept less than half for a job of this scale." His whiskers twitched. "But in your current state, I fear attempting to produce more bags might actually kill you."


    "I appreciate the consideration," Adom replied flatly.


    "Then we have a deal. Return in one month for your items." Cisco turned slightly. "Marco, add our standard fees to the remaining balance."


    "Ninety-five thousand plus twenty percent operational fee... Total remaining balance: one hundred and fourteen thousand gold pieces."


    "Works for me," Adom said.


    "I trust you understand there would be... grave consequences should you fail to honor our agreement?"


    "Perfectly. I have no intention of making an enemy of you."


    "Good." Cisco extended his paw across the desk - tiny, grey, and perfectly manicured.


    Adom stared at it for a moment, then reached forward. His hand hovered, adjusted, readjusted, fingers awkwardly trying to find the right position to shake something the size of a child''s toy.


    At last, the tiniest handshake in his life. "Deal."


    The handshake had barely broken when the sounds erupted from below - crashes, shouts, the unmistakable noise of bodies hitting walls.


    Marco moved toward the door, but before he could reach it, it exploded inward. A mountain of muscle and tattoos filled the frame, blood streaming from various wounds. A dagger protruded from his thigh, yet he seemed not to notice.


    Some called his kind barbarians, though you''d have to be particularly eager to die to use that slur. Free Folk was the term - or in this case, a very angry Freeman.


    "CISCO!" The Free Folk warrior''s voice shook dust from the ceiling. His chest heaved, eyes wild with rage.


    Cisco didn''t even flinch. "Thormund. I had hoped we could discuss this more civilly."


    "Civilly?" Thormund spat blood. "My men-"


    "Your men betrayed us. Betrayed you," Cisco interrupted calmly, adjusting his tiny suit. "They were dealt with accordingly."


    "I SAID I''D HANDLE IT MYSELF!"


    The warrior lunged forward. Marco stepped between them, but against Thormund''s mass, he might as well have been a sapling before an avalanche.


    Adom saw it unfold as if in slow motion - the massive hands reaching for the tiny information broker, Marco''s futile attempt to intercept, Cisco''s whiskers barely twitching.


    He thought hard about this for a literal second. Having his supplier squashed to death before delivering the goods would be rather inconvenient for his plans. So...


    [Control].


    Thormund froze mid-stride, his fingertips inches from Cisco''s desk. The room fell silent except for the warrior''s ragged breathing.

 Chapter 08. The Power Of Spite

    Everyone stared at Adom.


    "Oh," said Cisco. "A mage."


    A panting man stumbled through the broken door, clutching the doorframe for support. His face looked like someone had used it to test several varieties of hammers. One eye was swollen completely shut, the other barely a slit, and his nose pointed in at least two different directions.


    "Boss!" he wheezed between broken teeth. "We need to- you have to- that crazy barbaria-"


    "WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU CALL ME?!" Thormund roared from his frozen position, veins bulging impressively against his immobile neck.


    "Oh shit- I mean- I''ll get- REINFORCEMENTS!" The man spun around, wobbling. "FROM THE MAIN BASE! DON''T DIE BOSS! I''LL BE RIGHT-"


    There was a solid, meaty thunk, followed by the drawn-out screech of a body sliding down something.


    "Third time this month someone''s run into that statue," Marco noted, adjusting his glasses. "Perhaps we should move it."


    "RELEASE ME, MAGE!" Thormund''s muscles bulged against invisible restraints. His fluid began pouring out like steam from a kettle, making Adom''s temples throb with the effort of maintaining [Control].


    Just as the pressure was becoming unbearable, a thin beam of light shot from the tiny ring on Cisco''s even tinier paw. Thormund''s eyes rolled back, and he collapsed like a felled tree.


    "He''ll need a few hours of sleep and some... proper education later," Cisco said, adjusting his miniature spectacles. He turned to Adom. "Now then. Mage. You might have mentioned that during our negotiations."


    "You didn''t ask," Adom replied mildly, massaging his temples. "Besides, your prices are quite steep enough without adding a mage surcharge."


    A muscle in Marcus'' jaw twitched, but Cisco''s whiskers quivered in what might have been amusement.


    "Fair enough," the tiny broker conceded. He glanced at Thormund''s unconscious form. "I didn''t expect you to step up and try to save my life - though I assure you, it wasn''t necessary. Still..." He straightened his tiny cravat. "Let''s consider this particular detail forgotten. No surcharge for being a mage."


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    "Are you a spy, Law?" Cisco asked.


    "Not at all," Adom replied.


    "There. Not a spy. Relax, Marco. Given his youth, he''s likely just a student from Xerkes. Probably not tied to the Empire. Yet." Cisco waved his tiny paw dismissively.


    Adom didn''t object. There was no point.


    "So." He straightened, ready to leave. "One month it is, then."


    "I wouldn''t go that way if I were you, Law." Cisco said while getting off his chair.


    "And why not?"


    Instead of answering, Cisco glanced at Thormund''s unconscious form. "This idiot probably had a tail when he came charging in here. Only the children are supposed to know this location, and yet..." He gestured toward the window with one tiny paw. "Would you mind taking a look?"


    Adom moved to the window, pushing aside the dusty curtain. Black smoke rose in thin spirals from three different rooftops, forming distinct patterns against the afternoon sky.


    "The children''s signal," Cisco explained, already sorting papers into his miniature briefcase. "We have company coming. Several groups, by the look of it."


    "Charming," Adom said dryly, watching another smoke signal join the others. "Just what I needed today."


    "Marco, give our esteemed client a cloak." Cisco began tucking various tiny scrolls into his sleeve.


    Marco pulled a dark gray cloak from his briefcase - which seemed far too small to have held it - and handed it to Adom.


    "I appreciate the concern," Adom said, taking the cloak with mild confusion, "but I have nothing to do with... whatever this is. They don''t even know my face."


    "I''m afraid that''s not quite accurate," Marco said, adjusting his glasses. "The situation is rather more complex. The smoke patterns indicate both criminal elements and law enforcement presence. Standard protocol in such situations dictates that all parties exiting these premises will be considered persons of interest."


    "Furthermore," Marco continued, "having to explain your presence here would be problematic. As you now have certain... financial obligations to our organization, we''d prefer to avoid any complications that might interfere with those arrangements."


    Already in debt, Adom thought. The ink isn''t even dry on the contract.


    Wait, there was no ink. Come to think of it, was there even a contract?


    "Unless, of course," Marco added, raising an eyebrow, "you have some method of bypassing the police''s stealth magic detectors? Or perhaps a convincing explanation for your presence in this particular establishment?"


    Cisco and Marco both looked at him expectantly.


    "Right," Adom said, pulling the cloak around his shoulders. "Let''s go then, shall we?"


    "Marco, if you would?" Cisco adjusted his top hat.


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    "Yes, sir." Marco cupped his hands with care, and Cisco stepped into them with the dignity of a king mounting his carriage. With delicate precision, Marco settled him into a padded breast pocket. The tiny broker straightened his miniature coat tails and smoothed his whiskers.


    He was cute. Cute and dangerous. Quite a strange combo.


    "On your feet, you lot! Scatter-Eight!" Cisco''s sharp command cut through the room. The ''unconscious'' men snapped to attention. "Heinrich, eastern route! Johan, collect the ledgers and clear all evidence from the back room. Art, you and Wilhelm take the basement path."


    "Lars, help Art with those blood stains," Johan called out, already moving between hidden compartments. "Pattern Three cleanup."


    "On it!" Lars pulled an enchanted cloth from his sleeve, the fabric shimmering as it dissolved traces of the earlier fight.


    The man by the statue groaned, finally stirring. Marco paused to deliver a sharp kick. "Up. West route. And do try to avoid our d¨¦cor this time."


    "Lars, what''s the status on those blood stains?" Johan called out while organizing documents.


    "That was ONE time I missed a spot-" Lars muttered, working his enchanted cloth over the floor.


    "Three times this month!" several voices corrected in unison, not pausing in their tasks.


    "Thormund comes with us," Cisco ordered. Marco hoisted the massive barbarian with surprising ease. He was stronger than he looked.


    The room erupted into coordinated chaos. Bodies moved with practiced efficiency, like actors in a well-rehearsed play. Someone triggered a mechanism, and furniture began sinking into the floor. Hidden panels slid open, carpet rolled itself away, and even the air seemed to clear of any magical residue.


    "West side''s clear!"


    "Basement route secured!"


    "All traces removed, sir!"


    Adom found himself being hustled through a passage that had definitely been a solid wall moments ago, watching in fascination as an entire operation disappeared like morning mist.


    Behind them, the last traces of their presence vanished under a web of precisely executed protocols and spells. No wonder the Empire had never managed to pin anything on these organizations.


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    The tunnel opened into a circular chamber, its walls covered in faintly glowing runes. At its center, a more complex array of symbols pulsed with a white light.


    "Standard exit protocol," Cisco announced from Marco''s pocket. "Thirty-second intervals."


    One by one, they stepped onto the array. The runes flickered to life - a complex pattern that seemed to bend reality around its edges. When Adom''s turn came, he hesitated for just a fraction of a second.


    He really, really did not like portals.


    Then Marco gave him a gentle push, and reality shattered.


    The sensation started with his fingertips - each individual cell seeming to wave goodbye to its neighbors as they scattered into the void. His arms unraveled like loose thread, followed by his chest cavity, which was an entirely new and unwelcome experience. He could feel his liver doing something livers probably weren''t meant to do, and his stomach... well, his stomach was having the time of its life, apparently deciding that existing in twelve different locations simultaneously was its new favorite hobby.


    At least I skipped lunch, Adom thought, as his consciousness stretched across what felt like several counties, still annoyingly aware of every single part of his disassembled self. His teeth were somewhere to the left. Or maybe the right. Possibly both.


    Time and space didn''t exactly work properly when you were traveling at roughly half the speed of light, converted into pure energy and trying very hard not to think about the fact that your spleen was currently leading a rebellion against the laws of physics.


    Reality snapped back together with the grace of a drunken juggler, and Adom stumbled forward, his body parts thankfully all reporting for duty in their usual locations.


    Well, hopefully at least.


    Non-regulation portals had a nasty habit of... rearranging things. Having, for example, a left kidney switch sides after a non protocolar portal travel was not unheard of.


    In fact, coming back without your head or another body part entirely was not unheard of either. These things needed a lot of precision and those runes back there had definitely not been drawn by certified portal architects.


    The thought wasn''t particularly comforting.


    "First time?" Lars asked sympathetically, looking far too comfortable for someone whose atoms had just played musical chairs with the universe.


    "No," Adom managed, straightening up. "I just really, really hate being right about how much I hate portals."


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    As the portal''s disorienting effects faded, Adom found himself blinking at what could only be described as a city turned inside out. Massive cavern walls stretched up into darkness, their surfaces dotted with carved windows and doorways that glowed with a thousand different colors of magical light.


    Suspended bridges of stone and metal crisscrossed the void, connecting various levels of the underground metropolis.


    The air was thick with more than just the usual underground dampness - it carried the mingled scents of exotic incense, questionable alchemical experiments, and what he really hoped wasn''t burning flesh.


    Voices in dozens of languages created a constant murmur that echoed off the stone walls, punctuated by occasional shouts from merchants hawking their wares.


    "Welcome to the Undertow," Marco said quietly, adjusting his grip on the still-unconscious Thormund. "Try not to stare too obviously at anything. Or anyone."


    Before Adom could respond, a cloaked figure hurried past, leading what appeared to be a chained goblin child. In an adjacent alley, a group of well-dressed merchants examined a cage containing something that looked disturbingly elvish. Nobody seemed to notice. Or perhaps they just didn''t care.


    The creature, no, the person''s eyes met Adom''s - hollow, defeated.


    The merchant handling the cage noticed his stare, turning slowly to fix Adom with a calculating gaze that felt like being sized up for a cage of his own.


    "I believe I mentioned not staring," Marco murmured. "Unless you''re planning to make a purchase, don''t entertain thoughts of playing hero. It tends to significantly reduce one''s life expectancy down here."


    Adom forced his gaze away, his jaw clenched tight. Behind him, he heard the merchant make a soft "tsk" before returning to his business.


    They passed a gambling den where the stakes appeared to be measured in years rather than coins - he caught glimpses of glowing hourglasses and age-marked faces through the doorway. Next door, a shop openly displayed rows of fairies in bottles, their ethereal light casting shifting shadows on the walls.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    A woman in an elaborate mask and little else lounged on a balcony draped in red silk, her barely-covered form leaving multiple afterimages as she moved - some sort of space manipulation magic that promised interesting possibilities to those with coin to spend.


    When she caught Adom''s eye, she blew him a kiss that literally sparkled in the air. He looked away, but not before hearing one of the merchants behind him mutter, "Trade my left arm for a night with one of those succubi courtesans."


    Below her, a fight broke out over what looked like a manticore egg - valuable enough to kill for, common enough that nobody seemed surprised by the violence. Blood splattered on the cobblestones, and within seconds, both the egg and the bodies had been efficiently cleared away by silent figures in gray.


    "Keep moving," Cisco murmured from Marco''s pocket. "The cleanup crews don''t distinguish between casualties and witnesses."


    They passed through a market square where everything was for sale - literally everything. Body parts, memories, people''s dreams... Adom saw a man haggling over what appeared to be his own reflection in a mirror. In another stall, a merchant was measuring out precise quantities of bottled screams.


    "Never seen the deep markets?" Lars asked, noticing his expression. "Don''t worry. You get used to it. Eventually."


    The truth was, Adom wasn''t shocked by the Undertow - not really.


    What disturbed him was how familiar it felt. What others saw as the depths of depravity, he recognized as merely the surface of what humanity was capable of. In thirty years, places like the Undertow would be considered tame - quaint, even. The markets he knew from his past life... his future... made this look like a children''s fairground.


    Here, at least, they still bothered with masks and shadows, still kept their darkest dealings underground. In the world he came from, the same trades would happen in broad daylight. Slave markets would operate next to bakeries, flesh merchants would have storefronts with display windows, and people would barely blink at the sight of bodies being cleared from the streets.


    That was, until they were all erased by dragon breath.


    This wasn''t the worst humanity could do. Not by far.


    Adom was about to suggest finding a way out of this charming place when their path was suddenly blocked by a group of men in a not very subtle way.


    The leader - or at least the one with the most obvious limp - was probably human, judging by his completely ordinary attempt at looking menacing. His companion, on the other hand, was about as human as a winter morning.


    Hair white as bone, skin that made paper look tan, and a smile that revealed canines just a bit too long to be sporting. Vampire. Because clearly, this day wasn''t interesting enough already.


    One of Cisco''s men muttering "shit, we''ve been caught" under his breath was probably unnecessary for Adom to deduce these weren''t exactly welcoming party material. But he appreciated the confirmation nonetheless.


    The limping man adjusted his perfectly tailored coat, offering a slight bow that managed to be both courteous and condescending. "Cisco, old friend. What a delightful surprise."


    "Augustus." Cisco''s voice drifted from Marco''s pocket, matching the man''s refined tone. "I wasn''t expecting to find you in these... humble surroundings."


    "Oh, you know me." Augustus''s smile didn''t quite reach his eyes. "I''m remarkably difficult to kill."


    Around them, the market''s usual bustle had subtly shifted. Merchants were suddenly very interested in reorganizing their wares. Passersby found urgent business elsewhere. Even the succubus on the balcony had disappeared behind her silk curtains.


    Augustus clasped his fingers with a sharp snap that echoed off the cavern walls. "Helios?"


    The vampire''s smile widened, revealing more of those unsettling fangs. With theatrical flourish, he reached into an ornate bag at his hip and withdrew... something. The head of a young man, to be precise.


    "Your ''messenger''," Augustus sighed, examining his perfectly manicured nails, "wasn''t quite up to standard. If you''re in the market for quality assassins, you really should come to me first." He clicked his tongue. "So much less... messy that way."


    Marco''s grip on Thormund tightened ever so slightly. Behind him, Lars''s hand disappeared beneath his cloak, while several of Cisco''s other men shifted their stances. One of them - a broad-shouldered man with a scarred face - actually took a half-step back, whispering "Gods, that''s Viktor." Another cursed under his breath, and a third seemed to be fighting the urge to reach for his weapon.


    "I''ll keep that in mind," Cisco replied. "Your attention to detail is, as always, appreciated."


    The vampire - Helios - kept smiling, his eyes fixed on the only child of the group.


    Adom''s muscles tensed as he assessed the situation. He''d never been a battle mage - his talents lay elsewhere. Taking down Damus or that serpent had been straightforward enough, but this... this was different. He might handle one or two of Augustus''s men if things went south, but the vampire was another matter entirely.


    Also...


    Helios hadn''t stopped staring at him since they''d been surrounded. Adom felt an urge to ask if centuries of unlife had made him forget about age-appropriate interactions, or if being creepy around minors was just a vampire thing.


    The market''s usual chaos had given way to a carefully orchestrated exodus. Even the rats seemed to know better than to stick around. The air felt charged, like the moment before lightning strikes, and Adom was acutely aware that they were standing in a very efficient kill box.


    He really should have expected this. After all, nothing in his life had ever been simple.


    Augustus''s gaze drifted to Thormund''s unconscious form, his expression almost pitying. "The barbarian was remarkably easy to provoke. Though I suppose I should grant him a quick death, considering he led us right to you." His smile turned philosophical. "It''s quite fascinating how predictably you appear when your pets are in danger, Cisco."


    "If you have grievances with me," Cisco''s voice remained perfectly steady, "there are proper channels. Protocols. Let''s maintain some civility in our disagreements."


    "Of course, of course." Augustus waved his hand as if shooing away an annoying thought. "Speaking of civility..." He snapped his fingers again. "Bring out our other guest."


    One of his men stepped forward, carrying something bundled in dark cloth. The bundle squirmed.


    Cisco''s sigh seemed to echo through the entire cavern. "Really, Augustus?"


    The cloth fell away, revealing a white-furred mouse beastkin - a lanky teenager with a split lip and defiant eyes that immediately found Cisco in the crowd.


    "Oh hi, Uncle." His voice cracked slightly, trying for casual but landing somewhere between worried and apologetic. "Help?"


    Several of Cisco''s men tensed. Lars''s grip on his concealed weapon tightened enough that his knuckles cracked.


    "What''s your price for my nephew, Augustus?" Cisco''s tone remained infuriatingly businesslike.


    "Well, considering you sent such a... subpar assassin my way," Augustus gestured at Viktor''s head, which Helios was still holding like some macabre accessory, "I think a reasonable portion of your current operations would be fair compensation."


    "No."


    "Uh, Uncle Cisco?" Valiant''s whiskers twitched nervously. "It''s me? Your beloved nephew? Valiant? Remember?" He attempted a winning smile that looked more like a grimace. "Ha... haha?"


    Another profound sigh from Cisco''s direction. "Augustus, you can dream all you want, but you won''t get a single coin from my empire."


    Augustus clicked his tongue, patting Valiant''s little shoulder with exaggerated sympathy. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. You see how cold-hearted your uncle is? Why, if this was my nephew..." He pressed a hand to his chest dramatically. "I would have melted on the spot. Simply melted."


    Adom''s eyes darted around, cataloging every possible escape route while trying to look like he was just admiring the local architecture. The bridge to their left had enough support beams to slow down pursuers. That merchant stall with the bottled dreams could provide decent cover. And that narrow alley between the flesh market and the dream dealer''s shop...


    A fire spell would buy them maybe three seconds of chaos - not much, but enough to slip away if timed right. The vampire would be the real problem, but if he wove an invisibility spell right after the fireball... No, better to prepare the invisibility first, then the fire. Less chance of the spells tangling.


    He was just calculating how many people he''d need to knock over to reach that promising-looking side passage when Augustus''s attention shifted to him.


    "And who might your little friend be?"


    Oh come on.


    The atmosphere shifted. It wasn''t anything obvious - no dramatic gestures or threatening moves - but Adom felt it in his bones. The way Cisco''s men subtly adjusted their stances. The barely audible sound of Lars''s teeth grinding. The slight tremor in someone''s breathing behind him.


    Adom kept his gaze down, suddenly very aware of his heartbeat. His palms were sweating. When had that started?


    "Back off, Augustus. This one''s not for sale, trade, or negotiation."


    There was an edge to Cisco''s voice that made everyone tense - sharp, urgent, like he''d spotted something the rest of them hadn''t yet. Even the mouse beastkin''s whiskers twitched at his uncle''s tone.


    In his peripheral vision, Adom saw Helios shift his weight forward, just slightly. Just enough. The vampire''s head was tilted at that particular angle predators use when they''ve spotted something interesting. Something worth pursuing.


    The market had gone dead silent. Even the rats had stopped scurrying.


    "All the more reason to have him, wouldn''t you say?" Augustus''s smile widened. "What exactly does the boy do that makes him so... special?"


    Adom risked a glance up. Mistake. Helios was staring directly at him, lips parted just enough to show fang. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, and Adom felt something cold and ancient trying to sink hooks into his mind.


    "None of your business."


    "Magic." Helios''s voice sliced through the conversation like a cold knife, making everyone turn to stare at Adom. The vampire''s smile grew impossibly wider, revealing even more of those unsettling fangs. "He does magic, boss. If I focus really hard, I can smell it on him. Real magic. Interesting magic."


    "Oh, a mag-"


    [Fireball]


    BOOM!


    Augustus''s face disappeared in a flash of searing flame, his scream cut short as flesh melted and hair vaporized. The smell of burning meat filled the air as his body staggered backward, hands clawing at what remained of his features.


    [Fireball]


    The second spell hit the potion stall dead center. Glass shattered. Liquids ignited. The explosion sent shards of burning wood and alchemical compounds in every direction. Someone''s arm went flying past, still clutching a sword.


    [Camouflage]


    [You have slain [Augustus Cain]]


    "KILL THEM ALL!" Cisco''s command cracked like a whip.


    The place erupted into violence. Lars''s crossbow bolt found a throat, spraying arterial blood across the stone floor. Marco''s blade opened a man from navel to sternum, entrails spilling out in a steaming heap. The air filled with screams and the wet sounds of steel meeting flesh.


    Helios''s roar of fury shook dust from the ceiling as he lunged through the flames, his pristine clothes now splattered with gore. The vampire''s fangs snapped shut on empty air where Adom had been standing a heartbeat before.


    Dream-vials exploded, releasing nightmares made manifest. Men screamed as shadowy apparitions added to the pandemonium. The acrid stench of burning hair and meat mixed with the copper tang of blood.


    Through the chaos, Adom moved exactly as planned, each step calculated. His first human kill in this life lay burning behind him, face melted into an unrecognizable mass of charred flesh. No time to think about that now. No time to process. Just move.


    Adom''s heart hammered against his ribs as he weaved through the carnage. A shadow-tendril whipped past his face, close enough that he felt its cold touch brush his cheek. His [Camouflage] flickered ¨C maintaining invisibility required focus, and his mind was anything but focused right now.


    Blood. There was so much blood. Someone''s intestines squelched under his boot as he dodged past a falling body. The spell flickered again. Calm down. Calm down. The exit was just ahead, past the-


    His [Camouflage] failed completely as a nightmare-shadow slashed across his path. He stumbled, regained his footing, recast the spell with trembling hands. The magic sputtered, barely taking hold. His training had never covered anything like this. The screaming, the burning flesh, the-


    Focus. There. The passage he''d spotted earlier. Just twenty more steps. Fifteen. Ten-


    "FOUND YOU!"


    Helios''s voice, far too close behind him.


    [Water Spray] hit the ground, followed instantly by [Fire] - steam erupted in a scalding cloud. Helios blurred through it, skin blistering but healing just as fast.


    [Control]


    A merchant''s table flipped up, sending glass vials flying at the vampire. Helios dodged most, but one shattered against his shoulder, a liquid hissing as it ate into his flesh.


    "Getting annoying now-"


    [Fireball] struck the airborne liquid, igniting it. Blue flames crawled up the vampire''s arm. He snarled, patting them out even as Adom was already casting-


    [Push]


    The burning display cart rocketed toward Helios. The vampire batted it aside, but Adom had already woven-


    [Stone Spike]


    The jagged protrusion caught Helios''s leg, tearing through muscle. Blood sprayed, but the wound was closing even as-


    CRACK!


    Adom saw the fist coming. Saw it shatter the [Barrier] he weaved on his stomach. It barely stopped the blow from tearing through him, but he still felt the full force of its consequences.


    Reality compressed into a single point of agony.


    The world became pure force. His feet left the ground, stomach somewhere in his throat, the barrier spell creaking under impossible pressure as his small body turned into a projectile.


    People screamed, diving out of the way as he crashed through the wall of a shop. Wood splintered. Glass shattered. Even through the barrier, he felt ribs crack, organs compress. Adult bodies could hardly take hits like that. Children''s bodies...


    Suffice to say that without the spell, Adom would have been paste on the wall.


    [+4 White Wyrm Body]


    Adom''s world narrowed to blinding pain. He couldn''t breathe. Couldn''t think. His body convulsed, stomach heaving violently as he curled into himself. Black spots danced in his vision. Every attempt to draw breath sent daggers through his chest. That body enhancement skill might have been the only thing that kept the barrier spell from being insufficient - his organs would have liquified on impact otherwise.


    Through the settling dust and debris, two yellow eyes gleamed. Helios emerged from the hole in the wall, wood cracking under his feet as he approached, fangs glinting in a satisfied smile.


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    "Still alive? Impressive. Let''s fix that."


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    First: begging for your life.


    Completely sensible. Adom was a mage, after all. Useful. Practical. The vampire might see value in keeping him alive.


    Second: running away.


    Less effective, granted. Playing hide-and-seek with someone who could punch you through architecture typically ended with your neck between their fangs. But still rational.


    Yes. These were the thoughts of reasonable people making reasonable choices in unreasonable situations.


    Adom had always considered himself a calm reasonable person. Rational. Logical. Whenever the situation called for it.


    But sometimes, when you''re a 79-year-old man in a child''s body, and someone hits you so hard you become one with the furniture, you discover new things about yourself.


    Like spite.


    Pure, unadulterated, petty spite.


    The kind of spite that makes you forget you only have one life to lose. The kind that makes you want to punch a vampire in his perfect teeth just because he made you go through a wall. The kind that burns hotter than reason, logic, or self-preservation.


    <div>


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    Someone was dying here today.


    [System recalibrating...]


    [Detecting physiological changes...]


    [New parameter detected: Emotional Catalyst - Spite]


    [Initiating power synchronization...]


    [New skill: Spiteful Fighting Spirit acquired! (Rare)]


    ? Physical Parameters Updated:


    <ul>


    <li>Strength: +50%</li>


    <li>Agility: +30%</li>


    <li>Reflexes: +40%</li>


    <li>Pain Tolerance: +100%</li>


    <li>Mana Pool: +25%</li>


    </ul>


    [Warning: Physiological changes detected]


    ? Heart Rate: 180 BPM ¡ü


    ? Blood Pressure: Critical ¡ü


    ? Adrenaline Levels: 300% above baseline


    ? Muscle Tension: Maximum


    ? Vessel Dilation: 85%


    [BREAKTHROUGH - Fluid Channels Unlocked!]


    ? Status: Active


    ? Flow: Unstable


    ? Resonance: Spite-aligned


    ? Channel Pattern: Azure Flame


    [Integration Complete]


    Blue energy crackled across Adom''s skin like living flame, his rage crystallizing into raw power. For the first time in his life, he felt fluid moving through his body, responding to his fury, turning his spite into strength.


    He glared at the vampire, whose smug grin never wavered.


    "I''ll wipe that smile off your face, punk."

 Chapter 09. Making Enemies And Friends

    The blue fluid crackling across Adom''s skin actually made Helios pause. For about three seconds, which was probably some kind of record for vampire reaction times to unexpected situations.


    "Oh?" His perfect eyebrows rose slightly. "Now that''s interesting. Some hidden strength perhaps? A touch of courage?" He took a step forward, wood creaking beneath his feet. "Admirable, really. Most would have-"


    The man started monologuing.


    Helios, it seems, really wanted Adom to understand the vast gulf between them. The centuries of experience. The careful cultivation of power. The futility of resistance. Something about being apex predators and food chains, blah, blah, blah.


    Adom wasn''t really listening. There was no time for that. Instead, he was remembering another rule of street fighting. Was it rule four? Maybe seven? Honestly, at this point, the exact numbering didn''t matter.


    What mattered was the principle:


    ''The best time to attack is when they''re still explaining why you can''t possibly beat them.''


    [Stone Spike]


    Stone spikes erupted through the floorboards, punching through Helios''s legs, chest, shoulders - pinning him in place like an insect on display. His perfect face contorted in shock, then rage, then pain.


    [Fireball]. Once, then...


    [Fireball] [Fireball] [Fireball] [Fireball]


    The rapid-fire spells lit up the room like a miniature sun.


    Heat rolled off in waves, warping the air and forcing sweat from every pore. The first fireball caught Helios in the chest with a roar that drowned out all other sounds. The second and third followed with thunderous cracks, their explosions merging into one continuous blast that engulfed his torso. The fourth turned his head into a torch. His screams started as something inhuman, then became very, very human.


    Each spell hit before the previous one''s flames had died. They left deep scorch marks where they collided, and soon, the stench of burning flesh mingled with the wood smoke. The heat became so intense that the remaining glass in the windows began to crack.


    "MAGE! IT''S A MAGE!"


    People scrambled over each other trying to escape the shop, their previous morbid curiosity evaporating at the sight of actual combat magic.


    [Control]


    Everything that wasn''t nailed down - broken furniture, glass shards, wooden splinters, even that merchant''s cart from earlier - suddenly developed a burning desire to become intimately acquainted with Helios''s person. At high velocity.


    And because Adom was feeling particularly spiteful (and because some habits are hard to break), another [Fireball] for good measure.


    The explosion rattled windows and sent smoke billowing into the street.


    There was something deeply satisfying about setting the object of your anger on fire. Multiple times. Probably not the healthiest coping mechanism, but Adom wasn''t exactly looking for therapy recommendations right now.


    Still, Adom knew better than to celebrate too early.


    The problem with vampires was their endurance. Everyone knew that. Without the power of the sun, killing one was like trying to put out a forest fire with a water pistol - theoretically possible, practically suicidal.


    Which was why Adom wasn''t particularly surprised when the charred, smoking wreck that was Helios broke free from the stone spikes with a sound that might have been a roar, if his vocal cords hadn''t been mostly ash. The vampire launched himself forward, movements jerky and wild, claws extended where his perfectly manicured fingers used to be.


    Rule number five of street fighting came to mind: "The best defense is not being there when they try to hit you."


    The vampire''s burned eyes were useless, but his other senses were working just fine. Not that it helped much - Adom could practically taste the rage coming off him. Every swipe, every lunge was powered by pure fury.


    [Fireball]


    Dodge.


    [Push]


    Roll.


    Another [Fireball] for good measure.


    BOOM


    Each miss, each new burn, each impact just fed that anger. Helios''s movements became more erratic, more predictable. The kind of patterns even someone like Adom - who''d spent more time reading books than throwing punches - could read.


    Which brought him to another rule of street fighting: "If you''re going to do something stupid, do it with absolute confidence."


    There - the opening was so obvious. Helios overextended on a swipe, his balance shifted just a fraction too far forward.


    [Steel Fist]


    [Push]


    The second spell wasn''t aimed at Helios. Adom cast it on himself, launching his body forward like a missile. The combination of momentum and reinforced fist met Helios''s jaw in what was possibly the most vicious hook ever thrown by a 79 years old boy.


    The impact was spectacular. Bone met bone with a crack that echoed through the room. Adom''s shoulder dislocated instantly - not that he felt it. Too much spite for pain right now.


    [-13 Life force]


    [+6 White Wyrm Body]


    [-56 Mana Pool]


    Helios went flying through the same wall he''d sent Adom through earlier - a fact that brought Adom more satisfaction than he cared to admit. The vampire''s body disappeared into the market, accompanied by the sound of multiple impacts and shattering wood.


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    Maybe Helios had passed gas on impact too. Adom liked that idea.


    He didn''t stick around to verify the trajectory or landing site. His shoulder was starting to send urgent messages to his brain about its current condition, and he had a feeling hanging around to admire his handiwork would fall under "pushing his luck."


    Besides, he had places to be. Preferably places that weren''t here.


    <div>


    [System recalibrating...]


    [Spite-enhanced parameters degrading...]


    [Pain suppression: 68%... 45%... 31%...]


    The Undertow was descending into pure chaos. Helios wasn''t the only one making noise anymore - seems the vampire''s little rampage had kicked over a hornet''s nest of old rivalries. Somewhere to his left, he heard the distinctive sound of steel meeting flesh, followed by screams. Gang colors started appearing: red ribbons, blue sashes, marked skin.


    "Kill those Brotherhood fucks!"


    "Watch the shadows! They''re coming through the-"


    CRACK


    A body flew past Adom, hitting a wall with a wet thud.


    Behind him, Helios''s rage echoed off the walls - the sound of someone methodically destroying everything in his path. Wood splintered. Metal shrieked. People screamed.


    [Camouflage]


    The spell wove around him just as two men with matching tattoos started gutting each other with curved daggers not three meters away. Blood sprayed across fleeing civilians. Nobody stopped to help. Nobody even looked back.


    A woman shoulder-checked him as she ran past, clutching something wrapped in cloth to her chest. His shoulder exploded with fresh agony - the spite-fueled numbness was definitely wearing off now. Through the gaps in the crowd, he caught glimpses of what was happening in the market proper: A man being beaten to death with brass knuckles. Someone getting dragged into a dark corner by multiple hands. Fire spreading from stall to stall.


    [Pain suppression: 24%... 15%...]


    The Undertow was eating itself alive.


    "THE MAGE! FIND THE FUCKING MAGE!"


    Helios''s voice carried even through the mayhem. Right. Time to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. Adom pushed forward, following the densest part of the crowd, each step sending fresh waves of pain through his body.


    The air was full of thick smoke, blood, and fear. More screams. More fighting. More dying.


    [Pain suppression: 8%... System stabilizing...]


    A hand gripped his injured shoulder - firm, deliberate. Someone had seen through the spell. Adom''s fist shot up, already channeling another [Steel Fist], when-


    "Wait-!" A harsh whisper, barely audible over the chaos. A familiar face materialized beside him, ducking low.


    "E-" Adom started, but Eren''s hand clamped over his mouth. A merchant crashed past them, knocking several people aside in his panic.


    "The fuck you looking at?" Eren snarled at a woman who''d turned to stare at him apparently talking to thin air. She quickly looked away, pushing deeper into the crowd.


    They kept moving, Eren''s grip steering them through the mass of bodies. Adom maintained the [Camouflage], his lips barely moving as he whispered, "How-?"


    "Your footprints, idiot," Eren muttered through clenched teeth, pretending to adjust his collar. "Left perfect tracks in the ashes back there."


    A drunk stumbled between them, separating their conversation for a moment. When he passed, Eren continued, "Listen carefully. These people? They''re heading for the safe zones. Guards there have-"


    "WHICH WAY DID HE GO?" Helios''s roar cut through the din. Several people near them stumbled in their rush to get away.


    "-magic detection tools," Eren finished, now speaking into his sleeve like he was wiping his face. "Show up invisible, they''ll gut you before asking questions."


    "And I should trust you because...?" Adom whispered back, ducking as someone swung a makeshift weapon at unseen pursuers.


    "Because I-" Eren stopped, shoved a gawking teenager aside. "What, you got a better plan? Your shoulder''s fucked, you''re in the middle of the biggest shitshow the Undertow''s seen this month, and that vampire? He''s naked, literally smoking and angry. Very angry."


    As if to emphasize his point, another explosion of violence erupted behind them. More screams. More running.


    Adom''s shoulder throbbed in agreement. "Fine. Lead the-"


    "Stop talking to me," Eren hissed. "Just follow. And fix your spell - your right leg''s showing."


    They peeled away from the crowd, moving against the flow. Eren shouldered past panicking people, creating a wake that Adom could follow. Each collision sent fresh pain through his shoulder.


    A wet, meaty sound drew Adom''s attention. The goblin - the one that had been chained like a dog earlier - was straddling its former master''s chest. The merchant''s hands were raised in desperate supplication.


    "Please, I''m sorry, I''ll-"


    "MASTER SORRY?" CRACK The goblin brought a bloodied rock down. "SORRY NOT ENOUGH!" CRACK "CHAINS HURT!" CRACK "HUNGRY ALWAYS!" CRACK


    The merchant''s pleas became gurgling sounds. Then nothing. The goblin kept swinging, screaming incoherently until what remained of the merchant''s head was a dark paste against the cobblestones. Someone vomited nearby.


    Eren pulled Adom into an alley. The sounds of the massacre in the market grew slightly muffled, replaced by closer, more intimate violence. Two men were strangling each other in a doorway. Neither seemed to be winning.


    "Help! Please!"


    The elf''s cage. It was wedged between two waste bins. His fingers gripped the bars, knuckles white. Blood trickled from where the metal had cut into his palms.


    "Sorry," Eren muttered, barely slowing. "Got my own stuff to-"


    "Not you," he hissed, eyes fixed on a point just beside Eren. ""The mage. I sense you. Please."


    A door exploded outward next to them. Two women tumbled out, one driving a broken bottle into the other''s neck. Eren cursed, pulling harder.


    "I know what you are!" the elf called after them. "What you can do! Please! They''ll come back for me!"


    The desperation cracked his voice. Adom''s step faltered. Eren''s grip turned bruising.


    "Don''t," he said. "You help him, word gets out, we''re both dead. Move."


    Behind them, the elf rattled his cage, his pleas drowned by approaching shouts and breaking glass.


    As they passed the cage, Adom''s fingers twitched. He tried to weave [Control] while maintaining [Camouflage] - like trying to juggle while walking a tightrope. His invisibility flickered, parts of him fading in and out like a bad mirage.


    "What are you doing?" Eren murmured, eyes widening. "Turn invisible before we''re-"


    That split second was all Adom needed. [Control] lashed out, crushing into the lock''s mechanism. Metal groaned, pins shifted-


    Click


    The sound was lost in the mayhem. Even Eren, still dragging him forward, didn''t notice. But Adom caught the elf''s sharp intake of breath, the slight widening of those amber eyes as understanding dawned. The cage door was still closed, but now...


    They turned a corner, leaving the elf and his not-quite-locked cage behind. What he did with that opportunity was his business now.


    The deeper levels of the Undertow were different. Here, the chaos of the upper market felt distant, replaced by something more... deliberate. The corridors widened into vast chambers carved from living rock, their ceilings lost in darkness above. Crystal formations cast everything in a bluish glow.


    "You can drop the spell," Eren muttered, his shoulders finally relaxing. "Down here, a cloak draws less attention than footprints appearing from nowhere."


    Adom let [Camouflage] fade, his mana reserves grateful for the break. The air was cooler here, carrying strange scents - incense, exotic spices, sweets.


    They emerged into what could only be called a bazaar, though that word felt inadequate. Where the upper market dealt in survival, this place traded in luxury. Silk tapestries hung between ornate pillars. Fountains burbled quietly, their waters tinted with swirling colors that probably weren''t entirely natural.


    "Keep moving," Eren muttered. "And don''t stare too long at anything. Some of these merchants, they take eye contact as an invitation to negotiate."


    Merchants here didn''t shout their wares - they didn''t need to.


    Their goods spoke for themselves. A woman in flowing robes demonstrated a dancing flame that changed color to match viewers'' emotions. An old man with silver-rimmed spectacles arranged golden lamps that probably were more than just golden lamps.


    But it was the menagerie that dominated everything.


    Cages lined the walls, each more elaborate than the last. Not the crude iron boxes from above - these were works of art. Gold and silver filigree, crystal and precious stones, designed to display their occupants like the treasures they were.


    "The Collector''s Corner," Eren explained, noting Adom''s stare. "Where the truly rare finds end up."


    A serpent with scales like opals coiled in a terrarium of living crystal. A bird with feathers that seemed to shift between planes of existence preened itself on a perch of pure silver. But it was the massive golden cage at the center that drew every eye.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Inside, a midnight puma lounged on cushions of deep purple silk. Its fur was darker than shadow itself, seeming to absorb the crystal light rather than reflect it. When it yawned, its teeth gleamed like polished daggers.


    When it turned its head, Adom found himself staring into eyes as startlingly blue as his own. The creature held his gaze for a long moment.


    "Don''t," Eren grabbed his arm, breaking the connection. "That thing''s worth more than either of us could make in ten lifetimes. Two million gold for a single claw." He pulled Adom along. "Killed three handlers before they figured out it only eats off silver plates. Like feeding royalty."


    The puma''s eyes followed them as they passed.


    "Where exactly are we going?" Adom asked, keeping his voice low as they moved through the market.


    Eren glanced around before answering. "There''s a portal ahead. Old one. Leads straight to the outer Dregs." He adjusted his collar, a nervous habit. "Most of the main exits are probably locked down by now, but this one... let''s just say not many remember it''s here."


    "Sorry about that," Adom said, thinking of the chaos they''d left behind. "About causing all this trouble."


    Eren let out a short, bitter laugh. "It happens more than you''d think. If it wasn''t you, it would''ve been someone else." He stopped suddenly, turning to face Adom. "But not everyone takes down one of the Third Sector''s top dogs single-handedly. And a mage at that." His eyes narrowed beneath his hood. "You''re lucky your face isn''t known. The kind of bounty they''d put on your head..." He shook his head and started walking again. "Let''s just get to that portal."


    A small voice piped up from somewhere between them. "Uhhh... I don''t think that portal''s working anymore, actually."


    Eren and Adom froze.


    "What was that?!" Eren''s hand went to his knife.


    "How would I know?" Adom spun around, looking for the source. "Did that sound like me to you?"


    "No, but it definitely came from..." Eren pointed at Adom''s cloak.


    Adom felt something move against his side, like a small creature skittering beneath his clothes. That horrible, skin-crawling sensation when you feel something alive where nothing alive should be. His hand balled into a fist, ready to smack whatever it was-


    "Don''t squish me! I''m a person, a person!" the voice squeaked in panic.


    A tiny white head poked out from a fold in his cloak - pointed nose, whiskers, and very human-like eyes.


    "You..." Adom''s fist froze mid-swing.


    "Haha... hello there!" The white mouse gave an awkward little wave with one paw. "Lovely weather we''re having down here, isn''t it? Very... um... cave-like?"


    "Mister Valiant?" Eren''s jaw dropped.


    "Oh, hey Eren!" The mouse brightened. "How''s it going? Haven''t seen you in a while, dang. You grew up even more than last time."


    Adom pulled them into a shadowed alcove, away from the market''s prying eyes.


    "How long have you been here?"


    "Oh, you know..." Valiant fidgeted with his whiskers. "Just... the whole time? The moment never seemed quite right to mention it." He let out an awkward little laugh that died quickly under Adom''s stare.


    "How did you even-" Eren started.


    "Jumped right into his pocket!" Valiant perked up. "Right when he was setting Augustus'' head on fire. Which, by the way, very impressive." The mouse gave an enthusiastic gesture with his paws. "I mean, you''re probably the most wanted enemy of the Moon Children and their affiliates now, but still... that was something else! The way his head just-"


    "Thanks," Adom cut him off, sounding exhausted. His day had already been complicated enough without finding out he''d been carrying a stowaway mouse-person through half the Undertow.


    "Right." Valiant smoothed his whiskers, undeterred. "Oh, and I must say, your magic has this fascinating smell. Like lightning and old books. Did you know that? Probably not, since you''re not mouse-sized. We''re very sensitive to these things, well, I am. You see-"


    "Earlier," Adom interrupted, "you said the portal doesn''t work anymore. How would you know that?"


    "Oh, well- hey, wait a minute." Valiant''s whiskers drooped. "Here I am, trying to have an intellectual discussion about the olfactory properties of thaumaturgical emanations with an actual mage, and he just- I mean, do you know how rare it is to meet someone who can smell magic and e-"


    Eren and Adom exchanged a look.


    "Mister Valiant." Eren''s sharp tone cut through the mouse''s rambling.


    "Hmm? Oh! Right, right. The portal." Valiant cleared his throat. "Well, you see-" Valiant stood on his hind legs, adopting what he clearly thought was a more professional posture. "I was actually checking all the escape routes - that''s what we do, you know, us mice. Well, some of us. Actually, mostly just me. Uncle Cisco says I shouldn''t, but how else would I- right, sorry, the portal."


    Adom and Eren shared another look.


    "Three days ago," Valiant continued hurriedly, noticing their expressions, "some cloaked individuals came through. They did something to it - ritual stuff, very fancy. Lots of chanting. Changed the runic patterns. The portal''s still there, but now it just leads to a wall. Solid stone." He mimed hitting his head. "Found that out the hard way."


    "And you didn''t think to tell anyone?" Eren asked.


    "I was going to! But then there was this fascinating shipment that came in, and then I got distracted by this shiny thing, and then- oh, you''re both giving me that look Uncle Cisco does."


    "Is there another way out?" Adom asked, his patience wearing thin.


    Before Valiant could answer, a commotion erupted from the direction of the market. Shouts. Running feet. The sound of metal being drawn.


    "FOUND THEM!" A voice called out.


    Adom backed away, only to feel his spine stiffen at the sound of boots behind him. Shadows shifted on the floor - he looked up. Crossbows glinted in the crystal light, their wielders lining the upper levels like crows.


    More figures emerged from the market''s shadows, brandishing everything from noble-forged steel to crude butcher''s cleavers. They parted, making way.


    Helios stepped forward, pale flesh unmarked, pristine - and completely bare. His smile showed too many teeth.


    "I''ve been looking for you, mage." His voice carried through the sudden silence. "Our last encounter was... cut short. Being tossed aside like a ragdoll." He touched his chest, where flames had eaten through him hours before. "The burning alive part? Also not appreciated. Even if I can heal."


    Adom''s eyes flickered between the weapons surrounding them. "Maybe put some clothes on first? I mean, who talks to people with their peepee out like that?"


    Something dangerous flashed behind Helios'' smile. The temperature seemed to drop.


    "Always with the clever words," Helios purred. "Let''s see how well you talk with your throat open."


    The circle of steel tightened.


    Adom''s mind raced, calculating angles and distances. Crossbows above. Steel below. Too enclosed for fire - he''d cook himself. But air... air was everywhere.


    In his mind, geometric patterns began to form. A barrier spell that could protect all their angles needed a perfect geodesic structure - interlocking triangles forming a sphere. Each vertex had to align precisely, or the whole thing would collapse under pressure. Three seconds minimum to weave it properly.


    "When I signal, drop," he whispered to Eren.


    Helios'' bare feet made no sound on the stone. "What are you whispering about, little mage?"


    The air compression would be trickier. Hexagonal patterns layered in three dimensions, each layer compressing inward while maintaining stability. Two seconds, if he could hold the barrier steady simultaneously.


    A crossbowman above adjusted his stance. Another loaded an incendiary bolt. The circle of steel tightened even more.


    "Take aim," Helios commanded. The silver patterns on his skin began to pulse.


    Adom started weaving. The barrier pattern came first, each mental triangle locking into place.


    [-12 Mana Pool]


    One mistake and both spells would collapse.


    Helios'' eyes narrowed. "He''s weaving. Kill-"


    "NOW!"


    The barrier erupted outward just as crossbow bolts launched. They sparked against the geodesic surface, but Adom was already weaving the compression spell. Hexagons folded inward, layer after layer, the air growing dense enough to distort light.


    "Break that barrier!"


    Silver light slammed against Adom''s defenses. The geometric pattern wavered. A crack appeared - then another. He couldn''t hold both spells much longer.


    The compression was almost complete. Just one more layer...


    A crossbow bolt punched through the weakening barrier, grazing his shoulder. Blood splattered the stone.


    Now or never.


    Adom released the compression spell. The hexagonal pattern exploded outward, air rushing to fill the void. The shockwave hit like a physical wall.


    Bodies flew. Crystal shattered. Support pillars cracked.


    Three seconds until they regrouped. Three seconds to move.


    "Let''s go, Eren!"


    "They''ll find us. They''ll kill us. We''re dead. We are so dead." Eren''s words came between gasps as they ran deeper into the market, where life continued undisturbed.


    Adom''s eyes swept across the rows of cages, mind racing. "The merchants who run these cages - what kind of people are they?"


    "What?" Eren glanced back at the chaos they''d left behind.


    "As a group. Are they more powerful than Helios'' people?"


    "MAGE!" Helios'' roar echoed through the market corridors.


    "They''re the Silver Circle merchants. They''re among the most powerful here, yes, and they have bad blood with the Children, but why-" Eren''s eyes widened as Adom''s intention became clear. "No. No, no, no-"


    [Control]. The spell wrapped around the first lock, crushing it. Then the next. And the next. The creatures inside didn''t move yet, unaware of their freedom. The serpent. The reality-shifting bird. There were even Dire Wolves.


    "Have you lost your mind?!"


    Adom''s gaze met ice-blue eyes. The midnight puma watched him intently from its golden cage, tracking his movements as he freed the others. Its muscles rippled beneath fur as it pressed against the bars, waiting.


    Adom smiled.


    [Control].


    The lock shattered.


    The puma exploded from its cage with a roar that shook the crystal lights.


    "He''s completely craz-" Valiant''s squeak cut short as Adom filled his lungs.


    "THE ANIMALS ARE ESCAPING!"


    Then it began.


    A woman screamed as the puma landed in the crowd. Other creatures finally noticed their broken locks. Chaos erupted.


    "My merchandise!"


    "The cages!"


    "Run!"


    The wolves went first, running as a pack. The bird took flight, becoming half-visible, then solid, then gone. The opal serpent slithered free, scales catching light like broken rainbows.


    "There!" Helios'' voice, closer now.


    Adom caught a falling merchant with [Pull] as the crowd surged. Another stumbled - he used [Push] to direct them away from trampling feet.


    Somewhere, Helios cursed. The market descended into beautiful mayhem.


    But this wasn''t enough.


    They needed more chaos to disappear.


    "My beasts! My fortune!" A merchant in expensive silk robes lunged desperately toward the cages, even as the beasts swooped over his head. "Years of collecting, ruined!"


    [Pull]. Adom caught him before he could fall into gorilla looking beast''s path.


    "I saw who did this!" Adom said urgently, steadying the merchant. "The naked vampire? Breaking all the locks?" He released his grip. "He went that way!"


    Fear. Rage. Financial ruin. In moments of blind panic, the human mind seeks the simplest explanation - preferably one that can be punched. And there''s nothing simpler than a naked, arrogant vampire with a history of property damage.


    The merchant''s face contorted with fresh rage. "HELIOS!" he screamed into the chaos. "YOU BASTARD!"


    Other merchants took up the cry. "It''s Helios! Of the Moon Children!" "He''s destroying our stock!" "Kill him!"


    Armed guards - the merchants'' personal security - turned their weapons toward the approaching vampire. A crossbow bolt struck Helios in the shoulder. His response was immediate and brutal - one movement, and the shooter''s neck snapped.


    "No, you fools-" Helios started, but another merchant''s guards attacked, their blades finding flesh.


    Adom allowed himself a small smile as he ran, leaving the merchant''s shouts behind them. The seeds of doubt would spread faster than any denial.


    "That was evil," Eren muttered as they ducked into another passageway.


    "Quite vicious for a child," Valiant muttered from Adom''s collar.


    "You just started a war between the Silver Circle merchants and the Children of the Moon," Eren said incredulously.


    Before Adom could respond, Helios'' scream split the air. "MAAAAAGE!"


    They glimpsed the scene through gaps in the fleeing crowd. Three merchant guards had Helios pinned with spears. Blood ran down his body. But then he started healing and broke free.


    The nearest guard''s chest simply... caved in. Another''s head twisted completely backward. The third tried to run - Helios caught him by the throat and-


    "Shit!" Eren yanked Adom sideways as more figures emerged from the shadows ahead. Helios'' people.


    "How did they-"


    [Control]. Adom sent market stalls crashing down, scattering merchandise. But one of Helios'' men was already too close, blade whistling toward Adom''s head. Too fast to dodge. Too fast to weave a spell.


    The sword never connected. A crossbow bolt sprouted from the attacker''s skull, seemingly fired from nowhere. The body crumpled.


    No time to process. They ran.


    Adom''s lungs burned. Each spell was taking more effort now. Black spots danced at the edges of his vision.


    "Wait-" Valiant squeaked.


    A figure emerged from a side passage, hurling one of Helios'' men through a crystal display like a rag doll. Marco. And behind him - Cisco''s other men, engaging the enemy with practiced efficiency.


    "Over here!" Marco''s voice boomed over the chaos. "Move it!"


    The remaining enemies fell back as they had been overpowered.


    "Reinforcements," Eren breathed. "How did they-"


    "Questions later," Marco growled. "We need to go. Now."


    Marco led them through a maze of alleys until they reached a nondescript doorway, barely visible between two buildings. A hooded figure stood guard, hands hidden in flowing sleeves.


    No words were exchanged. Marco pressed something into the figure''s palm - it glinted like crystal in the dim light. The hood nodded, and pale fingers traced geometric patterns in the air. The doorway shimmered, reality folding inward until it resembled a liquid mirror.


    Marco gestured. "In. Now."


    Adom stared at the portal''s rippling surface. Usually, he''d argue - portals were horrible things that took you apart and put you back together wrong. But right now, having his molecules scrambled seemed vastly preferable to staying in a city with an enraged vampire.


    He stepped through.


    The familiar sensation of being unmade washed over him. His consciousness scattered like dust in wind, each particle aware but disconnected. For a moment that lasted both an instant and an eternity, Adom ceased to exist as a singular being.


    Then reality snapped back.


    He stumbled out onto grass, gasping. Above him, stars filled an endless sky - real stars, not the crystal lights of the market.


    The familiar stench of the dregs - waste and rust and desperation - replaced the market''s incense.


    "What the hell was that?!" One of Marco''s men - Lars - suddenly shouted, pointing into the darkness. "Something just-"


    "What are you on about?" another man grumbled as he emerged from the portal.


    "I swear I saw something! Right there - darted into that alley!" Lars was already drawing his weapon.


    Eren emerged next, looking slightly green, followed by Marco and the rest of his men. The portal rippled one final time before collapsing in on itself, leaving only empty air where the doorway had been.


    Marco''s hand went to his blade. "Lars. How many?"


    "Just one, I think. Fast. Too fast."


    "Spread out," Marco ordered. Two of his men swept the alley with practiced efficiency, but found nothing - just shadows and garbage.


    "I''m telling you, I saw-" Lars insisted, still pointing.


    "Your eyes are playing tricks," one of the others said. "Portal travel does that."


    "But-"


    A small white head popped out of Adom''s pocket, whiskers twitching. Valiant stretched dramatically, tiny paws reaching for the sky. "FREEDOM!" he squeaked, then immediately started grooming his ruffled fur. "Oh, blessed air! No more pocket! No more hiding! No more-"


    "Keep your voice down," Eren muttered.


    "You try being stuffed in a pocket while someone runs for their life," Valiant sniffed, but his volume dropped considerably. "I think I have lint in places mice shouldn''t have lint."


    "Still complaining about everything, nephew?"


    "Uncle!" Valiant said. He scampered down Adom''s arm, pausing at his wrist. "Oh, now you show up. Where were you when everything went sideways?"


    <div>


    <div>


    From the shadows emerged Cisco, impeccably dressed. He adjusted his tiny suit. "Running a business, dear nephew. I see you''re alive - not thanks to your reckless habits, I''m sure."


    "Not thanks to YOU," Valiant retorted. "If it wasn''t for the mage here-"


    "Ah yes." Cisco''s gaze shifted to Adom. "Young Master Law. You eliminate one of my greatest thorns and save my wayward nephew in the same day." His whiskers twitched thoughtfully. "Augustus had been a particular... irritant for three years. Cost me seventeen good men, two shipping routes, and my favorite tea set."


    "It was nothing," Adom said, trying not to think too hard about how casually they discussed death.


    Marco stepped forward, Cisco balanced professionally in his palm, raising him to eye level with Adom. The sight of the enforcer carefully holding his tiny boss like a delicate teacup was... something.


    "Nothing?" Cisco straightened his tie. "I think not. We''re professionals, Master Law. We believe in paying our debts." He paused, whiskers twitching. "Should you ever find yourself with an... inconvenient acquaintance, our services are at your disposal. At a discount, naturally."


    "Marco," Cisco called without looking away from Adom. "What sort of discount can we extend to Master Law?"


    Marco''s response was immediate: "Based on current market rates, operational costs, and factoring in the elimination of Augustus'' competing enterprise, we could offer a twenty-seven point five percent reduction on our standard fees, sir. Thirty-two if the target doesn''t require disposal."


    Cisco nodded along to the calculations, still balanced perfectly in Marco''s steadily held palm.


    Adom couldn''t help but chuckle. "I... appreciate the offer. Though I hope I won''t need such services anytime soon."


    "Of course, of course." Cisco said. "But the offer stands. Now, if you''ll excuse us - we have some loose ends to tie up regarding tonight''s... excitement."


    "I hope to see you around, Master Law!" Valiant called out, already scampering up Marco''s shoulder.


    "Not hope," Cisco corrected, his form still perfectly poised. "Expect. One month from now, Master Law. This exact hour." He checked his miniature pocket watch. "Currently ten past midnight. Do remember."


    They melted into the shadows of the Dregs, leaving Adom and Eren alone in the oppressive darkness. The younger boy started walking, and Adom followed, their footsteps echoing off the narrow walls of the winding alleys.


    Above them, clotheslines created strange shadows in the moonlight, like prison bars across their path.


    "So," Eren broke the silence, stepping over a puddle that reflected the glow of a distant lantern. "You''re a mage."


    "Yeah." Adom''s voice was quiet, matching the hushed atmosphere of the sleeping Dregs. Somewhere in the distance, a cat yowled.


    "That was pretty cool, what you did back there. With the beasts and everything." Eren glanced back. "Never seen anything like it."


    Adom let out a dry chuckle. "Cool? I killed a man today, Eren. And those beasts I freed? They''re loose in the city now. They might hurt people."


    They passed under a broken archway, its stones worn smooth by decades of shoulders brushing against them. The smell of rot and river-damp grew stronger as they descended deeper into the maze-like streets.


    "Hurt people?" Eren scoffed, kicking aside a broken bottle. "Down here in the Undertow? Trust me, there aren''t many who wouldn''t deserve it." He shrugged. "Besides, those beasts will probably head for the forests outside the city. Animals usually do."


    "That''s... a rather harsh view of things."


    "It''s a harsh place." Eren''s voice was matter-of-fact. "You did what you had to do. That''s how it works down here."


    They turned another corner, and a gust of wind brought the smell of the river, stronger now. Mixed with it was the scent of smoke from somewhere in the distance, and the ever-present undertone of decay that seemed to permeate the Dregs.


    "Still," Adom insisted, "taking a life shouldn''t be something we consider... normal."


    "Says the man who just got offered a discount on assassination services," Eren grinned over his shoulder, and despite the grim subject matter, there was something infectious about his youthful cheek.


    "Got me there," Adom admitted, stepping carefully over a suspicious dark patch on the ground. The moonlight caught Eren''s profile as he turned, and something about it tugged at Adom''s memory, but the thought slipped away before he could grasp it.


    They reached the invisible line where the Dregs ended and the cleaner streets of the city began. The contrast was stark - even the cobblestones changed, becoming more even, better maintained. Eren stopped at this boundary, hands in his pockets.


    <div>


    "Well, this is it," he said, rocking back on his heels. "I should head back. Been a wild night, hasn''t it?"


    He smiled again, and something about that smile caught in Adom''s mind like a splinter. The moonlight fell across Eren''s face, highlighting his features, and Adom found himself staring, trying to place why it felt so familiar when the boy smiled like that.


    "Something wrong?" Eren asked, his smile faltering slightly.


    "No, it''s just..." Adom tilted his head, studying the boy''s face. "You look familiar somehow."


    Eren shook his head. "Don''t think so. Pretty sure I''d remember meeting a mage." He laughed, and again, that laugh, that particular way his eyes crinkled at the corners...


    "No, it''s definitely something..." Adom muttered, more to himself than to Eren. "Your face, it''s like I''ve seen it somewhere..."


    "Only person people say I look like is my mother," Eren said with a slight shrug. "She runs a small tavern near the sea. Though I''d be surprised if you knew it."


    "The Salty Dog?"


    Something flickered across Eren''s composed features - genuine surprise. "You know it?" There was an unexpected note of enthusiasm in his usually measured voice. "So you''ve been to my mother''s tavern?"


    "Your mother," Adom said, surprised. "Your mother is Tara?"


    Eren nodded, smiling broadly now.


    The world really is small, Adom thought to himself. "I was there last night. Had the best cookies I''ve ever tasted in my life. Your mother was really kind - even packed some for me to take back to the academy. Actually," he added, "I told her I''d help sponsor her son into Xerkes. That would be you, I guess?"


    "You can do that?!" Eren''s eyes went wide, a rare break in his usual composed demeanor.


    "Sure," Adom replied. "Students can sponsor others after their first year. I''m in my second year now."


    As quickly as the excitement had appeared, it drained from Eren''s face. He seemed to consciously settle back into his casual stance. "Oh, that''s... that''s nice of you, but actually, forget about it. Mother still thinks I want to be a mage because that was my dream when I was little. But I''m good where I am now."


    Like many conversations about Xerkes Academy, this one had stumbled into the uncomfortable territory of finances. There were really only two ways to study at Xerkes - either you came from money, or you signed up for Imperial service after graduation. For everyone else, the tuition fees were astronomical. Something had clearly happened with Eren''s family that had made them unable to take the Imperial scholarship when it was offered. It seemed obvious from his reaction.


    "If it''s about the money," Adom said simply, "I can take care of it."


    The gold coin caught the moonlight as Adom tucked it away. Eren''s eyes followed the movement before dropping back to the ground, his shoulders tense despite his attempts to appear casual. His hands opened and closed at his sides, and he kept adjusting his stance like he couldn''t quite figure out how to hold himself. Adom recognized that pride - the kind that made accepting help feel like swallowing thorns.


    After what felt like a small eternity, Eren lifted his head. He still wouldn''t quite meet Adom''s eyes, instead fixing his gaze somewhere around Adom''s shoulder. "Thank you," he said, the words coming out rough but sincere. "I mean it."


    "No problem," Adom replied, keeping his tone light, matter-of-fact. "See you tomorrow then? After five?"


    That got Eren to look at him properly, surprise breaking through his carefully maintained composure. "Already?"


    "If you''re going to take the Xerkes tests, you''ll need some accelerated training," Adom said. "Tomorrow I can check your level of proficiency, see where we need to start."


    The tension in Eren''s shoulders eased slightly at the practical approach. He nodded, some of his usual confidence returning to his posture. They parted ways there - Eren heading back toward the lights of the Dregs, while Adom turned toward the academy.


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


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    <div>


    It felt good, he thought as he walked back, to be able to help someone else for a change.

 Chapter 10. Transcendent Nerds

    Monster Anatomy and Dungeon Theory class.


    The droning voice of Professor Drake faded into background noise as he lectured about dungeon classifications. Something about how the Guilds ranked them from F to SSS based on the monsters inside, the resources, and the death rates...


    Every muscle in Adom''s body screamed in protest. When he''d collapsed into bed last night after the fight, the adrenaline had still been coursing through his system, masking most of the pain. But this morning? It felt like his body had waited until he opened his eyes to unleash every single ache it had been saving up. His ribs, where the creature''s fist had nearly caught him, throbbed with particular intensity. He shifted in his seat, immediately regretting the movement.


    A sudden warm touch on his ankle made him jump, sending a fresh wave of pain through his battered body.


    "Gizmo! Stop that!"


    Adom looked down to find a small red salamander gazing up at him with opalescent eyes. Their face seemed permanently fixed in what looked like a gentle smile, head tilted slightly to one side in curiosity. Despite his discomfort, Adom couldn''t help but smile back.


    "I''m so sorry!" A lanky boy with disheveled brown hair hurried over, trying to scoop up the wayward familiar. "He gets a bit too friendly sometimes."


    "It''s fine," Adom chuckled, recognizing Gus Howl from his combat class. "He''s quite charming, actually."


    The salamander, instead of returning to his Bonded One, crept closer to Adom. Almost instinctively, Adom reached down to scratch his head. The scales were surprisingly soft, almost velvet-like under his fingers. The creature''s eyes closed in contentment, and suddenly his entire body began to glow, small flames flickering across its skin.


    "Gizmo, no!" Gus exclaimed, finally managing to grab his familiar. "Sorry, again. He, uh, tends to catch fire when he gets too excited. The healers say it''s like magical hiccups."


    "Don''t worry about it," Adom said, still smiling. "A little fire never hurt anyone."


    "He seems to like you. I didn''t think you had fire affinity, Sylla." Gus whispered, watching as Gizmo settled contentedly in his arms, still giving Adom that perpetual salamander smile.


    Adom glanced at the familiar, keeping his voice low as Professor Drake continued his lecture about dungeon classifications. "Fire and wind, actually."


    "Double affinity?" Gus''s eyes widened, before he caught himself and lowered his voice again. "Nice! I''m fire, but..." He gestured at Gizmo with a slight grin, "probably obvious, huh?"


    Adom held back a chuckle, nodding instead. He noticed how Gus''s hair seemed to shimmer with a slight reddish tint under the classroom''s magical lights, and how his skin had a warm, almost scale-like sheen to it - subtle traits he''d gained from his bond with Gizmo. The boy even had the same kind of permanent half-smile as his familiar, though Adom doubted he was aware of it.


    Gizmo squirmed in Gus''s arms, his opal eyes following the movement of Professor Drake''s chalk on the board. The familiar''s attention was focused entirely on the lecture, occasionally tilting his head at particularly complex theories. A few students nearby smiled at the salamander''s scholarly attitude, though they quickly returned their attention to their notes when the professor glanced their way.


    "He understands everything already?" Adom mouthed silently, impressed.


    Most familiars took years to develop such comprehensive understanding. The stronger the bond between familiar and bonded, the more they evolved together - some of the most powerful pairs had familiars who could speak just like humans, read complex texts, even appreciate fine arts and music.


    Gus nodded proudly, running a finger along Gizmo''s back. "Sometimes better than I do," he whispered, earning a smug look from his familiar.


    "Mr. Sylla and Mr. Howl, care to share your little conversation with the rest of the class?"


    Professor Drake''s voice cut through the lecture hall, making every head turn toward them. Across the room, Sam let out a visible groan, his hand meeting his forehead in exasperation.


    "Sorry, Professor," Adom said quickly, straightening in his seat despite his protesting muscles.


    "Today''s lecture is particularly important," Drake continued, his chalk hovering mid-air. "This material will feature prominently in your final examinations."


    "We were paying attention, sir!" Gus piped up.


    Adom nearly sighed. Professor Drake was usually reasonable, but Gus just had to push it...


    "Is that so?" Drake''s eyebrows rose, his lips curving into a slight smile. "My apologies then. Perhaps you''d care to tell us what we were just discussing, Mr. Howl?"


    Gus''s confident expression crumbled. "Uh... well... we were talking about..." Even Gizmo seemed to shrink in his arms, the salamander''s usual smile looking more like a grimace.


    "Mr. Sylla?" Drake turned his attention to Adom. "Perhaps you could help your classmate?"


    "Uh..." Adom''s eyes darted across the room, catching Sam''s frantic hand movements. His friend was trying to draw something in the air - an ''M'' shape? Sam wasn''t finished, but Drake was waiting. "M-monsters...?"


    Without even turning around, Drake''s smile widened slightly. "Mr. Harbinski, while your loyalty to your friends is admirable, please refrain from providing unauthorized assistance."


    "Sorry, Professor," Sam called out, prompting scattered laughter throughout the classroom.


    Adom met his friend''s eyes apologetically, then caught sight of Mia a few seats away. She was trying to suppress her giggles behind her hand, and when their eyes met, she gave him a small wave. He couldn''t help but smile back, even as his cheeks burned with embarrassment.


    Professor Drake sighed.


    "As I was explaining before, monsters are ordinary creatures that have undergone prolonged exposure to concentrated mana. When a living being absorbs sufficient quantities of magical energy over an extended period, it undergoes a transformation."


    He gestured to the diagram on the board. "For instance, a common wolf, after years of exposure to dense mana, might evolve into a dire wolf. Similarly, if you were to leave a domestic dog in a dungeon environment with high mana density for several years, it would likely transform into a Bloodmaw."


    His chalk drew quick illustrations in the air - a normal wolf morphing into the larger, more fearsome dire wolf, its features becoming sharper, more magical in nature.


    "Do you understand now, gentlemen?"


    "Yes, Professor," Adom and Gus responded in unison.


    "Good," Professor Drake nodded. "And remember, next class we''ll have a special guest from the Pentoss Guild bringing in an actual monster for a practical demonstration."


    The classroom erupted in excited whispers. Someone from the back called out, "What kind of monster, Professor?"


    "That," Drake smiled, tapping his chalk against the board, "would be spoiling the surprise, wouldn''t it?"


    In his past life, Adom remembered this day clearly - it had been a Shimmerscale, a monster evolved from a common lizard. The creature''s scales could refract light, making it partially invisible, but it was generally docile unless threatened. The memory brought a smile to his face; it had been one of the more entertaining classes that semester.


    "Now, if we could return to our discussion of classification systems..." Drake''s voice cut through the excitement.


    *****


    As the class filed out, Sam practically bounced over to Adom''s desk. "Okay, seriously, what happened to you? First you''re suddenly good at magic, then you''re beating up Damus, and now you''re chatting right in the middle of a class?"


    "Let''s just say I''ve been through a lot," Adom replied, quickly packing his books.


    "There you go again with the mysterious stuff! Stop talking like some old guy."


    "But I am an old guy."


    "Right, and I''m the King of¡ª" Sam paused. "Hey, want to head to the library? After that performance, I have about a million questions."


    "Can''t. Got something to do today." Adom slung his bag over his shoulder, wincing slightly at his protesting muscles.


    "What? But what was all that about? The theory stuff, and¡ª"


    Adom was already heading for the door. "If you''re that curious, you better keep up!" he called back, breaking into a light jog.


    As he rushed through the doorway, the sound of Sam scrambling to gather his things behind him, he missed the soft "Excuse me, Adom..." that floated from somewhere near the front row.


    Adom weaved through the shifting corridors of Xerkes, the map of today''s layout guiding each turn. Left at the alchemy classroom, right where the astronomy tower would be tomorrow, straight through where the dining hall had been last week. His lungs burned, but each step meant another precious second added to his time.


    "Adom!" Sam wheezed behind him. "Please... stop..."


    "Can''t! They close early on Fridays!"


    "Who... closes... what?"


    "The club!"


    They dodged around a group of third-years practicing levitation, their black robes billowing as objects floated around them. Adom grabbed Sam''s sleeve, yanking him away from a wall that was mid-shift.


    Students parted before them like a sea of black robes and loosened ties - some jumping aside, others just watching the spectacle of the usually reserved Adom Sylla practically dragging a gasping Sam Harbinsky through the halls.


    "Since when... do you even... like to... run?" Sam panted.


    Adom didn''t answer, focused on counting the archways. Three... four... there! He skidded to a halt so suddenly that Sam nearly crashed into him.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    "We''re here!" Adom announced, while Sam doubled over, hands on his knees.


    "Here... where?"


    Adom gestured to the heavy wooden door in front of them, its brass sign gleaming: "Combat Athletics Club."


    At Xerkes, clubs weren''t just after-school activities - they were a vital part of student life. Each year, ambitious students vied for the coveted title of Best Student, which came with perks like priority access to restricted sections of the library, private study rooms, and most importantly, the right to participate in advanced seminars with visiting masters. The clubs offered precious additional points toward this goal, but they were more than just a means to an end.


    From the Poetry & Prose Society to the Dueling Association, clubs gave students the chance to explore interests beyond pure magical theory. Some practiced swordplay, others honed their aim at the archery range, while the Culinary Arts Guild experimented with both magical and non-magical recipes. The Theatrical Company put on elaborate performances, and the Gardening Circle maintained the academy''s extensive botanical gardens.


    Competition between clubs was fierce - the top three at year''s end received special privileges, funding, and their names engraved on the great shield in the main hall. They also received the Golden Medal, one of the most prestigious honors a club could earn - though in the end, it was just that: a medal.


    Some said the Combat Athletics Club hadn''t made the top three in over a decade.


    Adom and Sam had always steered clear of this whole system, preferring the quiet corners of the library where they could read their fantasy novels and talks of magic in peace. They weren''t exactly what you''d call "joiners" - Sam could barely speak in front of groups, and Adom... well, until recently, Adom had been even worse.


    "You''re not serious, are you?" Sam''s voice cracked. "Clubs? Us? We talked about this - we don''t have time for... for..."


    "Social activities?" Adom finished, a sad smile playing on his lips.


    "Exactly! We''re supposed to be focusing on real magic, on making groundbreaking discoveries!" Sam''s eyes lit up with that familiar fire. "Remember our pact? To become the greatest mages in history? To revolutionize magical theory together? Become the next Law Borealis!"


    Adom remembered. Oh, how he remembered.


    Two awkward kids, huddled in the library''s corner, sharing wild dreams between dusty tomes. They''d spend hours arguing about who would make the next big breakthrough, each convinced they''d be the one to unlock the secrets of the universe. In his past life, he''d actually done it - reached those heights, achieved those dreams. For Sam. For both of them.


    And what had it gotten him? Standing atop a mountain of achievements built on corpses, watching the world burn.


    "Sam," Adom said softly, "those dreams... they''re beautiful. And you should chase them. But," he placed a hand on his friend''s shoulder, "we were wrong about one thing. The greatest discoveries, the real breakthroughs - they don''t happen in isolation. Every major advancement in magical theory came from collaboration, from people working together, challenging each other''s ideas."


    "But we work together!" Sam protested.


    "Two socially awkward bookworms hiding in the library isn''t exactly what I mean." Adom chuckled. "Look, I get it. More than you know. The idea of putting ourselves out there, of dealing with other people - it''s terrifying. But that''s exactly why we need to do it."


    "But¡ª"


    "You can''t change the world from inside a shell, Sam. Trust me, I''ve tried." A pause. "Those fantasy books we love? The lone genius who saves the day through sheer brilliance? That''s not how it works in real life. Real change, real progress - it comes from connections, from understanding people, from being able to work with them even when they drive you crazy."


    Sam fidgeted with his tie, looking uncertain. "I just... I''m not good with people."


    "Neither am I," Adom said. "But that''s a skill, like any other. And like any skill, it gets better with practice."


    This, to Adom, was an important step.


    He wasn''t just trying to help Sam become more socially adept. He was trying to prepare him, to help him develop the strength and resilience he''d need for what was coming. The world wouldn''t end because of failed spells or flawed theories - it would end because of people, their choices, their failures to understand each other. And maybe, just maybe, by helping Sam grow beyond their comfortable little bubble, he could save more than just his friend''s life this time.


    "Besides," Adom added with a grin, "you can''t tell me you''re not at least a little curious about what''s behind this door."


    Sam sighed, shoulders slumping. "Fine. But if it''s just blockheads and brutes in there, I''m out."


    "Deal," Adom said, reaching for the handle.


    The door swung open to pure mayhem.


    "COME ON BRO, YOU GOT THIS!" A massive student bellowed at his partner doing push-ups. "TWENTY MORE! PAIN IS JUST WEAKNESS LEAVING THE BODY!"


    "AAAAAAAARGH!" The guy doing push-ups screamed back with each rep.


    WHAM! Right in front of them, a fist connected with abs that looked carved from stone. Both Sam and Adom involuntarily clutched their stomachs.


    "HARDER!" the guy getting punched demanded, spittle flying. "MY GRANDMOTHER HITS HARDER THAN THAT!"


    "Huh?" Sam''s voice was barely a squeak.


    To their left, two students were tangled in what looked like a human pretzel. One had the other''s leg bent at an angle that made geometry weep. The victim''s face was purple, veins popping on his neck like angry snakes.


    "TAP OUT, KAIUS!"


    "OVER MY DEAD BODY!"


    "THAT CAN BE ARRANGED!"


    In another corner, three students were taking turns body-slamming each other into training mats. "LIGHTWEIGHT BABY!" one screamed as he got thrown.


    "Bro, your form is OFF!" someone shouted across the room. "Watch me! WATCH ME! See how I''m CRUSHING my boy''s windpipe? That''s the proper technique!"


    Two students charged each other like bulls, colliding with a thunderous crack that echoed off the walls. Neither backed down. "IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?!" they roared in unison.


    "YOU''RE A BEAST!" "NO, YOU''RE A BEAST!" "WE''RE ALL BEASTS!"


    Sam and Adom exchanged looks.


    Without a word, Sam turned on his heel and tried to casually stroll away. "Well, I think we can say we gave this a fair¡ª"


    Adom''s hand shot out, grabbing Sam''s robe in an iron grip.


    "No no no no¡ª" Sam''s shoes squealed against the floor as Adom dragged him inside. "Are you CRAZY?! This is a murder dome! We''re going to DIE!"


    "We won''t die," Adom said flatly, pulling his thrashing friend past two students practicing what appeared to be competitive face-slapping while chanting magical theorems.


    "YES WE WILL! That guy just suplexed someone through a¡ªIS THAT A WALL OF FIRE?!" HOW IS THAT ALLOWED IN SCHOOL?!


    "It''s just Friday," Adom deadpanned.


    "JUST FRI¡ª" Sam''s voice cracked as someone nearby let out a war cry that shook dust from the ceiling. "If this is Friday, I don''t want to see Monday! Let me go! I have theorems to memorize! THEOREMS!"


    Ignoring Sam''s increasingly desperate protests, Adom scanned the chaos for his target. Hugo Faible, 6th year prefect and president of this madhouse, wasn''t hard to spot - that shock of purple hair stood out even in this circus of mayhem.


    There he was, at the far end of the room, casually bench pressing another student as if they were a barbell. "EIGHT!" Hugo roared, arms trembling. "NINE!"


    "YOU''RE A MACHINE!" the human weight screamed back encouragingly.


    "TEN! LIGHTWEIGHT!" Hugo''s voice boomed over the general cacophony of screams, thuds, and what sounded suspiciously like bones cracking.


    "I want to go home," Sam whimpered, still trying to squirm out of Adom''s grip. "I have a very nice book about theoretical transmutation waiting for me. It''s peaceful. It doesn''t bench press people."


    Hugo reached failure at twelve, arms shaking as his human barbell rolled off and landed gracefully beside him. The guy immediately handed Hugo a water bottle, grinning.


    "Weight spell was set to 242 lbs today," the human weight announced proudly. "New PR!"


    Sam let out a hollow chuckle, eyes fixed on the ground. "I hate you," he muttered to Adom. "I hate you so much right now."


    Adom smiled down at his friend, a look of almost pity in his eyes. "I know."


    "When I die here, I''m going to haunt you. I''ll follow you around the library, knocking books off shelves. Forever."


    "That''s fair."


    Hugo approached them, wiping sweat from his forehead before putting on his glasses. "Hello," he said, "can I help you?"


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    At seventeen, Hugo Faible was already over 6 feet 6 inches tall. His frame packed with muscle. Being half Freeman explained his insane genetics - that bloodline was known for producing warriors of exceptional physical prowess.


    In Adom''s future, Hugo would become a revered contributor in the field of magical theory as well as one of the most fearsome battle mages of their generation.


    Back to the subject at hand. Adom had come here for two things.


    The first:


    "Hi," Adom said, adjusting his broken glasses. "My friend here and I¡ª"


    "Not your friend," Sam muttered.


    "¡ªwould like to join the club, if possible."


    Hugo looked perplexed for a moment, studying the two scrawny students before him. Then Adom smiled, and Hugo''s face immediately lit up like a holiday spell.


    "Welcome!" he beamed, his entire demeanor shifting to that of an excited puppy. "You''ve absolutely come to the right place! We never turn away anyone looking to better themselves." He gestured enthusiastically at the chaos around them. "Don''t let all this intimidate you - everyone here started somewhere. Some of our strongest members could barely lift a spellbook when they first joined!"


    Behind them, someone crashed through what sounded like several pieces of furniture.


    "ALL GOOD!" a voice called out. "THE BLEEDING IS MINIMAL!"


    "See?" Hugo grinned warmly. "Just one big family here. Though maybe we should discuss the details somewhere slightly less... lively?"


    "I''m going to die," Sam whispered.


    Hugo led them to an office that seemed almost jarringly normal compared to the chaos outside. Everything was meticulously organized - training schedules on one wall, achievement certificates on another. The room smelled of muscle recovery potion and sandalwood incense.


    "Just need signatures here and here," Hugo said, pulling out some forms.


    "Wait!" He reached into a drawer, producing what looked like a small decorated tube. "It''s tradition!"


    Adom picked up the quill. "Do you offer boxing lessons?"


    "Oh yes!" Hugo''s eyes lit up. "We have Classical Pugilism, Dwarven Ground Fighting, Elvish Wind-Strike Style, good old wrestling of course. There''s also Meridian Combat - that''s like hitting pressure points but with more screaming - and Storm Fist technique." He pulled out a schedule. "Everything''s properly structured. You start with basics, then progress through intermediate forms. We track everyone''s development, make sure the foundations are solid before moving up. Can''t build a castle on sand, right?"


    "That''s exactly what I need," Adom said, signing.


    POP! The tube exploded in a shower of colored paper and magical sparkles.


    Hugo laughed - somehow managing to make even that sound welcoming rather than intimidating. That same charisma would serve him well in the future.


    Then it was Sam''s turn. He stared at the form while Hugo watched expectantly, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. Adom couldn''t tell if Sam was signing because he didn''t want to disappoint such genuine excitement, or because he feared what might happen if he didn''t (though there was nothing to fear).


    Sam gulped, picked up the quill, and signed.


    POP! Another shower of sparkles.


    "You did good, kid," Adom patted his shoulder.


    The expression on Sam''s face did more in conveying his current sentiments towards the situation, and towards Adom than any words could.


    Hugo wrapped them both in a bone-crushing hug. "WELCOME, BROTHERS!"


    "Can''t... breathe..." Sam wheezed.


    "That''s the spirit!" Hugo beamed.


    *****


    "New brothers!" Hugo announced proudly. "Everyone, meet Adom and Sam!"


    The group immediately surrounded them with the energy of excited puppies in extremely muscular bodies.


    "Welcome to the iron family!" A tall girl with scarred knuckles grinned. "I''m Diana."


    "Took courage to walk through that door," another nodded approvingly. "Harry''s the name. First step''s always the hardest."


    "You guys look like proper nerds," a broad-shouldered senior chuckled. "Phil here. Nothing wrong with that though - Hugo here was the biggest nerd in third year."


    "Still am," Hugo adjusted his glasses proudly. "Just a nerd who can bench press a horse now."


    "And now you two are on the path to becoming transcendent nerds too!" added a guy with a fresh black eye. "I''m Kaius, by the way. The one Phil couldn''t submit earlier."


    Adom smiled - second time he''d heard that phrase today. Must be fate.


    Sam was trying his best to look unintimidated, but Adom could see his fingers fidgeting with his robe''s sleeve.


    "Petra," a stocky girl with close-cropped hair raised her hand with a grin. "Welcome to the family."


    "Knowledge is power," a student said sagely, introducing himself as Vale, "but sometimes power needs to be power too, you know?"


    They all nodded as if this made perfect sense.


    This was exactly what Adom needed - a controlled environment to train his [White Wyrm''s Body] skill, taking measured hits that would build his resistance while extending the time before the first symptoms appeared. The disciplined routine and support system would be invaluable, and Sam... well, Sam needed this more than he knew.


    But that was only the first reason.


    The second¡ªand most important¡ªreason Adom had joined the Combat Athletics Club was standing right there, adjusting his glasses and excitedly explaining proper breathing techniques.


    Hugo Faible wasn''t just the enthusiastic leader of the academy''s most muscle-headed club. He was also one of Professor Kim''s research assistants. And Professor Kim? That was where things got interesting.


    Professor Kim was one of Xerkes'' brightest minds, teaching advanced theoretical magic to fifth through seventh years. His groundbreaking work in micro-magic¡ªthe study of magical phenomena at their smallest, most fundamental level¡ªhad revolutionized entire fields of magical theory.


    In about five months from now, the professor would discover something extraordinary. A phenomenon that would change everything¡ªand ultimately get him killed. His groundbreaking research would be twisted, corrupted, and weaponized a few years later into one of the deadliest creations in history:


    Dragon Breath.


    A name that would one day make even hardened warriors tremble.


    This weapon would ignite the first truly modern magical war, a decade-long nightmare that would claim millions of lives. From its ashes, other conflicts would arise¡ªone of which would ultimately take Adom''s father from him.


    But right now, Professor Kim was still alive. Still teaching. Still months away from his fateful discovery. And Hugo Faible was one of the few people with regular access to the professor''s laboratory.


    The problem was simple, then: Adom needed to get closer to Hugo. Through him, to Professor Kim. Before history repeated itself. Before the dominoes began to fall. Before Dragon Breath turned the sky black with death.

 Chapter 11. Craving Frosties

    "He won''t bite, Sam." Adom watched his friend eye the salamander like it might suddenly breathe fire in his face. Which, to be fair, wasn''t entirely impossible.


    "Are you sure?" Sam''s hand hovered uncertainly above Gizmo''s head. The familiar tilted his head, that permanent gentle smile somehow looking even more encouraging.


    "He''s really friendly," Gus assured from the seat behind them. "Sometimes too friendly. Yesterday, he tried to follow a third-year girl into the library."


    Adom chuckled. "Did she have some fire-affinity crystals in her bag?"


    "Yeah. Gizmo''s got expensive taste."


    Sam''s hand was still frozen mid-air. Gizmo, apparently tired of waiting, stretched his neck up and bumped his head against Sam''s palm. The boy yelped, nearly falling out of his chair.


    "See?" Adom grinned. "He likes you."


    "His scales are... warm," Sam marveled, slowly relaxing as Gizmo leaned into his touch. "And soft? I thought they''d be rough."


    "Like velvet, right?" Gus beamed proudly. "Watch this - scratch under his chin."


    Sam did as instructed, and Gizmo''s eyes closed in pure bliss. Small flames began flickering across his scales, casting dancing shadows on their desks.


    "Gizmo," Gus warned, though he was still smiling. "What did we say about getting too excited in class?"


    The salamander opened one eye, looking absolutely unapologetic.


    "You know," Sam said, growing bolder with his pets, "for something that can literally burst into flames, he''s actually kind of cu-"


    The classroom door burst open with enough force to make everyone jump. A massive figure ducked through, and suddenly all thoughts of cute salamanders vanished as the students stared up - way up - at their visitor.


    "Right then!" The giant''s voice boomed through the room. "Who''s ready to meet a real monster?"


    Gizmo scrambled back to Gus''s desk, his scales flickering. Around them, students straightened in their seats, all eyes fixed on the enormous man and the empty space beside him.


    "Is that..." Sam whispered, grabbing Adom''s arm, "is that Guild armor?"


    Adom nodded, fighting back a smile. He remembered this class from his past life, but somehow, seeing the familiar adventurer in person still made his heart race with excitement.


    Professor Drake cleared his throat. "Class, this is Master Borgen from the Pentoss Guild. He''s graciously agreed to bring us a specimen for today''s practical demonstration."


    "Graciously?" Borgen let out a laugh that made the windows rattle. "Been dying to show this beauty off! Found her in the Whisperweald Dungeon, Class B. Ain''t she just perfect?"


    He gestured to what looked like empty air beside him. A few students leaned forward, squinting.


    "Ah, right!" Borgen chuckled, pulling out what looked like a handful of glowing dust. "Bit shy, this one. Watch this..."


    He blew the dust gently into the air. As it settled, something... shifted. Like watching water ripple in clear glass, the air seemed to bend and twist until...


    Gasps filled the room. Where there had been nothing, now stood a creature about the size of a large dog. Its scales shimmered with every color imaginable, constantly shifting like oil on water. A long, elegant neck supported a triangular head with intelligent golden eyes, and a tail that could probably reach across half the classroom swayed gently behind it.


    "This," Professor Drake said, "is a Shimmerscale. B-rank monster, evolved from common lizards after prolonged exposure to light-affinity mana crystals."


    "Beautiful, isn''t she?" Borgen beamed like a proud parent. "Go on, girl. Show them what you can do."


    The Shimmerscale tilted its head, those golden eyes scanning the classroom. Then, slowly, its scales began to shift. The iridescent colors faded, and suddenly the creature was almost invisible again - except now they could see the faintest outline, like heat waves rising from hot pavement.


    "Merlin''s beard," someone whispered from the back.


    "Natural camouflage," Drake explained, writing on the board. "The scales can bend light around them, making the creature nearly invisible. In their natural habitat, this makes them exceptional ambush predators."


    "Though this little lady prefers dried fish to hunting," Borgen added, pulling something from a pouch at his belt. The Shimmerscale''s head snapped toward him, suddenly visible again, its tongue flicking out expectantly.


    "Now then!" The giant man clapped his hands together, making several students jump. "Who wants to learn about their hunting patterns? Or maybe how they use their camouflage for mating displays? Oh! Or that time I saw one take down a Dire Wolf pack by itself?"


    Professor Drake sighed, but Adom could see the slight smile on his face. "Perhaps we should start with basic anatomy, Master Borgen."


    "Right, right..." Borgen nodded, still grinning. "But trust me, kids, that wolf pack story? Absolute cracker. Remind me to tell it after the lesson."


    The Shimmerscale, apparently tired of being ignored, bumped its head against Borgen''s leg. The massive man immediately melted.


    "Oh, alright, one more treat." He tossed another dried fish, which the creature snatched from the air with surprising grace. "See that? Lightning-quick reflexes. Typical of light-affinity monsters. Now, if you look at their skeletal structure..."


    Adom found himself leaning forward, notebook forgotten. He''d seen this lesson before, in another life, but somehow, watching the Shimmerscale''s scales dance with color as Borgen enthusiastically pointed out its features, it felt brand new.


    Besides, he thought as the creature''s golden eyes met his for a moment, some things were worth seeing twice.


    As the lesson progressed, the adventurer named the Shimmerscale Luna, apparently because her scales reminded him of moonlight on water. The creature responded to her name with an almost prideful bearing, her head held high as she demonstrated her camouflage abilities.


    "See, that''s the thing about monster classifications," Borgen explained, while Luna lazily coiled her tail around his boots. "They''re not just about power levels. A C-class dungeon might spawn B-class monsters if the mana concentration is right. Take the Whisperweald - technically a C-class dungeon, but the light-affinity crystals there are so pure that even common lizards can evolve into beauties like Luna here."


    From the front row, Mia''s hand shot up. No surprise there - she hadn''t earned those top scores by staying quiet. "But sir, wouldn''t that make it a B-class dungeon by default?"


    "Excellent question!" Borgen''s voice boomed. "Anyone want to take a stab at it?"


    "Because monster evolution doesn''t necessarily indicate dungeon evolution," Damus drawled from his corner, not bothering to raise his hand. "The dungeon''s core determines its class, not its inhabitants."


    Adom kept his eyes forward, ignoring the pointed look Damus sent his way. It was almost amusing how hard the boy tried to create conflict - like a puppy trying to pick fights with older dogs. Still, being the adult he was mentally, Adom couldn''t help but feel a twinge of shame at letting himself get baited into their previous confrontations.


    Damus'' words were directed at Borgen, but his posture was stiff, deliberately angled away from where Adom sat. Behind him, Finn and Marcus exchanged meaningful glances, their hands clenched into fists under their desks.


    "Correct!" Borgen nodded. "Though some monsters, like our Luna here, can be tamed with the right approach. Others..." He trailed off, his expression darkening slightly. "Well, let''s just say you don''t want to try befriending a Shadowmaw, no matter how cute it might look as a pup."


    Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Maybe we should head to the library after class," he whispered. "Take the long way around..."


    "They won''t try anything," Adom murmured back, though he noted how his friend''s shoulders remained tense. He had to suppress a sigh. Having to redo school was bad enough; getting wrapped up in teenage drama was worse. Still, seeing Sam practically vibrate with tension over these wannabe tough guys... yeah, they''d definitely need to work on that.


    Gizmo hopped over to Adom''s desk again, butting his head against Adom''s hand until he got the expected scratch.


    "You know," Gus said quietly, watching his familiar''s antics with a slight frown, "he''s always friendly, but... with you, it''s different. Like he''s known you forever or something." He shrugged, clearly trying to play it casual. "Weird, right?"


    Adom kept scratching Gizmo''s ears, mind turning. First Biscuit''s behavior last week, now this. Either familiars could sense the regression, or... well, better file that thought away for later.


    "The key is understanding their nature," Professor Drake added, his chalk drawing complex diagrams in the air. "Shimmerscales, for instance, evolved in light-rich environments. Their camouflage isn''t just for hunting - it''s a way of processing excess mana. Makes them naturally more stable than, say, darkness-affinity monsters."


    Luna demonstrated this point by shifting her colors to match Professor Drake''s robes perfectly, earning appreciative murmurs from the class.


    "Now, speaking of stability," Borgen continued, pulling out what looked like a crystal map, "let me show you how dungeon layouts affect monster evolution patterns..."


    As Borgen prepared his next demonstration, Luna took the opportunity to investigate the students more closely.


    She made her rounds through the classroom, her scales shifting colors as students reached out to touch her. Some squealed in delight, others hesitated before working up the courage. When she reached their corner, Sam''s nervousness melted away after the first touch. "She''s so warm," he whispered, clearly enchanted.


    Adom smiled, reaching out to run his fingers along Luna''s scales. Like touching sunlight, if sunlight had texture. His heart quickened with anticipation - this was the moment he''d been waiting for since Borgen walked in.


    Then Luna reached Gus''s desk, and just like before, everything changed.


    Her scales shifted to a deep, resonant gold - not the playful imitation she''d shown others, but something that seemed to pulse from within. She pressed her head against Gus''s palm, and a soft, melodic trill filled the air.


    Gizmo, who had been contentedly dozing on Gus''s desk, perked up. The salamander scuttled forward, touching his nose to Luna''s scales without a hint of hesitation.


    "Oh," Borgen''s booming voice softened with interest. "Now that''s promising. Boy. Ever considered druid studies?"


    "I..." Gus looked between Luna and Gizmo, clearly struggling to process what was happening. "I''ve been taking the preliminary classes, but..."


    "She''s offering a bond," Professor Drake explained. "Typically, familiars can sense when their bonded human is compatible with another creature. Your salamander''s reaction suggests..."


    "A resonance," Borgen finished. "Rare to see it happen this quickly, but not unheard of. Especially with someone already studying the craft."


    A familiar bond wasn''t servitude - it was partnership, pure and simple. Two beings choosing to share their magic, their strength, their very essence.


    "If you want to," Gus said softly to Luna, "I''d be honored."


    The Shimmerscale''s trill grew stronger. She pressed her forehead against Gus''s, scales blazing. Gizmo climbed onto Gus''s shoulder, adding his own warm glow to the moment. The magic built slowly, naturally, like watching a flower bloom in fast motion.


    "Well done," Borgen approved. "Clean bond, no hesitation on either side. Though..." He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "You realize this means we''ll need to discuss guild affiliation. Luna''s contracted to Pentoss for another five years."


    The class shifted their attention to Gus, who seemed to shrink slightly under the sudden scrutiny. Luna pressed closer to his side, her scales taking on a gentle, reassuring shimmer.


    "I..." Gus glanced at Gizmo, who chirped encouragingly. After a moment of what seemed like silent communication with both familiars, he straightened. "Actually, I was planning to declare as a druid at the third-year ceremony. Field work and dungeon research were always my goal."


    "Were they now?" Borgen''s eyes crinkled with interest. "And would you consider a five-year contract with Pentoss? Same terms as Luna''s - full guild benefits, training, expedition priority. After that, you''d be free to go independent or join another guild if you prefer."


    Gus''s hand absently stroked Luna''s scales while he thought. "Would I... would we be able to start training before graduation?"


    "Supervised expeditions to C-rank dungeons, certainly. Maybe even B-rank by your final year, depending on your progress." Borgen grinned. "Can''t let talent like this go to waste, eh?"


    The bond was still settling, magic humming in the air as Luna and Gizmo flanked Gus protectively. It wasn''t the theatrical light show most stories described - just three beings finding their natural rhythm together.


    "Then yes," Gus nodded, somehow looking both terrified and determined. "I accept."


    "Excellent!" Borgen''s voice boomed back to its usual volume. "We''ll sort out the paperwork after class. Now, Professor Drake, I believe you were saying something about environmental adaptation?"


    *****


    After class, students crowded around Gus, showering him with congratulations. Some were already asking about dual-familiar bonds, a rare feat that druids were famous for. Each additional familiar exponentially increased a druid''s capabilities - some famous figures were said to have bonded with dozens of creatures, though most settled for two or three.


    "This is just the beginning," Borgen explained proudly while gathering his things. "Druids with multiple bonds can channel different types of mana simultaneously. Imagine combining Luna''s light affinity with Gizmo''s fire abilities..."


    "I wish I had a familiar bond," Sam sighed as they packed up their bags.


    Adom snorted. "You jumped three feet in the air when Gizmo touched your hand."


    "That was different. I wasn''t prepared."


    "I remember you screamed when a cat walked past you one day."


    "What? I never did that."


    Adom laughed. "Come on, don''t you remember? It was when-" He stopped mid-sentence, blinking. Right. That hadn''t happened yet - it would be in a few months, during the autumn festival.


    "Sorry, I must be thinking of someone else," he mumbled.


    "Are you going senile on me?" Sam grinned. "First you wanted to actually eat that horrible tomato soup, now you''re making up stories about me and cats. You''re starting to sound like old Mr. Biggins - ''Back in my day, the staircases moved counterclockwise!''"


    "I don''t sound like Mr. Biggins," Adom protested, though he made a mental note to be more careful with his foreknowledge.


    "Well," Sam shouldered his bag with exaggerated dignity, "maybe I''m just waiting for the right familiar. One that''s less... bitey. Or scaly. Or..." He paused, considering. "Do they make silent familiars?"


    "There are ghost-type familiars. And spirits. Djinns, too." Adom offered helpfully.


    Sam''s face went pale. "I take it back. I''m perfectly happy being bondless. And you," he pointed accusingly at Adom, "are definitely going to start wearing those memory crystals the healers keep recommending to old people."


    "They''re not memory crystals, they''re focus stones, and I don''t need them," Adom grumbled, following his friend out of the classroom.


    "Whatever you say, grandpa."


    They headed for the door, Sam still muttering about the unfairness of all magical creatures having either "too many teeth or too many eyes or both," while Adom tried not to laugh too obviously at his plight.


    Adom paused at the doorway, the odd sensation of being watched prickling at his neck. He turned to find Damus and his group still inside, their eyes fixed on him. Sam had already gone ahead, his voice fading down the corridor.


    Were they actually planning something?


    Adom stood his ground at the threshold, meeting their stares directly. This could all be solved quite simply - just a word to Professor Meris about the bullying. The headmaster didn''t tolerate that sort of thing. No need for confrontations or escalation.


    "Hey, you coming or what?" Sam''s voice broke through his thoughts. "I''m not saving you a seat at lunch if you''re going to stand there all day."


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    "Yeah," Adom said, turning away. "I''m coming."


    The campus grounds were unusually empty - most students had gathered around the Krozball field for team tryouts. The distant cheers and shouts echoed across the academy walls, a familiar sound that marked the beginning of every season.


    "They''re really going at it this year," Sam remarked, watching a player execute a particularly aggressive maneuver that sent their opponent tumbling through the air. "Word is they''ve got a new coach. Someone from the pro leagues."This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    "Yeah..."


    "You know what I need right now?" Sam said, stretching his arms over his head.


    "A frosty from the Weird Stuff Store?"


    "How did you-" Sam blinked at him.


    Adom smiled, a distant look in his eyes. The taste of the drink lingered in his memory, along with summer afternoons just like this one, conversations that hadn''t happened yet, jokes that hadn''t been told. "Just do."


    They both checked their pocket watches - it was barely past eleven.


    "We''ve got plenty of time," Sam said, already heading toward the path that led to the city. "Could even grab lunch at Martha''s if you want. Next class isn''t until three anyway. Coming?"


    Adom felt the familiar warmth of d¨¦j¨¤ vu wash over him as he followed his friend. "No time like the present."


    *****


    The bell above the door chimed as they stepped into the Weird Stuff Store.


    A sign hung crookedly by the entrance: "WE''RE HIRING!" and beneath it in smaller text: "Just kidding, we found someone. Try Madame Mildred''s Mystical Miscellany if you''re looking for work."


    Sam and Adom exchanged glances. The former''s mouth twitched, ready to comment.


    "Let''s not start," Adom said quickly.


    "Yeah, probably best," Sam agreed with a resigned sigh as they stepped inside.


    True to its reputation for knowing exactly what customers wanted, an ancient frosties machine - one Adom had never seen in the store before - stood right in front of the entrance.


    The machine was a bizarre contraption, more artwork than appliance, with its twisting tubes and glowing crystals that pulsed with a soft blue light. Steam hissed from its valves in rhythmic bursts, and two pristine glasses had already materialized in its dispensing tray, filled with swirling, color-shifting liquid that looked like captured aurora borealis.


    "Now that''s service," Sam whispered, eyeing the drinks with unconcealed desire. "I swear this place gets weirder every time we come here."


    The rest of the store stretched behind the machine, some were moving by themselves, and it seems some new candies had arrived too.


    Sam grabbed both glasses from the dispensing tray, each filled with the same swirling mixture of Cloud Nine and Summer Sunset - their signature combination.


    "Thanks," Adom said as they made their way to the wooden counter that served as the cashier''s desk, their footsteps echoing against the creaking floorboards.


    Adom tapped the small brass bell on the counter once, then twice. The gentle ''ding'' seemed to be swallowed by the shop''s strange acoustics. They waited, but Mr. Biggins was nowhere to be seen.


    "Maybe we could just leave the money on the counter?" Sam suggested, already fishing in his pocket for coins. "I mean, the machine did serve us, so..."


    Before Adom could answer, the shop''s doorbell chimed. Heavy footsteps and grumbling filled the entrance as someone walked in.


    "Useless, the lot of them," the newcomer muttered, his voice rough with frustration. "Can''t even follow basic formations. What do they teach these little shits nowadays? Back in my day, you''d get benched for a month for that kind of sloppy footwork. Don''t even get me started on their defensive stances..."


    The man continued his tirade, seemingly unaware of Adom and Sam''s presence as he paced near the entrance, running a hand through his graying hair.


    Sam''s eyes went wide as saucers. "That''s him!" he whispered urgently, elbowing Adom. "That''s Bart Thrasher - the new coach!"


    Adom nodded slightly, having recognized the man instantly. The coach continued his frustrated monologue, something about "complete disregard for basic positioning" when he finally noticed them. His eyes fell on their uniforms, and he let out a heavy sigh.


    "Oh for fuck''s sake..." he muttered, shaking his head. Just as Sam''s face lit up, mouth opening to ask for an autograph, Thrasher cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand. "Don''t bother. I don''t do autographs."


    Sam''s expression crumpled like a deflated balloon.


    "Jerk," Adom muttered under his breath, taking another sip of his drink.


    Thrasher''s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. "What did you just say?!"


    "If you''ve got something to say about my attitude, kid, say it to my face," Thrasher growled, taking a step closer. The temperature in the shop seemed to drop a few degrees. "Not mumbling like some coward who can''t probably even form a proper Fluid cover during basic drills."


    Adom kept his gaze steady on his drink, deliberately taking another sip of the swirling mixture. It was harder to tell if his apparent calmness was infuriating Thrasher more or less.


    "I said," Adom finally spoke, his voice clear and even, "that for someone who''s supposed to be leading Xerkes'' Krozball team back to glory, you''ve got a pretty bad attitude toward its students."


    "Hey, uh, let''s all just enjoy our frosties, right?" Sam stepped forward, hands raised placatingly, but the tension in the air only thickened.


    Thrasher let out a laugh that held no warmth. "Listen to me, you little sh-"


    CUCKOO! CUCKOO!


    A mechanical bird burst from a clock none of them had noticed before, its wooden wings flapping wildly as it circled their heads. The bird looked suspiciously real for something made of carved wood, especially when it landed on Thrasher''s head and pecked at his hair before zooming back into its clock.


    A low, wheezing laugh echoed through the shop, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. The shelves appeared to shift and twist, making way for a tall, thin figure who stepped out of what had appeared to be a solid wall moments ago.


    Mr. Biggins stood there in his perpetually stained purple coat, bits of chocolate smeared around his mouth, his silver hair sticking up in impossible angles.


    "Chocolate?" he offered, extending a box of assorted treats while simultaneously popping another into his mouth. His expression remained completely deadpan as he chewed, eyes moving between his customers with an unsettling intensity. "They''re quite fresh. Made them this morning. Or was it last week? Time is such a peculiar thing in here, wouldn''t you agree?"


    Thrasher stood there, mouth still open from his interrupted threat, looking completely thrown off balance by the sudden appearance of the shopkeeper.


    His face cycled through several emotions - confusion, annoyance, disbelief - before settling on a mix of bewilderment and irritation as Mr. Biggins shoved the box of chocolates practically under his nose.


    A muscle twitched in his jaw as he stared at the treats, some of which appeared to be moving slightly. One chocolate in particular seemed to be changing colors in sync with his rising blood pressure.


    His earlier intimidating presence deflated somewhat as he took an unconscious step backward, eyeing Mr. Biggins as if the shopkeeper might be contagious.


    "I... what... no," he managed to sputter, his previous anger temporarily forgotten in the face of such bizarre behavior. "I don''t want any damn chocolates."


    Mr. Biggins shrugged, popping another chocolate in his mouth. "Your loss. They''re quite good," he said, seemingly unbothered by Thrasher''s reaction. A small puff of purple smoke escaped his mouth as he spoke.


    Suddenly, his eyes widened. "Oh! Young Adom and young Sam! How absolutely marvelous to see you two here!"


    "...But you literally looked at us when you arrived," Adom pointed out, gesturing with his frosty.


    "Did I?" Mr. Biggins tilted his head. "Must have forgotten. Memory''s a bit like a sock drawer, you know. Things get mixed up, go missing, sometimes you find things you don''t remember putting there in the first place." He stopped, looking thoughtful.


    Was he always this weird? Adom couldn''t remember. It didn''t seem right that they''d let him work in this state.


    Adom placed the coins on the counter. "We just took some frosties, Mr. Biggins."


    "Hope they were to your liking?" Mr. Biggins asked, his eyes suddenly sharp and focused.


    "As always," they replied in unison, turning to leave.


    "Young Adom!" Mr. Biggins called out.


    "Yes?"


    A chocolate sailed through the air in a perfect arc. Adom caught it reflexively.


    "They''re very good. Do try one before heading out."


    Without insisting, Adom popped the chocolate in his mouth. The flavor bloomed on his tongue - rich, complex, with hints of something he couldn''t quite place. Orange? "Thanks, these are really good indeed."


    "Of course, of course," Mr. Biggins nodded, tossing another chocolate to Sam.


    "Oh, uh, I''ll have mine later," Sam said, pocketing it.


    "I''d very much like your opinion on the texture though," Mr. Biggins said, his smile unchanging but his eyes suddenly intense.


    Sam shifted uncomfortably before unwrapping the chocolate and taking a bite. "It''s... smooth, but also kind of... crystalline? Like it dissolves in layers?"


    "Good!" Mr. Biggins clapped his hands together. He made shooing motions toward the door. "Now off you go! Have adventures! And do be careful on the road."


    The boys stood outside the store, backs against the warm stone wall, slurping their frosties thoughtfully.


    "Well. That was weird," Sam finally said.


    "Was thinking the same thing."


    "Was he always that weird?"


    "Was wondering that too."


    "Hmm," they both went, taking another sip.


    "Adom." Sam said slowly. "Maybe we should call the Imperial Services for Retired Practitioners? You know how they usually handle aging mages and stuff. I mean, ever since that incident with that old Mage turning his entire neighborhood into ashes, they''ve been pretty strict about getting potentially unstable magic users into proper care before anything... happens."


    "...Yeah, maybe we should talk to Mr. Biggins first," Adom said thoughtfully, stirring his frosty with the straw. "Just... politely ask him if everything''s okay?"


    "Definitely. Super politely," Sam agreed as they ambled down the cobblestone street. "Hey, want to grab some cheese sticks and crepes at Martha''s? You know, to shake off all that weird-"


    A faint shimmer rippled through Adom''s mana field, followed by a soft chime in his mind:


    [Enchantment canceled: [Track-and-Trace]]


    [Source: Unknown]


    [Duration: Unknown]


    [Status: Terminated]


    Adom frowned. A tracking spell? When did I even weave a track-


    Oh.


    His frosty slipped from his grip.


    "Wow, Adom? You okay? You look like you''ve seen a-"


    Without warning, Adom grabbed Sam''s arm and yanked him into the nearest doorway - a small antiquarian bookshop. The bell above the door hadn''t even finished ringing when Adom pressed them both behind a tall shelf.


    "What''s going on?" Sam whispered, his frosty sloshing dangerously.


    "Wait," Adom breathed, his fingers already weaving the delicate pattern of Mana Threading. The spell spread outward like a spider''s web made of ghostly blue light, catching fragments of sound and carrying them back. He filtered through them carefully: a child begging for sweets, two merchants haggling over prices, the clip-clop of horse hooves...


    Then:


    "Shit, we lost him!"


    "The signal just... vanished."


    "Keep looking. They have to be close."


    "Sam," Adom whispered, his heart racing. "Someone was tracking us. Following us."


    Sam''s frosty stopped halfway to his mouth. "What?"


    Adom held up a finger, concentrating on the voices filtering through his spell:


    "How can a tracking spell just cancel like that?"


    "Maybe the kid noticed and dispelled it himself?"


    "You absolute moron, when have you ever heard of someone detecting a tracking spell on themselves?"


    "Well then, genius, how do you explain it?"


    "Would you both shut up? They have to be around here somewh-"


    "Can I help you boys?"


    They whirled around to face a tall, thin man in a tweed jacket, his wire-rimmed glasses perched low on his nose. The shopkeeper''s lips were pressed into a tight line as he looked down at them.


    Adom suddenly became aware of the other customers - all staring, all silent.


    The shopkeeper sighed dramatically. "You know, we''ve had three shoplifters this week alone..."


    "We''re not-" Sam started.


    "I''ve heard that before," the man cut him off, his voice rising. "Now, you''re disrupting my customers'' shopping experience, and I must ask you to-"


    "We can pay-" Adom''s fingers twitched, a defensive spell itching to form.


    "Out! Out right now!" The shopkeeper actually started shooing them toward the door, his hands pushing at their shoulders. Adom''s jaw clenched, magic crackling at his fingertips before he forced it down.


    "Wait, please, we just need-"


    Too late. They stumbled onto the sidewalk as the shopkeeper stood in the doorway, red-faced and shouting: "And don''t come back! Next time I''ll call the police! Honestly, Xerkes students behaving like common thieves!"


    Adom turned, his stomach dropping as he met the cold eyes of two men who had just passed the store. One smiled, all teeth and no warmth.


    Shit.


    "Found them," one of the men said quietly, his grin widening. Both started moving toward them through the afternoon crowd.


    "Run," Adom hissed, grabbing Sam''s arm. They bolted down the street, nearly colliding with a woman carrying shopping bags.


    "Sorry!" Sam called back as they weaved through the crowd. Adom could hear heavy footsteps behind them, getting closer.


    "Move it, kid!" One of their pursuers shouted, shoving someone aside.


    "Over there - a police officer!" Sam pointed, breathing hard.


    At the corner stood a uniformed officer, shoulders slumped as he mechanically wrote in his notepad. His uniform was slightly disheveled, and he kept pausing to rub his temples.


    "Sir! Officer, please-" Sam called out, approaching carefully.


    The man looked up, his bloodshot eyes focusing on them. "Yes?" His voice was tired but professional.


    "We need help," Adom said, constantly scanning the crowd. "Some men are following us-"


    "Following you?" The officer straightened, scanning the area. "Can you describe them?"


    As Adom described the men, the officer''s initial alertness gradually shifted to skepticism. His jaw tightened when he saw no immediate threat.


    "And where are these men now?"


    "They were just-" Sam looked around frantically. "They must have hidden when they saw us talking to you..."


    The officer''s expression darkened. He pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a long breath. "Listen, boys..."


    "Please, you have to believe us," Adom insisted, his eyes still darting everywhere. A small crowd had begun to gather, watching the scene unfold.


    "I''ve been standing here for hours," the officer''s voice cracked slightly. "Writing citations for illegal strider carriage parking. My wife- ex-wife served me papers this morning. Right in front of everyone at the precinct." He laughed bitterly. "And now..."


    What the hell was this melodrama? Who the hell asked him to tell his story?


    "Sir, we''re not lying-" Sam tried.


    "Enough!" The officer''s voice rose, drawing more stares. "I don''t need this today. Not today of all days." His eyes were getting red. "Do you think this is funny? Making up stories?"


    "But-"


    "You students, always thinking you can..." he trailed off, wiping his eyes roughly. "Just... just go. Please."


    "Officer-" Adom started, desperately aware of how exposed they were.


    "GO!" the man suddenly roared, making several onlookers jump. "Before I call your school! I don''t need your pranks! I don''t need-" his voice broke again, and he turned away, shoulders shaking.


    The crowd whispered. Some looked sympathetic toward the officer, others judgmental. A few shot disapproving glances at Adom and Sam.


    "Damn it," Adom hissed, pulling Sam away. "Damn adults who won''t listen." His eyes scanned the growing crowd around them nervously. They were exposed, drawing attention, and their pursuers could be anywhere in this mass of people. The distraught officer clearly wasn''t going to be any help.


    "We need to go. Now."


    Adom''s mind raced. They couldn''t keep running in the open like this - too many people, too easy to track. His eyes darted around, searching for-


    "This way!" He yanked Sam into a narrow alley between two buildings. The shadows swallowed them as they sprinted past overflowing trash bins and scattered cats.


    "Who are they?" Sam panted. "What do they-"


    "Less talking, more running!"


    They emerged onto another street, this one quieter. Behind them, Adom heard one of the men curse as he stumbled over something in the alley.


    "Split up?" Sam suggested.


    "No," Adom said firmly. "Bad idea. We need to-" He stopped mid-sentence, an idea forming. "Actually... Sam, how good are you at illusions now?"


    A sudden, searing heat erupted in Adom''s chest, like molten metal flooding his veins. He stumbled, catching himself against a wall as the world tilted sideways. His vision blurred, then sharpened with unnatural clarity as he saw Sam clutch his own chest, gasping.


    The familiar blue window of the system materialized before him.


    [Substance absorbed]


    Sam looked up, his glasses reflecting the blue glow emanating from Adom''s trembling form.


    "Is that Fluid...?"


    *****


    "Left alley! Move your asses!" Jaef shouted, shoving past a group of tourists. His leather coat caught on someone''s bag, nearly making him stumble.


    "Would you shut up?" Trevor hissed, matching his pace. "Might as well wave a sign saying ''hey officers, suspicious people running here!''"


    Kade brought up the rear, somehow managing to look bored while sprinting. "Man, I could really go for some ice cream right now. You see those frosties they had? Why don''t we get stuff like that in the Dregs?"


    "Focus!" Jaef snarled, rounding the corner into the alley. "If we can''t catch him alive, we-"


    "Yeah, yeah, kill the kid, clean job, higher-ups will have our heads," Trevor rolled his eyes. "You''ve only said it like fifty times today."


    "Because you idiots keep getting distract- wait." Jaef stopped so suddenly that Kade crashed into his back.


    The alley split in two directions.


    "Oh for fuck''s sake," Kade groaned, straightening his jacket. "Did anyone actually see which way they went?"


    Trevor squinted at the ground. "Footprints go both ways. Little shits must''ve used an illusion."


    "Split up?" Kade suggested, already eyeing the right path.


    "No, you moron, that''s exactly what they-" Jaef started.


    "Last one to find them buys ice cream!" Kade called out, already sprinting down the right path.


    "I hate this job," Jaef muttered, watching Trevor take off down the left. "I really, really hate this job."


    Trevor skidded to a halt, chest heaving. "Wait... why can''t I see the end of this alley?"


    "Because we''re fucking idiots who fell for the most obvious-" Jaef grabbed Trevor''s shoulder. "STOP MOVING!"


    They froze. The alley ahead of them... stretched. And stretched. And stretched. The walls seemed to pull away like taffy, the cobblestones rippling like water. What should have been a twenty-meter alley now disappeared into an impossible vanishing point.


    A child''s laugh echoed through the space, bouncing off the walls in a way that made it impossible to tell where it came from.


    "What the fuck is that?" Trevor''s voice cracked. He turned to Jaef, face pale. "Hey, didn''t Helios say the kid was just an apprentice?"


    Jaef stared at the warping reality around them, his mouth dry. "This doesn''t make sense. This is high-level spatial manipulation. No apprentice could..." He trailed off as the laughter echoed again, closer this time.


    The walls continued stretching, twisting now, the bricks beginning to spiral in impossible patterns. Shadow and light played across the surfaces in ways that hurt their eyes.


    "Jaef?" Trevor''s voice was barely a whisper.


    "Yeah?"


    "I don''t think we were told everything about this job."


    "Move," Jaef growled.


    "What?"


    "MOVE!" He started weaving a complex pattern with his hands, magic crackling between his fingers. "If I can''t pinpoint the source, I''ll just blast this whole fucking illusion apart-"


    "I wouldn''t do that if I was you." The voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere, calm and eerily adult-like for someone so young.


    "WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?" Jaef spun in circles, his spell still building power. "SHOW YOURSELF!"


    "Just surrender." The voice was gentle now, almost kind. "No one has to get hurt."


    A scream pierced the twisted space behind him. Jaef whirled around.


    Trevor was gone.


    "Trevor?" His voice bounced off the warped walls. "TREVOR!"


    Nothing but that damn child''s laughter, fading into silence.


    Jaef stood alone in the impossible alley, his spell still crackling uselessly between his trembling fingers.


    "Fuck this," Jaef snarled, letting his magic build to dangerous levels. Blue sparks danced across his skin, the air growing thick with potential energy. His hands shook as he forced more and more power into the spell, well past the point of safety.


    The warped alley seemed to pulse in response, shadows writhing along the walls. That damn laughter echoed again, but Jaef ignored it, focusing on his spell. If these brats wanted to play games, he''d show them what real magic could do.


    "Last chance!" he shouted, his voice cracking with strain. The magic was starting to burn now, like holding onto live wires. "Come out, or I''ll-"


    The world tilted.


    For a fraction of a second, Jaef felt weightless, his brain struggling to process what was happening. There was a blur of movement in his peripheral vision - too fast to track, too close to dodge.


    Something solid connected with his jaw.


    The impact sent shockwaves through his skull, rattling his teeth and exploding behind his eyes in a burst of white light. The half-formed spell shattered, magic dispersing in a shower of sparks that he barely registered.


    His legs went numb first. Then his arms. The ground rushed up to meet him, or maybe he was falling down to meet it - his scrambled brain couldn''t tell the difference anymore.


    As consciousness slipped away, Jaef had one final, absurd thought: When did the kid get so tall?


    Then darkness swallowed him whole.


    *****


    Adom braced himself against the wall, chest heaving. A cowl of fluid fully covering him. The assasin knocked out in front of him. He stared at the notifications still hanging in his vision, trying to process what had just happened.


    [You have consumed [Pure Mana Elixir] (Rank: S)]


    [Your mana Pool has exceeded the maximum amount possible at your level]


    [Level Up! Level 2 ¡ú Level 3]


    [Stat Increases:


    Mana pool: ¡ü500/500


    Life force 205 ¡ú 210]


    His mana paths burned - not painfully, but with an intense warmth that spoke of rapid expansion. What should have taken months of training had happened in seconds. He could feel the new channels forming, branching out like lightning through his body.


    He flexed his fingers, watching small sparks dance between them. The mana responded instantly, flowing smooth as water where it had once been like pushing through sand.


    On the moment, they''d just gone with it - what choice did they have? With assassins on their tail, Adom and Sam had to act fast.


    The spatial manipulation spell had been risky - technically, Adom knew enough about mana control to attempt spells at a two-circle mage''s level. His understanding was there, his control was precise enough, but he''d always lacked the raw mana capacity for such feats.


    This wasn''t anywhere near two-circle level, not even one-circle, but with his newly expanded pool, it was leagues beyond what he could have managed minutes ago.


    The pure mana elixir... Adom''s thoughts kept circling back to Mr. Biggins'' chocolates. It had to be - especially since Sam had also eaten them. The timing, the effects-


    "ADOM!"


    Sam''s terrified shout ripped through his thoughts. Adom spun around, but too late - the assassin was already on him, dagger glinting as it swept toward his throat. Less than a second from death-


    A black blur shot through the air.


    The sound that followed wasn''t human - a deep, feral growl that resonated through the alley. The assassin didn''t even have time to scream before the wet crack of breaking bones filled the air. The sound of tearing flesh, the spray of blood across the cobblestones.


    Adom looked down to his left, eyes widening in disbelief.


    "...You?"


    It turned to face him.


    Those eyes... the exact same shade of blue as his own, seeming to pierce right through him. Its fur rippled like liquid shadow, darker than the alley''s gloom.


    Midnight puma.


    The same one he''d freed in the Undertow.


    Time seemed to slow as they locked eyes, Adom''s chest still heaving from exertion. The creature''s presence felt surreal, yet here it was, standing over the remains of his would-be killer.


    A sudden glow reflected off the puma''s fur.


    The creature''s head snapped toward the light.


    "NO, SAM!"


    Adom''s hands moved faster than thought, throwing up a barrier just as Sam''s fireball roared through the air. Magic collided with magic in a thunderous crack. The explosion lit up the alley like miniature daylight, forcing Adom to shield his eyes.


    When the spots cleared from his vision and the smoke began to settle, the puma had vanished. Only blood and the cooling corpse at his feet proved it had been there at all.


    Sam''s legs gave out as he stared at the corpse, blood still pulsing from the ruined throat in grotesque spurts. He doubled over, retching violently onto the ground.


    "Can''t- I can''t-" His breathing came in sharp, desperate gasps. "There''s so much blood- Adom, what-"


    Adom sprinted to him, dropping to his knees. "Hey, hey, look at me man." he grabbed Sam''s shoulders, forcing his friend to face him instead of the corpse. "Deep breaths, okay? Like this." He exaggerated his breathing, keeping his voice steady. "In through the nose, out through the mouth. Come on, with me."


    "But the- the thing, it just- and the man-" Sam''s words tumbled out between gasps.


    Voices echoed from the street. Getting closer.


    "Shit." Adom''s thoughts churned. They couldn''t be found here - not with a mutilated corpse and two unconscious assassins. His hands moved in quick, practiced motions, weaving spells over the knocked-out men.


    The voices were almost at the alley''s entrance.


    "Hold onto me," Adom ordered, pulling Sam close. His friend was still shaking, but managed to grip Adom''s robes.


    They vanished, leaving behind only cooling blood and questions that would never be answered.

 Chapter 12. A Mature Person Would Walk Away

    The invisibility spell dissolved as the boys burst through the door of dorm 214, both panting from the run. Sam immediately started pacing the cramped space between their beds, hands clutching his head, fingers digging into his scalp.


    "Dead," he muttered, his voice cracking. "He''s dead. We killed- there''s a dead man in that alley and we just- we just-" His breathing came in sharp, painful gasps. "Oh god, oh god, oh god-"


    "Sam, you need to calm-"


    "DON''T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!" Sam whirled around, face contorted. "A MAN IS DEAD! Do you understand that? DEAD! Not sleeping, not unconscious - DEAD! His throat was- was-" He doubled over, dry heaving. "The sound- like ripping paper but- but wet and-"


    Adom''s chest tightened with guilt. Assassins. This was his fault. He''d dragged a twelve-year-old - a child, really - into something that would haunt his dreams for years. Sam wasn''t ready for this. Not yet.


    "Listen, I know it''s-"


    "No, you don''t know!" Sam''s voice rose hysterically. "You don''t know anything! You''re just standing there like- like this is normal! Like we didn''t just watch someone die! Like there isn''t blood on our-" He looked down at his robes, seeing phantom stains, and suddenly started clawing at the fabric. "Get it off, get it off, GET IT OFF!"


    "Sam, please-" Adom stepped forward, reaching for his friend''s shoulder.


    The push spell erupted from Sam with explosive force - raw, uncontrolled magic born of pure panic and rage. The worst kind. It caught Adom square in the chest, sending him sprawling onto his backside. The impact knocked the wind from his lungs.


    [-2 Life Force]


    [+3 White Wyrm''s Body]


    When he looked up, Sam stood there trembling, hands still raised, tears streaming down his face. For a moment, shock seemed to break through his panic - his eyes widened at what he''d just done, one hand half-reaching toward Adom.


    "I-" Sam''s voice caught, guilt flashing across his features. But then something shifted in his eyes, like a door slamming shut. His half-extended hand clenched into a fist, and that raw, wounded anger returned with doubled intensity.


    "What the actual- what just- WHAT?" His voice cracked. "There were assassins, Adom! ASSASSINS! And then that- that thing just appeared and- oh God, I- I-" He dry-heaved again, steadying himself against his desk. "How... how could this happen..."


    "Sam-"


    "And why were they even after us? We''re KIDS! We''re supposed to be worrying about homework and cleaning duty, not people trying to MURDER us! And that THING-"


    "Sam, listen-"


    "Was that creature even real? I saw you. You protected it. Maybe I''m going crazy. Yes, that''s it, I''m just going crazy and-"


    "SAM!" Adom grabbed his shoulders, stopping the frantic pacing. "Breathe, man. Just... breathe. We''re safe now. In our room. No assassins, no blood, no giant cats. Just... sit down before you pass out."


    Sam exhaled deeply.


    "Listen, you need to calm down first, and-"


    "You." Sam''s voice suddenly went cold, his panic shifting to something else. He took a step back, staring at Adom like he was seeing him for the first time. "Who are you, really?"


    Oh no.


    "What? Sam, what are you-"


    "You''re not the friend I know." Sam''s hands were still shaking, but his eyes had gone hard. "The Adom I knew couldn''t even look at blood without getting queasy. The Adom I knew would never just... handle all this like it''s nothing. A hit on the head doesn''t change someone this fast." He backed up until he hit his desk. "So who the hell are you? Because you''re not him."


    "Of course I''m me," Adom said quietly.


    "STOP LYING!" Sam''s hands shot up, trembling as they began weaving a spell. "Who the hell are you? A spirit? Did you possess Adom? Get out of his body." The spell''s glow intensified. "GET THE FUCK OUT!"


    Adom just looked at his friend - really looked at him. A scared twelve-year-old trying to make sense of a world that had just turned upside down. And wasn''t that the crux of it? Sam was right, in a way. He wasn''t the Adom from yesterday, not really. Sixty and plus years of apocalyptic future had changed him in ways this Sam couldn''t begin to understand.


    He could tell him everything right now.


    About the wars and catastrophes that would come. The plagues. The horrors that would break their world apart. About how he''d lived and died and somehow gotten a second chance to fix it all.


    But what good would that do?


    This Sam, young and already struggling with anxiety, would crumble under that knowledge.


    Telling him now would just send him spiraling back into that shell of isolation he''d worked so hard to break free from.


    No. Some truths were better carried alone, at least for now.


    Sam''s hands shook harder at Adom''s silence, the half-formed spell flickering unstably between his fingers. He would not shoot. Never. Adom knew it. But it still felt horrible to see him in such a state. Sam''s face twisted through a mix of emotions - fear, betrayal, anger - each fighting for dominance.


    "Say something!" The words came out almost like a plea. "Stop just... standing there! The real Adom would be freaking out, or making stupid jokes, or- or something!" His voice cracked. "But you''re just standing there, all calm, like people tried to kill us every day. Like we didn''t just see someone die. Like..." The spell wavered dangerously as tears started forming in his eyes. "Like you''re someone completely different wearing my best friend''s face."


    Adom sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Of course I''m me, Sam."


    "But-"


    "You still sleep with Mr. Snuggles hidden under your pillow," Adom cut in calmly, watching Sam''s spell flicker. "You''re terrified of thunderstorms because of what happened that night at your grandmother''s farm. You put on a brave face, but you still check under your bed every night - not because you still believe in the Umbra, but because that''s what your mom used to do before everything."


    The spell between Sam''s fingers dimmed slightly.


    Good. Just like that.


    "You hate carrots but eat them anyway because you think they''ll make you taller. You have a secret stash of romance novels hidden in that loose floorboard by your bed - the really cheesy ones with shirtless guys and sexy girls on the covers. And you still blame yourself for what happened to your mother and little sister, even though I keep telling you it wasn''t your fault."


    Sam''s hands dropped to his sides, the spell dissipating entirely. "How..."


    "Because I''m me, Sam. I might be acting different, but I''m still me. The same one who helped you sneak into the kitchen to steal cookies last summer break. The same one who covered for you when you accidentally set Professor Wilson''s wig on fire. The same one who knows you sing in the shower when you think no one can hear you."


    "..."


    The tension hung in the air like a physical thing. Adom held his breath, waiting. This was the moment - either Sam would accept him or...


    Finally, Sam''s shoulders slumped. He took off his glasses, quickly wiping at the corner of his eye. When he spoke again, his voice was rough but had lost its edge. "The books, uh... they have really good plots, you know..."


    The absurdity of the statement hit Adom like a wave. A laugh bubbled up in his throat, born perhaps from relief as much as humor. "Oh yeah, I''m sure it''s all about the plot. Just like that erotic novel you''ve got hidden in your sock drawer - what was it called? ''The Blacksmith''s Burning-''"


    "I GET IT! Damn!" Sam''s face went bright red as he shoved his glasses back on. "No intimacy in this room. None. Zero." he mumbled, dropping onto his bed.


    Then his expression sobered. "Hey, about earlier... when I pushed you. Are you hurt?"


    Adom almost made a joke about his pride being wounded, but something in Sam''s face stopped him. "I''m fine. Really."


    "Those men..." Sam''s voice dropped lower. "Why were they after us? What kind of trouble are you in?"


    "I may have... gotten involved with some troublesome people."


    "Troublesome?" Sam''s eyebrows shot up. "Troublesome enough to want you dead and kidnapped?"


    "They''re... particularly spiteful."


    "We need to tell Headmaster Meris," Sam said, sitting up straighter. "This isn''t just some school prank, Adom. These were actual assassins!"


    "Let me sort this out first," Adom raised his hands placatingly. "Going to the Headmaster now would just create more problems. The school board would get involved, there''d be investigations-"


    "That''s kind of the point!"


    "Sam, please. Just... give me time to handle this. Trust me?"


    Sam opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. His shoulders slumped. "Okay. Alright. Fine. But if anything else happens-"


    "We''ll go straight to Meris. Promise."


    A heavy silence fell between them. Sam stared at the ceiling from his bed. Adom noticed how carefully his friend was avoiding certain questions, stepping around the edges of what had happened. And somehow, he knew Sam hadn''t completely bought his explanations - there was still doubt in those eyes, carefully hidden behind acceptance. Which was fair enough. But at least he wasn''t pushing further.


    "...Look, I don''t know what happened to you," Sam finally said. "And clearly you don''t want to tell me. But..." He sighed. "You''re still you. Kinda."


    "Ouch."


    Sam chuckled. "Maybe Damus'' hit did change something, but..." He sat up, fixing Adom with a serious look. "I... guess change can be good. Just be careful what kind of stuff you get your feet into, yeah?"


    Adom smiled. "Yeah."


    The silence that followed was the special kind of awkward that only comes after baring your soul to someone. Sam suddenly found the ceiling absolutely fascinating, while Adom developed an intense interest in a loose thread on his sleeve. Someone coughed. Neither was sure who. The sound seemed to echo forever in the small room.


    Adom shifted his weight, feeling like he should say something - he was technically the adult here, even if his current body disagreed - but everything that came to mind sounded painfully forced. The silence stretched on, becoming almost physically painful.


    Thank whatever gods were listening when Sam practically lunged for his pocket watch, despite both of them knowing exactly what time it was. "We should head to class. Starts in 45 minutes, and today it''s at the Floating Spires." He grimaced, clearly overselling his concern. "Professor Crowley always gets cranky when we''re late."


    Adom latched onto the save like a drowning man to driftwood. "Look at you," he said, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. "Already bouncing back."


    Sam stood up, slapped both his cheeks with his palms, and squared his shoulders. "Well, if you can change that much overnight, so can I." He grabbed his bag. "Even if I might throw up again later."


    *****


    The thud of another bullseye echoed across the training yard as Damus''s Firebolt struck dead center, leaving a smoking crater in the target. Third perfect shot in a row. The tall student grinned, already raising his hand for another weave.


    "Adequate form, Mr. Lightbringer." Professor Crowley''s voice carried the perpetual edge of someone who''d seen too many students die from ''adequate.'' "But you''re telegraphing your strikes. In a real fight, that half-second wind-up will get you killed."


    The grin faltered. "Yes, Professor."


    "Excellent form, Miss Storm." Professor Crowley''s boots crunched on the gravel as he approached. "But that hesitation will get you killed. You''re not feeding your pet cat - you''re launching a combat spell. Commit to it."


    Mia''s shoulders tensed. Her next cast flew straighter, harder, but still lacked killing force.


    Crowley paced the line of students, his scarred face harsh in the morning light. "Miss Chen, your aim is off by three degrees. Mr. Blackwood, that''s not a Firebolt, that''s barely a spark - put some conviction into it." He stopped at a trembling student whose spell had gone wide. "Mr. Peterson, if that was a real battle, you''d have just immolated three civilians and missed your target entirely."


    "Not like I''m going to be a battle mage anyway," Peterson muttered, just loud enough to carry.


    The temperature seemed to drop several degrees as Crowley turned.


    "Is that so?" His voice was deceptively soft. "Tell me, Mr. Peterson, do you think dark creatures care about your career choice? Do bandits stop to ask if you specialized in healing before they try to slit your throat?"


    The boy swallowed hard.


    "Students." Crowley''s voice cut through the air. "What empire do you serve?"


    The question caught them off-guard. A few mumbled responses drifted across the yard.


    "WHAT EMPIRE DO YOU SERVE?" The battlefield roar made several students jump. Adom''s hand twitched instinctively toward a defensive stance - He''d heard rumors that Crowley had been some high-ranking battle mage in the Imperial forces before choosing, for whatever reason, to teach at Xerkes. And it showed.


    "THE GLORIOUS EMPIRE OF SUNDAR!" The response came in ragged unison, Adom''s voice mixing with the others.


    Crowley''s eyes swept the line. "Mr. Blackwood. Why do we call it an Empire and not a Kingdom?"


    "Um..." Blackwood shifted his weight. "Because... it''s bigger?"


    "False. Miss Chen?"


    "Because... we have colonies?"


    "Partially. Mr. Lightbringer?"


    Damus straightened. "An empire expands. A kingdom maintains. Empire means constant warfare at the borders."


    "Excellent." Crowley paced the line. "And what does constant warfare mean for you, the next generation of mages?"


    Silence.


    "It means that whether you plan to heal the sick or grow prettier roses, you will serve. The Empire will call, and you will answer. And when that day comes..." He stopped in front of Peterson, whose earlier spell had gone wide. "Will you be ready? Or will you hesitate, like Miss Storm, and die wondering why your perfect form didn''t save you?"


    The training dummy behind Peterson still smoldered.


    "You are mages," Crowley continued, voice dropping to that dangerous quiet. "The non-mages fear you. Fear makes people irrational. Dangerous. You need to be ready - not just for the Empire''s enemies, but to be able to defend yourselves, whether you plan to be battle mages or bloody florists."


    "Mr. Sylla." Crowley''s eyes fixed on Adom. "Show them proper form."


    Why me of all people? Was what Adom wanted to ask, but kept to himself.


    He stepped forward, ignoring the whispers. His hand rose, smooth and precise. No wasted movement. The spell formed with practiced ease - gather, compress, aim...


    [Firebolt] streaked across the yard, a lance of concentrated flame that punched through the dummy''s chest. Before the smoke cleared, two more followed, creating a perfect triangle of destruction.


    [Marksmanship has reached level 2!]


    "Excellent targeting," Crowley nodded. "Note the economy of motion, the consistent power output."


    Sam whistled low beside him. "Damn, you''ve gotten good at this. Been practicing?"


    "A bit."


    Adom flexed his fingers, feeling the familiar drain. [Firebolt] was efficient but demanding - each cast took more from his mana pool than a simple [Fireball]. Three shots and he was already feeling the strain. Not good enough. Not nearly good enough.


    "Mr. Sylla has shown remarkable improvement," Crowley continued. "Though I suspect-"


    BOOM


    An explosion hit out of nowhere and the class spun to see Damus''s target sporting a perfect hole through its center, edges still smoking. The boy stood with his hand raised, a satisfied smirk playing at his lips.


    "Mr. Lightbringer." Crowley''s muttered. "What have I said about interrupting lectures to show off?"Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    "Sorry, Professor. The spell was ready, and I didn''t want to lose focus."


    "If you had been focusing properly, you''d know that control matters more than power. Mr. Howl?" Crowley gestured to Gus. "Show us proper control."


    Gus'' Firebolt was barely visible - a whisper of heat that left a precise, coin-sized hole in the dummy''s forehead. No excess damage, no wasted energy. An advantage of having only one affinity to an element was that you could do things with that element much faster than someone having more than one.


    "Excellent. That, Mr. Lightbringer, is how you kill someone without destroying half the building behind them."


    Damus''s face reddened. His eyes found Adom''s in that way they always did lately, looking for competition. Adom responded by sticking out his tongue, just slightly - childish, maybe, but worth it for the way Damus''s jaw clenched.


    "Real mature," Sam whispered beside him, trying not to laugh.


    "Says the guy who wants to put itching powder in his shoes."


    "That''s different."


    Adom focused on his next weave, hiding his grin. He knew it was petty, this little rivalry he''d cultivated just to annoy Xerkes''s golden boy. Crowley had always favored Damus, right until Adom started actually trying in class. Now the professor''s praise was split between them, and watching it drive Damus crazy was honestly the highlight of these morning sessions.


    "Keep that up," Sam muttered as Adom landed another perfect shot, "and he''s going to challenge you to a proper duel."


    "Good. Maybe then he''ll stop trying to prove himself every five minutes during class."


    The class continued with its usual rhythm of spells, corrections, and the occasional explosion from someone''s miscast. Through it all, Adom kept count - he was three praise-worthy shots ahead of Damus now. Not that he was competing. Not at all.


    *****


    By the final class, Sam was complaining about the homework ("Three scrolls on elemental theory? Are they trying to kill us?") while fixing his tie. Adom nodded sympathetically, though he could probably write those scrolls in his sleep. After Sam''s earlier suspicions, he''d have to be even more careful about appearing ordinary.


    "I''m heading back to the dorm," Sam yawned, stretching. "Got that stash of elven chocolate my aunt sent last week. The good kind, with those little golden sparkles you like. Want to come? We could break into it and play that new board game."


    Adom''s mouth almost watered at the mention of elven chocolate - his one weakness in either lifetime - but... "Think I''ll stay out a bit longer," Adom said carefully. "Need some fresh air."


    Sam gave him a look but didn''t push it. "Just... stay out of trouble? For real this time?"


    "Yes, mom."


    Sam rolled his eyes and headed off toward their dorm, leaving Adom alone with his thoughts.


    Just another day pretending to be twelve again. Well, minus the whole assassination attempt thing.


    Speaking of assassination... Adom''s mind drifted back to what he''d heard them say.


    Helios.


    Of course that bastard was involved. Must have tagged him during the chase - but how? A rune? Some kind of tracking device? Another mage working with them? The possibilities nagged at him, but one thing was clear: Helios needed to be dealt with. Permanently.


    At least they were safe inside the Academy. Xerkes'' paranoia had its uses - they had layered so many protection spells into every brick and corner that even breathing wrong could trigger an alarm.


    No one got in without the wards recognizing their magical signature. But being trapped inside wasn''t an option. They''d need to leave eventually, and Adom couldn''t have assassins waiting every time they stepped outside the gates.


    That favor Cisco owed him... well, looked like he''d be calling it in sooner than expected.


    Then there was the thing with Mr. Biggins.


    Elixirs were the aristocracy of potions - crystallized mana in many forms, requiring ingredients so rare and conditions so specific that even attempting to make one could bankrupt a small nation.


    The process itself was absurd: from months to years of preparation, precise astronomical alignments, and ingredients that had to be harvested at exact moments. Most elixir masters were lucky to produce three or four successful batches in years.


    And what they''d consumed? Adom had never heard of anything like it, not even in his previous life.


    Standard elixirs could expand your mana channels, sure - widen them by maybe 10%, 20% if you were lucky. The really premium stuff, the kind kings killed each other over, might push it to 30%.


    But what Mr. Biggins had given them had shattered those limits completely. The kind of expansion they''d experienced should have been impossible, should have torn their channels apart.


    The fact that they''d survived at all was miracle enough. The fact that they''d actually absorbed it... well, that opened up questions Adom wasn''t sure he wanted answered. What exactly had the old man given them? And more importantly, who was the old man?


    Heck, who just hands out reality-breaking elixirs like they''re cheap candy?


    The questions churned in Adom''s mind as he packed his bag, already planning his route to that bizarre little shop. Sam had headed back to their dorm, leaving Adom free to-


    "Student Adom Sylla!"


    The harsh caw made him jump.


    One of the Academy''s messenger ravens - those glorified magical post offices with feathers, as students called them. The school''s solution to everything from emergency notifications to "your mother sent cookies."


    Much more dignified than magical scrolls zipping through hallways and smacking students in the face, as had apparently happened in the Academy''s early years.


    "You have a visitor waiting at the entrance," the raven announced in its peculiar mix of human speech and bird-like inflections. "They identified themselves as Eren."


    Adom''s eyes widened. He quickly pulled out his pocket watch - 5 PM exactly. Right. He had promised to meet Eren today.


    He hurried toward the entrance, his thoughts still tangled between elixirs and assassins, when he heard voices by the entrance - not shouting exactly, but that particular tone that always preceded trouble...


    *****


    "So you''re just... waiting here?" A girl''s voice. "That''s kind of weird, don''t you think?"


    "Like I said, a raven was sent." Eren''s voice was steady, controlled. Too controlled. Adom knew that tone - it was the same one a person used right before things got messy. "I''m waiting for someone."


    Adom rounded the corner to find three students standing near Eren. They weren''t doing anything obviously threatening - just chatting, if you didn''t know better. One girl, her uniform pristine down to the last fold, was examining her nails. The two boys flanking her looked equally relaxed, though something about their positioning made Adom''s instincts twitch.


    "Oh, come on," one of the boys was saying. "We''re just curious. You can''t blame us for wondering when we see someone new hanging around. Safety first, right?" He smiled, all perfect teeth and calculated warmth.


    "Especially these days," the girl added, looking up from her nails. "You understand, don''t you? With everything that''s been happening lately..."


    Eren stood perfectly still, hands in his pockets, looking bored. But Adom caught the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his weight was shifted just so, ready to move.


    "Must be nice," the other boy drawled, eyeing Eren''s worn jacket with careful casualness, "having friends in high places. Better than whatever... places you usually hang around in."


    These little...


    Eren''s hand slipped into his pocket, jaw tightening. "What did you just say to me, you-"


    "Eren! How''re you doing, man?" Adom''s voice cut through the tension, deliberately bright.


    The trio turned, and something shifted in their expressions - subtle, but there. The girl''s eyebrows rose slightly, while the boys exchanged a look that lasted a fraction too long.


    "Oh," the girl said, voice dripping honey, "you must be the friend he''s waiting for. How... nice." She paused, examining Adom with the same attention she''d given her nails earlier. "I don''t believe we''ve had the pleasure. I''m Adelaide Rosewood, of the Baronial House Rosewood. These are Amadeus Blackdeer of the Baronial House Blackdeer, and Clyde Winterbourne of the Most Noble House Winterbourne, Marquis of the Northern Reaches."


    Of course. Adelaide, Amadeus, and Clyde. Because God forbid they just be called Bob.


    "Adom Sylla," he replied, keeping his voice neutral. He moved to stand beside Eren, casually breaking their loose circle. "Sorry I''m late. Just got the raven''s message."


    "No problem." Eren''s response was minimal, measured.


    "Sylla?" Amadeus tilted his head, like he was trying to place the name. "Not from one of the old families, are you?"


    Adelaide''s lips curved into something that wasn''t quite a smile. "Oh, Amadeus, don''t be rude. I''m sure Adom''s family is... perfectly respectable." The pause was barely noticeable, but it was there.


    Adom suppressed a sigh.


    Clyde had been quiet, watching the exchange with an odd intensity. Now he straightened slightly, eyes narrowing. "Wait a minute. Sylla... I''ve heard that name recently." He studied Adom more carefully now, like he was piecing something together. "Weren''t you involved in something with Damus Lightbringer the other day?"


    "Oh?" Adelaide''s interest sharpened visibly. "That incident? But I heard..." She trailed off, looking between Clyde and Adom.


    "Can''t be," Amadeus said. "I mean, the story going around is that someone actually managed to..." He gestured vaguely, clearly skeptical.


    "It is him," Clyde said slowly, certainty creeping into his voice. "I was there, actually. Saw the whole thing." His lips twitched. "Though I have to say, you look even less impressive up close."


    Adelaide let out a small laugh, quickly covered by her hand. "Clyde, honestly."


    "What? Just being observant." Clyde''s eyes never left Adom. "I mean, look at him. Those cracked glasses, barely comes up to my shoulder. Looks like he''d have trouble lifting a textbook, let alone..."


    "Are you sure about what you saw?" Amadeus asked, not bothering to hide his amusement. "Because this is..." He gestured at Adom like he was some kind of puzzling specimen. "Well, you know."


    Adom felt something cold and familiar stirring in his chest. He kept his face perfectly neutral, even as he cataloged every subtle jab, every measured slight.


    "Oh, I''m quite sure," Clyde said, voice thick with false sincerity. "Though I have to wonder... how exactly did someone so..." He paused, clearly savoring the moment. "...diminutive manage such a feat? Unless, of course, you cheated?"


    "Clyde!" Adelaide''s reprimand was laughing rather than serious. "You''ll hurt his feelings. Look, he''s already turning red."


    "Just being honest," Clyde said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "My parents always taught me the value of honesty. You don''t mind honesty, do you, Sylla?"


    A mature person would walk away.


    That''s what Adom kept telling himself, watching their perfectly practiced smiles, their calculated cruelty disguised as concern.


    The funny thing was, in his seventy-nine years of life (and quite a few of those spent reading), he''d always thought these types of people were just lazy writing - the stuck-up rich kids with their carefully crafted insults and pristine uniforms. Yet here they were, like they''d walked straight out of a mediocre novel, hitting every predictable beat with almost admirable dedication.


    It was almost fascinating, in a tired sort of way. If he weren''t so annoyed, he might have appreciated the sheer commitment to the stereotype. Adom knew himself quite well after living a little bit longer. He wasn''t the type to suffer disrespect - especially not from children who could technically be his great-grandchildren, and definitely not after the day he''d had.


    Actually, this was perfect.


    [Fluid Control Activating]


    [Spiteful Fighting Spirit..]


    These little brats needed a lesson in humility, and Adom was in just the right mood to deliver one. Something memorable. Something that would make them think twice before-


    "Brother!"


    The cheerful voice cut through his darkening thoughts.


    Adom turned to see a group of familiar faces jogging towards them.


    Hugo''s massive frame led the pack, his purple hair bouncing with each stride. Behind him came Diana with her scarred knuckles, Harry still nursing that pretzel-hold from earlier, Phil with his broad shoulders, and Kaius sporting what looked like two black eyes now instead of one.


    "Transcendent nerd detected!" Kaius called out cheerfully, the whole group moving like a small, very muscular stampede.


    The contrast couldn''t have been more stark - Clyde and his friends suddenly looking very small as Hugo''s towering frame approached, his genuine smile a sharp contrast to their practiced smirks.


    "Everything alright here?" a sweating Hugo asked, his tone still cheerful but his eyes sharp as they swept over the scene.


    "Yeah," Clyde grunted. "Just chatting."


    "Oh, hope we''re not interrupting then," Hugo smiled, somehow managing to take up even more space as he casually stretched. "Adom, don''t forget tomorrow - 6 AM sharp."


    "First day''s crucial for building proper form," Diana added professionally. "We''ll need to assess your baseline."


    "Make sure to get the standard training gear from the equipment office," Phil chimed in, absently doing shoulder rolls. "They''re enchanted for durability. Better than ruining your own clothes."


    "And don''t skip breakfast," Kaius grinned, shadow boxing. "You''ll need the energy. We go pretty hard on fundamentals."


    "Speaking of which," Harry cracked his neck, "we should demonstrate proper stance sometime. You know, for educational purposes."


    The kids began finding urgent reasons to check their watches and straighten their uniforms.


    "Actually, we should-" Adelaide started.


    "Right, class-" Amadeus added quickly.


    "Yeah, wouldn''t want to be late," Clyde muttered, already backing away. "Nice chat."


    "Oh, before you go-" Hugo pulled out some forms with that same bright smile, "recruitment''s still open. Could really use some new blood in the club."


    Kaius helpfully pushed the papers into their hands. "Yeah, great for building character."


    "And confidence," Diana added meaningfully.


    The kids took the forms like they were handling live snakes. "Thanks, we''ll... consider it," Clyde mumbled.


    "Have a great day!" the combat club members called out in perfect unison, waving enthusiastically until the group hurriedly disappeared around the corner.


    Hugo turned to Adom. "You good, brother?"


    "Thanks, guys."


    "Don''t mention it!" they chorused, then noticed Eren half-hiding behind Adom.


    "Oh!" Hugo immediately seemed to shrink, somehow making his massive frame less imposing. "Hello there! Friend of Adom?"


    Eren nodded nervously.


    "Any friend of our brother is family," Phil said warmly, his voice softer than before. "I''m Phil. The gentle giant here is Hugo."


    "You should come watch Adom train sometime," Diana suggested kindly. "We have great seats for spectators. Very safe distance from the action."


    "And snacks!" Kaius added. "Can''t forget the protein bars."


    Eren relaxed slightly, managing a small smile.


    "Well, we should get going," Hugo said, adjusting his glasses. "Still got five miles to run before dinner. Cardio day, you know how it is." He beamed at Adom. "See you tomorrow, brother! Bring water!"


    "And your fighting spirit!" Harry called back.


    "AND PROTEIN!" Kaius''s voice echoed across the yard.


    As the group jogged away, their chant echoed across the courtyard:


    "PAIN IS JUST WEAKNESS LEAVING THE BODY! OORAH!"


    "PAIN IS JUST WEAKNESS LEAVING THE BODY! OORAH!"


    "LIGHTWEIGHT BABY! YEAAAH!"


    Adom and Eren watched in silence as the enthusiastic chorus faded into the distance.


    Finally, Eren spoke.


    "Somehow I feel like they just saved those kids from you. You were about to touch that Clyde guy, weren''t you?"


    "Viciously."


    After the word left his mouth, Adom had a brief moment of clarity where he realized that, as a mentally 79-year-old man, announcing his intentions to ''viciously touch'' a child probably wasn''t his finest moment. Even if said child was a remarkably punchable young noble.


    Mental note: work on phrasing.


    "Soo," Eren turned to him. "''Law'', or should I call you Adom?"


    Adom chuckled. "Call me whatever you want."


    "So... what are we doing this evening?"


    "Well," Adom adjusted his broken glasses, "I had planned to test your current level, and I still will. But first, I need to make a detour in town and check something."


    *****


    On their way to town, Adom filled Eren in on his eventful morning - the assassination attempt, the ensuing chaos, and his rather creative solution to the problem.


    "So basically," he explained, casually stepping over a puddle, "they''re walking around with scrambled memories right now. Can''t remember my face, my name, or anything about me. And the police caught them."


    Eren whistled. "Brutal. Effective, but brutal."


    "Speaking of which," Adom continued, "I need you to set up another meeting with Cisco in a few days. There are some... questions I need to ask him."


    "About the people trying to kill you?"


    "Among other things."


    They turned the corner onto Market Street, and Adom stopped dead in his tracks. The Weird Stuff Store''s windows were dark, a "CLOSED" sign hanging crookedly on the door.


    "Oh, you''ve got to be kidding me." Adom''s palm met his face with an audible smack.


    The walk back was punctuated by Adom''s continuous stream of muttered curses.


    "That old fox did this on purpose," he grumbled, kicking a pebble. "Probably sitting in there right now, laughing behind those dusty curtains."


    "You really think so?" Eren asked, trying to keep up with Adom''s irritated pace.


    "Oh, absolutely. He''s got that..." Adom waved his hands vaguely, "that whole mad and mysterious shopkeeper thing going on. Probably thinks it''s funny to make me come back later." He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Watch, next time I show up he''ll act all surprised, like ''Oh, were you looking for me? I was just taking a very important nap.''"


    His impression of the Mr. Biggins'' voice made Eren snort.


    They finally reached the academy, and Adom led them to one of the training rooms.


    It was everything you''d expect from Xerkes Academy - and then some.


    Polished marble floors gleamed under floating orbs of light, their glow reflecting off walls covered in intricate runic arrays. Various magical devices lined the shelves: crystalline focusing prisms, enchanted practice dummies that could actually fight back, and measurement tools that looked like they belonged in some mad scientist''s laboratory.


    Eren tried (and failed) to act casual as he walked around, but his eyes kept darting everywhere like an excited kid in a candy store. He paused at a display case, fingers hovering over a sleek wooden wand.


    "Third-generation Hawthorne," he murmured. "Diamond core, triple-helix runic array. Even in the Undertow, these go for small fortunes."


    "You know your wands," Adom noted.


    Eren chuckled, a bit self-conscious. "Always wanted one for training. My hands aren''t great at weaving yet."


    "That''s normal - you haven''t had proper magical education." Adom tilted his head thoughtfully. "Actually, I should still have my first-year wand somewhere in my dorm-"


    "REALLY?!"


    The shout echoed off the marble walls. Eren froze, caught in his own enthusiasm. He cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and in a carefully measured voice said, "That would be... appreciated."


    Adom burst out laughing.


    "Stop it," Eren muttered, ears turning red.


    "Your face!" Adom wheezed. "You went from five years old to fifty in two seconds flat!"


    "I said stop!"


    "You know," Adom finally managed, wiping tears from his eyes, "you could just act your age instead of trying to be Mr. Serious all the time."


    Eren pointedly examined a nearby runic array, pretending he couldn''t hear the occasional snicker still coming from Adom''s direction.


    After one final chuckle, Adom stepped to the center of the room. "Ready?"


    "Yeah." Eren''s face was still a bit flushed, but his eyes were focused now.


    "Take your clothes off."


    "What?"


    "Just the top." Adom fiddled with a crystalline device that looked like a cross between a stethoscope and a kaleidoscope. When Eren hesitated, he sighed. "It''s procedure. Less than a minute - just need to check your mana pool capacity and if you''ve hit any natural limits."


    Eren muttered something under his breath but complied, shrugging off his jacket and pulling his shirt over his head.


    "The device works by reading the mana pathways through direct contact," Adom explained, adjusting some dials. "I''ll place it on your back, activate it, and we''ll get a quantitative measurement of your-"


    He stopped mid-sentence.


    Eren half-turned. "Problem?"


    There... might be.


    Adom had studied runes since before he could properly write. Complex arrays, ancient scripts, forbidden patterns - he''d memorized thousands. Could recognize them in his sleep. It took a lot to surprise him these days.


    But this...


    To untrained eyes, the mark sprawling across Eren''s upper back might have looked like an oddly symmetric birthmark, or perhaps a scar that had healed unusually well. But Adom knew better. He''d seen this pattern exactly once before, years ago, in a book he wasn''t supposed to have access to for at least another decade.


    A natural rune.


    Not drawn, not carved, not branded - but grown into the flesh itself, as if it had always been meant to be there. The implications made his throat dry.


    "Adom?" Eren''s voice had an edge to it now. "What''s wrong?"


    "That mark on your back," Adom asked casually, placing the device against Eren''s skin, "where''d you get it?"


    "Oh, this? Mother said I was born with it. Just a birthmark. Why?"


    The device beeped, and Adom''s eyes widened at the display:


    MANA POOL: 10,000+ M


    ABSORPTION RATE: 98%


    MEASUREMENT VERIFIED


    CRYSTAL RESONANCE MODE ACTIVE


    "What''s wrong?"


    Silence.


    Adom reset the device. Measured again. Same result. Third time. No change.


    He stared at the screen.


    This machine was Xerkes'' latest model, capable of measuring even the most powerful mana crystals.


    When readings exceeded a certain level, it automatically switched to crystal resonance mode - a feature added for measuring artificial constructs like golems or crystal containing large quantities of mana. No one had expected to need it for a person, but Xerkes built their devices to measure everything. Just in case.


    Adom''s current mana pool sat at 500 M according to his system, and he''d verified it against the machine''s measurements with Sam earlier today, after their elixir absorption. The readings matched perfectly - the system wasn''t using some alternate scale.


    Mana pools were like fingerprints - everyone was born with one, each unique in size and potential. Some people were stuck with what they got at birth. Others grew steadily throughout their lives. Some hit their ceiling early, while others never stopped expanding. Natural limits varied wildly.


    But when a mana pool reached certain thresholds, something extraordinary happened.


    Rings.


    <div>


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    At 3,000 M, the first ring formed around the mana core. The second ring appeared at 9,000 M, triple the first threshold. The third would manifest at 27,000 M, triple again, and each subsequent ring required tripling the previous threshold.


    Magic was mathematics.


    Each leap between circles represented not just a difference in raw power, but a fundamental transformation in what a mage could achieve.


    In his past life, by age 79, Adom had achieved two rings - making him a two-circle mage.


    The gap between a regular mage and a circle mage wasn''t just a matter of degree - it was a fundamental difference in nature. A regular mage might conjure a fireball; a one-circle mage''s output could turn a forest to ash in less than a few minutes. Two circles meant enough mana output to reshape coastlines and level cities.


    Three circles?


    The Farmer Mage, who was said to be over 50000 M, conquered a level S dungeon by himself. Or so the legends say.


    And here was Eren, casually sporting 10,000 M.


    The absorption readings from the device had shown something else too.


    Every mage had an absorption rate - a measure of how much their mana pool could still grow.


    Adom liked to think of it like a sponge: a dry sponge (100%) could soak up lots of water, while a saturated one (0%) couldn''t absorb a single drop more.


    Young mages with vast room for growth showed rates near 100%.


    As they approached their natural limits, that number dropped steadily toward zero. Once it hit zero, that was it - their mana pool would never expand again.


    Adom had witnessed countless mages face that moment - when the device showed zero and their dreams hit their ceiling. Some had wept, others smiled in acceptance. Each confronting their destiny in their own way.


    Eren''s readout had shown 98%.


    A monster, Adom thought, a chill running down his spine. He''s a true monster. Damn.


    "How old are you?"


    "Twelve. Why?"


    "Two-circle mage at twelve..." Adom muttered, almost chuckling at the absurdity.


    [Identify]


    Name: Eren Raubtier


    Race: Human


    State: Curious. Agitated. Worried.


    No level shown, as usual with non-monsters. A laugh bubbled up from Adom''s chest, startling Eren.


    "What''s wrong with you? Is there a problem?"


    Adom''s mind raced. Someone this exceptional existing in this time period, yet no trace of them in the future?


    Impossible - unless... unless they died young.


    He smiled, reaching out to fist-bump the rune on Eren''s back. "This is going to make a lot of things easier."


    It felt like a weight lifting from his shoulders. What if he''d been wrong all along? What if he wasn''t meant to be the one to save the world? What if it was Eren? It would explain why Death sent him back - not to be the hero, but to be the guide. To shape this raw talent into something that could truly defy fate.


    "What are you talking about?" Eren asked, confusion clear in his voice.


    Adom''s smile widened. "I''m just really glad I found you."

 Chapter 13. Wakey-Bird

    CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP


    A mechanical bird bounced on its brass perch, red crystal eyes flashing with each piercing note. Its metallic feathers clicked and whirred as its head bobbed up and down.


    CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP


    The sound echoed through the small room. A pillow flew through the air, missing completely.


    CHIRP CHIRP-


    CRUNCH.


    Adom''s spell-enhanced fist smashed through the construct, scattering gears and springs across the floor. The bird''s head rolled under the bed, one eye still weakly blinking.


    "Thank you," Sam mumbled, face buried in his mattress.


    "No problem," Adom replied flatly, shaking his hand. "Remind me again why we keep making these things so durable?"


    The Wakey-Birds, as Sam had dubbed them (despite Adom''s protests about the name), were their solution for days when they needed to wake up earlier than usual. Regular alarms could be turned off. These couldn''t. The only way to silence a Wakey-Bird was to physically destroy it - and they''d designed the stupid things to dodge the first few attacks.


    "At least make them quieter next time," Sam muttered, still horizontal. "Why are we up at... what time is it?"


    "Five."


    "Why are we up at five?"


    "Training at six, remember?"


    The remains of the bird gave one last pathetic chirp before falling silent. That made seventeen they''d destroyed this year.


    Adom stretched, joints popping. He''d forgotten how much being young hurt too. Everything was either too flexible or too stiff, with no in-between. "Come on. Up. If you make us late, I''m designing the next bird to shoot lightning."


    "You wouldn''t."


    "Try me."


    Sam finally rolled over, hair sticking up in directions that defied geometry. "I hate morning you."


    "Morning me hates everyone equally." Adom started gathering the scattered parts. They''d need these for bird number eighteen. "But morning me also knows we need to be ready by-"


    "Yeah, yeah. Training. Six. Got it."


    The red crystal eye under the bed finally stopped blinking.


    Another morning at the academy was officially underway.


    The bathroom filled with steam as Adom let the hot water run over his shoulders. His muscles were already complaining about the early hour, but his mind was racing.


    He could hear Sam in the other room, probably making a mess with the porridge again. They''d worked out this routine for the academy - alternate shower and breakfast shifts. Efficiency was everything when you were trying to cram thirty hours of work into a twenty-four-hour day.


    Adom had always been good at compartmentalizing - it was the only way to stay sane when juggling multiple lives'' worth of memories. Right now, he had several mental folders demanding attention: Making the cure, see his parents, the Mr. Biggins mystery, the Professor Kim file, the Helios problem, the treasure of the cave, the probably hungry puma roaming somewhere in the city because of him, saving the world, and of course, the Eren situation.


    Hmm. That was a lot. Where to begin?


    The Eren situation. Yeah. Might as well start there.


    Two and a half billion.


    That''s how many belonged to what scholars called the "Founder Races" - humans, dwarves, and elves.


    Not that they were the only sentient species, far from it. Beastkin, spirits, and countless others populated the world. But these three races shared a peculiar connection - they all traced their origins to the same individual, built civilizations together, fought each other and most importantly, shared the same fundamental approach to magic.


    Steam curled around Adom as he worked the soap into his hair, still trying to process yesterday''s discovery.


    One percent. That''s how many were blessed - or cursed, depending on who you asked - with the ability to manipulate mana. Twenty-five million mages spread across the ten continents.


    The average mage, after reaching their peak, commanded about 1,000 M(ana). The "talented" ones, the ones who got special treatment and entry into prestigious academies and institutions, might reach 2,000 M. Every family prayed their children would be among those blessed few.


    But then there were the circle mages.


    Adom traced a circle in the condensation on the shower wall. Out of all those millions of mages, only 0.85% ever achieved even a single ring. The math was brutal - roughly 212,500 circle mages in the entire world.


    And among those...


    He wiped the steam from his face. Two. There were exactly two known two-circle mages in the world right now. Sir Gaius, the current Archmage of the Magisterium, and High lady Sylaria Caelindril, Queen-Consort of the Great Elven Kingdom of Tan''or.


    Both well over seventy years old. Both having spent decades climbing to that peak.


    And then there was Eren. Twelve years old. Ten thousand M. Ninety-eight percent absorption rate.


    The third two-circle mage in the world was a pre-teen from the dregs on the islands of Arkhos.


    "Oi!" Sam''s voice cut through his thoughts. "Either drown yourself properly or hurry up! Your porridge is getting cold!"


    Adom turned off the water, reaching for his towel. "Since when do you care about my breakfast?"


    "Since you promised to help me with enhancement formulas if I stopped letting you skip meals!"


    Right. He had promised that.


    The numbers kept spinning. Two point five billion. One percent. Zero point eight-five percent. Two circle mages.


    No, three now.


    And none of them had saved the world.


    Adom grabbed his porridge and settled at their small table, but not before pulling out Sam''s old tea collection - a parting gift from his merchant father that had gathered dust in the corner until yesterday, when Adom had casually asked if he could have it if Sam wasn''t going to use it.


    Sam watched, both amused and disturbed, as his Adom weaved a precise heating spell on their battered kettle and meticulously measured loose tea leaves into an equally worn teapot.


    "Since when do you drink tea?" Sam asked, pushing his own bowl aside. "I''ve never seen you touch the stuff before."


    "Ah," Adom''s eyes lit up as steam rose from the kettle, his face morphing into that perfect noble''s expression - nose slightly upturned, one eyebrow arched just so. He crossed his legs with exaggerated grace and lifted his cup without extending his pinky finger - a deliberate jab at those who did. " Tea, my young friend, is one of life''s finest pleasures. Your father has excellent taste. This particular blend¡ª" he lifted the tin, inhaling deeply, "¡ªis a delicate balance of Northern herbs with just a hint of..."


    "Stop," Sam held up a hand, fighting a grin. "You''re doing the weird old man thing again. And please don''t compliment my dad''s tea preferences. It''s unsettling."


    "You simply cannot rush proper tea preparation," Adom continued, dropping exactly three sugar cubes into his cup. "The water must be precisely the right temperature, you see. Too hot and you''ll scald the leaves, too cool and¡ª"


    "Your porridge is getting cold while you''re having your midlife crisis over my dad''s leaf water."


    "Leaf water?" Adom looked genuinely offended, taking a slow, appreciative sip. "Mmm. Truly, your father is a man of refined¡ª"


    "Nope. No. Stop being weird about my dad''s tea. Eat your breakfast, Professor Tea Time. We have ten minutes."


    Adom sat with both his porridge and his carefully brewed tea, taking another reverent sip. Another thought hit him, and he almost choked on his first spoonful of porridge as he started chuckling.


    Right. Because being a two-circle mage at twelve wasn''t enough. Eren also had what looked like a natural rune. A completely different mental folder right there - ''The Eren Case, Part Two: Because Obviously One Impossible Thing Wasn''t Enough.''


    His chuckling turned into full-blown laughter.


    "Stop being creepy and eat your breakfast," Sam said, throwing a sock at him. "And whatever''s breaking your brain this early in the morning, I don''t want to know. Also, you''re doing that thing where you cradle your teacup like it''s made of gold. We have ten minutes before we need to leave."


    Adom caught the sock without looking, still grinning. "Just... just appreciating the absurdity of life." He took another slow sip of tea. "You know, in the Northern Isles, they age their tea leaves in¡ª"


    "If you don''t start eating right now, I''m dumping your precious tea down the drain."


    "You wouldn''t dare."


    "Try me."


    But he did stop laughing, focusing on his porridge instead. Two mental folders for one twelve-year-old. That had to be some kind of record. Though perhaps he could introduce the boy to proper tea appreciation...


    "Stop smiling at your teacup like that. You''re freaking me out."


    *****


    The boys stood in front of the heavy wooden door like two condemned men at the gallows. The early morning darkness still clung to the corridors, broken only by the gentle glow of enchanted crystals. 5:59 AM.


    Neither moved.


    "I still can''t believe you convinced me to do this," Sam finally broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes hadn''t left the door since they''d arrived three minutes ago.


    "I''m sure it will be a good and wholesome experience," Adom replied, face completely expressionless. "We''ll learn the power of friendship, get muscles, and have plenty of adventures together. Maybe even find our true selves along the way."


    Sam''s head slowly turned toward him. "That... sounds exactly like the plot of ''The Iron Scholar''s Journey to Strength.''"


    "It was supposed to be a novel reference joke, yes."


    "Ah." Sam turned back to the door. "I get it now."


    A moment of silence.


    "Ha." The single syllable from Sam echoed in the empty corridor, dry as desert sand.


    The clock struck six, and from behind the door came the first echoes of what sounded suspiciously like a war cry.


    "Well," Adom said, reaching for the handle. "After you."


    "I hate you."


    "I know."


    The door creaked open, and the first thing that hit them was the smell - a unique blend of sweat, leather, and something Sam couldn''t quite identify but made him wrinkle his nose.


    "Don''t ask," Adom muttered. "Trust me on this one."


    The training hall was already alive with activity. Students were scattered around, and if you passed them on the street, you''d never guess they were mages. Built like brick walls, most of them - the kind of people you''d expect to see hauling cargo at the docks, not drawing intricate magical circles.


    At the front, Hugo was leading what appeared to be their morning ritual, his voice booming: "BODY IMPROVEMENT! FIGHT ON!"


    The response shook dust from the ceiling, making Sam jump slightly.


    Was this some sort of cult?


    "Is it too late to fake my death?" Sam whispered.


    "Yes." Adom grabbed his sleeve before he could retreat. "Besides, look how normal they are when they''re not... well, doing that."


    Indeed, between the enthusiastic chanting, pairs of students were helping each other stretch, sharing water flasks, and exchanging what looked like training tips. In one corner, a massive guy who could probably bench-press a horse was gently showing a newer member proper form for what appeared to be a basic movement.


    "I don''t want to be transcendent anymore," Sam muttered, watching as someone casually lifted a weight that looked heavier than his bookshelf. Very impressive.


    "Too bad. We''re already here."


    They waited in awkward silence as the chant concluded with one final "FIGHT ON!" that made the training dummies rattle. Hugo bounded over, practically glowing with enthusiasm, and spent the next few minutes introducing them to the rest of the club. Thirty faces, thirty names, thirty variations of encouraging smiles and friendly nods. Adom caught maybe half of them.


    Now thirty-two members. The number felt significant somehow.


    "You know," Sam observed, "when you said ''training club,'' I was expecting more... robes. Less muscles. Maybe some theoretical discussions about magical enhancement?"


    "Oh, we have those too!" Hugo replied beside them, somehow managing to sound enthusiastic without shouting now. "Usually during breaks."


    He produced two pieces of paper with a flourish. "Here you go, brothers! Your paths to greatness!"


    Sam''s eyes grew wider with each line he read, his face slowly draining of color. "This... this can''t be..."


    "Personalized training programs!" Hugo beamed. "I stayed up late designing them based on our chat yesterday. See, Sam, you''re showing classic signs of mana-strain induced muscle deterioration - common in theoretical specialists. We''ll need to focus on your core strength first, lots of stabilizing exercises. And your posture needs work, so I included specific stretches for that."


    Sam made a sound like a deflating balloon.


    "And Adom," Hugo turned, adjusting his glasses professionally, "you''ve got decent baseline fitness, but your right side is notably stronger than your left - probably from spell casting stance. We''ll need to balance that out. I''ve included a nutrition plan too - you both need more protein. And minerals. And everything, really."


    The paper in Adom''s hands listed exercises he hadn''t done in decades. His muscles preemptively ached just reading them.


    "Now!" Hugo clapped his hands, making them both jump. "Let''s start with stretching - VERY important, prevents injuries, improves mana flow. Then we''ll do some light cardio, just thirty minutes for you two since you''re new. The others will do their usual hour."


    Around them, club members were already pairing up, helping each other stretch with the kind of cheerful enthusiasm usually reserved for holiday celebrations or particularly exciting theoretical breakthroughs.


    "Light cardio," Sam repeated faintly, staring at the training program again. "Light."


    Adom looked at the detailed schedule in his hands, then at the room full of energetic fitness enthusiasts, then at his friend''s increasingly pale face.


    He couldn''t tell Sam he was regretting this too. Not after dragging him here. Not after all those speeches about getting stronger together.


    "Come on," he said instead, patting Sam''s shoulder. "At least we''ll suffer as a team."


    "That''s the spirit!" Hugo exclaimed, somehow having heard him despite being three meters away. "EVERYONE! Let''s welcome our new brothers properly! STRETCHING CIRCLE!"


    The entire club moved with practiced coordination, forming a perfect circle. Two spots opened up between Diana and Vale, who waved them over with encouraging grins.


    "I read that novel too, by the way," Sam muttered as they walked over. "''Iron Scholar''s Journey.'' The protagonist dies in chapter three from training too hard. He gets reincarnated, but still."


    "That''s... not very motivating."


    "Ha."


    Then came a message:


    [System Side Quest Alert]


    Complete 10 miles under an hour using only physical means in a single continuous attempt


    Note: Enhancement magic, movement spells, spatial manipulation, or any other magical assistance will void the quest. Progress must be completed in one uninterrupted session.


    Current Best Time: N/A


    Reward: Skill - [Iron Lungs] (Rare) (Passive)


    Description: Dramatically increases overall stamina and oxygen efficiency. Reduces fatigue build-up, enables longer periods of sustained physical activity, and improves recovery time.


    Status: In Progress (0%)


    ...10 miles. Under an hour.


    He would have sighed and complained had he not been the one to drag Sam.


    *****


    Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot. The steady rhythm of feet hitting the ground mixed with Adom''s increasingly labored breathing.


    [+1 Endurance]


    His lungs burned.


    [+1 Endurance]


    [+1 Stamina]


    Ten minutes in, and his legs felt like lead. Sweat trickled down his back, his temple, stinging his eyes. The training track stretched endlessly before him.


    [+6 Endurance]


    [Minor increase to Cardiovascular Endurance]


    "Keep going, Adom!" Hugo called out encouragingly as he lapped Adom for the third time, barely breaking a sweat. Show-off.


    His calves screamed. A stitch formed in his side, sharp and insistent. Beside him, Sam had given up any pretense of dignity and was making sounds like a dying whale.


    [Minor increase to Pain Tolerance]


    Twenty minutes. His throat was raw. Each breath felt like swallowing sand. But the notifications kept coming, each one a tiny victory.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    [Body Adaptation Progress: 12%]


    The world narrowed down to the next step, the next breath. His glasses slipped down his sweat-slicked nose. He didn''t bother pushing them back up.


    [Achievement Unlocked: First Mile]


    [+2 Stamina]


    [Minor increase to Recovery Rate]


    By minute twenty-five, even his eyebrows were sweating. He didn''t know eyebrows could sweat. The notifications blurred together, but he caught glimpses:


    [+1 Stamina...]


    [Minor increase...]


    [Body Adaptation...]


    Finally, mercifully, Hugo called time. Adom collapsed onto the nearest bench, lungs heaving, legs trembling.


    Next to him, Sam lay face-down on the floor, mumbling something about regrets and betrayal. Adom would have laughed, but he didn''t have the breath for it.


    [Side Quest Failed]


    Time: 30:00


    Status: Failed (Complete 10 mile in under an hour)


    Analysis: Current completion time is much slower than required


    Recommendation: Continue cardiovascular training. Current physical condition indicates potential for significant improvement.


    Quest will reset tomorrow at dawn.


    [Recovery Phase Initiated]


    This skill would not be easy to obtain it seemed.


    *****


    After gulping down water like they''d crossed a desert, and a mandatory fifteen-minute rest period that Hugo insisted on ("Recovery is just as important as training, brothers!"), Kaius approached them, his usually boisterous demeanor replaced by a calm, teacher-like presence.


    "First things first," Kaius said, adjusting Adom''s stance with gentle movements. "Boxing isn''t about hitting hard - it''s about proper form. Everything starts with your feet." He tapped Adom''s left foot. "Dominant hand back, non-dominant forward. Shoulder-width apart. You''re not a tree, stay light on your feet."


    [System Side Quest Alert]


    Master Basic Boxing Form


    Requirements: Perfect stance maintenance (10 minutes)


    Perfect basic straight punch form (50 repetitions)


    Perfect basic defensive position


    Reward: Skill - [Boxing Fundamentals]


    Status: In Progress (0%)


    "Good. Now, hands up, protect your face." Kaius demonstrated, bringing his fists up. "Elbows in - you''re protecting your body too. Chin down, eyes up. Your hands are your castle walls, and your chin is the treasure you''re protecting."


    Adom mimicked the position, feeling somewhat awkward.


    "Common beginner mistake - you''re too tense. Relax your shoulders. You need to be able to hold this position for rounds." Kaius gently pressed Adom''s shoulders down. "There. Now, basic straight punch. We''ll use the dummy."


    He demonstrated in slow motion. "Power comes from the ground up. Turn your foot, rotate your hip, extend your arm. Straight line, like threading a needle. Return immediately to your defensive position. Every punch leaves you vulnerable - the faster you return, the safer you are."


    [Form Analysis: 12% accuracy]


    [Basic Stance Maintenance: 1:23/10:00]


    "Again. Slower this time. Feel each movement."


    The training dummy waited patiently as Adom worked through each punch, Kaius correcting small details - an elbow here, a foot position there. Each attempt brought new notifications:


    [Form Analysis: 15% accuracy]


    [Basic Straight Punch: 3/50]


    [Form Analysis: 18% accuracy]


    [Basic Straight Punch: 4/50]


    "Good," Kaius nodded approvingly. "Remember, we''re not trying to knock anyone out today. Form first. Power comes later. Speed comes later. Everything in boxing builds on proper fundamentals."


    [Form Analysis: 23% accuracy]


    [Basic Stance Maintenance: 3:45/10:00]


    [Basic Straight Punch: 7/50]


    "That''s it," Kaius encouraged as Adom threw another careful punch. "Every movement has a purpose. Nothing wasted. Boxing isn''t just about hitting - it''s about efficiency."


    The next hours blurred into a rhythm of punch, correct, repeat. The training hall echoed with the sounds of other members calling out encouragement between their own exercises.


    "Looking good, Adom!"


    "Keep that guard up, Sam!"


    Sweat dripped down Adom''s back, his shirt long since soaked through. His arms trembled with each extension, muscles burning in ways he hadn''t felt since his Academy days.


    "Elbow in," Kaius reminded, tapping Adom''s arm. "I know you''re tired, but form doesn''t take breaks."


    "Kaius," Sam wheezed, "have mercy. Please."


    "Mercy is for rest days," Kaius replied cheerfully. "Now, again!"


    The absolute audacity of these young people, Adom thought, making a respected academic work like a common laborer. In his day, they had proper respect for... for...


    Wait. This was his day.


    His internal grumbling scattered as something clicked between one punch and the next. His body found the rhythm it had been fighting against, each movement flowing into the next with a precision that felt... right.


    [Side Quest Completed: Master Basic Boxing Form]


    Requirements met:


    Stance maintenance: 10:00/10:00


    Basic straight punch form: 50/50 (Final accuracy: 87%)


    Basic defensive position mastered


    Reward: Skill [Boxing Fundamentals] acquired!


    [Boxing Fundamentals (Passive) - Level 1]


    Basic understanding of boxing mechanics. Improves punch accuracy, defensive awareness, and overall form efficiency.


    Current bonus: +5% to punch accuracy, +3% to reaction time


    [Mana Pool Expanded: 505/505]


    Note: Physical conditioning has improved mana circulation efficiency


    Adom''s arms felt like overcooked noodles, his legs barely supporting him. Every muscle he didn''t know he had was announcing its existence through various degrees of pain. But for some reason, he was happy. Maybe it was due to the numbers going up in front of him, or-


    [It is.]


    Oh. Adom thought, noting how the System had interrupted his musing without being prompted. That psychological stuff you talked about the other day? About humans being drawn to measurable progress?


    [Yes.]


    So you tricked me into training, System?


    [Incorrect. This was merely encouragement.]


    Right. We''ll have to address a few things about you at some point.


    [Sure.]


    ''Sure.'' Just ''sure.'' Adom mentally mimicked what he imagined to be the System''s tone. I bet you think you''re very clever with these one-word answers.


    [Affirmative.]


    ...I walked right into that one, didn''t I?


    [Indeed.]


    "Excellent work today, brothers!" Hugo beamed, somehow still energetic. "That''s enough for you two. Here¡ª" He pulled four vials from his training bag, the liquids inside glowing faintly. "Tonic and muscle recovery potions. Made them myself. The green one''s for stamina, the blue for muscle repair. Take them now, they work best immediately after training."


    Sam eyed the vials suspiciously. "These aren''t the ones from your experimental batch, are they?"


    "Of course not! Those are for advanced members only."


    Adom decided he didn''t want to know.


    [Potion Consumed: Basic Tonic]


    Effect: Restores 30% Stamina


    Duration: Immediate


    [Potion Consumed: Muscle Recovery Elixir]


    Effect: Reduces muscle fatigue by 65%


    Accelerates muscle repair by 40%


    Duration: 6 hours


    The effect was almost instant. Warmth spread through his limbs, the burning ache in his muscles fading to a manageable soreness. His vision sharpened as the fatigue-induced fog lifted.


    "Remember: proper nutrition is key to recovery. Protein within thirty minutes. Complex carbs. Stay hydrated. Tomorrow we start weight training, same time!"


    "Weight... training," Sam wheezed.


    "Rest well! And no skipping meals!" Hugo called after them as they stumbled out. "Your bodies are temples under renovation!"


    Sam dragged himself along the corridor. "I can''t wait to collapse into my bed and die."


    "It''s 9:30."


    "What?"


    "We have Theoretical Applications of Arcane Geometry in thirty minutes."


    A moment of silence.


    "Adom?"


    "Yes?"


    "I know I''ve said this three times today already," Sam groaned, "but I really, truly, with every fiber of my currently dying body, hate you."


    "Ouch."


    *****


    Whoever said that working out in the morning gives you energy for the day was either a liar or had never actually tried it. Sure, right after their morning session, riding high on Hugo''s suspicious potions and the satisfaction of completing his first quest, Adom had felt incredible - focused, energetic, like he could take on the world. That lasted approximately twenty-seven minutes.


    Then, somewhere between Professor Bane''s arcane diagrams and their third attempt at drawing a straight line in Practical Enchantment, reality hit harder than his morning crash into the training bench.


    The day stretched into an endless blur of trying not to fall asleep, questioning every life choice that led to this moment, and learning that even blinking could feel like a workout.


    By the time their last class ended at 5 PM...


    "Finally," Sam sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping. "I''m going to take the longest shower of my life and try to remember what it feels like to be human again."


    "I need to head to the weird stuff store," Adom said, adjusting his glasses. Funny how that worked - dead tired all day, but now that rest was actually possible, he felt wide awake. Annoying, but convenient.


    "The Mr. Biggins thing?"


    "Yeah."


    "Ah," Sam''s tired expression brightened slightly. "I''m curious too. My mana pool shot up to 400. Should probably thank the man, but..." he gestured vaguely at his entire being, "...existing is hard enough right now."


    "Thank him?" Adom frowned. "Aren''t you worried about what kind of person he might be?"


    Sam''s laugh came out as a wheezy chuckle. "Adom, we''ve known Mr. Biggins since we got to Xerkes. Sure, he''s weird - who names a magical shop ''Weird Stuff Store'' anyway? But evil? The guy gives candy to stray cats and names them after ancient mages and philosophers. Plus," he smiled, "anyone who gives me an elixir that brings me closer to becoming a legendary mage gets a high five in my book. Well, when I can lift my arms again."


    Adom stood there for a moment, processing. He''d spent the whole day constructing elaborate theories about sinister plots and hidden agendas, and here was Sam, casually pointing out the obvious - sometimes a weird shopkeeper was just a weird shopkeeper who happened to help students achieve their dreams.


    Maybe coming from an apocalyptic future had rewired his brain to see threats in every shadow, which was precisely why - despite his muscles protesting every step - Adom found himself at the store''s entrance as evening approached.


    This time, it was open.


    The bell jingled cheerfully as Adom stepped inside.


    "WATCH OUT!"


    [Boxing Fundamentals activated]


    [Reaction Time +3%]


    [Defensive Awareness active]


    His body moved before his mind caught up, muscle memory from just hours ago kicking in like some sort of combat-induced PTSD. Chin tucked, elbows in, hands up - Kaius''s voice echoing in his head like an especially aggressive conscience.


    He dropped into the defensive stance they''d drilled into him this morning, having vivid flashbacks of that training dummy rushing at his face.


    All this happened in the split second it took for a mechanical bird to zoom past where his head had been, crash into a shelf of color-changing inkwells, and explode in a shower of purple sparks.


    "Are you al-"


    CRASH!


    A cascade of boxes hit the floor as their levitation spell broke, followed by the sound of various magical items clattering, tinkling, and in one case, making a noise like a surprised goose.


    A girl in a Xerkes uniform - 4th year by the four red lines on her robe''s shoulder pad - stood amid the chaos, her hands covering her mouth in horror. Her auburn pigtails seemed to droop along with her shoulders as she surveyed the damage.


    "Oh no! Oh no oh no oh no-" She adjusted her glasses frantically, then remembered Adom existed. "I''m so sorry! The articulated messenger bird wasn''t supposed to be active, I was just moving it to the testing area and I must have bumped the activation rune and- oh dear, the color-changing ink is spreading- I''m really sorry! Are you okay? Not that I''m assuming you couldn''t handle a simple mechanical bird, but- oh, the ink is reaching the enchanted carpets..."


    She fumbled for her wand, nearly dropped it, caught it, then promptly stepped on one of the fallen boxes, stumbling forward with a small "eep!"


    Adom wove a quick [Control], helping guide some of the fallen items back into their boxes and then containing the spreading ink.


    "Oh, thanks!" She brightened, then immediately knocked over a stack of books she''d just straightened. "Ar-are you a student from Xerkes? Me too!"


    "We''re... both wearing the uniform, so..." Adom muttered to himself, not realizing he''d said it aloud.


    "Sorry! Of course we are, that was a stupid question, I just- sorry! I get nervous and then I say obvious things and then I apologize too much and then I apologize for apologizing and- sorry! I mean- oh no, I''m doing it again..."


    "Hey, it''s okay," Adom raised his hands in what he hoped was a calming gesture, feeling completely out of his depth. "Maybe we should focus on the ink before it reaches those singing crystals?"


    After a few deep breaths ("In through the nose, out through the mouth - Mr. Biggins always says it helps with the nerves!"), they managed to clean up the mess together. Between his organizing spells and her apparently encyclopedic knowledge of where everything belonged, it only took a few minutes.


    "Thank you so much! Really, you didn''t have to help, but you did, and the ink could have been such a disaster, and-" she caught herself before another avalanche of thanks could start.


    "It was nothing, really."


    She readjusted her glasses, and suddenly gasped so dramatically that Adom took a step back.


    "Oh! Oh no! You''re a customer!" She smacked her forehead. "What am I doing?!" In a blur, she sprinted behind the counter, nearly tripping twice in the process. "Sorry! Sorry for not properly greeting you!"


    She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and with the brightest smile she could muster, recited in a carefully rehearsed tone: "Welcome to the Weird Stuff Store! Where the peculiar becomes particular, the strange becomes spectacular, and we guarantee every item has at least one feature we can''t explain! My name is Emma! How can I help you today?"


    She opened her eyes, looking at Adom with an expression that clearly asked "Did I do the greeting right?"


    "Uh... thanks?"


    Adom then cleared his throat. "I didn''t know someone else worked here aside from Mr. Biggins?"


    The question hit differently than it should have. In his past life, through all his years at Xerkes, the Weird Stuff Store had been synonymous with its eccentric owner. Until the day Arkhos burned, it had always been just Mr. Biggins and his mysterious merchandise.


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    "Oh! Yes!" Emma fidgeted with her sleeve. "I got hired two days ago! Assistant manager!" She said the title with equal parts pride and terror. "I actually just came in looking for a part-time job, and Mr. Biggins asked if I wanted to be assistant manager right there! Said the store practically runs itself and it wouldn''t be hard at all. Then he handed me the keys and... sort of ran off?" She laughed nervously. "Though I''m still learning where everything goes, and sometimes the mechanical birds activate themselves - well, maybe I activated them by accident - and the singing crystals don''t like my organizing system, they keep rearranging themselves when I''m not looking, and yesterday I found out some of the books are carnivorous but Mr. Biggins forgot to mention which ones..."


    "Actually, I was hoping to see Mr. Biggins himself."


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    "Oh," she straightened her glasses again. "He said he''d be away from the islands for a while. But he left me instructions for everything!"


    She reconsidered. "Well, most things." Another pause. "Some things... the important things? I think?" Her confidence deflated with each word.


    This didn''t make sense. Adom knew he was probably overthinking this - Biggins was just an eccentric shopkeeper after all. And yet... the man had never left the store in all his years at Xerkes, not in Adom''s timeline anyway. The only variable now was Adom himself, and if Biggins had suddenly decided to travel, he wanted to know why.


    Maybe Sam was right, and he was seeing conspiracies where there were none. But something about Biggins and this whole situation nagged at him, refused to let go.


    <div>


    He squinted at Emma, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm..."


    Emma shifted under his intense stare, her fingers twisting the hem of her sleeve even more frantically. "Um... is... is something wrong?" She looked anywhere but at him, a blush creeping up her neck. "You''re making me a bit nervous..."


    "Oh! I''m sorry," Adom said quickly, realizing he''d been glaring at her like some kind of suspicious detective. "Bad habit. I tend to... think too hard about things sometimes."


    She relaxed a little, though her fingers still worried at her sleeve. Adom mentally shook himself. Surely this was an actual, authentic awkward teenager who couldn''t even maintain eye contact. Right?


    ...Right?


    [Identify activated]


    Name: Emanuella Belier


    Race: Human


    Status: Nervous, Anxious, Trying Her Best, Slightly Overwhelmed, Afraid of the Third Shelf on the Left]


    She was... actually just Emma? Not Mr. Biggins in disguise? Then where was he, and why had he left right after...?


    "Did Mr. Biggins say when he''d be back? Or where he was going?" Adom tried to keep his tone casual, though his suspicions were mounting.


    "Um," Emma tapped her fingers together. "He was kind of... vague? He just said there was some ''urgent business'' he needed to attend to, and that it might take ''as long as it takes'' - which isn''t very specific, I know. He left yesterday morning, actually! Just showed up while I was organizing the gravity-defying paperweights - they keep floating away, by the way, I think they''re rebelling against the new management - and he said ''Emma, dear, watch the store for me, there''s a good lass'' and then he just..." she made a vague gesture with her hands, "...poof! Well, not literally poof. He used the door. But it felt very poof-like, if you know what I mean?"


    Watching Emma ramble nervously, gesturing animatedly with her hands, Adom could more or less see why Mr. Biggins hired her as his assistant. Birds of a feather, indeed - they shared the same chaotic energy, though hers manifested more in physical clumsiness while his showed in... well, everything else.


    "I see. I''ll come back another time then."


    <div>


    "Okay! Um, sorry I couldn''t help more! And sorry about the bird earlier! And thank you for helping with the mess! And- oh, I''m doing the sorry thing again..."


    Adom couldn''t help but chuckle. "It''s okay," he said, waving goodbye before she could start another round of apologies, and stepped out of the store. The bell jingled behind him, accompanied by what sounded suspiciously like another crash and a muffled "oh no!"


    Outside, a group of cats lounged in their usual spots - there was Merlin, the orange tabby, sprawled across the windowsill, and Eldrich, the fat gray one, dozing by the door. Arcanus, the one-eyed white cat, was busy grooming himself on the steps. But there was a new addition today - a sleek black cat with striking blue eyes, sitting regally apart from the others.


    Adom ducked back inside. "Could I get some of those cat treats?"


    "Oh! Of course!" Emma bustled around, nearly knocking over a jar in her haste. "Mr. Biggins always keeps some for them."


    Armed with treats, Adom returned outside. Merlin and Eldrich immediately perked up, and even Arcanus deigned to accept an offering. But the black cat just watched him with those unnerving blue eyes, turning its nose up at the treats.


    Emma poked her head out the door. "That one''s new," she said. "Showed up yesterday. Won''t eat the regular cat food - only takes meat, and only if it''s served on a proper plate." She giggled. "I''ve been calling it Your Highness. Seems fitting, right?"


    As if to prove her point, Emma brought out a small plate with some meat scraps. The black cat gracefully rose, approached the plate with measured steps, and began to eat with what could only be described as refined dignity.


    Something about those blue eyes nagged at Adom''s memory. The way it held itself, that particular shade of black...


    The cat met his gaze.


    [Ident-]


    Before he could finish activating the skill, the cat bolted, knocking over the plate with a clatter. Emma jumped, nearly falling over herself.


    "Oh! That''s the first time-" she steadied herself against the doorframe. "Usually it''s so composed..."


    Adom took a half-step forward, questions burning - could it be? But the cat had already vanished down an alley, leaving only scattered meat scraps and an overturned plate.


    "Sorry about that," Emma wrung her hands. "It''s probably not used to strangers yet. Most strays are like that at first."


    Right. Just a stray. Probably.


    "Well then," Adom said, forcing himself to focus. He had other mysteries to solve first. "I should get going. Good luck with... everything."


    "Thanks! And sorry again about-"


    The door closed on another string of apologies. Adom''s brain had already committed to a long evening of investigating Mr. Biggins''s mysterious behavior, and now it refused to switch into rest mode despite his protesting muscles.


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    Might as well be productive. He thought. There was still another task to do: the treasure.


    *****


    The bell above Garrett''s door chimed as Adom stepped inside, breathing in the familiar scent of leather and metal.


    "Well, well." Garrett looked up from his ledger, those laugh lines crinkling around his eyes. "Look who learned to tell time."


    "The sun''s still up and everything," Adom agreed, unable to help a sheepish grin. "Last time was an emergency."


    "Ah yes, the ''school project.''" Garrett made air quotes with thick, calloused fingers. "Must have been quite the assignment to have you running like the Guard was after you."


    "Something like that." Adom wandered over to a display of ornate compass boxes, trying to look casual. "How''s business?"


    "Oh, you know." Garrett closed his ledger with a theatrical sigh. "The Merchant''s Guild keeps raising their fees, my wife keeps telling me to retire, and my competitors keep undercutting me with inferior goods." His mustache twitched. "Same as always."


    "Your wife has a point about retiring."


    "Bah!" Garrett waved dismissively. "What would I do all day? Garden? I''d rather wrestle a manticore." He squinted at Adom. "Speaking of which, my grandson won''t shut up about that incident at the academy last week. Something about a student beating the Lightbringer heir?"


    "Really?" Adom suddenly found the compass display fascinating. "Haven''t heard about that."


    "Mhmm." Garrett''s tone suggested he wasn''t buying it. "So, young man, while I enjoy our chat, I assume you didn''t come just to hear an old merchant complain about his troubles?"


    "Actually..." Adom turned from the display, meeting Garrett''s knowing look. "I need a bag. The best dimensional one you have."


    Both of Garrett''s eyebrows shot up. "Oh?" He leaned forward on his counter, fingers drumming against the wood. "You do realize that past a certain threshold, dimensional bags become... quite expensive?"


    "That won''t be a problem."


    "Won''t it now?" Garrett stroked his beard, eyes twinkling. "Well then, let me show you something special." He disappeared into his back room, still talking. "Most customers, they come in wanting the biggest space for the lowest price. But size isn''t everything, you know? It''s about the quality of the enchantment, the stability of the pocket dimension..."


    There was some rummaging, followed by what sounded suspiciously like a small explosion and muttered cursing in at least three languages.


    "Found it!" Garrett emerged, slightly singed but triumphant, holding what looked like an ordinary leather satchel. "This, my young friend, is what happens when you convince a master enchanter to work with quality materials instead of mass-producing cheap tricks."


    "Just look at the stitching here - genuine drake leather with golden thread-"


    "Are those potions?!" Adom blurted, spotting rows of gleaming bottles behind the counter.


    "Hm?" Garrett glanced over his shoulder. "Eh? Oh, yes, yes. Now, as I was saying, the dimensional matrix is reinforced with-"


    Adom spent the next ten minutes hearing more about leather treatment and spatial theory than he''d ever wanted to. Each time he opened his mouth to interrupt, Garrett would launch into another feature - the self-repairing enchantments, the built-in preservation runes, the weather-resistant coating that apparently involved the tears of some creature Adom was pretty sure didn''t exist.


    "Mister Garrett..."


    "And the expansion coefficient is perfectly calibrated to-"


    "Mister Garrett, I''ll buy the bag."


    "You haven''t even heard about the- what?" Garrett blinked. "Oh! Oh, right." He straightened his vest, clearing his throat. "Well then. That''ll be nine thousand gold coins."


    Without a word, Adom began pulling stacks of coins from his inventory, dropping them into the counting receptor. The ancient mechanism whirred to life, golden pieces cascading down with musical clinks. Garrett''s eyes grew wider with each stack, his mouth forming a perfect ''o''.


    Clink... clink... clink...


    They stood in silence, watching the counter tick up.


    Clink... clink... CLINK


    "By the Thirteenth," Garrett said flatly, he picked up one of the coins, biting it. "Old minting too," he mused, eyeing Adom. "Are all of you Xerkes students this rich?"


    "Isn''t your grandson studying there?" Adom raised an eyebrow.


    "Never said he was poor," Garrett grinned, pocketing the tested coin. "Just perpetually ''between allowances,'' as he puts it."


    "About those potions..." Adom gestured toward the bottles, pointedly ignoring the merchant''s questioning look.


    Twenty minutes later, Adom stepped out into the evening air, his new bag considerably lighter than his coin purse. Behind him, Garrett called out, "Come back anytime! Preferably during business hours - and with more gold!"


    "Goodbye!" Adom shouted back, grinning as he heard the merchant''s laughter fade behind him.


    </section>

 Chapter 14. Curiosity Killed The Cat

    The sun hung low over the island, stretching shadows across the dirt path like dark fingers. To Adom''s right, the ocean crashed against the cliffs below, its breeze carrying salt and the sweetness of wildflowers from the grassy slopes to his left.


    A flicker of movement caught his eye. High above, a figure on a broomstick glided through the clouds, their blue robes marking them as an Imperial mage. They waved as they passed overhead, and Adom returned the gesture automatically, watching them soar effortlessly through the air.


    "I wonder how they do it," he muttered, shaking his head. "Even if I was trapped in a dungeon and flying was the only way out, I wouldn''t¡ª" He stopped mid-sentence and glanced skyward. "Hmm. Actually, forget I said that. No need to tempt fate or whatever cosmic force runs this universe. I''d rather not jinx myself."


    A sudden gust of wind rustled through the grass, as if in acknowledgment. "Message received," Adom muttered with a short nod, not entirely sure if he was being paranoid or appropriately cautious.


    This was the kind of weather that made you forget Arkhos was home to tens of different criminal organizations and one very angry vampire. The kind of weather that also made jogging feel like voluntary torture.


    [Endurance +2]


    Thirty minutes into his "light jog" and Adom''s legs burned with that special kind of hatred reserved for exercise.


    Each step sent a dull throb through his bad leg, a constant reminder of why he was putting himself through this hell. He''d found that focusing on complex problems helped distract from the pain, or at least gave him something to be annoyed about besides his burning lungs.


    The problem of Helios sat in his mind like a puzzle box waiting to be solved, though right now it competed with thoughts like ''breathing is overrated'' and ''who invented jogging and why haven''t they been arrested?'' Sun exposure was the only permanent solution for a vampire - everything else was just a temporary inconvenience.


    Something about sunlight drained their life force completely. Imperial mages had theories about why the sun affected these mutants so drastically - perhaps something in their altered biology simply couldn''t handle solar radiation.


    But studying vampires was nearly impossible; most victims of vampire bites either succumbed to the rotting effects of their bacteria-laden saliva, or, in rare cases where they got treatment in time, were cured. The even rarer survivors who weren''t treated became vampires themselves, but none had ever volunteered for research. Stake them with silverwood? They''d wake up eventually. Dismember them? They''d piece themselves back together. Burn them? The ashes would reconstruct given enough time.


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    The tracking spell Helios had placed on him was what worried him most. Sure, the Borealis duchy of Lumaria was huge - finding someone specific among its sprawling cities and countless islands was like looking for a particular grain of sand on a beach. But Helios had managed it once already. As long as the vampire was out there, Adom would never truly be safe.


    "So, I need to get a vampire," he wheezed between breaths, "who''s probably centuries old and definitely not stupid, to walk into sunlight." He jumped over a loose stone, landing awkwardly. "Simple. I''ll just... ask... nicely."


    His lungs felt like they were filled with angry wasps. He slowed to a walk for ten seconds, just enough to catch his breath, before grudgingly returning to what could charitably be called jogging.


    The real challenge wasn''t even Helios himself - it was the aftermath. The Children of the Moon (or Moon Children? Their branding was so inconsistent) wouldn''t take kindly to losing someone like Helios. They''d want revenge, and unlike their daylight-challenged members, their human associates could operate at all hours.


    [Endurance +3]


    [Stamina +4]


    [White Wyrm''s Body +1]


    Adom started breaking down the problem like a complex spell formula, trying to ignore how his shirt was now thoroughly soaked with sweat. Step one: map the organization''s structure. Every criminal enterprise had a hierarchy, and hierarchies had weak points. Who reported to whom? Where did the money flow? Which members were loyal and which ones were opportunists?


    "Information gathering first," he gasped out between strides. "Find their warehouses... safehouses... fronts..." He realized he was talking to himself again, but at this point, oxygen deprivation made it hard to care.


    A hollow clop-clop-clop echoed from around the bend. The wooden cart came into view first, loaded with freshly cut logs that still carried the scent of the forest. Adom seriously considered whether being run over might be preferable to more jogging.


    The horse - a sturdy brown mare with a white streak down her nose - plodded along at that particular pace that suggested she knew exactly how fast she needed to go and wouldn''t be convinced otherwise. Adom envied her reasonable speed.


    "Evening there, young man!" The driver''s voice carried the warmth of well-aged whiskey, and far too much cheerfulness for someone watching another person slowly die via exercise.


    He was the sort of old man who looked like he''d been old forever - face weathered by sun and wind into a map of laugh lines, white beard neatly trimmed, eyes twinkling with the kind of wisdom that came from decades of watching the world go by.


    The kind of person who''d probably never had to jog a day in his life and lived to be a hundred anyway.


    His clothes were simple but well-maintained, the sleeves of his cotton shirt rolled up, exposing forearms hardened by years of labor in the fields. A farmer, probably. The sort who got his exercise doing actual useful things instead of running in circles.


    "Eve-" Adom wheezed, stepping to the side of the road, "-ning, sir."


    The old man pulled gently on the reins, and the mare stopped with the air of someone who had already planned to stop anyway. "Getting mighty late for a Xerkes student to be out here dying of exercise." He squinted at Adom''s sweat-soaked uniform, then at the lengthening shadows. "Sun''s fixing to set soon." He reached into a worn leather bag beside him and pulled out what looked like an orange. "Care for a ride? Bessie here," he patted the horse''s neck, "could use a rest, and you look like you could use one even more."


    Adom glanced at the path ahead. He''d planned to jog the whole way, but... The orange the old man was peeling released a sweet citrus scent into the air, and his legs were staging an open rebellion against further movement. Hugo would know, but at this point, Adom was too exhausted to care.


    "That''s very kind of you, sir."


    "Ben," the old man corrected, already making space on the wooden bench. "Sir was my father, and he was a much more serious fellow than me. Here," he handed Adom a perfectly peeled orange half as he climbed up, trying not to show how his muscles screamed at the movement, "fresh from my daughter''s grove. And I''ve got some salted peanuts here somewhere... ah!" He produced a small cloth bag. "Nothing better than peanuts and oranges on an evening ride, that''s what my grandmother used to say. Course, she said a lot of things. Once told me the secret to a happy life was never trusting a chicken that could whistle."


    Adom couldn''t help but smile as he settled onto the bench, his body thanking him for finally stopping the torture session. The orange was perfectly ripe, the kind that made you understand why people bothered growing fruit in the first place.


    "I''m Adom," he offered, accepting a handful of peanuts and trying to eat them at a pace that didn''t reveal how the run had made him ravenous.


    "Adom! Good strong name, that. Bessie, say hello to Adom." The mare flicked an ear back without changing her pace. "Don''t mind her, she''s got opinions about everything. Been with me fifteen years now, knows these roads better than I do. Speaking of..." Ben clicked his tongue thoughtfully, "where you headed, young man? Not many students out this way unless they''re looking for trouble or treasure. Sometimes both, if the stories my daughter tells about her Xerkes days are true."


    *****


    "Redcliff Valley," Ben announced as the cart rounded a bend. "Sure is getting darker, though. Sure you want to stop here?"


    "This is perfect," Adom said, preparing to get down. "Lots of good practice opportunities. Hunting too."


    "Ah, you mages and your hunting. My daughter was the same way when she was at Xerkes. Always out here practicing, testing spells, hunting creatures..." His expression sobered slightly. "Course, that was before all these strange happenings. People seeing spirits nowadays, you know. Just last week, Miller''s boy swears he saw something with glowing eyes in the western woods."


    Adom chuckled - he''d studied the ancient runic arrays himself, massive spell circles that encompassed the entire island chain. The Isle Wards, as they were called, had been repelling malevolent spirits and even demons (though those hadn''t been seen for millennia) since the time of Law. Whatever Miller''s boy had seen, it certainly wasn''t a spirit.


    "Oh? You''re laughing at an old man''s warnings?" Ben''s mock-serious tone dissolved into a warm laugh. "Bah, look at you though - got a good head on your shoulders, I can tell. More mature than most youngsters these days. Still," he wagged a finger, "doesn''t hurt to be careful, eh?"


    "I promise I''ll keep both eyes open," Adom assured him, jumping down from the cart.


    "It''s been nice having company for the ride back," Ben said, adjusting the reins. "Most days it''s just me and Bessie exchanging opinions about the weather. You''re welcome to visit the farm sometime - good folk should stick together in these strange times."


    "The farm?" Adom asked, brushing off his uniform.


    "Up on the cliff, the one with the sea view. Can''t miss it - got those fancy enchanted windmills spinning day and night."


    Adom''s eyebrows shot up. "Wait, you mean the Farmer Mage''s estate? That farm?"


    Ben''s laugh echoed across the valley. "The very same! Twenty-three years now, serving the duchy. Someone''s got to keep those magical crops in line, might as well be this old groundskeeper."


    He patted the cart''s side. "Come by sometime. We''ve always got fresh bread, and the missus makes a mean apple pie. Besides," he winked, "my daughter would never forgive me if I didn''t extend proper hospitality to a promising young mage."


    "I''d like that," Adom said, genuinely meaning it. There was something comforting about talking to someone who reminded him of his actual age.


    "Off with you then," Ben said, clicking his tongue at Bessie. "And remember - no trusting whistling chickens!"You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    "Got it!"


    The familiar path seemed shorter this time, muscle memory guiding him up the cliff face. The cave entrance was exactly as he remembered - and yet completely different. Nature had already reclaimed its territory, vines and scrub brush obscuring what had been freshly exposed during his last visit.


    His fingers found the rune beneath the vegetation, just where he''d left it. One simple activation later:


    The riddle came.


    "Tomorrow," Adom answered, almost bored. The stone groaned open just like before, revealing the dark passage beyond. No need for theatrics this time - he had work to do.


    The treasure chamber opened. After battling the motion sickness from the short travel, he wove [Light Sphere] after [Light Sphere], sending them to hover at different heights throughout the chamber. Each new light revealed more wonders.


    Every small sound made him tense, ready to bolt, but the chamber remained as silent as before. Under the constellation of floating lights, he could finally appreciate the true scope of the treasury.


    Mountains of gold coins formed the foundation, but it was what lay scattered among them that took his breath away. Rubies as big as his fist, sapphires that seemed to contain entire oceans, emeralds that put the forest''s deepest greens to shame. Ancient weapons caught his eye - a lance of silver color, its length perfectly balanced as he gave it an experimental thrust.


    "Whoa!" he yelped as the lance suddenly elongated in his grip, nearly doubling its length.


    "[Identify]"


    [Item: Horizon''s Reach (Class S)


    Type: Enchanted Weapon


    Status: Active


    Properties: Length manipulation, Piercing Enhancement]


    He carefully set it down, moving on to an S-class warhammer that crackled with barely contained lightning when he lifted it. The weapon was beautiful, but so heavy he could barely swing it properly.


    [Item: Storm''s Voice (Class S)


    Type: Enchanted Weapon


    Status: Active


    Properties: Lightning Enhancement, Thunder Strike]


    A set of throwing knives caught his attention next.


    [Item: Seeker''s Set (Class A)


    Type: Enchanted Weapons


    Status: Active


    Properties: Target Tracking, Return to Wielder]


    "[Identify], [Identify], [Identify]," he muttered, moving from weapon to weapon. A-class, S-class, even a few that were clearly masterwork pieces. He tested a few more - a mace that left frost in its wake, twin short swords that moved like they were alive, a bow that didn''t seem to need arrows. But in the end, he regretfully set them aside. He already had Flamebrand, and these treasures, magnificent as they were, would just take up space he needed for more practical loot.


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    "I''ll come back for you, my preciouses," he whispered to the weapons, patting the frost mace one last time. "That''s a promise."


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    The rest of his systematic search yielded results faster than expected. A cluster of pure mana crystals, their azure depths still swirling with power after centuries. Those went straight into the first bag. A delicate chain of white gold with tiny pearls. Oooh. Expensive. Into the bag.


    "Hello, what''s this?" Adom brushed aside a cascade of gold coins to reveal an ornate box inlaid with opal. Inside, nested in aged velvet, lay a set of rings, around a dozen, that made his instincts practically sing. The rings were light, their dark metallic sheen unmistakable.


    "Is that Starfallen steel?" he whispered in disbelief. The metal was usually reserved for ancestral weapons, passed down through noble families for generations. To find rings made of it...


    "[Identify]"


    [Item: Starfallen Steel Ring (Class SS)


    Type: Accessory


    Status: Normal


    Properties: Made of starfallen steel]


    Even without enchantments, these rings were worth a small fortune just for their material alone. Those would need proper examination later, but for now - into the bag they went.


    Two hours later, his bags were bulging with selected treasures: gems that still held magical charge, mana crystals that radiated power, and enough gold coins to make even a duke blush.


    Adom stood in the middle of the chamber, surrounded by disturbed piles of wealth, and had a moment of perfect clarity.


    "Damn. I''m rich," he stated flatly to no one in particular, the absurdity of it finally hitting him.


    But there, at the heart of this sea of riches, something caught his eye. His earlier rummaging must have shifted enough of the treasure to reveal it - a light, brighter and purer than his magical spheres, seemed to pulse gently from beneath where a pile of coins had been.


    Adom made his way carefully through the treasure, sending small avalanches of coins cascading with each step. As he got closer, he could see it was a necklace - a delicate silver chain supporting a crystal that seemed to hold daylight itself.


    His hand trembled slightly as he picked it up. The gem was warm to the touch, almost alive. "[Identify]," he whispered.


    "Celestium," he yelped, nearly dropping the necklace. "A genuine Celestium crystal!"


    These stones were found only in the deepest mines of the Far North, where dwarves and humans had waged countless wars over mining rights. A single Celestium crystal could finance a kingdom''s war efforts for years, but their true value lay in their properties. They were known to be the most efficient mana storage medium ever discovered, capable of holding vast amounts of magical energy without degradation.


    Folk tales spoke of even greater powers - the ability to seal away primordial beings like demons, umbra, phoenixes, and dragons. Some legends claimed the ancient heroes had used Celestium to imprison creatures that threatened to destroy the world itself.


    Adom found himself strangely drawn to the crystal, its subtle warmth seeping into his fingers. Just to be safe...


    "System, is there anything sealed in this crystal?"


    [No entities detected within the Celestium crystal.]


    "Phew," he laughed nervously, tucking the necklace carefully into his most secure bag. "Guess folk tales are just folk tales after all."


    Adom pulled out his pocket watch, squinting at its face in the magical light. Yep. It was definitely time to wrap things up. He''d already found more than he''d dreamed of, enough to treat Sam and Eren to every fine restaurant in the Thousand Isles. Maybe even buy one of those restaurants, he thought with a grin.


    He''d come back for those masterwork weapons another time. For now, he needed to get out and update the concealment runes outside, make sure this place stayed hidden. No sense in getting greedy and-


    Something glinted in his peripheral vision, far in a corner he hadn''t explored yet. Adom sighed heavily. He was literally in the process of leaving, and now this? Still...


    His curiosity won out. Making his way over, his search finally brought him to a shadowy corner of the chamber where [Identify] suddenly flashed:


    [Ancient runic array (purpose: concealment)]


    Adom froze, eyes narrowing, hand hovering mid-reach.


    The same type of rune as the one at the entrance. His fingers traced the familiar leprechaun spiral pattern, following the lines of the Endless Return. The craftsmanship was identical - same artist, probably.


    His thoughts immediately went to the last hidden chamber he''d uncovered - and the rather large, rather angry serpent that had been waiting inside.


    He should probably leave it alone.


    He should definitely focus on gathering the treasures he could already see and getting out.


    He stared at the rune.


    But what if...?


    Curiosity killed the cat, as they say. Though in his case, it was more like "curiosity repeatedly put the cat in mortal danger, and the cat somehow kept coming back for more."


    So Adom stood there, studying the rune, mind racing. "There''s no confirmation something dangerous is even in there."


    But even as he thought it, he knew better. This was a sealed gate in an ancient treasury, protected by the same runes that had hidden a giant serpent. Of course there was something behind it.


    He rolled his shoulders, feeling the day''s fatigue. No, who was he kidding? He''d come here already tired, and nothing guaranteed that whatever waited behind this door wouldn''t be beyond him even at full strength.


    "I could always come back later..."


    The thought rang hollow. Between the illness, the Undertow mess waiting outside, and everything else crashing down around him, when exactly would ''later'' be?


    "Ugh.." Adom''s frustrated sigh echoed through the chamber, sending dust cascading from the shadows above. Several coins tumbled down a nearby pile, their tinkling somehow adding to his frustration.


    A silence.


    "Yeah, no," he muttered. "Not doing this today. I choose life."


    He''d barely taken three steps when a pulse of pure light suddenly filled the chamber behind him. Adom spun around, hands raised defensively.


    "I didn''t even touch anything..." he protested to the empty air.


    The rune suddenly pulsed with a discordant light that made Adom''s senses scream in warning. The pattern was destabilizing, but not in the usual way of a failing spell. This was... deliberate. Engineered.


    His eyes widened as he recognized the dissolution sequence - a variation of the Architects'' Gambit, a failsafe used in the most secure magical vaults. The principle was simple and merciless: once initiated, a magical sequence had to be completed.


    Failure to complete the intended action - in this case, walking through that door - would trigger the failsafe, either shunting everything it contained into a pocket dimension or destroying it entirely.


    Either way: Anything behind that door, permanently lost.


    The ancient mages weren''t known for leaving loose ends.


    "Oh, you have got to be kidding me," he said flatly, watching the rune''s light begin to fluctuate. "Really? A completion compulsion sequence? That''s just... that''s just mean."


    Adom glanced between the massive piles of treasure and the glowing doorway. Something clicked in his mind.


    "Wait... the records said they found 500,000 gold pieces here, but this is..." He looked at the mountains of wealth surrounding him. "No, that can''t be right. Only whatever''s behind that door would vanish, not what''s out here in the main chamber..."


    A soft, almost imperceptible ''hsssss'' whispered through the air.


    A ''hssss''?


    Adom didn''t even turn around. Didn''t hesitate. Didn''t think.


    He just ran.


    [Push]!


    The spell launched him forward as the hissing grew louder behind him. His feet barely touched the ground as he propelled himself through the chamber, coins scattering in his wake.


    [Push]!


    Another burst of speed as the hissing intensified, closer now. Too close.


    [PUSH]!


    As the presence loomed directly behind him, Adom spun mid-flight, fingers already weaving the familiar pattern. Lightning crackled between his hands.


    "[Thunderbolt]!"


    The spell exploded from his palms just as something massive lunged from the darkness. For a split second, the lightning illuminated a nightmare of stone and crystal - then the blast hit, sending chunks of rock flying. The recoil combined with his [Push] momentum threw Adom backward through the tunnel.


    He managed to twist in the air, rolling as he hit the ground. The impact knocked the wind from his lungs, but nothing felt broken. Small victories.


    A grinding sound echoed through the chamber. Adom looked up.


    And up.


    And up.


    "What is it with giant snakes?" he wheezed, scrambling backward.


    But this wasn''t exactly a snake. The thing rising before him was a twisted mockery of one, its serpentine form carved from living stone, connected to the door. White light spilled from its partially opened maw like liquid moonlight. Its crystal eyes blazed with that same light.


    The stone serpent''s head tilted at an impossible angle, joints grinding like millstones as it studied him. That movement - so fluid, so wrong - sent chills down Adom''s spine. It reminded him of something he''d seen in an old manuscript, an illustration of...


    He didn''t finish the thought. The creature''s maw opened wider, that dead white light pouring out like a waterfall. Adom turned and ran.


    His legs burned as he sprinted through the chamber, fatigue from his earlier run catching up at the worst possible moment. Behind him, stone scraped against stone as the monster gave chase, its massive body flowing across the ground like liquid rock.


    [Push]!


    The spell gave him another burst of speed, but he could hear the thing gaining. His chest felt like it was on fire.


    Too slow. He was too slow, too tired, and that thing was too fast. The entrance seemed impossibly far away.


    The snake''s head twitched.


    Not the subtle play of light on crystal he''d seen before. This was actual movement. Smoother than last time. Alive. Stone grinding against stone in a way that stone absolutely should not move.


    The rune flared brilliant white - not the prismatic shimmer of before, but a harsh, dead light that made his teeth ache. Wrong. This was wrong. The dissolution sequence shouldn''t look like-


    The massive serpent''s head snapped toward him with impossible speed, crystal eyes now blazing with that same white light. Its jaw unhinged with a sound like breaking granite.


    "FUC-" was all Adom managed before the stone serpent struck. He tried to dodge, tried to raise a shield, tried to do anything - but his body seemed frozen, caught in that terrible white glare.


    The last thing he saw was an impossible maw of stone and light rushing toward him, and his last coherent thought was a bitter appreciation for the irony: he''d finally made the smart choice, and it hadn''t mattered at all.


    Then the stone jaws closed around him, and everything went white.

 Chapter 15. The Trial of Courage

    Everything hurt.


    That was the first coherent thought to surface through the grey fog. Not specific pain, just... everything. Like his entire body had decided to go on strike.


    Sounds came next, muffled and distant, as if his ears were stuffed with cotton. His own breathing, echoing strangely.


    He tried opening his eyes, immediately regretted it, and settled for cataloging what he could without moving. Cold stone pressed against his back. The air felt... old. Stale. His mouth tasted like he''d been licking a copper pot.


    Who... was he?


    The thought drifted lazily through his mind. He should probably know that. Important detail, really. Name. He had one of those.


    Adom. Right. He was Adom.


    Good start. Progress.


    What else?


    Mage. That felt right. Something about... research? Books? His head throbbed when he pushed too hard at the memories.


    The copper taste in his mouth was getting worse. He tried swallowing, which led to coughing, which led to his body remembering it could move, which led to every muscle screaming in protest.


    "Ow," he managed, his voice raspy and strange in his ears. "Ow, ow, ow."


    He forced his eyes open again, blinking at the dim... ceiling? Stone. Definitely stone. Carved with some kind of pattern he couldn''t quite focus on.


    Pattern. Stone...s... snake?


    The memory hit him like a bucket of ice water. The treasure chamber. The gold. The giant stone snake that had-


    Adom bolted upright with a strangled gasp, heart hammering. "It ate me!" he wheezed. "The door ate me!"


    His vision swam from the sudden movement, and he braced himself against the floor, trying not to be sick as the memory of stone jaws and white light played behind his eyes.


    Memory entanglement. A common consequence of bad dimensional travel. Another reason to hate portals. Because that snake was definitely one.


    "Right. Right." Adom pressed his palms against his eyes, forcing himself to breathe slowly. "Assessment. I''m alive. That''s... that''s definitely step one covered. Good job, me."


    He lowered his hands, taking proper stock of his surroundings. The chamber was roughly circular, maybe thirty feet across. Natural cave formation, but with signs of deliberate shaping - the floor had been smoothed, and there were what looked like drainage channels cut into the stone.


    Phosphorescent moss provided a soft blue-green light, clustering around several crystalline formations that jutted from the walls. The air was cool but not cold, with a slight mineral taste.


    "No immediate threats," he muttered, continuing his inventory. "Two passages leading out. One with a sort of spiral rune, one with none. Some kind of ventilation system - there''s airflow. Plant growth, so there''s enough moisture and..." He squinted at a patch of what looked like miniature silver ferns. "...nutrients? Those shouldn''t be able to grow underground unless..."


    Adom''s eyes tracked across the chamber. Moss, crystals, unusual flora, small pile of broken machinery, grumpy leprechaun, two other paths, more crystals-


    Wait.


    Grumpy what?


    His head snapped back so fast his neck cracked.


    On his right, sitting cross-legged on a crystal outcropping, a leprechaun was watching Adom with mild interest.


    His clothes might have once been the traditional greens and golds, but years of apparent wear had reduced them to a uniform grey.


    His hair and beard were a wild mass that would have made any self-respecting bird reject it as too chaotic for nesting material. There was what looked like a small gear being used as a hair tie, a worn out hat and a small bag at his waist. From the looks of it, a very old dimensional bag, since it had a rune on the exterior.


    "How''re you doing, lad?" The Leprechaun said.


    "..."


    Adom''s brain briefly considered shutting down again, or at least reassess. Illusions were not a symptom of bad dimensional travel.


    The leprechaun''s bushy eyebrows furrowed. "Well, that''s just rude, that is. If you''re going to be one of me hallucinations, least you could do is answer when spoken to. Basic courtesy, even for a figment."


    "I''m not-" Adom started, then paused. "Wait. Your hallucination? You''re clearly my hallucination. I''m the one who just got eaten by a stone snake."


    "Oh, this one''s got some spirit!" The leprechaun brightened, adjusting the gear in his hair. Two more gears dropped from that somehow. "Been ages since me mind conjured up something with actual personality. Usually just get the quiet ones who stand there looking confused. Boring, the lot of them."


    "I''m not a hallucination," Adom said firmly. "I''m a real person who just had a very bad day involving magical security systems and questionable life choices."


    "That''s exactly what a hallucination would say," the leprechaun countered, wagging a finger. "Besides, no real person could get past the snake. I''ve been here..." He squinted at nothing in particular. "...a fair while."


    "The snake ate me. I did not come here willingly."


    "Likely story. Next you''ll be telling me you''re not just a manifestation of me loneliness and deteriorating sanity."


    "I am absolutely not a-" Adom stopped. "Hang on. How long have you been down here?"


    "Time''s a bit fuzzy," the leprechaun admitted, scratching his beard. Several small cogs fell out. "Lost count after the first few centuries. Or was it decades? The moss has grown seventeen times, or maybe seventy. Hard to tell when you''re going mad."


    "You''re not real," Adom declared. It was likely just another effect of the dimensional travel messing with his head. "You''re just my brain trying to process trauma through increasingly bizarre imagery. I mean, look at your hair."


    "Me hair?" The leprechaun looked offended. "Says the one dressed like..." He gestured vaguely at Adom''s robes, clearly struggling to find the right words. "...whatever you''re supposed to be."


    "These are standard Academy robes."


    "Well, they look ridiculous. Like something a confused rainbow would wear."


    "This is ridiculous. I''m arguing with a hallucination about fashion."


    "No, I''m arguing with a hallucination about fashion."


    They glared at each other across the chamber.


    "Right," the leprechaun announced, hopping down from his crystal. "Only one way to settle this."


    Before Adom could react, the ancient fae darted forward with surprising speed and pinched his arm. Hard.


    "Ow!" Adom yelped, jumping back. "That hurt!"


    They stared at each other in mutual surprise.


    "Huh," the leprechaun said finally. "You''re real."


    "Of course I''m real. I''ve been saying that for- wait." Adom reached out and poked the leprechaun''s shoulder. His finger met solid resistance. "You''re real too."


    "Well," the leprechaun said after a long moment. "This is awkward."


    "...So," Adom said slowly, rubbing his pinched arm. "You''ve been trapped here since... whenever. And I just got swallowed by a stone snake. Any chance you know the way out?"


    This was probably a stupid question. Since the Fae was still there. But it just came out of his mouth, for reasons unknown. Probably panic.


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    The leprechaun snorted, settling back onto his crystal perch. "If I knew that, lad, do you think I''d be using gears for hair accessories?" He tugged at the makeshift hair tie. "Though I''ve grown rather fond of this one."


    "Fair point." Adom glanced between the two passages. "Those tunnels lead somewhere, though."


    "Oh aye, they do." The leprechaun''s eyes glinted with what might have been amusement. "One leads to a room full of riddles. The other..." He shrugged. "Well, let''s just say there''s a reason I stopped exploring after the first few decades. Or centuries. Whatever it''s been."


    "Wonderful," Adom muttered. "Just wonderful. I don''t suppose you have a name? Since we''re apparently sharing this delightful prison?"


    The leprechaun stroked his chaotic beard thoughtfully, dislodging another small cog. "Had one once. These days I mostly go by..." He made a series of sounds that seemed to involve at least three consonants that shouldn''t be able to exist simultaneously.


    Adom blinked. "I... can''t pronounce that."


    "Neither can I, most days. Just been talking to meself too long." He waved a hand dismissively. "Call me whatever you like. Been called worse by better hallucinations."


    "You do realize I''m still not a hallucination?"


    "That''s exactly what all me hallucinations say. Right before they start singing. You''re not going to start singing, are you?"


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    "Good," the leprechaun nodded sagely. "You don''t look like you''d be any good at it anyway."


    Adom let out a long-suffering sigh, looking around the chamber again. "Listen, I need to find a way back. So..." He hesitated, "since you don''t have a name... Bob?"


    "Hmph." The leprechaun neither agreed nor disagreed, just continued watching him with that same mild interest.


    "Right," Adom pressed on, trying to ignore the feeling that he was being silently judged. "Could you at least tell me what you''ve learned about this place? In all your time here?"


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    "A test?"


    "Stop repeating everything I say, hallucination."


    "Adom. That''s my name. And I just repeated it once."


    "Humans," the leprechaun grumbled, shaking his head and dislodging another small gear. "Always so impolite. Of all the things me mind could conjure up, it had to be a human. Couldn''t be a nice, curvy leanansh¨ª with those perfect..."


    He made several increasingly lewd gestures. "And that thing they do with their tongues when they''re about to steal your soul. Oooh. Now that''s what I call a way to go mad. At least I''d die happy."


    At this point, Adom was certain the leprechaun was calling him ''hallucination'' purely out of spite. Also, gross. "Can we focus on the test part?"


    The leprechaun blinked, snapping out of his reminiscing. "Eh? Oh, right. The test." He straightened up, some semblance of seriousness returning to his weathered face. "Some high-and-mighty mages built this place. All very mysterious and important, they were. Set up these trials and puzzles, they did. You want out?" He pointed upward with a crooked finger. "You''ve got to pass their test."


    "And you''ve been stuck here because you couldn''t solve it?" Adom asked, his academic curiosity finally overriding his irritation.


    The leprechaun''s bushy eyebrows drew together. "Couldn''t solve it? Listen here, hallucination."


    "Adom."


    "I solved three of their precious riddles before I realized something wasn''t right. The whole thing''s rigged, it is. Changes every time you think you''re getting somewhere." He paused, scratching his beard thoughtfully. "Course, might''ve just been going in circles. Hard to tell when you''re underground for a few centuries."


    "So what kind of riddles were they?"


    "Oh, nasty ones. Not your usual ''what walks on four legs'' nonsense." He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "First one was about sacrifice - had to figure out what to give up. Thought I was clever, offering a lock of me hair." He tugged at his wild mane. "Didn''t work. Then tried me shoes. Then me gold..." His voice trailed off, and for a moment, real pain flashed across his face.


    "They took your gold?" Adom asked softly, understanding dawning. For a leprechaun to lose their gold...


    "Aye. And that was just the first riddle." He straightened up, his voice hardening. "Second one was worse. All about choices and consequences. Third one..." He shuddered. "Well, let''s just say I decided to make this chamber me permanent residence after that. At least the moss is good company. Doesn''t ask riddles or steal anything."


    The ancient fae glanced at one of the passages and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "better than the singing statues, anyway."


    "Singing statues?" Adom asked, then quickly shook his head. "No, wait - the riddle path. You said it took your gold as a sacrifice?" His eyes narrowed in thought, fingers absently tracing one of his sleeve. "And it kept demanding more sacrifices with each riddle..."


    The leprechaun nodded glumly.


    "That''s not a test," Adom said slowly. "It''s a terminal recursion trap. We studied these in Historical Magical Architecture. They were popular about eight centuries ago, inspired by high-level dungeons."


    He started pacing. "The victim thinks they''re making progress, but each sacrifice just triggers the next loop. It''s designed to drain everything from the prisoner - possessions, hope, eventually life force itself."


    Bob was silent.


    "And now that it''s mentioned..." Adom gestured at the passage. "The architecture does gives it away - see how the stonework has that subtle spiral pattern? Classic Eighth Dynasty prisoner containment. They''d use these on the worst criminals, give them the illusion of possible escape while..." He trailed off, noticing the leprechaun''s increasingly red face.


    "You mean to tell me," the ancient fae said very carefully, "that you figured this out just by looking at some stones? While I''ve been here for centuries trying to solve impossible riddles?"


    "Well, it''s pretty standard knowledge now," Adom said apologetically. "They actually banned these types of traps about three hundred years ago. Too cruel, even for death row prisoners. The psychological torture of false hope combined with the slow drain of life force..." He winced. "The records say most victims went mad before they died."


    The leprechaun''s face had progressed from red to an interesting shade of purple. Several gears fell from his beard as his jaw worked soundlessly.


    What was it with those gears and why did he have that many and why did they keep dropping from his hair and beard?


    Anyway.


    "Though," Adom added quickly, ignoring his other questions for now, "you obviously figured out something was wrong. You stopped playing their game. Most victims didn''t."


    "Figured it out," the leprechaun muttered. "Figured it out, he says. Like I meant to camp in this moss-covered hole for half a millennium." He glared at Adom. "Any other obvious observations you''d like to share, oh wise one?"


    Adom studied the other passage, the one the leprechaun had briefly mentioned before changing the subject. "So... what about that other path? The one that made you decide the riddle route was preferable? You talked about singing statues.."


    The leprechaun''s irritation faded into something more guarded. "Ah. That one." He tugged at his beard nervously. "It''s... direct. Very direct. No riddles, no tricks, just..." He made a vague gesture with his hand. "Pure chaos. Raw magic. The kind that makes your teeth taste purple and your eyes hear colors."


    "That actually sounds promising," Adom said, earning a look of disbelief from his companion. "No, really. Think about it - the riddle path was designed to trap people by seeming logical and ordered. So the opposite path..."


    "...might be the real way out," the leprechaun finished slowly. "Or it might be what finally drives me properly mad instead of just mostly mad." He hopped down from his crystal perch again, straightening his clothes. "Though I suppose if you''re not actually a hallucination, and I''m not actually a hallucination..."


    "Then we might as well face whatever''s down there together?"


    "I was going to say ''then at least I''ll have someone else to blame when it all goes horribly wrong,'' but your version sounds better."


    Adom approached the other passage, his footsteps echoing strangely in the chamber. Unlike the riddle path with its ornate spiral stonework, this entrance was... plain. Almost crude. No runes, no markings, just rough-hewn stone that seemed to swallow the light.


    He adjusted his increasingly battered glasses. "What exactly did you see in there?"


    The leprechaun''s usual manic energy dimmed. "Everything. Nothing. Things that couldn''t exist but did anyway." His voice grew distant. "Felt like thousands of years in there, each second longer than the last. Saw meself losing everything, over and over. Saw things that..." He shuddered, several gears falling from his clothes. "Let''s just say the riddles seemed friendlier."


    Adom frowned. "That doesn''t make sense." He gestured at the architecture. "This is something else. The construction is too old, too... purposeful."


    He edged closer to the entrance, running his fingers along the stone frame, searching for hidden runes. The darkness beyond was absolute - not the darkness of absence of light, but something deeper.


    When he called out a tentative "Hello," the sound didn''t echo or fade - it simply ceased to exist, as if the void had swallowed it whole.


    "Mad, isn''t it?" The leprechaun''s laugh was sharp and brittle. "Makes those nice, orderly riddles seem downright welcoming."


    As Adom''s fingers traced the rough stone, he felt subtle indentations beneath his touch. Furrowing his brow, he weaved a [Light Sphere], causing Bob to stumble back.


    "You''re really a mage?" the leprechaun gasped.


    Adom chuckled. "Yeah." He moved the light closer to the wall, illuminating ancient text carved into the stone. The writing seemed to shift and move under his gaze, but he could make out the words:


    "Orynth''s Labyrinth," he read aloud. "Test of Courage - Face what lies within the void." His finger traced the final line. "And... ''Progress can only be made forward. Retreat will reset the trial.''"


    Bob seemed to shift uncomfortably.


    "Bob... did you know someone named Orynth?"


    The leprechaun''s laughter filled the chamber, but it wasn''t his usual manic cackle. This was bitter, sharp. "Know him? That red-eyed bastard''s the one who trapped me here."


    "The creator of the labyrinth?"


    "Oh aye. One of them. Very proud of his work, he was." Bob''s fingers tightened around a gear until his knuckles went white. "Wouldn''t shut up about it."


    Adom perked up. "That could be useful. Usually, a labyrinth''s design reflects its creator''s personality. If you knew him¡ª"


    "Been a while," Bob cut him off, his voice clipped. Several gears clinked against the floor as he shifted uncomfortably. "Don''t remember much about him that way."


    "But why would he trap you here if¡ª"


    "By the void, you ask too many questions!" Bob snapped, throwing the gear he''d been clutching. It bounced off the wall with a metallic ping that echoed far longer than it should have. "Instead of interrogating me about ancient history, maybe use that scholarly brain of yours to figure out how this actually works!"


    "That''s... what I was trying to do," Adom muttered, turning back to the entrance.


    [Identify].


    The darkness rippled. For a moment, something gleamed in the stone - a rune, hidden beneath layers of magic, pulsing with a faint, sickly light.


    Adom reached out, fingers brushing against the faint outline in the stone. Blue text shimmered:


    [Ancient runic array (purpose: concealment), estimated age: unknown]


    The rune was complex - interwoven lines forming a pattern that seemed to shift under his gaze. Seven points, connected by curves that reminded him of water flowing through invisible channels.


    "What are you doing now?" Bob asked, peering over his shoulder.


    "Shh."


    The leprechaun made an indignant sound. "Did you just ''shh'' me? In my own..." He continued muttering about "presumptuous little humans" and "no respect for their elders."


    Adom ignored him, focusing on the pattern.


    The rune''s design was familiar - a Septennial Concealment Array, though far more archaic than the streamlined versions used today.


    Where modern arrays used efficient three-point formations, this one maintained the traditional seven points, complete with the redundant stabilization curves that hadn''t been necessary since the Third Age''s breakthroughs in runic optimization.


    He pressed his palm flat against the stone, sending a careful pulse of mana into the first point.


    The rune flickered.


    Another pulse, slightly stronger. The second point lit up.


    Third pulse. Fourth. Fifth. Each point illuminating in sequence, the curved lines between them beginning to glow with a pale blue light.


    Sixth pulse - the pattern was almost complete.


    Seventh -


    The entire array blazed to life, lines of power spreading outward across the stone like frost across a window.


    "How in the nine hells did you do that?" Bob demanded, his beard-gears spinning rapidly. "I''ve been staring at these walls for centuries and never saw any runes!"


    "Because I''m smart," Adom said flatly, still studying the spreading patterns of light.


    "Are you implying I''m not smart?"


    "I never said that."


    "But you thought about it."


    Adom turned to him with the faintest smile, but before he could respond, the wall before them shifted. Stone ground against stone as a new surface emerged, covered in flowing script.


    "What''s that then?" Bob squinted at the text. "More of your clever runes?"


    "No, this is..." Adom leaned closer, adjusting his glasses. "Ancient Imperial. Fairly late period, actually. The grammatical structure is almost modern." He traced the characters with his finger. The script was elegant but practical - none of the flourishes that marked the early Imperial period''s obsession with calligraphic beauty.


    "Well? What''s it say?" Bob hopped from foot to foot, gears jingling with each movement.


    "Test of Courage," Adom read, his finger moving across the characters. "The first trial of Orynth''s Labyrinth demands that you face what lies within your own heart. Enter the void, confront your deepest fears, and emerge victorious." He paused, frowning at the next section. "Interesting..."


    "What''s interesting?" Bob peered at the incomprehensible script.


    "It says the test can be taken alone or with companions. If multiple people enter together, they share the trial - and if one succeeds, all succeed." Adom glanced at the leprechaun. "That''s unusually generous for an ancient trial."


    "Oh?" Bob leaned closer to read.


    "''Participants begin with 200 life force. Should it be depleted, you may retry the trial or surrender. Surrendering means starting from the very beginning of the Labyrinth.''" Adom''s fingers traced the warning runes. "No mention of permanent death, at least."


    "Generous indeed," Bob snorted. "You didn''t see what''s in there. Though..." He tugged at his beard thoughtfully, several gears spinning slower. "Might explain why it didn''t work when I tried. Was alone then, wasn''t I?"


    "The text doesn''t say it has to be done together," Adom clarified, still reading. "Just that it''s an option. Though considering what you''ve told me about your experience..."


    "You''re not seriously suggesting we go in there together?"


    "You said it yourself - the riddle path is a trap. This is the real way forward."


    "Yes, but..." Bob''s gears clinked anxiously. "There''s facing your fears, and then there''s whatever that void does to your mind."


    "It''s either that or¡ª" Adom stopped mid-sentence as another gear clinked to the floor. "Actually, I''ve been meaning to ask. What''s with all the gears? And why do they seem endless?"


    "Oh, these?" Bob picked up the fallen gear, which immediately split into two in his hand. "Found them right here in this chamber, actually. Quite the neat trick - touch one, and it makes another."


    Adom''s eyes widened. "That''s not just a neat trick. That''s a Multiplicity Artifact. There are only three known to exist in the entire..." He shook his head. "And you''ve just been using them as clothing decorations?"


    "Well, what else was I supposed to do with them? Count them? Already tried that - got to several million before I lost track." Bob attached both gears to his sleeve. "Besides, they make a lovely sound, don''t you think? Almost like gold."


    Adom turned back to the void, ignoring Bob''s impromptu gear orchestra. "So. The rune was just for instructions. We either go in together, or we stay here."


    "Technically, you could go alone."


    "And leave you here for another few centuries?"


    "I''ve grown rather attached to the place," Bob said, though his gears clinked a distinctly nervous rhythm. How was that even possible?


    "Right."


    They both stared into the absolute darkness.


    "Together then?" Bob asked quietly.


    "Together."


    "We''re going to regret this, aren''t we?"


    "Probably."


    They stepped into the void.


    [Time of Entry: 19:23:07]


    *****


    Adom wove a [Flame] spell, the familiar warmth spreading from his palm. The darkness remained absolute, but at least he could see his own hand now. And Bob, standing uncomfortably close.


    The void felt... wrong. Not empty, but somehow negative - as if the space itself was actively hostile to their presence. Their footsteps made no sound, and the air had no temperature. It was a unique sensation.


    "Maybe we should..." Bob coughed, gears turning awkwardly. "Hold hands?"


    "No."


    "I''m being practical! You''re the one making it weird."


    "Still no."


    "Fine, but when you get lost in this nightmare void, don''t come crying to¡ª"


    The sentence cut off mid-word.


    Adom turned. Bob had been right beside him, close enough to touch. Now there was only darkness. He reached out, finding nothing but that same hostile emptiness.


    "Bob?"


    The void swallowed his voice.


    "Right. Of course." Adom adjusted his glasses, more out of habit than necessity. The gesture felt absurdly normal in this abnormal space. He continued forward, his flame spell creating a small bubble of visibility that somehow made the surrounding darkness feel even darker.


    The silence was absolute. No echoes, no ambient noise, not even the sound of his own breathing. Just the steady rhythm of his footsteps that he felt but couldn''t hear.


    He kept walking.


    More walking.


    And more.


    Adom stopped, turning in a slow circle. He hadn''t been afraid of the dark since he was five, when he''d finally understood that darkness was simply the absence of photons. He''d spent hours in the library reading about light particles and wave theory, finding comfort in the rational explanation that had chased away childish fears.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    But this... this wasn''t natural darkness. Obviously.


    This void defied scientific explanation. The magical architecture required to create such a space was staggering. Modern mages had centuries of magical theory and advancement at their disposal, their spells far more sophisticated than anything from the past. And yet... this construction shouldn''t be possible for its time period. The complexity of the void''s structure went against everything he knew about magical development. It was like finding advanced crystalline matrices in primitive ritual circles - it simply didn''t align with any known progression of magical knowledge.


    How had mages from that era managed something this complex?


    He felt a pull ¨C not physical, but an inexplicable certainty in his mind. Forward. He knew which way was forward, though he couldn''t have explained how. The knowledge simply existed, as fundamental as gravity.


    Turning back in that direction, Adom gasped. A door had materialized at the edge of his flame''s light ¨C simple, brown, wooden. Utterly ordinary, which made its presence here all the more unsettling. It stood unsupported in the void, as if someone had simply forgotten to build the wall around it.


    His steps faltered for just a moment.


    This door...


    "What the hell is this?" said Adom. That damned door...


    That scratched corner where he''d kicked it in frustration. The brass handle, slightly tarnished on the right side where thousands of nervous hands had gripped it. Even that peculiar whorl in the wood grain that his young eyes had traced over and over while waiting.


    Room 347. Doctor Kane''s office.


    "So this is where we''re going, huh? Memory?" Adom muttered. His voice still made no sound, but he felt the words in his throat.


    He stood before the door, studying it with the same detached curiosity he now used for analyzing magical phenomena. Funny how such an unremarkable piece of wood could mark the boundary between before and after. Between health and decay. Between childhood and... whatever came after.


    Forward.


    His hand reached for the handle.


    Light flooded his vision, and suddenly the world had weight again.


    *****


    "¡ªdom? Adom? Can you hear me, young man?"


    His mother''s arms were around him, warm and real. The scent of her sweet apple and cinnamon perfume mixed with the sharp antiseptic hospital smell. He''d forgotten that detail - how the two scents had clashed yet somehow merged in his memory.


    Her tears were soaking into his shirt. His father stood by the window, shoulders rigid, staring at nothing. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the sterile white floor.


    This felt more substantial than memory. The scratch of his cotton shirt against his skin. The slight tremor in his mother''s embrace. The weight of the air itself.


    It all felt real. Undeniably real.


    Where was he again? Ah, yes. Room 347. Doctor Kane had just finished explaining Lifedrain Syndrome. Three to five years, he''d said. Maybe less.


    He''d lived sixty-seven more, just to spite the diagnosis.


    "Orynth, you bastard," Adom muttered.


    Making him relive this moment, the exact second his life began to crumble. Of all the trials the ancient mage could have designed...


    His mother''s arms tightened around him, misinterpreting his words as confusion or denial. So he could interact with them here, huh?


    If only she knew.


    "I missed you both," Adom said softly, looking between them. "So much."


    His mother pulled back, brow furrowing. "What are you talking about, my little one?"


    "Doctor," his father''s voice was tight, controlled. "Are there cognitive symptoms we should know about?"


    "Arthur." His mother whirled on him. "Our son just got the worst news of his life and you''re suggesting he''s losing his mind?"


    "I''m trying to understand all the¡ª"


    "Understand? Understand what? That you''re already giving up on him?"


    The doctor raised his hands. "Please, Sir and Lady Syll¡ª"


    Adom watched them argue, a familiar heaviness settling in his chest that had nothing to do with his illness.


    These fights. They''d had so many after his diagnosis - voices rising, blame flying, love turning bitter with fear and helplessness. He''d forgotten how early they''d started. How bad they''d ended.


    Then it came.


    That familiar tickle in his throat. Adom almost laughed - he knew this script by heart. First the tickle, then the burning sensation spreading through his chest like hot wire. The tightness that made each breath shorter than the last. The metallic taste at the back of his throat.


    He coughed.


    His mother stopped mid-sentence. His father took a half-step forward.


    Another cough. Harder this time. Then another. And another. A rhythm he''d lived with for sixty-seven years, now playing out in its opening performance.


    He raised his hand to his mouth, going through motions that felt like muscle memory even though this body hadn''t learned them yet. When he pulled it away, black blood coated his palm, thick and glistening in the afternoon light.


    "Heh." The chuckle came out wet and dark.


    "Adom!" His mother''s scream.


    "Son!" His father''s shout.


    The world tilted sideways, the floor rushing up to meet him. Right on schedule.


    As consciousness faded, he wondered what Orynth had in store for him next.


    1st attempt successful.


    Would you like to continue? [Y/N]


    Forward. Always. It was the only way out.


    "...Yes. Yes you asshole."


    *****


    Adom opened his eyes and squinted immediately due to the light.


    A warm breeze ruffled his fur. Not his - a dog. The Service Companion sat beside his chair, tongue lolling in a perpetual smile. An old Moonspire Shepherd, with its characteristic white coat that seemed to catch and hold sunlight.


    "...Fido?" Adom''s voice caught. His first dog. His last dog. The one his father got him for his eighteenth birthday. He''d forgotten. How had he forgotten?


    The dog''s tail thumped against the cobblestones, ears perking at his name. That same goofy expression Adom remembered from that time.


    He reached down, fingers sinking into thick fur. Fido smelled like pear and summer storms - the enchanted shampoo his mother used to buy from the markets. The memory hit harder than any spell.


    The caf¨¦ terrace buzzed with afternoon life. Children chased each other between tables while their parents sipped spiced tea. A street performer juggled balls of light, each one singing a different note as it arced through the air. Two old men argued over a game of stones, their laughter carrying across the square.


    Adom''s tea had gone cold, forgotten beside a half-eaten plate of honey cakes. The sun hung lazy and golden in the cloudless sky, casting long shadows across the festival banners.


    Festival banners.


    His eyes caught on the flowing script: "1457th Festival of Kati."


    His cup clattered against the saucer. "No."


    This wasn''t just any festival day in Kati. By then, his hometown had transformed into one of the Sundar Empire''s most formidable fortress cities. Its walls, reinforced with defensive enchantments, stood as a beacon of hope for refugees fleeing the endless border wars. The city where he''d grown up had become a sanctuary for millions of souls.


    Millions.


    "No," he repeated, softer this time.


    Fido whined, pressing against his leg. The old dog always knew when something was wrong.


    "Papa, what''s that?"


    A child''s voice, from the next table. Small finger pointing up.


    Adom''s hands began to shake. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the pleasant temperature. He knew what he''d see before he looked, but he looked anyway.


    Could he do anything about it? Probably not.


    The sky was darkening. Not with clouds - with absence. A void spreading across the blue, like ink in water. People were noticing now, conversations falling quiet, faces turning upward.


    The juggler''s light-balls winked out.


    "Just weather magic," someone said, uncertain. "For the festival?"


    But Adom remembered this day. Remembered what came next.


    A low hum began, felt more than heard. The stones beneath his feet trembled. Cups rattled on tables. The old men''s game pieces scattered.


    Fido growled, hackles rising.


    "Oh gods," a woman whispered. "Look."


    Through the spreading darkness, a point of light. Growing larger. Brighter. A falling star in reverse colors, wrong in ways that hurt to look at.


    It had many names.


    Life''s bane. God''s wrath. World-ender. The Final Word. A hundred names in a dozen languages, each attempting to describe the indescribable. But in that moment, as it fell toward Kati, only one name mattered.


    Dragon''s Breath.


    Not fire, not destruction, but erasure. Complete. Absolute. The kind of death that didn''t just kill - it rewrote existence itself, leaving nothing behind. Not even ashes. Not even memories. Humanity''s crowning achievement in the art of warfare. The weapon that made elves pause their eternal dances, that hushed the singing forests, that gave even the deathless ones reason to fear. The ultimate expression of human ingenuity turned toward a single purpose: unmaking.


    And he was watching it descend on his home. Again.


    Adom lunged for Fido''s collar. "We need to move!"


    The dog planted his paws, one hundred and forty pounds of muscle refusing to budge. It wasn''t Fido''s fault. He was trained like that. To not let Adom do simple things like running. In his condition at that time, he would have had a heart attack for that.


    "Fido, please," he begged the dog. "Please move!"


    People still sat at their tables, pointing up at the darkening sky. A child started crying.


    "RUN!" It was pointless. "Everyone needs to run! NOW!"


    A few heads turned. A mother grabbed her children, hurrying them away. Others just stared at him, the crazy young man screaming in the square.


    The sky shifted from steel-gray to a darker one. The air felt wrong - too thick, too heavy.


    Then he saw it.


    A star falling in daylight, but wrong. No star should move that fast. No star should pulse with that twisted light. The horizon where it fell began to glow, a false dawn in the wrong direction.


    Someone whispered, "Saints preserve us."


    The ground shook. Tea cups danced off tables. A woman screamed.


    Fido finally moved, but in the wrong direction - trying to herd Adom toward shelter. The dog''s training fighting Adom''s desperate pulls.


    "I order you to-"


    The horizon ignited, far beyond the city walls where the Empire''s Third Legion made camp. Ten miles distant, but it didn''t matter.


    A pinprick of light bloomed into an impossible sun - white-hot, reality-bending brilliance that turned day into negative space. The festival crowd fell silent, necks craned upward. Some still stood transfixed, shielding their eyes, murmuring about new festival magic. They didn''t understand. Couldn''t understand.


    The ground shook first. Not the gentle tremor of earlier, but a deep, primal vibration that rattled teeth and toppled glasses. In the distance, a sound no human throat could make - part thunder, part scream, part the universe tearing. The very air seemed to hold its breath.


    Then it rose. A pillar of destruction climbing into the sky, burning white at its heart, crowned by a blooming mushroom of blacks and grays that devoured the clouds. Even at this distance, the world lost its colors, reduced to stark shadows and searing light. Those still watching saw their own bones through closed eyelids. Time stretched like taffy, each second an eternity of waiting.


    The shockwave came visible across the plains - a wall of pure force that flattened the grasslands, rolled through the army camp like it was paper. Even from here, they could see the massive siege engines tossed like children''s toys. It raced toward the city, a ripple in reality that turned stone to dust and flesh to vapor. The roar of its approach drowned out even the screams.


    People ran. Really ran now, a stampede of bodies crushing together in the narrow streets. Adom lost his grip on Fido''s collar in the surge. The dog vanished in the panicked crowd.


    "FIDO!"


    A mountain of a man slammed into him, sending them both sprawling. "Sorry lad, sorry!" The stranger hauled Adom to his feet with one meaty hand.


    The second wave hit.


    This one wasn''t light or sound - it was force. Pure, unstoppable force that picked up carts and people like toys. The air itself seemed to catch fire.


    Adom saw the building coming. A small house, lifted whole from its foundations, tumbling end over end through the burning air.


    His last thought before impact was of Fido''s goofy smile.


    Then world exploded into sound and fire.


    *****


    His ears rang with a high-pitched whine that drowned out everything else. The world spun lazily, even with his eyes closed. Consciousness came back in fragments - the taste of copper in his mouth, dust coating his tongue, the weight of... something pressing down.


    Where...?


    The ringing slowly faded, replaced by muffled sounds of destruction. Reality pieced itself together through the fog in his mind. The festival. Fido. The light in the sky.


    Ah. Yes.


    Orynth''s test.


    Pain screamed through every nerve as tons of concrete pinned him down. His legs - he couldn''t feel his right leg anymore, but his left was a symphony of agony, bone fragments grinding against each other with each breath.


    Hot wetness pooled beneath him, and he wasn''t sure if it was blood or the broken heating pipes. His chest felt like it was being crushed in a vice, each shallow breath sending jolts of electricity through his ribs. Dust filled his lungs, making him cough, each spasm multiplying the pain exponentially.


    Even knowing this was Orynth''s test didn''t dull the sensations. The body remembers, and Adom''s remembered this moment with perfect clarity - the precise way his pelvis had shattered, the burning as debris scraped against exposed bone, the peculiar numbness creeping up from his toes that would never quite go away.


    This was the sequence burned into his nightmares. Dragon''s Breath to shatter their defenses, to erase their strongest warriors and mightiest walls. Then, while the survivors still reeled from the horror, the Aslan Empire would descend like wolves upon the helpless. A perfect strategy, tested and proven across a dozen conquered nations.


    The concussive force of spells shattering shields vibrated through the rubble crushing his legs, each tremor sending fresh waves of torment through his broken body.


    Through a gap in the concrete, Adom watched the sky turn colors that shouldn''t exist as battle mages tore reality apart above.


    A knight crashed through a wall, his armor molten, screaming.


    A child stumbled past, cradling something gray and wet in blood-stained hands, calling "Mama, mama, your head fell off..." Adom would never forget that face - hollow-eyed, tear-streaked, yet focused with terrible determination as small fingers tried to push pulpy matter back into a shattered skull. "Stay still, Mama. I''ll make it better. I promise I''ll make it better."


    "Hey..." Adom''s voice cracked.


    The child looked up. Couldn''t have been more than six. A face that should have been worrying about lost toys or scraped knees, not... this. "Mister, can you help me? My mama''s not answering. I''m trying to put her thoughts back, but they keep slipping."


    Adom''s throat closed. He reached out, tried to form words to pull the child away from the corpse, to run, to live-


    The light spell cracked across the street like lightning. A single shot, precise, professional. The child''s body jerked, a puppet with cut strings. Those empty eyes locked onto Adom''s face in the final moment, filled not with fear or pain, but simple confusion.


    Adom''s scream died in his throat. How? How could anyone...? What threat could a child possibly...?


    But this was war. This was the moment when the world stopped making sense, when humanity shed its skin and revealed the monster beneath.


    The air tasted like copper and ozone. Someone was singing - a lullaby mixed with sobs, coming from beneath a collapsed building. The singing stopped abruptly as another explosion sent bodies flying.


    His father''s voice cut through the chaos: "Hold the line! Protect the civilians!"


    Through the smoke and debris, Adom saw him. Commander Arthur Sylla. Two star knight. Leading the defense, his sword glowing with fluid as he cut through enemy soldiers. Each swing precise, each step calculated. A warrior doing his duty.


    It was about to happen.


    In exactly four minutes, his father would spot him in the rubble. In four minutes and thirty seconds, he would turn his back on an enemy to reach his son. In four minutes and forty-five seconds...


    A mage''s corpse landed nearby, still crackling with residual energy. Her eyes were open, staring at nothing, mouth frozen in a half-cast spell.


    The singing had started again, from somewhere else now. A different voice, a different lullaby. The same abrupt end.


    The rubble pressed against his chest.


    Four minutes.


    He could already see his father scanning the battlefield, that moment of recognition about to dawn on his face. The enemy mage was positioning himself, spell already forming in the air.


    The same choreography of death he''d carried for decades.


    A child screamed somewhere - not in pain, but in that hollow way that meant they''d seen something their mind couldn''t process.


    A battlemage''s shield shattered, raining crystalline shards that cut through three soldiers below. The singing had started again, from beneath another pile of rubble.


    Adom''s hands found purchase on broken concrete. First try - muscles screamed, bones ground against metal rebar piercing his abdomen. The pain whited out his vision. He collapsed.


    [Life force: 38/200]


    His father turned.


    Second try - he pushed harder. Blood bubbled up his throat, spilling black over his chin. The rebar twisted inside him, tearing new paths through flesh. The edges of his vision darkened. By all rights, he should have passed out. He refused.


    [Life force: 23/200]


    His father took another step.


    Third try - Adom roared. His flesh tore around the metal, blood streaming hot down his side. Concrete shifted, crushing his left leg further. Every nerve ending blazed with agony. His body begged him to stop.


    [Life force: 19/200]


    He told his body to shut up.


    "Fuck that."


    The words came out as a growl. The rubble shifted as Adom pushed his torso up on trembling arms, metal sliding wet and raw through his abdomen. His crushed legs remained pinned, useless, but his upper body rose like a wounded beast.


    [Life force: 09/200]


    "Illusion or not¡ª" Energy crackled around his hands, blue-white and savage. Each movement sent fresh waves of agony through his shredded flesh. He didn''t care.


    [Life force: 03/200]


    "I. Am. Not. Reliving. This."


    His father''s eyes widened in recognition. The enemy mage raised his hands, death-spell forming¡ª


    "NOT THIS TIME!"


    The energy beam erupted from Adom''s palms with decades of rage behind it. Clean. Precise. A perfect circle through the mage''s chest where his heart should have been. The spell dissipated as its caster fell, surprise frozen on his face.


    The battlefield seemed to stutter, like reality hiccuping. His father stood frozen mid-step, sword half-raised, expression caught between shock and confusion.


    Around them, the war raged on. A knight''s enhancement gear backfired, turning him inside out. A young mage apprentice tried to hold his intestines in while still weaving shields. The singing had stopped again.


    "Son?" his father''s voice wavered. "How did you¡ª"


    Time stopped.


    206th attempt successful.


    Would you like to continue? [Y/N]


    [Warning: Progress can only be made forward. Retreat will reset the trial]


    Right. Two hundred and six times he''d felt the rebar tear through his organs. Two hundred and six times he''d tasted his own blood, felt his bones splinter. Two hundred and six times he''d watched that child try to piece their mother''s brains back together. Then die for no reason.


    But this time - this one time - his father was still standing.


    The battlefield continued its apocalyptic dance around them, but for just a moment, Adom allowed himself to look at his father''s time stopped face. Alive. Confused, but alive.


    Blood bubbled up his throat again, darker than before. His vision swam.


    [Life Force: 01/200]


    [Warning: Terminal threshold approaching]


    He needed to choose. Quickly. Forward into whatever fresh hell Orynth had prepared, or reset and lose this victory he''d paid for two hundred and six times over.


    The choice was obvious.


    *****


    The world shifted. Memory flooded in - another moment, burned into his soul. The camp of New Harbor, Year 853.


    The cough tore through his chest like barbed wire, each spasm threatening to split him in two. Adom gripped the metal rails of his wheelchair, knuckles white, waiting for his lungs to remember how to work. Blood flooded his mouth.


    The fluorescent lights of the refugee camp''s medical wing buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across equipment that looked ancient even by pre-war standards. His reflection in the cracked mirror told its own story of decay: hair white as fresh snow, skin like old parchment stretched too thin across hollow cheeks.


    He was twenty-two at that time. Twenty-two going on eighty.


    He dabbed at his mouth with a handkerchief. Red, of course. Always red these days.


    The Life Drain Syndrome had carved lines into his face that belonged on men thrice his age. Each wrinkle mapped a different spell, a different experiment, a different desperate attempt to protect what remained of humanity. The mage suit hung loose on his frame now - he''d lost weight again. The crystalline nodes embedded in the fabric pulsed with a weak blue light, monitoring his failing vital signs.


    "PLEASE! NO, IT STILL WORKS! I CAN FEEL MY TOES!"


    The screams from the next chamber cut through the thin walls. Adom knew that voice - Gregory, one of the scouts. Yesterday''s patrol had gone wrong.


    "Hold him down!" The healer''s voice, sharp with urgency. "The rot''s reaching his knee. It''s this or death."


    "I''LL DIE WITH MY LEG! PLEASE! I CAN STILL-" The words dissolved into unintelligible sobbing.


    The wet sound of saw meeting flesh. Gregory''s screams pitched higher, became something animal, primal. The rhythmic scraping continued, inexorable.


    The door burst open. "My Lord Mage!" A soldier stood there, blood-splattered and breathing hard. Her armor bore fresh dents. "We''ve got incoming. Orc warband, at least two hundred strong. They''ve got dwarven siege engines with them."


    A particularly agonized shriek from next door. The saw hit bone.


    "GODS, PLEASE, JUST KILL ME!"


    The soldier flinched at Gregory''s plea but kept her eyes on Adom. "Sir, we need to move. Now."


    "Where is my mother?"


    The soldier hesitated, just for a moment. "Lady Sylla was last seen at the outer perimeter, my lord. Healing survivors from the first wave."


    No.


    "Get her back." His voice cracked. "Get her back inside NOW."


    But he knew. He already knew. The memory was already playing out - his gentle mother, who''d sing healing hymns while tending gardens, who''d cradle injured birds and weep over withered flowers. Who never turned away anyone in need.


    "Sir, we need to evacuate. The orcs are-"


    He remembered how it played out: The sounds came first. The splintering of bones. The wet, meaty sounds. Then someone screaming "Lady Sylla!" And finally, finally, the sight of her through the medical tent''s window - her small form caught between massive, armored bodies. Crushed like a flower under boots.


    His heart stuttered, skipped, seized. Not from the Life Drain this time, but from seeing something so pure, so kind, reduced to... to...


    They''d had to peel her off the ground. His mother, who''d spent her life putting broken things back together, couldn''t even be buried whole.


    Adom slumped in his wheelchair, chest constricting. The seventh heart attack in his life wasn''t from pushing too hard. It was from remembering this moment, remembering how they''d brought him her remnants, remembering how someone who''d dedicated her life to healing had died with such violence.


    "My lord!" The soldier''s voice seemed distant now. "We need to move!"


    But Adom could only see his mother''s last smile that morning, could only hear her last words: "Remember to eat something, dear. You''re working too hard again."


    The war horns bellowed closer, but they couldn''t drown out the truth - this was the day his mother died, and something in him died with her. Not just his health, not just his heart, but his belief that anything good could survive this world.


    This needed correction.


    Adom wheeled himself forward, each turn of the wheels sending sparks of pain through his arms.


    [Life Force: 189/200]


    This was attempt ninety-eight. He''d memorized every death, every failure, every moment he wasn''t fast enough, strong enough, clever enough to save her. Not this time.


    "My lord, you can''t possibly-" The soldier''s protest died as Adom raised his hand.


    "Watch me."


    The first wave hit the outer barriers. Adom''s fingers traced complex patterns, weaving spells that made his blood burn. He was already a circle mage by then. A sick, wounded one, but a circle mage nonetheless.


    A dwarven siege engine exploded, showering the advancing horde with burning debris. His heart stumbled, protesting the strain.


    [Life Force: 156/200]


    "FORM RANKS!" His voice carried across the battlefield, stronger than his body had any right to be. Soldiers rallied, finding formation around his wheelchair. "ARCHERS, TARGET THE SHAMANS!"


    Another spell. Lightning chained between orc warriors, their armor conducting death. The effort sent him into a coughing fit, spattering his lap with blood.


    [Life Force: 134/200]


    He could see her now - his mother, kneeling beside wounded refugees, her healing magic a soft green glow. So focused on saving others, she didn''t see the berserkers breaking through.


    [Life Force: 112/200]


    "LEFT FLANK, BRACE!" The command tore from his throat as he channeled power through his failing body. A wall of force materialized, crushing the first berserker wave. His vision blurred. Too much. Too fast.


    But he was closer now. Ninety-seven failures had taught him every move, every spell, every sacrifice needed. His wheelchair creaked as he pushed forward, soldiers forming a protective wedge around him.


    [Life Force: 87/200]


    A dwarven bolt thrower targeted his position. Adom''s counter-spell caught the projectile, reversed its course. The machine exploded, taking its crew with it. Blood trickled from his nose.


    [Life Force: 65/200]


    "Mother!" His voice barely carried over the chaos. She looked up, eyes widening. The massive orc behind her raised its axe-


    Time slowed. Not from magic, but from desperation. Adom saw every detail: the axe''s arc, his mother''s turning head, the distance between them. Numbers and calculations flooded his mind - trajectory, force, spell matrices.


    [Life Force: 43/200]


    The spell left his hands before he could consider the cost. Reality bent. Space folded. His mother vanished from the axe''s path, reappearing beside his wheelchair. The effort sent him into cardiac arrest.


    [Life Force: 21/200]


    "Adom!" Her hands glowed green, pouring healing magic into his seizing heart. "My boy, what have you-"


    "Not... done... yet." Each word was agony. But he had one more spell. One final gambit.


    [Life Force: 9/200]


    Power gathered around him, drawing from his very soul. The remaining orcs charged. The last siege engine aimed.


    [Life Force: 4/200]


    "I love you, mother. And I missed you." The words came clearly despite his failing body. "Now run. Please."


    The spell released. A dome of pure force expanded outward, disintegrating everything in its path. Orc, dwarf, machine - all reduced to ash.


    [Life Force: 2/200]


    As darkness took him, Adom smiled. Ninety-eight tries, but he''d finally done it. His mother was saved. He knew this was not real. This was an illusion. But God, it felt right.


    And this time, when his heart stopped, it was worth it.


    <div>


    A new wave charged.


    [Life Force: 1/200]


    "Come on then," Adom whispered, raising his hands one final time.


    Time stopped.


    [Congratulations. You''ve conquered this fear.]


    [Would you like to proceed with the next memories?]


    [Warning: Each attempt drains your spirit. Surrender is always an option.]


    <div>


    <div>


    Continue? [Y/N]


    "..."


    [Y]


    *****


    The first hundred years nearly shattered Adom.


    He lived through all the events of his past life. One by one. Each detail. Each experience.


    Watching Sundar fall again and again, hearing children scream as they plummeted through clouds turned to fire. His mind started fracturing around the fifties - laughing as blood rained down, trying to catch it with his tongue. By the seventieth fall, he was singing nursery rhymes while deflecting arrows.


    He almost gave up then. Almost.


    [Life Force: 189/200]


    [Status: Fragmenting]


    The Plague Wars twisted everything. Black spores blooming under skin, turning friends to enemies. He tried saving everyone at first. Then some. Then just himself. His hands shook for weeks after watching a mother eat her children, spores bursting from their eyes like black tears.


    "Just surrender," the voices whispered. "Start over."


    The voices, ah, the voices. He did not know who they belonged to, many voices, male and female, intertwined, always tempting him, they appeared around the 30th year of this test.


    He refused. Always refused. Always moved forward. Out of spite. Out of rage. Out of ardent desire to punch the hell out of whoever made him go through this.


    Was this madness?


    [Life Force: 167/200]


    [Status: Reshaping]


    Something changed during the Dead March. When the Necromancer rose from the north.


    Fifty thousand corpses shambling across the plains, and amid the horror, he found... purpose. Not hope - hope had died somewhere between the hundredth child''s death and the thousandth betrayal. Something harder. Colder.


    The voice saying "give up" grew quieter.


    The World Dungeon rose.


    When every dungeon, in every part of the globe hit S-rank and above, simultaneously, the world held its breath. Then came the great outbreak - all dungeons breaching at once, their portals dissolving until the entire planet became one massive, living dungeon. Monsters pouring out endlessly.


    Civilizations fell then.


    No more safe zones. No more sanctuary cities. Just endless dungeon floors where continents used to be.


    Nobody ever knew why and how it came to be.


    He survived that. Lived through the Night of Long Knives by feeling blade-paths before they cut. Watched humanity turn savage as they realized there were no more rules, no more borders between ''inside'' and ''outside.'' Just an endless maze of monsters, traps, and people who''d learned to become worse than both.


    [Life Force: 134/200]


    [Status: Evolving]


    Each failure taught him. Each success cost him pieces of who he was.


    The Children''s Crusade should have broken him. Watching infants manifest powers that turned reality inside out. Instead, he found himself understanding their babbled prophecies, seeing the logic in their madness.


    His disease changed too. The black blood grew thicker, more alive. Sometimes he caught it spelling words in languages that shouldn''t exist.


    Yes. this was madness.


    [Life Force: 98/200]


    [Status: Awakening]


    He lost count of the attempts somewhere during the wars and cataclysms. Time became fluid, meaning shifted like quicksand. He died so many times the concept of death became abstract - just another transition, another lesson.


    The voices in his head still screamed for surrender, but now a deeper voice answered back:


    "No."


    [Life Force: 76/200]


    [Status: Transcending]


    During the Week of Burning Stars in the World Dungeon, he realized he wasn''t going mad anymore. He realized he''d stopped counting attempts. Stopped fearing failure.


    His broken mind had reassembled itself into something new.


    The Day of Inverted Light almost felt beautiful. Reality fractured into twelve black suns, each showing him his deepest fears, his worst failures. He watched himself break in a thousand ways.


    But he didn''t break.


    [Status: Emerging]


    Through all the horror, all the death and rebirth and madness, something was taking shape. His will hadn''t broken - it had crystallized.


    The voice that had begged for surrender was silent now. In its place, something new had formed. Not fearlessness - fear would always exist. But something stronger than fear.


    [Status: Becoming]


    He kept walking. Kept moving forward.


    Chains rattled with each step. Iron links bit into flesh, wrapped around limbs, throat, heart. Adom trudged forward, each movement a war against weight that shouldn''t exist.


    He turned. Turned to look at his burden.


    The chains stretched endlessly behind him, each link screaming. Memories dangled from them like rotting fruit. Every failure. Every death. Every moment he wasn''t strong enough, fast enough, smart enough to save them all.


    How does one carry a world?


    Adom stood still, the weight crushing his shoulders. He found himself drowning in the absurdity of his task.


    A bitter laugh escaped his lips. "What rational mind would accept this?" he asked the darkness. There was no answer. "What sane person looks at the end of all things and says ''Yes, I''ll carry this alone''?"


    The memories shifted, showing him cities yet to burn, friends yet to die. Knowledge was his prison - knowing every horror that awaited, every moment where humanity would prove itself unworthy of salvation.


    "They don''t even want to be saved," he whispered, watching the chains of future-past wrap tighter. "They''ll tear each other apart regardless. I''ve seen it - how they turn on each other when the dungeons break, how quickly they abandon their humanity."


    The logical part of his mind - the part that had survived a hundred resets - laid out the facts with cruel clarity: One man cannot change the nature of billions. One soul cannot bear the weight of every possible tomorrow.


    It was mathematically impossible, fundamentally irrational.


    He sank to his knees, feeling the cold comfort of reason. Why struggle against inevitability? Why carry this burden when the outcome was statistically predetermined? The voices whispered calculations of failure, probabilities of doom, and each number felt like truth.


    "Perhaps," he murmured, "this is simply the universe''s way of teaching acceptance. Some equations have no solution. Some weights cannot be borne..."


    The darkness crept closer, offering rest. Offering an end to the paradox of his existence. After all, what was more rational than accepting one''s limitations? What was more logical than acknowledging the impossible?


    His eyes grew heavy. The chains sang softly of release, of letting go, of embracing the statistical certainty of failure. His brilliant mind, his analytical soul, everything that made him who he was agreed - this was the reasonable choice.


    The only choice.


    His eyes began to close...


    "Lad? Lad! Where are you?!"


    "Huh?"


    "LAD! WHERE IN THE BLAZES ARE YOU?"


    That impossibly annoying voice cut through the darkness. Bob. The leprechaun''s brash tones somehow pierced through the statistical fog of despair, and Adom found himself calculating a new probability.


    The chains shifted as he laughed, not bitter this time. "Probability," he mused.


    He remembered a story his mother once told him, about how life began on Earth. A precise dance of molecules, temperature, and timing. The odds against it were astronomical - trillions upon trillions to one. If the planet had been slightly closer to the sun, if one comet had struck differently, if any single variable had changed... and yet, here they were.


    "ADOM! DON''T MAKE ME COME LOOKING FOR YOU, LAD!"


    The voice was getting closer, and with it came clarity. Humans weren''t equations to be solved. They were impossibilities that insisted on existing anyway. Every breath was a defiance of entropy, every heartbeat a rebellion against cosmic odds.


    "We''re all unlikely stories," he whispered to the chains. "Every one of us shouldn''t exist, and yet we do. We persist. We fight."


    The memories shifted again, but now he saw them differently. Yes, humanity would tear itself apart - but they would also rebuild. Yes, they would betray - but they would also sacrifice themselves for strangers. Every horror he''d witnessed had its mirror in acts of impossible courage, impossible love.


    "LAD, I SWEAR TO THE OLD GODS, IF YOU''RE MOPING-"


    The leprechaun''s voice carried equal parts irritation and concern.


    ...Concern? Why? They barely knew each other.


    Then Adom realized something else - in all his calculations of failure, he''d forgotten to factor in the variables he couldn''t predict. The Bob-shaped variables. The moments of random kindness. The statistical impossibilities that kept happening anyway.


    The chains still weighed heavy, but now they felt different. Not a burden to escape, but a proof to humanity''s stubborn refusal to follow mathematical certainty. Every reset, every failure, every moment of darkness was just another impossible story waiting to be told.


    "Who am I," he asked the void, "to decide which impossibilities are too impossible?"


    The darkness retreated slightly, confused by this new calculation.


    "FOUND YOU! What''re you doing sitting in the dark like some brooding hero from those terrible stories?"


    Bob''s voice. Not memory, not probability, but present. Real. Annoying.


    "Bob. A little help here?"


    "You disappeared right in the middle of me rambling!" Bob huffed, extending his small hand. "Nearly gave me a heart attack, which would''ve been quite the feat considering we leprechauns do not suffer heart attacks."


    As he helped Adom up, Bob''s voice trailed off, his eyes fixing on something ahead. "Well, would you look at that."


    A white door stood before them, pristine and impossible in the void.


    "Fancy bit of carpentry, that," Bob mused, trying to mask his unease with humor. "Though the color scheme''s a bit bland for my taste. Could use some gold trim, maybe a few rotating gears..."


    Adom''s hand hesitated over the handle. This time, though, another hand - small - reached out alongside his.


    "Together then?" Bob asked, his voice unusually serious. "Since you seem to have a knack for doing the impossible, and I have a knack for being impossibly annoying."


    Adom felt the ghost of a smile touch his lips. "Together."


    They turned the handle.


    Light embraced him, lifted them, carried him up through layers of gentle radiance until...


    Adom gasped, falling to his knees in a cave. His lungs burned as if he''d been holding his breath for centuries.


    His mind reeled, trying to process the weight of countless apocalypses, numberless deaths, infinite horrors - all compressed into memory like diamonds formed under impossible pressure.


    Adom looked at his hands. Clean. Unmarked. No scars from the Dragon''s Breath. No burns from catching starfire. The same hands he''d had when he first entered.


    His thoughts, chaotic and frenzied, began to settle.


    A soft chime echoed in his mind as text appeared before him:


    [Time of Entry: 19:23:07]


    [Current Time: 19:24:12]


    One minute and five seconds...


    One minute and...


    [Congratulations! You have completed the Trial of Courage]


    [Detecting changes...]


    [New Skill Acquired: Indomitable Will (Transcendent Rank)]


    [Indomitable Will - Passive - Level 1]


    Your will has been tested against every conceivable horror and emerged unbroken. Fear becomes a tool rather than a master. Mental attacks and control effects are reduced by 90%. Resilience scales infinitely with your emotional state, turning overwhelming pressure into strength.


    Special Effect: "That Which Does Not Yield" - When all hope seems lost, when survival seems impossible, your will crystalizes. Each consecutive action against impossible odds increases your chance of success.


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    "How''re you doing, lad?"


    Adom turned to see Bob stumbling out of another exit, gears flying everywhere as he steadied himself against the wall. The ancient fae looked shaken, his usual manic energy subdued.


    "I... gave up," Bob admitted, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. "Same as always. But then..." He looked around, confused. "There was this light. Never saw that before when I failed. Usually just get sent right back to the start, don''t I? But this time... And then i heard you mumbling nonsense. Then, I saw you."


    "The trial rules," Adom said, understanding dawning. "If one person succeeds, everyone does."


    "You mean..." Bob''s eyes widened. "You actually did it? You faced whatever that..." He gestured vaguely at the void. "Whatever that was?"


    Adom nodded, still processing the weight of what he''d experienced.


    "Well," Bob said, a hint of his usual spirit returning as more gears clattered to the floor. "Suppose I owe you one then. Though don''t expect me to stop calling you hallucination just because you got us through."


    It was strange, really.


    Just moments ago, Adom had lived through what he did. Yet now... now it was slipping away like morning dew, becoming hazy and distant, like trying to remember a dream you made last week.


    He chuckled, shaking his head at the sheer audacity of it. Orynth hadn''t just designed a trial to break people - he''d made sure they couldn''t even properly remember what broke them.


    The memories were there, somewhere, compressed into that crystalline core of newfound strength in his mind, but trying to recall the specifics was like grasping at smoke. Just vague impressions of terror and triumph, without the messy details that might drive someone mad in retrospect.


    What a magnificently twisted piece of work. Really had to admire the craftsmanship, even while hating everything it represented.


    "So... what now?" Bob asked, plucking a gear from his beard and watching it split into two. "Never actually made it to this part before. Suppose you''re the expert here."


    Suddenly, a laugh rolled through the chamber. Deep. Resonant. Each note lingering longer than it should.


    Bob''s gears clinked frantically as he shoved Adom behind him. "Get back, lad."


    Metal clinked against stone as something massive descended from the darkness above. Golden fur caught the light, rippling over muscles that could tear a man in half. Wings of deepest black unfurled, each feather sharp as a blade. Its face bore a woman''s features, but those eyes... cold, calculating, watching them like a cat watches mice.


    "No one has walked these halls since their creation," it purred, tail swishing back and forth against the stone. "I wonder... who passed my master''s first trial?"


    A sphinx.

 Chapter 16. The Trial Of Wisdom

    Meeting a sphinx was rarely good news.


    Sure, they were magnificent creatures, guardians of ancient knowledge and sacred places - but they also had this rather unfortunate habit of eating people who couldn''t answer their riddles. Which, historically speaking, was most people.


    The whole setup was rather unfair, really. Here you had beings who''d spent centuries, or even millennia contemplating the mysteries of existence, asking impossible questions to folks who were just trying to get through their day without being eaten by a giant cat-bird-person hybrid.


    Not that anyone would point this out to a sphinx. That would be the kind of mistake you''d only make once.


    And of course, because the universe had a sense of humor that bordered on sadistic, sphinxes were almost always found in exactly the places you couldn''t avoid - guarding ancient treasures, protecting forbidden knowledge, or, in this particular case, serving as the arbiter of a Test of Wisdom in a magical labyrinth designed by someone who clearly enjoyed watching people suffer.


    At least they were better than dragons. Dragons just ate you without the courtesy of a philosophical discussion first.


    Or so Adom heard.


    The sphinx lounged across the chamber''s entrance, its massive form both graceful and terrifying. Golden fur rippled over muscles that could tear a man in half without effort. Its wings, folded now, stretched halfway up the cavern walls - each feather edged in metallic bronze. A golden monocle glinted over its right eye, somehow making its leonine features even more unsettling.


    Its tail - thick as a young tree - swished lazily against the stone floor as it studied them, head tilted at an angle that somehow managed to look both regal and predatory. A deep purr rumbled through the chamber, like distant thunder trapped underground.


    "Hello, friends," it said pleasantly, voice rich and cultured despite coming from a mouth filled with teeth longer than daggers.


    "We''re not your friends," Bob growled, still planted firmly between Adom and the sphinx. Several gears dropped from his beard, their multiplication making a small cascade of metallic sounds. "And don''t try any of that riddle nonsense with us, you overgrown house cat."


    Adom barely registered Bob''s protective hostility.


    He was too busy staring at the monocle. Of all the bizarre things he''d seen in this labyrinth - and there had been many - somehow a sphinx wearing a monocle felt like it should have been mentioned in at least one of the ancient texts.


    The sphinx adjusted said monocle with one massive paw, the gesture so prim and proper it bordered on absurd. "Such hostility. And here I was, preparing my best riddles."


    "Right then. We''ll just be on our way," Bob said, backing up slowly and pulling Adom with him. "No need to bother a... distinguished creature such as yourself."


    The sphinx clicked its tongue - an oddly human gesture from a decidedly inhuman mouth. Its chuckle echoed off the chamber walls. "I''m afraid that won''t be possible."


    "And why''s that?" Bob''s gears clinked a nervous rhythm.


    "I am the guardian of this place." The sphinx said, examining them like particularly interesting insects. "Have been for..." It paused, considering. "Well, long enough that things get rather dull. So you''ll have to play with me if you want to pass." Its tail swished against the stone floor. "Obviously."


    "What kind of ''game'' exactly?" Adom asked, eyeing the monocle that caught the light with each tilt of the sphinx''s massive head.


    "Oh, not just one." The sphinx said. "I''ve been terribly bored, you see. Three or four wouldn''t be too much to ask for, would it?" It purred, a smile spreading across its feline features. "Or five... even six, why not?" It looked positively delighted at the prospect, tail curling in obvious pleasure.


    Adom frowned. This casual "maybe this many, maybe more" approach felt wrong.


    "What is it then?" Bob''s gears clinked impatiently.


    "My, aren''t we hasty?" The sphinx stretched, claws scraping against stone. "I''ve had quite a lot of time to think about this. First would be a riddle-"


    "Bloody hell, I knew it!" Bob spat, gears flying. "You''re all the same, aren''t you? Always with the sodding riddles-"


    The sphinx pressed a paw to its chest in mock offense. "How terribly stereotypical of you. Next you''ll accuse me of eating failed contestants."


    "You don''t?" Adom asked.


    "Oh no, I absolutely do," the sphinx said, adjusting its monocle. "But one shouldn''t judge a book by its number of teeth." It threw its head back and laughed at its own joke, the sound bouncing off the walls.


    "What''s the second?" Adom cut in.


    The sphinx''s gaze swept over him, slow and considering, like a butcher appraising meat. Adom fought the urge to step back. "For you two... a puzzle."


    "What kind of puzzle?" Bob demanded.


    "Hmm. Perhaps we should focus on passing the first challenge before discussing the others, no?"


    Adom and Bob exchanged glances. The Leprechaun cleared his throat, suddenly finding the floor very interesting.


    "Now then," the sphinx said, looking at them both. "Which of you was it that passed the test of courage?"


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    "The laddie here," Bob said, jerking a thumb toward Adom.


    Before either could blink, the sphinx was there - right there - its massive head inches from Adom''s face. The speed of the movement was impossible for something so large. The displacement of air knocked loose crystals from the walls.


    "Bloody hell!" Bob cursed, stumbling backward.


    Adom took one step back but held his ground, though his heart hammered against his ribs. The sphinx''s breath was hot against his face, smelling of ancient stone and something metallic.


    "Fascinating," it purred, studying him with eyes like molten gold. "I didn''t expect a boy to be the one. They usually break so easily." Its tail swished with interest. "Tell me, little human - how do you feel? Any... changes you''ve noticed?"


    <section>


    He opened his mouth to ask it to back away, but the sphinx spoke first.


    "Was it horrible?" it purred, whiskers twitching with excitement. "Traumatizing? How many times did you die? How long did you spend in there? I heard it was quite... exquisite in its cruelty."


    A laugh rumbled from its throat, and something in Adom snapped.


    He had, until that moment, managed to push most of it away - like waking from a nightmare that immediately starts to fade. The memories were there but distant, blurred, safer when kept unfocused. But the sphinx''s words dragged them back into sharp relief: the feeling of his bones breaking, the sound of his own screams, the endless, endless dying-


    "Did you scream each time? Did you-"


    Blue mana erupted around Adom''s hand, responding to a rage he didn''t even know he was feeling. The spell formed almost by itself, raw and violent, seeking release-


    Bob''s hand clamped around his wrist. "Don''t."


    The sphinx''s smile widened, showing every one of its gleaming teeth. "You should listen to your friend, little human. Though I must say, that reaction was... illuminating."


    "Back off," Adom said, voice tight. "Please."


    The sphinx inclined its head and retreated with fluid grace, still wearing that knowing smile. "As you wish."


    </section>


    The sphinx glided back, and Adom drew in a long, shaky breath. Released it slowly. His hand trembled in Bob''s grip - residual magic or anger or fear, he couldn''t tell which.


    Bob released him gently. "I know, lad. I know it was hard." His voice dropped lower, meant just for Adom. "Been trapped here centuries meself, never managed that test. Not once." Another gear gear fell. "But right now we need you calm. Let''s get through this first, then you can fall apart all you want."


    "My, my," the sphinx drawled. "A leprechaun dispensing wisdom! How novel. Perhaps centuries of imprisonment do have their benefits after all?"


    Bob ignored it completely, his attention still on Adom.


    "Oh, no sense of humor at all," the sphinx sighed, tail flicking with mock disappointment. Its expression brightened suddenly, monocle glinting. "So! The riddle!"


    "Hmm. Never been... ah... particularly good with riddles, lad," Bob muttered, looking at Adom. "More of a hit-things-until-they-stop-moving sort of fellow."


    "Wonderful timing for that confession," the sphinx said, settling into a more comfortable position. "Now then, the rules are simple. One question. But..." Its monocle caught the light. "If one of you fails, you both fail. And if you both fail..."


    The sphinx smiled, revealing far too many teeth.


    "Bloody bollocks," Bob whispered.


    Adom''s eyes darted around the chamber while Bob and the sphinx traded barbs.


    Circular room, about forty feet across. High ceiling lost in shadow. Two exits - the one they''d come through, and another across the room. Columns every ten feet or so. If it came to a fight...


    [Identify]


    [Name: Alexandros the Knowing]


    [Race: Greater Sphinx]


    [State: Amused/Anticipating]


    [Traits:


    <ul>


    <li>Ancient Being</li>


    <li>Guardian of Knowledge</li>


    <li>Reality Warper (Local)</li>


    <li>Immune to Mental Effects]</li>


    </ul>


    The results made his throat go dry.


    Those weren''t the stats of something they could fight. Not here, not in its domain. The "Reality Warper (Local)" trait alone...


    "Well then," Alexandros purred, settling into a crouch like an oversized house cat. Its wings folded neatly against its sides. "Shall we begin with your first question?"


    "Hang on," Bob raised a hand. "Don''t we get to confer or something first?"


    "Oh, by all means." The sphinx''s tail swished. "Take all the time you need. I''ve waited centuries - what''s a few more minutes?"


    Adom leaned closer to Bob, keeping his voice low. "See that exit behind it? If we-"


    "Don''t even finish that thought, lad," Bob whispered back, eyes fixed on the sphinx. "Look at how it''s positioned. That''s not just lounging - it''s got every angle covered. And..." He nodded subtly toward the ceiling. "It''s got wings. Sphinxes are absolute masters of their territories - they don''t just guard them, they ARE the territory. Running isn''t an option."


    The sphinx''s monocle glinted as it watched their exchange with obvious amusement, like someone observing mice discussing how to outsmart a cat. Its tail kept drawing lazy patterns on the stone floor.


    "Right then," Bob sighed. "Suppose we''ll have to do this properly." He straightened up, beard clinking softly. "Give us your worst, you pretentious feline."


    "Oh, I intend to."


    Alexandros cleared its throat - a sound somewhere between a purr and thunder - and spoke in a voice that seemed to resonate throughout the chamber:


    "Three scholars seek truth in their own way,


    The first through books that cannot lie,


    The second through deeds that cannot hide,


    The third through hearts that cannot die.


    When darkness falls and truth is lost,


    Which path led furthest from the light?"


    The words hung in the air.


    "You have one hour," the sphinx said casually, examining its claws. "Oh, and silly me - I nearly forgot the rest of the rules."


    Its smile widened incrementally.


    "Each wrong answer costs you one of your senses. Both of you. And once you''re out of senses..." It let the implication hang. "Also, any attempt to communicate your thoughts about the answer counts as an answer itself. Oh, and if one of you gets it wrong..." It gestured between them with a massive paw. "Well, you both suffer the consequences."


    "Hold on, that''s not how you-" Bob''s face turned an impressive shade of red. "You can''t just add rules after- Huh?"


    The leprechaun stopped mid-sentence, his nose twitching. Adom noticed it too - or rather, noticed the absence of it. The musty chamber air, the ozone tang, the sphinx''s peculiar scent - all gone. Just... nothing.


    "Ah," Alexandros purred, "I see you''ve discovered what happens when you protest the rules. Shall we count that as your first wrong answer? One sense down, four to go."


    Adom''s brows furrowed as he watched Bob''s mouth open and close soundlessly, the leprechaun''s face cycling through several interesting shades of purple. The sphinx just sat there, monocle glinting, looking for all the world like a cat that had just been served a particularly fine cream.


    The chamber suddenly felt much smaller.


    Adom stared at the sphinx''s smug face, fighting down an overwhelming urge to punch that monocle right through its skull. Not that he could - the [Identify] results had made that clear enough - but the fantasy was satisfying.


    Everything about these rules was designed to isolate them. No communication? Shared punishments? It wasn''t just about solving the riddle - it was about breaking any chance of cooperation. Divide and conquer.


    He glanced at Bob, who was still doing his best impression of a kettle about to boil over. The leprechaun had admitted he wasn''t good with riddles, true, but...


    Adom''s fingers twitched, half-forming the gestures for a Message spell before stopping. Would that count as communication? Probably. The sphinx seemed the type to count even raised eyebrows as an answer attempt. And they couldn''t afford to lose another sense.


    But then again, did he really need Bob''s help? The leprechaun had straight-up admitted to being terrible at riddles. Maybe it would be better to just-


    No.


    Adom forced himself to focus. One hour. Limited senses. The smart play was solving the riddle first, then figuring out how to share the answer. No point in creating the perfect communication system if they didn''t know what to communicate.


    Three scholars. Truth. Books that cannot lie, deeds that cannot hide, hearts that cannot-


    "Knowledge!" Bob''s voice cut through his concentration, stern and confident.


    Adom''s thoughts screeched to a halt. He blinked.


    Did... did Bob just...?


    "Incorrect," the sphinx purred, sounding absolutely delighted.


    This damned fae...


    Adom''s hands clenched into fists, his mouth opening to scream at Bob - but he caught himself just in time. His tongue suddenly felt... wrong. Dead. Like trying to taste with a piece of leather in his mouth.


    The second sense. Taste. Gone.


    Adom whirled on Bob, gesturing wildly - what were you thinking, why would you just blurt out an answer, are you trying to get us both killed? His hands moved in increasingly agitated patterns while the leprechaun shrunk back, hands moving in frantic patterns of regret..


    And then... nothing.


    The sphinx''s tail was swishing against stone. But there was no sound. None at all. The absolute silence pressed against his ears like cotton wool, making his head spin.


    Then Adom realized their mistake. They were communicating. Right in front of the sphinx.


    Three senses gone.


    Sight and touch left.


    And still... fifty-four minutes on the clock.


    Adom sat down cross-legged on the stone floor. Panicking wouldn''t help. Getting angry at Bob''s impulsiveness wouldn''t help. And gesturing wildly definitely wouldn''t help - they''d learned that lesson the hard way.


    Three scholars seeking truth. Each with their own methodology. Books that cannot lie - perhaps representing pure knowledge, academic pursuit. But no, that was exactly what Bob had guessed, and the sphinx had shot it down.


    Movement caught his eye. The sphinx was... grooming itself. Like a housecat.


    It noticed him watching and waved cheerfully, somehow managing to make even that simple gesture insufferably smug.


    Adom quickly looked away.


    He glanced up at Bob, who sat with his eyes closed, completely still. Was he... meditating? In the middle of a life-or-death riddle game?


    Focus.


    A dull throb had started behind Adom''s eyes, growing steadily more insistent. He rubbed his temples with a grimace.


    Deeds that cannot hide - actions, perhaps? The physical manifestation of truth? And hearts that cannot die... emotion? Faith? Love?


    But then there was that last part. "When darkness falls and truth is lost." A test, then. When everything goes wrong, which path remains truest?


    Faith seemed like a strong contender. When all else fails, belief endures. But... no. Too obvious. Sphinxes didn''t pose riddles with obvious answers. That was the whole point.


    Experience, maybe? Deeds that cannot hide - practical knowledge earned through action rather than study. When everything falls apart, experience remains.


    He had that and faith as possible answers. Two chances left. If either was wrong...


    Bob hadn''t moved an inch, still sitting there like some bizarre statue. What was he...?


    No. Focus. Think.


    The key had to be in that last line. "Which path led furthest from the light." Not closest to truth, but furthest from light. Was it a trick question? Was the answer about which path was wrong rather than right?


    His head hurt. Was the Sphynx doing something?


    Two answers. Two chances. And absolute silence to think in.


    Thirty minutes passed.


    Wisdom, experience, faith, emotion, belief, instinct, truth itself, memory, love, conscience - each answer seemed perfectly logical until he examined it from another angle. Then it would fall apart, and he''d be back to square one.


    Movement drew his attention. Bob was getting up, his movements deliberate and slow. Adom watched, puzzled, as the leprechaun walked over and sat directly in front of him. What was he doing?


    Adom looked away, his gaze finding the sphinx instead. It had stopped its grooming, head tilted, watching them with unblinking eyes. He tried to ignore Bob''s presence, tried to return to his mental list of possible answers, but...


    From the corner of his eye, he could see Bob''s hand moving against the stone floor. Was he writing something? No, that would count as communication, wouldn''t it? The sphinx wasn''t stopping him. In fact...


    The massive creature padded closer, moving with liquid grace until it loomed over them both. Its shadow fell across Adom''s face as it bent down, that eternal smile still fixed in place, waiting. Expecting.


    Why wasn''t it stopping Bob? Why was it waiting for Adom to look down? Was this another trick? Another trap?


    If Bob was risking this, it had to be important. Right?


    ...Right?


    After a moment''s hesitation, Adom looked down.


    One word: MIND


    Darkness immediately slammed into him like a physical blow. He almost chuckled - of course. Of course the sphinx would let them have that one last exchange, just to take another sense. Bastard probably had that smug smile plastered across its face right now.


    His heart raced. One chance left. One single chance before the final sense would be stripped away, leaving them helpless prey for the sphinx. The pressure of it made his thoughts scatter like startled birds.


    Again. Focus.


    Mind? What did that have to do with anything? He''d been considering wisdom, knowledge, emotion, faith... but mind? He turned the word over in his thoughts, trying to connect it to the riddle. Three scholars, books, deeds, hearts... was Bob onto something, or had they just wasted their second-to-last sense on a dead end?


    Only touch remained now. And twenty-five minutes to solve this in complete darkness and silence.


    At least he wouldn''t have to look at that monocled face anymore.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    The headache intensified.


    Mind... no, that couldn''t be the answer. It was too simple, didn''t fit the structure of the riddle at all. Which meant Bob was trying to tell him something else.


    Mind. Mind magic?


    Oh?


    Oh!


    The realization hit. Bob wasn''t giving him an answer. He was most likely telling Adom to lower his mental defenses. But why would he...?


    Unless...


    [Indomitable Will]


    In the darkness and silence, Adom carefully, deliberately, let his mental barriers drop. It felt like unclenching a muscle he hadn''t known was tense - the mental equivalent of finally releasing a breath held for so long he''d forgotten he was holding it.


    Almost immediately, heaviness crept through his body. His muscles felt like lead, his thoughts growing sluggish. Even through touch alone, he could feel himself sliding sideways, stone floor cool against his cheek.


    The last thing he registered before consciousness fled was the faint sensation of falling, falling, falling...


    The sensation of stone against his cheek vanished, replaced by soft grass beneath his feet. Sunlight filtered through leaves above, birds called to each other in the canopy, and a warm breeze carried the scent of wildflowers.


    "Took you long enough."


    Bob sat on a fallen log, looking exactly as he had in the real world, but somehow... more at ease. More in his element.


    "Almost thought I''d made a mistake, thinking you were smart."


    "You can dream walk?" Adom blurted out, still trying to process the shift from dark silence to this vibrant forest.


    Dream walking was, at its core, a specialized form of mind magic that let the user enter and manipulate the dreams of others. Unlike regular mind magic that affected consciousness directly, dream walking operated in that strange space between sleeping and waking - the realm where minds naturally drifted during sleep.


    Most creatures capable of it were spirits, beings of pure mind and energy who could slip between dreams as easily as humans walked through doorways. Some particularly skilled mages could manage it too, though it took years of study and precise control.


    Which made Bob''s ability all the more puzzling.


    Leprechauns were magical creatures, yes, but they weren''t spirits. They were firmly physical beings, known more for their crafting abilities and mischievous nature than any sort of mind magic. Yet here he was, casually strolling through Adom''s dreamspace like he owned it.


    "How are you even doing this?" Adom asked, watching a butterfly that seemed to be made of liquid gold float past his nose.


    "We don''t have time for magical theory right now," Bob cut him off, waving a hand dismissively. "Where are you at with the riddle?"


    "Right." Adom nodded, pushing back his questions for later - assuming there would be a later. "I''ve got about ten possibilities. Faith, experience, wisdom, memory... but none of them feel quite right. They all fall apart when I look at them too closely."


    "Let''s break this down, lad," Bob said, conjuring two more logs for them to sit on. "Time''s slipperier than a greased pig in here, so we''ve got to make haste. What''s got your mind in knots?"


    "The scholars," Adom began, settling onto one of the logs. "Three different approaches to truth. Books, deeds, hearts - knowledge, action, and feeling. But then it asks which path led furthest from the light, not closest to truth."


    "Ach, could be a trick question," Bob muttered, picking at some moss. "Reminds me of me cousin Tommy, the wee devil. Caught him nicking me gold, he did. Swore on his mother''s grave he''d never tell me another lie. Kept his word too - stopped talking to me altogether, the crafty little shite."


    "What did you say?"


    "Eh? About Tommy? Just that the lying gobshite kept his word by not speaking to me at all instead of-"


    "No, before that. About it being a trick question." Adom stood up, pacing. "We''re looking at it wrong. We''re assuming the scholars are searching for truth together, but what if they''re not? What if they''re competing?"


    Bob shrugged. "Makes sense, don''t it? Put three folk in a room, they''ll be at each other''s throats before you can say ''top o'' the morning.''"


    "And each would believe their way is right..." Adom''s mind was racing now. "Books cannot lie - but they can be misinterpreted. Deeds cannot hide - but their meaning can be twisted. Hearts cannot die - but they can be..."


    The dream-forest darkened suddenly. Bob leapt to his feet with a string of colorful curses. "The beastie''s found us!"


    The trees began to twist, their branches turning to writhing shadows. The golden butterfly from earlier melted, its wings dripping onto the forest floor like molten metal.


    "When darkness falls and truth is lost," a familiar voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere. The sphinx materialized from the shadows, but wrong - too many teeth, too many eyes, its monocle reflecting impossible geometries.


    "Well, well, well," it purred, each word distorting the dream further. "Aren''t you two a clever pair?"


    "Seven seconds," the sphinx''s distorted voice reverberated through the twisting dreamscape. "Shall we count together?"


    "Go feck yourself, you pompous cat!" Bob snarled, stepping in front of Adom. "If you want a fight-"


    "Six..."


    The forest was collapsing inward, reality folding like wet paper.


    "Five..."


    "We were so close," Adom muttered, his mind still racing. Books, deeds, hearts...


    "Four..."


    When darkness falls and truth is lost...


    "Three..."


    Each believing their path...


    "Two..."


    "BETRAYAL!" Adom screamed.


    The countdown stopped. The dream froze mid-collapse, held in perfect stasis. The sphinx''s monstrous form paused, then melted away like morning mist, leaving only the familiar monocled face they knew. Its eternal smile faltered for just a moment.


    "Oh," it said, sounding almost disappointed. "And here I was hoping you''d fail this one. No fun."


    The dream shattered-


    Adom jerked awake, gasping, his sense of touch overwhelmed by the cold stone beneath him. Next to him, he heard Bob wheeze as consciousness returned.


    "Congratulations," came the sphinx''s voice, somehow managing to sound both pleased and annoyed at once. "You have passed the riddles."


    "Ha! Knew you''d crack it, lad!" Bob wheezed between fits of laughter, slapping his knee. "Clever as a fox in a henhouse, you are! Though I''ll tell you what - for a moment there, when that overgrown housecat started its countdown, I thought we were proper fecked!"


    Adom barely heard him, too busy cursing his own curiosity.


    All because he couldn''t leave a strange cave entrance alone. All because he had to know what was behind that glowing barrier. Now here he was, one test down, an even harder one ahead, and no way to turn back.


    Bob was still going, practically dancing now. "Did you see its face? Like someone poured salt in its sugar bowl, it was! Serves you right, you pompous-"


    "If you''re quite finished celebrating the most elementary portion of our encounter," the sphinx cut in, its voice dry as desert sand, "we can proceed to what you''ve actually come here for."


    Both of them fell silent.


    The sphinx''s smile widened just a fraction. "The puzzles await." Its tail swished lazily through the air. "Shall we begin?"


    As Bob continued his celebratory jig, Adom''s mind began to work in a different direction.


    He studied the sphinx - its perfectly composed posture, that eternal smile, the way it watched them through that ridiculous monocle with barely concealed amusement.


    A thought came to mind. They''d solved the riddles, yes. Barely. With luck and dream magic and split-second timing. And now... puzzles. After that, what? How many layers of challenge could this creature invent?


    The answer was obvious: as many as it wanted.


    There were no rules here except those the sphinx chose to enforce. No oversight, no limitations. It could keep adding conditions, raising difficulties, moving goalposts until they inevitably failed. And then... well, sphinxes weren''t known for letting their prey leave disappointed.


    He watched Bob, still laughing and cursing in equal measure, and felt an unfamiliar darkness settle over his thoughts. If this trial was about wisdom, then the wise thing to do would be to get out of here. Not trying to solve puzzles and infinite riddles.


    They needed an exit strategy.


    Or - and the thought surprised him with how natural it felt - they needed to figure out how to kill a sphinx.


    The sphinx''s paw moved through the air with deliberate grace, and suddenly there was an orb floating between them. About the size of a melon, its surface was a maze of interlocking runes that seemed to shift and dance in the cave''s dim light.


    "One hour," it said simply. "No communication." Its eyes flicked to Bob, who was already opening his mouth. "No complaints." The monocle glinted. "And no magic."


    Adom''s hand, already halfway to the orb, froze. Runes without magic were like... like a book without words. The entire point of runic arrays was their ability to channel and shape magical energy. Even the simplest activation required mana.


    Bob''s face was turning an interesting shade of red, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Adom''s arm twitched instinctively to stop him, but he caught himself - even that would have counted as communication.


    The leprechaun''s face then went from red to purple, but he kept his mouth shut. Somehow.


    Good.


    The sphinx leaned forward slightly, tail curling with anticipation. "Ah," it sighed, watching Bob struggle against his own nature. "Shame. I thought you''d make it funnier."


    The orb continued to float between them, its runes mockingly inert, while the sphinx settled back to watch.


    Adom settled onto the cold floor, the orb''s shifting runes reflecting in his eyes. But his mind was elsewhere.


    One hour. Not to solve a puzzle - to solve a sphinx.


    He watched it from the corner of his eye. The way it lounged in the air as if gravity was merely a polite suggestion. The way shadows bent around it slightly wrong. Everything here moved to its will, reality itself bowing to its whims. In its domain, a sphinx was practically a god.


    In its domain...


    His fingers traced absent patterns in the dust as his mind raced. No one killed sphinxes because in their lairs, they were invincible. But outside... without their reality-bending powers... without their ability to strip senses and twist dreams...


    The sphinx''s purr deepened as it watched him, clearly amused by whatever it thought he was plotting. Bob had settled into sullen silence, probably still fighting the urge to curse in seventeen different dialects.


    Slowly, deliberately, Adom reached into his inventory and withdrew Garrett''s dimensional bag. The sphinx''s ears perked up with interest as he began methodically emptying it onto the floor. Gold coins clinked and rolled. Scrolls clattered. Potion bottles clinked against each other.


    "Ooh," the sphinx practically cooed, tail curling with curiosity. "What are we doing here?" Its monocle glinted as it leaned forward to watch, clearly thinking this was part of some attempt at the puzzle.


    The pile of items grew. More coins. A silver chalice. Three rubies. A lot of other things.


    Bob''s eyes followed the gold with professional interest, but Adom kept his focus on the now-empty bag, mind racing through calculations and possibilities.


    Runes were, at their core, instructions written into reality itself. The simplest ones were single commands - heat, light, force. But the real art came in their combination, the way they flowed into each other, each modification changing how mana moved through the whole array.


    Dimensional bags were something else entirely. The rune that created their pocket dimensions was a masterpiece of magical engineering, refined over centuries. What had once been a sprawling array of hundreds of interconnected symbols had been gradually compressed, simplified, optimized.


    The modern version looked almost elegant: three concentric circles, crossed by lines that bent at precisely calculated angles, with smaller symbols nestled in the spaces between - like a mandala designed by a mathematician with an obsession for spatial geometry.


    Here was the neat part: the rune was actually terrifyingly unstable.


    The only reason dimensional bags worked at all was because of the layers of security runes wrapped around them, preventing any tampering with the dimensional matrix. Without those safeguards, the pocket dimension would collapse in on itself, creating a vacuum that would try to equalize with reality.


    Anything nearby would be pulled in until the pocket was full, at which point it would seal permanently - a one-way trip into a space between spaces.


    Only someone either suicidally brave or stubbornly desperate would even consider bypassing those security runes to mess with the dimensional matrix itself. Someone who knew exactly what they were doing - or exactly what they wanted to break. A runicologist.


    Adom, staring at his empty bag while the sphinx watched with growing curiosity, was definitely all of the above.


    Ha. Haha...


    With practiced precision, Adom dragged his thumbnail across his palm, letting blood well up. Blood was, after all, the most basic magical conductor - far less detectable than actively channeling mana. The sphinx continued watching, head tilted, as Adom pretended to examine the bag''s outer surface.


    The security runes were simple enough to bypass if you knew what you were looking for. Three key points, modified with exactly two drops of blood each. The standard Arnstadt configuration, used in nearly all modern dimensional bags. The blood seeped into the leather, and he felt the first layer of protection dissolve.


    The second layer was trickier. Temporal locks, designed to prevent exactly this kind of tampering by desynchronizing the rune matrix from local time. But they had a weakness - they were calibrated assuming someone would try to rush the process. Moving deliberately slowly, he traced the counterpattern with his bloodied nail, letting each line stabilize before moving to the next. Fifteen seconds per stroke. Enough time for the temporal disruption to normalize.


    Finally, he reached the dimensional rune itself. The real artistry wasn''t in breaking it - that was easy. The challenge was modifying it just enough to create instability while maintaining directional control. Too much damage and the vacuum would pull everything in. Too little and it wouldn''t activate at all.


    He altered three key vertices, using the bag''s own geometric pattern as a guide. Each vertex needed to be shifted just enough to create instability - about one-eighth of the distance to their nearest neighboring rune.


    Too far would cause immediate collapse, too little would fail to compromise the matrix. After years of studying runic arrays, his fingers knew the exact distance by feel, like a locksmith sensing tumbler positions.


    The blood seeped into the final marks, and he felt the matrix shiver, holding itself together by a thread. Like a dam with hairline cracks, just waiting for the right pressure.


    The intact bag in his hands meant success - the dimensional matrix was now like a coiled spring, waiting for its trigger. One opening was all it would take. The bag closed with a soft click.


    "No solution yet?" the sphinx asked, its voice dripping with false sympathy. "Thirty minutes remaining."


    Adom looked up at the creature and smiled. Not a nervous smile, or a defeated one, but the kind of smile that made the sphinx''s own falter for just a fraction of a second.


    "And what," it asked, monocle glinting, "could possibly be amusing you at this moment?"


    Adom kept smiling, tilting his head slightly as if to say ''you know I can''t answer that.''


    The sphinx''s tail twitched - the first genuine sign of irritation he''d seen from it. "Oh, come now. I said you couldn''t communicate with each other. I never said anything about speaking with me."


    Of course you didn''t, Adom thought, maintaining his smile. And if I''d tried to point that out earlier, you''d have created a new rule on the spot.


    But now... now he just needed to figure out how to get an ancient, reality-bending creature of pure cunning to stick its head in a bag.


    "Hey. What are your thoughts on time travel?" Adom asked casually, running his fingers along the bag''s edge.


    The sphinx blinked. "You do realize you have thirty minutes left?" A pause. "Twenty-nine, now."


    "Yes."


    "And you wish to spend your remaining time discussing theoretical impossibilities?" Its tail swished lazily. "If those are to be your last moments, who am I to deny you?"


    "Impossibilities?" Adom''s smile widened fractionally. There it was - that slight shift in the sphinx''s posture, that barely perceptible lean forward. For all their power, sphinxes had one consistent weakness: they couldn''t resist new knowledge. And what could be more tempting than something they believed impossible?


    "Time travel," the sphinx stated flatly, "is a magical impossibility. The mana requirements alone-"


    "What if I could prove otherwise?"


    The sphinx''s tail stopped mid-swish. Its eternal smile flickered, replaced for just a moment by something else - hunger. Not the physical kind it had shown before, but the intellectual variety. The need to know.


    "Prove?" it purred, shifting slightly closer. "And how would you propose to do that?"


    "My arrival here is proof; I traveled from the future."


    Bob lifted his head.


    The sphinx''s purr cut off abruptly. Its monocle actually slipped a fraction before realigning itself. For the first time, the creature''s composed demeanor cracked, revealing raw curiosity underneath.


    "That''s..." it started, then paused, recalculating. "You''re lying."


    "Am I?" Adom kept his voice carefully neutral. "You can sense lies, can''t you? All sphinxes can. So tell me - am I lying? Alexandros?"


    The sphinx''s composure shattered completely. Its monocle slipped off, dangling from its chain as its massive head jerked back in shock. "Wait a minute... How could you possibly-"


    "It''s a perk of time travel," Adom said simply.


    The creature''s tail had stopped moving entirely now. Its eyes narrowed, studying him with new intensity. Testing. Probing. Looking for the deception it was certain had to be there.


    The silence stretched. The sphinx drifted closer, almost unconsciously, its scholarly nature warring with its certainty that time travel was impossible.


    "Twenty-seven minutes," it said finally, but its voice had lost its mocking edge. "Explain."


    "The method is less important than the result." Adom replied. Chuckling.


    The sphinx''s eyes narrowed to slits. It despised not knowing - all sphinxes did. And now here was someone claiming to know something it didn''t, something it thought impossible, and refusing to share the details?


    "Less important?" Its voice had dropped an octave, a hint of growl beneath the scholarly tone. The sphinx drifted even closer, almost at arm''s length now. "You claim to have achieved what centuries of mages and archmages couldn''t even theorize properly, and you consider the method... less important?"


    Adom kept his expression carefully neutral, though his heart was hammering. The bag felt heavy in his hands. Not yet. Not quite yet.


    "The proof is in the result," he said simply. "Unless, of course, you''re not interested in seeing it?"


    The sphinx''s tail was lashing now, its scholarly patience warring with growing frustration. "Twenty-six minutes," it said, but the time seemed almost an afterthought now. "Show me."


    "Allow me to present the result."


    He lifted the bag slowly, deliberately, watching the sphinx''s eyes lock onto it with laser focus. The creature was practically hovering over him now, its scholarly demeanor completely overtaken by raw intellectual hunger. Even its monocle seemed to gleam with anticipation.


    The perfect predator, about to become prey.


    One movement. That''s all he would have. One chance to trigger the compromised dimensional matrix before the sphinx could react, before it could bend reality or strip his senses or simply tear him apart.


    His fingers found the opening clasp.


    Bob, forgotten in the corner, had gone completely still, as if sensing the tension in the air.


    "Well?" the sphinx purred, leaning closer still, its eternal smile now tight with impatience. "Show me this impossible-"


    Click.


    The vacuum erupted with the force of a collapsing star.


    Reality warped and twisted as the compromised dimensional matrix tore open, creating a pull that made Adom''s bones vibrate. The sphinx''s eyes widened in that fraction of a second before understanding hit - literally.


    "YOU DARE-" its roar cut short as the force yanked it forward. Its claws carved deep gouges into the stone floor, golden fur rippling in the dimensional wind. Bob dove behind a boulder, screaming something that would have made a sailor blush.


    Adom braced himself behind the bag, feet sliding on the stone. The pull was stronger than he''d calculated - much stronger. His robes whipped violently, he was trying to maintain his glasses on his nose, and loose stones flew past his head into the void.


    The sphinx''s rear half was already being drawn in, its form distorting as it fought against the dimensional pull. But instead of using its reality-bending powers, it was fully occupied with raw physical resistance, muscles straining, claws leaving molten streaks in the stone.


    <div>


    <div>


    See, there''s a cruel irony in dimensional magic - for all its reality-warping might, a sphinx becomes as helpless as a kitten when caught between worlds. The bag''s maw had created a pocket where Alexandros''s powers meant nothing, like a king suddenly stripped of his crown and army the moment he steps into foreign lands.


    Here, in this between-space, where the cave''s reality bled into the endless void of the bag, all the creature had were its muscles, claws, and increasingly desperate determination not to be pulled into a dimension it couldn''t bend to its will.


    <div>


    Hah. As if.


    [Fireball]!


    Adom''s spell struck true, engulfing the sphinx''s face. It screamed - not its usual controlled voice, but something ancient and furious.


    [Lightning Chain]


    [Force Bolt]


    [Burning Arrow]


    Each spell hammered into the creature as it struggled.


    "FECKING BRILLIANT!" Bob emerged from cover, hurling his own arsenal. Daggers, coins, and what looked suspiciously like stolen silverware pelted the sphinx''s face.


    But it was working free. Inch by terrible inch, its muscles straining, the sphinx was pulling itself out of the vortex. Its monocle had fallen, revealing an eye blazing with fury.


    Adom''s mana was dropping fast - [200], [150], [100]... The spells weren''t enough. The bag needed to fill completely to seal, and the sphinx was too strong, too-


    Oh!


    "Bob! The bolt! NOW!"


    The leprechaun understood instantly, tossing his prized multiplying bolt. Adom caught it and threw it into the vortex. The bolt split into two, then four, then sixteen, then hundreds, thousands, each copy striking the sphinx before being sucked into the void. A storm of metal, each hit driving the creature back slightly.


    "HAH! EAT THAT, YE PRETENTIOUS FELINE!" Bob cackled.


    The sphinx''s roar of rage turned to one of desperation as the combined force finally overwhelmed it. Its claws left burning trails in the air itself as it fought, but the vacuum was winning. Just a little more...


    But Adom could see its wings starting to spread, preparing for one final effort. If it got them fully extended-


    "No... NO-" The sphinx''s final scream cut off with a thunderous BOOM that shook the entire cave. The shockwave sent Adom cartwheeling through the air, his glasses vanishing into the void in the last instant before the bag sealed. Bob flew in the opposite direction with a string of creative curses that ended in a solid thunk against stone.


    Dust filled the air, thick enough to choke on. Debris rained down from the ceiling, pinging off rocks and adding to the chaos.


    "LAD! LAD, WHERE ARE YE?" Bob''s voice echoed through the haze.


    Adom pushed himself up, every muscle screaming. "Here," he managed between coughs.


    A wet, gurgling sound froze them both.


    "Bloody hell," Bob whispered. "The bastard''s still-"


    A weak curse in an ancient language drifted through the settling dust, followed by the sound of liquid spattering on stone.


    Adom forced himself to his feet, vision blurry without his glasses. His mana reserves were dangerously low - barely enough for two more spells. But if he was going to die here anyway...


    The dust began to clear.


    The sealed bag lay innocently on the cave floor, looking almost pristine despite everything. Behind it...


    The sphinx''s front half lay sprawled on the stone, the rest of its body cleanly severed where the dimensional pocket had sealed. Golden fur matted with ichor, wings broken and twisted at unnatural angles. One had been completely crushed by falling rocks. Its chest heaved with labored breaths, each one bringing fresh streams of golden fluid from its mouth.


    But its eyes - its eyes were still sharp, still focused, still burning with intelligence as they fixed on Adom and Bob. Its eternal smile had finally vanished, replaced by a grimace of pain and fury.


    "You..." it rasped, more ichor bubbling up. "How... dare..."


    Adom didn''t hesitate.


    The Flamebrand Sword flashed in his grip as he lunged forward. No speeches. No final words. Just the brutal necessity of survival.


    The blade struck true, punching through fur and bone with a wet crunch. The sphinx''s eyes widened - not in pain or fear, but in pure shock. Its mouth opened, but instead of words, only golden blood bubbled forth.


    Adom twisted the blade, driving it deeper, feeling the resistance of muscle and sinew give way. The sphinx''s remaining claws scraped weakly against the stone, leaving molten trails that quickly cooled. Its one intact wing spasmed, then fell limp.


    Those ancient, intelligent eyes locked with his for one final moment. The knowledge in them clouded, dimmed, and finally went dark - like stars winking out one by one.


    The sphinx''s head slumped forward, its body sagging around the embedded blade. Golden blood pooled beneath it, steaming slightly where it touched the stone.


    Silence fell in the cave, broken only by Adom''s ragged breathing and the soft plink of liquid dripping from the sword''s hilt.


    "YE DID IT! YE ACTUALLY BLOODY DID IT!" Bob was jumping up and down, his hat long lost in the chaos. "YOU THOUGHT YOU OUTSMARTED US, BUT WE OUTSMARTED YOUR OUTSMARTING!" His manic laughter echoed through the cave. "ADOM! ADOM! ADOM!" His voice bounced off the walls like a victory chant. "I''ve never- In all me years- A SPHINX! A bloody SPHINX!"


    As Bob''s celebration continued, blue text materialized in Adom''s vision:


    [Congratulations! You have completed the Trial of Wisdom!]


    [Your ability to see through the sphinx''s deception and refuse to continue its game of riddles marks you as truly wise.]


    [Rare Achievement: First sphinx slaying in 300 years]


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    Bob was still dancing around, picking up scattered gold coins and what remained of his multiplying bolt. "We''re rich! We''re alive! And we''re bloody RICH!"


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    [+3 White Wyrm Body]


    [Physical Resistance increased]


    His fingers brushed against the golden monocle lying in the blood. The artifact shimmered and contracted, shrinking until it fit perfectly in his palm - no longer sized for a massive sphinx''s eye.


    The delicate frame bore flowing dwarven runes, intertwining like vines around the rim. Despite its age, the craftsmanship was unmistakable - definitely post-Sundering era work. Before men, elves and dwarves separated. A crack ran through the lens, likely from the battle.


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    [Riddler''s Bane (S-Class)]


    This monocle enhances magical perception, allowing the wearer to perceive the subtle patterns and structures within magical phenomena they study. The deeper the wearer''s knowledge of a particular magical system, the more intricate details the monocle reveals.


    Effects:


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    <li>Reveals the underlying structure of magical workings</li>


    <li>Heightens perception of mana flow and its interactions</li>


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    Note: The monocle does not grant knowledge - it only illuminates what the user already understands at a deeper level.


    [Current Status: Active]


    Adom slipped the monocle over his right eye, and the world... shifted. Not dramatically, but in countless subtle ways that made his breath catch. The air itself seemed alive with gossamer threads of mana - ambient magic he''d always had to strain to perceive now danced clearly in his vision. The cave walls thrummed with old enchantments, their patterns unfurling like ancient tapestries.


    [Light], he cast experimentally.


    His eyes widened. Through the monocle, he could see the exact way his mana coalesced, the precise moment it transformed into luminous energy. The spell''s structure was laid bare - not just the surface pattern he''d memorized, but the deeper flows and eddies that made it work. Like seeing the individual brushstrokes in a painting he''d only ever viewed from afar.


    The residual magic from their battle still lingered in the air. He could trace the exact path his fireball had taken, see where it had interacted with the sphinx''s failing reality-bend. Even the dimensional bag''s fractured matrix was visible, its broken geometry still bleeding traces of power.


    Fascinating. With this, he could-


    "Ooh, shiny." Bob wandered over, peering at the monocle. "That''s some fancy eyewear ye got there. Interesting?"


    "Very," Adom replied before storing it in his inventory.


    Feeling the magical exhaustion weighing heavily on him, Adom reached for one of the high-grade mana potions he''d purchased, now on the ground.


    The crystalline liquid went down smoothly - none of that bitter aftertaste of cheaper potions. Instead, it tasted like honeyed mint tea with a hint of citrus. You could always tell the quality by how sweet it was.


    [Mana regenerating...]


    "You about done staring at that trinket?" Bob called, his dimensional bag steadily swallowing coin after golden coin. "Not that I''m complaining about the haul, mind you, but you haven''t touched a single piece of this lovely gold." He paused, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "Feeling ill?"


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    Adom smiled tiredly. "Take it all, Bob. You earned it."


    "Now I know something''s wrong with- wait, what?" The leprechaun froze mid-grab. "All of it? Seriously?"


    "All yours."


    Bob''s grin threatened to split his face as he began shoveling gold faster. "You''re either the most generous mage I''ve ever met or the most foolish. Either way, I''m not arguing!"


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    Adom turned toward the passage the sphinx had been guarding.


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    "How much deeper do you think this labyrinth goes?" he muttered, starting forward.


    "Knowing our luck? Probably straight to hell itself," Bob grumbled, jogging to catch up. "And knowing your curiosity, we''re going to find out."


    The passage twisted and turned until finally opening into... something else entirely.


    Adom''s steps slowed. The chamber was vast, its ceiling lost in shadows above. But it was what filled the space that made his blood run cold.


    Golems. Hundreds of them. All standing motionless in various combat stances. Their metallic and stone bodies gleamed with runes.


    And in the center...


    A knight-golem knelt, both hands resting on the pommel of a great sword. Its armor was intricate, covered in runes that seemed to shift in the dim light. Unlike the others, this one radiated with mana.


    "Bob," Adom whispered. "We need to leave. Now."


    They spun toward the entrance, only to find solid stone where the passage had been.


    Ah, come on.


    "Uh, lad?" Bob''s voice shook slightly. "There''s writing appearing on the wall. In human script, looks like. What''s it say?"


    Adom''s shoulders slumped as glowing letters materialized:


    WELCOME TO THE THIRD TRIAL


    THE TRIAL OF STRENGTH


    The sound of grinding metal and stone filled the chamber. The knight-golem''s head slowly raised. Around them, the army of constructs began to move, their runes flickering to life.


    "Oh, bloody hell," Bob whispered. "Who is doing this to us..."

 Chapter 17. The Trial Of Strength

    "SWEET MOTHER OF A DISEASED GOBLIN''S LEFT TESTICLE ON A RUSTY SPOON COVERED IN TROLL SNOT-" Bob''s creative stream of profanity echoed through the chamber as dust and ancient stone fragments rained down from the ceiling. Somewhere in the darkness, water dripped steadily.


    The golems moved with a grinding symphony of metal and stone, their runes pulsing in patterns that made Adom''s eyes hurt. More text began materializing on the wall in that same ethereal script.


    "AND IF WHOEVER''S PULLING THESE TRIALS OUT OF THEIR ARSE THINKS I''M GOING TO-"


    "Bob."


    "-SHOVE IT RIGHT UP THEIR-"


    "Bob..."


    "-WITH A RUSTY PICKAXE AND THREE POUNDS OF-"


    "BOB!"


    "ME NAME''S NOT FECKING B- oh." The leprechaun blinked, finally registering Adom''s hand on his shoulder. "Sorry, lad. Got a bit carried away there." He straightened his hat, which had somehow stayed on through his tirade. "What?"


    "You need to calm down. Look." Adom pointed at the wall where the rules were appearing.


    Bob squinted at the glowing text. "Well? What''s it saying? And please tell me it doesn''t involve more bloody riddles."


    "No riddles." Adom''s eyes narrowed as he studied the glowing text. "Three trials of strength. Though only the first is revealed to us now."


    He pointed to the massive bridge spanning the chasm - a stone construction that stretched across the void like a skeletal finger. Ancient runes pulsed dimly along its sides, barely illuminating the sheer vastness of the chamber they stood in. The ceiling was lost in darkness above, while carved columns thick as ancient trees lined the walls, disappearing into shadows.


    "First, the Trial of Dominion. I think it''s a sort of... tug of war against a golem, on that crumbling bridge."


    "Tug of what now?"


    "You don''t know what tug of war is?"


    "Me friend, I''m over a thousand years old and spent most of that time with trees and mushrooms and grumpy old fae more attached to their gold than common sense." He scoffed. "Human games weren''t exactly high on me list of interests."


    Adom sighed. "Two opponents, each holding one end of a rope. You pull until your opponent either falls or crosses a line. Except here..." He gestured at the bridge. "Simple enough - pull your opponent to their death before they do the same to you."


    "Ah." Bob nodded sagely. "So it''s like that time I got into a dispute with a treant over territory. Except with more fallin'' to our deaths."


    "You fought a treant?"


    "Aye," Bob said, bending down to search for a pebble. "The stubborn thing thought me lucky charms garden was on his territory. Can you believe it? Three hundred years I''d been growin'' those clovers."


    "What are you doing?" Adom asked, watching the old fae weigh the stone in his palm.


    "Just... verifying somethin''." Bob moved to the edge, held the pebble out. "Scientific inquiry and all that."


    "Scientific-?" Adom''s question cut off as Bob dropped the stone into the darkness. They both instinctively leaned forward, ears straining.


    Seconds passed.


    More seconds passed.


    "Seriously?" Bob''s whisper echoed slightly in the vast space.


    They kept listening.


    And listening.


    A distant, barely audible clunk finally reached their ears.


    Bob and Adom slowly turned to look at each other, faces carefully blank.


    "Right then," Bob said, taking a very deliberate step back from the edge. "Best keep our footin'', eh?" He glanced at the glowing text again, scowling. "Three trials, revealed one at a time... what do these bastards think this is, some sort of game? Like we''re here for their entertainment?" He spat on the ground. "Probably sittin'' somewhere comfortable, watching us dance like puppets on strings."


    "If they are watching," Adom said quietly, "then let''s show them what we can do."


    "Aye." Bob adjusted his hat grimly.


    The grinding of stone and metal around them intensified as new text blazed across the wall:


    CHALLENGERS, APPROACH THE BRIDGE


    "Well," Bob said, eyeing the massive stone construct that would be their battleground. "Least we''re in this together. How is this tug-o''-woor thingy?"


    "Tug of war," Adom corrected, watching the golems take position.


    "What?"


    "The game. It''s called tug of war."


    "Ah gr¨¤inne milis na deamhain f¨¦in!" Bob muttered, then louder: "Dheamhan dochar air do cheann cairdi¨²il!"


    "I have no idea what you just said, but if that was directed at me, I return the sentiment."


    "Ha! Good lad." Bob''s grin flickered briefly. "Though you look about as confident as a pixie in a dragon''s lair for someone who''s done this tug-o''-woor before."


    "Because I didn''t mention one small detail." Adom''s eyes followed the golems as they took position on the opposite end of the bridge. Two of them. Each holding an end of a massive chain. "When I competed in these games as a child... we used rope. Not chain."


    "Ah." Bob stared at their opponents, then down at his own diminutive height, then back at the golems. "Don''t suppose you''ve got any spells that could make me about seven feet taller?"


    "No. But I do have an idea." Adom''s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "How''s your balance when pulling?"


    "Better than most," Bob grumbled, still clearly agitated from earlier. "Though I''d rather be testin'' it on Orynth''s neck, the smug bastard." He gave the chain a testing tug. "Still can''t believe this nonsense. First they drop us in this oversized death pit, then expect us to play circus performer on a bridge that''s older than me grandmother''s-"


    Adom''s eyes flickered briefly to Bob at the mention of that name. Another piece of the puzzle - how did a leprechaun know one of the ancient Architects? But now wasn''t the time for questions.


    The bridge stretched before them, ancient stone worn smooth by countless centuries. Each step toward its center felt heavier than the last, the abyss below a hungry void that seemed to pull at their very souls. The chain lay between them - thick links of metal that could have anchored a titan''s warship.


    At the far end, the two golems stood motionless. Silent. Waiting.


    "Don''t like this," Bob muttered, adjusting his grip on the chain. "Not one bit. The way they''re just... standin'' there. Like death''s own statues. Sends shivers right down to me bones, it does."


    Adom barely heard him. The world had taken on a strange, distant quality, like he was viewing it through murky water. His limbs felt leaden, his thoughts scattered like leaves in autumn wind. What he wouldn''t give for a moment''s rest. Just a brief pause to catch his breath, to sit down with a steaming cup of tea...


    "Lad!"


    "Huh?" Adom blinked, Bob''s voice yanking him back to the present.


    "You alright there?"


    Adom looked down at his trembling hands, at the sweat already beading on his skin despite the chamber''s chill. He managed a weak laugh. "What do you think?"


    "Aye, stupid question." Bob''s voice softened, losing some of its usual gruffness. "Just hang in there, yeah? And don''t you worry about the heavy lifting." He grinned, rolling up his sleeves to reveal surprisingly corded forearms. "May not look it, but I once arm-wrestled a bridge troll to a standstill. Course, we were both blind drunk at the time, but that''s beside the point."


    "Hold on," Adom said, momentarily distracted from his exhaustion. "Fighting treants, wrestling trolls... what kind of life did you lead before all this?"


    Bob''s eyes twinkled with mischief. "Ah, in me younger days? Let''s just say I had a particular talent for finding trouble. Or maybe trouble had a talent for finding me. Hard to tell after the first few centuries." He chuckled. "There was this one time in the Dragon''s Spine Mountains-"


    A grinding screech cut through the air. Across the bridge, the golems had begun gathering their length of chain, their movements precise and methodical. They were built like strongmen, broad-shouldered and solid, their stone and metal bodies radiating an aura of raw power. Runes pulsed along their joints, casting sharp shadows across the bridge.


    "Right then," Bob muttered, positioning himself in front of Adom. "I''ll handle the pulling. That big brain of yours got any tips? Because these lovely fellows don''t look like they''re here to exchange pleasantries."


    Adom watched the golems'' movements, memory stirring. "Actually... yes. When I was little, maybe six or seven, there was this kid I used to know, Damus. We''d play tug of war in their estate. He was twice my size, but I won more often than not."


    "Oh?" Bob began gathering the chain. "Do tell."


    "It''s all about the timing," Adom said. "Most people think it''s about pulling harder than your opponent. It''s not. It''s about-"


    The chain jerked suddenly as the golems took up the slack. Bob planted his feet, muscles straining.


    "Less lecture, more instruction, lad!"


    "Right. Watch their movements. Wait for them to pull - they''ll have to reset their stance after each attempt. That''s when you pull back. Not before, not during. After. Use their own recovery against them. And..." Adom''s voice trailed off as he watched the golems'' runes pulse in unison. "They''re about to-"


    The chain snapped taut with devastating force. Bob was yanked forward with a startled yelp, boots scraping against stone as he struggled to find purchase.


    "MOTHER OF A-" The rest of his curse was lost in the grinding of metal as the golems pulled again. Bob''s knuckles went white around the chain, his whole body straining backward.


    Adom grabbed the chain too, but it was like trying to stop a landslide with bare hands. The metal links were freezing against his palms, already slick with sweat. His exhausted muscles screamed in protest.


    "Hang on, lad!" Bob''s voice was tight with effort. "Just... need to... find me footing." The leprechaun''s boots finally caught a groove in the stone, and he dug in with a grunt. "Bloody bastards are stronger than they look. Caught me off guard, they did."


    Adom could hardly believe what he was seeing. Bob - barely reaching his chest in height - was actually holding his ground against two golems. Veins stood out on his neck and forearms, his face turning an alarming shade of red, but he wasn''t giving up an inch.


    "Remember what I said!" Adom called out, pulling alongside him. "Wait for their recovery-"


    The golems yanked again.


    The force of it lifted Bob clear off his feet for a heart-stopping moment before he slammed back down. They slid another foot closer to the edge.


    "Easier said than- BALLS OF A BRASS MONKEY!" Another pull. Another foot lost. "Than done!"


    Adom could feel the void in front of them, an endless hungry darkness waiting for a mistake. His arms felt like they were being torn from their sockets. Through the pain and exhaustion, he noticed a pattern - the golems pulled in sync with their pulsing runes.


    "Bob! The runes! They pulse right before-"


    The chain jerked again. Bob''s stream of cursing would have made a sailor blush. They were maybe ten feet from the edge now. Nine. Eight.


    Desperation clawing at his chest, Adom reached for his magic. Just a small burst, something to give them leverage-


    The air cracked like thunder. Something massive whistled past his ear, missing him by inches. He turned his head just enough to see a spear embedded in the wall behind them, its shaft still quivering from impact. On the platform above, a golem lowered its arm, its message clear: no magic.


    "FOCUS, LAD!" Bob roared. His hat had finally fallen off, sweat pouring down his face. "TELL ME ABOUT THAT TIMING!"


    Another pull. Seven feet. Six.


    "Watch... watch the runes!" Adom''s voice was ragged. "They dim right after! That''s when they reset! That''s when we-"


    The runes flared. They braced. The pull came, brutal as ever, but this time they were ready. The instant the runes dimmed, Bob threw his weight backward with a roar that echoed off the chamber walls. Adom pulled with everything he had left.


    The chain moved. Just a little. Just enough.


    "AGAIN!" Bob bellowed. "TELL ME WHEN!"


    Five feet from death, Adom watched the runes, praying his trembling arms would hold just a little longer...


    The runes pulsed. Flash. Pull. Dim.


    "NOW!"


    They heaved backward in perfect sync. The chain moved another precious inch. Their feet found better purchase on the worn stone.


    Flash. Pull. Dim.


    "NOW!"


    Each coordinated pull brought them further from the edge, but Adom''s arms felt like molten lead. His vision swam. Only Bob''s grunted counting kept him focused. Four feet from the edge. Five. Six.


    Then Adom saw it - the golems'' fatal flaw.


    "Bob!" he gasped between pulls. "They''re anchored! Look at their feet!"


    The leprechaun spared a glance between straining breaths. The golems'' feet were indeed locked into grooves in the stone, giving them leverage but limiting their movement.


    "That''s... great... lad," Bob managed through clenched teeth. "But... unless you''ve got... a bloody pickaxe..."


    "No - they can''t adjust! They''re pulling straight! If we..." Adom''s lungs burned. "If we pull sideways..."


    Understanding flashed in Bob''s eyes. "On your mark!"


    Flash. Pull. Dim.


    "NOW! LEFT!"


    They threw their weight sideways, yanking the chain at an angle. The golems'' rigid stance worked against them. For a terrible moment, nothing happened.


    Then came the sound of stone cracking.


    One golem''s foot broke free from its anchor. It staggered, throwing off the other''s balance. Their synchronized pulling shattered.


    "AGAIN!" Adom screamed.


    Flash. Stumble. Dim.


    They heaved left once more. The second golem''s anchor cracked. The constructs tried to compensate, their movements now jerky and desperate.


    "Once more!" Bob roared. "EVERYTHING YOU''VE GOT, LAD!"


    Adom''s world narrowed to this moment. The chain. The pull. Bob''s battle cry beside him. His screaming muscles finding one last surge of strength.


    Flash-


    The golems pulled.


    -Dim.


    They yanked sideways with everything they had left.


    The golems'' remaining anchors shattered. Without their bracing, the force of their own pull sent them staggering backward. Their feet found empty air.


    Time seemed to slow. Adom watched as the massive constructs tipped over the edge, their runed joints still pulsing, arms windmilling uselessly. The chain went slack so suddenly that he and Bob fell backward onto the bridge.


    The sound of the golems hitting bottom came long, long moments later. A crash like thunder rolled up from the depths, then silence.


    Adom lay there, gasping, every breath feeling like knives in his chest. Beside him, Bob had collapsed onto his back, face still crimson, chest heaving.


    "That..." the leprechaun wheezed, "was too... bloody... close."


    They''d done it. Somehow, they''d done it. But as Adom''s racing heart slowly steadied, one thought kept echoing through his mind:


    This was only the first trial.


    Adom lay there staring at the darkness above, his chest still heaving, when a hand entered his field of vision. Bob stood over him, somehow already back on his feet despite his face still being flushed from exertion.


    "Come on then, lad." The leprechaun''s grin was infectious, even with sweat still dripping from his chin. "Between that brilliant mind of yours and these stubborn old muscles, we''ll make it out of here alive. You have me word on that."


    Adom couldn''t help but smile back. "Sure." He grabbed Bob''s hand, surprised again by the strength in the leprechaun''s grip as he was pulled to his feet.


    The grinding of stone drew their attention. The wall''s ethereal script shifted and flowed like water, forming new words. Adom''s smile faded as he read.


    "What?" Bob asked, noting his expression. "What fresh hell are they throwing at us now?"


    "The Trial of Swiftness." Adom''s eyes moved rapidly across the glowing text. "There''s a hammer and a helmet. They''ll be placed between us and another golem. First one to reach them wins."


    "That''s... suspiciously simple."


    "There''s more." Adom rubbed his temples. "The hammer''s supposedly extremely heavy, and the helmet magically adjusts to fit whoever wears it. If the golem gets the hammer first..."


    "We''re proper fecked?"


    "Unless we can get the helmet on quickly enough, yes. And if we get the hammer..."


    "We need to smash the bastard before it gets the helmet." Bob spat on the ground. "Because of course the helmet makes them invulnerable. Wonderful." He adjusted his hat irritably. "Don''t suppose we could just... not play their game? Sit down, have a nice cup of tea instead?"


    "After what happened when I tried to use magic?" Adom gestured at the spear still embedded in the wall. "I doubt we have a choice."


    "Right." Bob cracked his knuckles. "So, any brilliant ideas? Because I''m fast for me size, but something tells me these golems aren''t exactly sluggish either."


    "I might have one." Adom''s eyes had taken on that distant look Bob was starting to recognize. "But you''re not going to like it."


    "Lad, I haven''t liked anything since I fell into this oversized tomb. Out with it."


    "I heard leprechauns were naturally fast. Something about blessing-enhanced reflexes?"


    Bob snorted. "That''s like saying all dwarves are master smiths because of Grimbeard the Great. Stereotype, that is."


    "But you just said you were fast for your size."


    "Aye, I did. Because I am." Bob puffed up his chest. "Peak specimen, I''ll have you know. Back in the day, all the leanans¨ªdhe were mad for me. Had to beat them off with a stick, I did. Well, more like a twig, given me size, but-"


    He cut off as Adom stumbled, the world tilting sideways. The chamber''s columns seemed to dance and blur, stone walls rippling like water. His legs felt distant, disconnected. Some part of him wanted to laugh at Bob''s boasting, to ask more about these leanans¨ªdhe, but exhaustion had sunk its claws too deep. Even breathing felt like too much effort.


    "Easy there, lad!" Bob caught him before his knees could buckle, surprising strength in those short arms. "Bloody hell, you''re burning up. Should''ve said something sooner."


    "M''fine," Adom mumbled, though the ground wouldn''t stay still. "Just need a moment..."


    "Sure you do. And I''m a bloody unicorn in disguise." Bob''s voice had lost its usual gruffness, replaced by genuine concern. "When''s the last time you properly rested?"


    When had he last rested?


    The thought floated through his foggy mind as he leaned against Bob. He came back what, Three? Four days ago? God, he couldn''t even remember. Since coming back, everything had been a constant rush - racing against time, against fate, against his own memories.


    He hadn''t even stopped to just... breathe. To sit in the market and watch people haggle over fresh bread. To smell the flowers blooming in the Temple gardens. Funny, that. His whole dream had been to live life differently this time around, to savor every moment he''d taken for granted before.


    But how could he? Every time he tried to relax, tried to just exist in the moment, the knowledge would creep back in. The streets he walked would burn. The people he passed would scream. The sky would turn black with-


    "I''m tired," he whispered, more to himself than to Bob. "God, I''m so tired."


    For some reason, he suddenly craved some honey cake. The same one he had back in Kati. He''d only managed three bites. Just three perfect, wonderful bites. The sweetness had still been on his tongue when the sky turned dark. When Dragon''s Breath fell, and Kati followed.


    He never had honey cake again. Not in all the years that followed. Not in that entire lifetime. Strange, how such a small thing could hurt so much. Three bites of perfection, of normalcy, before everything burned away.


    If he made it out alive - when, he had to believe when - he''d take a week off. Just walk the streets of Arkhos. Get some of those honey-glazed pastries from a random old woman that would sell them. Those were the best kind. Old people always made the best street food.


    Maybe get a dog, something small and loyal. Name it Fido. Or a familiar.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Yeah... that would be nice.


    "Just..." he managed, trying to focus on Bob''s worried face through the haze, "had an eventful few days."


    "Eventful few days, he says," Bob muttered, adjusting his grip to better support Adom''s weight. "Like he''s been to a bloody harvest festival instead of whatever mess got you looking half-dead." His voice softened. "Hang in there, lad."


    The chamber suddenly rumbled, cutting through his exhausted musings. Stone ground against stone as the room began to shift, walls rearranging themselves like pieces of some massive puzzle.


    "Seems our gracious hosts are getting impatient," Bob growled, helping Adom straighten up.


    Adom watched the room transform, fighting back another wave of dizziness.


    The wall''s script shifted: CHALLENGERS, ADVANCE.


    The golems moved in perfect unison, creating a path through a broad corridor. Despite his exhaustion, Adom couldn''t help but notice how their movements seemed almost... ceremonial.


    "Well," Bob muttered, supporting Adom as they walked, "suppose they''re not big on breaks between death-defying challenges."


    "At least this time we''re not dangling over an abyss."


    "No, just racing a bloody golem for magical artifacts. Much better." Bob''s tone was light, but his grip on Adom''s arm remained steady. "Speaking of which... about what you said to the sphinx back there."


    "Ah. That."


    "Don''t try telling me you were bluffing." Bob kicked a pebble, watching it bounce down the path. "That overgrown cat would''ve known. And the way you knew his name..." He glanced sideways at Adom. "You said you came back from the future?"


    Adom chuckled. "Tell you what - I''ll explain everything if you tell me how a you know that Orynth guy. And why you can dreamwalk."


    "Ah, well, would you look at these lovely stone walls-"


    "Bob." Adom stopped walking. "If you know something about whoever built this place, I need to know. It might help us find a way out."


    The leprechaun was quiet for a long moment, adjusting his hat with unusual care. "Orynth... used to be a friend. Bastard tricked me into owing him a debt."


    "How?"


    Bob sighed. "It''s a stupid story, really. There I was, minding me own business, making shoes-"


    "Shoes?"


    "What? You think leprechauns just sit around counting gold all day? We''ve got to make a living somehow." Bob waved dismissively. "Anyway, I specialized in climbing boots. Best in the business, if I do say so myself. Even had a nice little shop at the end of a rainbow-"


    "Of course you did."


    "Oi, who''s telling this story?" Bob glared. "So there I was, testing a new pair on the cliffs of Mount Silverhorn. Beautiful day, perfect for climbing. Then this wyvern shows up."


    "A wyvern."


    "Did I stutter? Yes, a bloody wyvern. Nasty piece of work, too. There I am, dangling off a cliff face, about to become lunch, when who should appear but Orynth himself." Bob''s voice went flat. "Standing on thin air, cool as you please, sipping tea."


    "Tea?"


    "Earl Black, if you must know. With honey." Bob''s eye twitched. "So he looks at me, looks at the wyvern, and says - and I''ll never forget this - ''Those are fascinating boots you''re wearing.''"


    Adom stared. "While you were about to die?"


    "While I was about to die! Then he says, ''I''ll help you with your little predicament if you agree to make me three pairs.''" Bob kicked another rock, harder this time. "What was I supposed to say? No? The wyvern''s breath was hot enough to curl me beard!"


    "So you agreed."


    "So I agreed. He snaps his fingers, the wyvern turns into a bloody songbird, and I''m standing safe on the cliff."


    "Wait, he turned a wyvern into a songbird?" Adom stopped walking.


    "Bloody hell, I know!" Bob threw his hands up. "Never seen anything like it before or since. Didn''t even use those fancy mage hand movements, just..." He snapped his fingers for emphasis.


    "How was a mage that powerful not recorded in history?"


    "Eh, he lived up in that mountain of his, mostly. Had this huge farm near the Duke''s castle at the time. The Duke was-"


    "Borealis," Adom finished.


    "Oh? They''re still around then?"


    "How long ago exactly was this?"


    Bob scratched his chin. "Hard to say exactly. More than a thousand years, less than two thousand."


    "You mentioned back at the fist chamber that he was a ''red-eyed bastard''?"


    Bob chuckled darkly. "Aye, that he was."


    "The Borealis house is known for their red eyes. Most of them have them. They''re descendants of the First Men - of Law Borealis..."


    "Look at that," Bob said quickly. "Time for more death-defying nonsense. Better get moving, eh?"


    The chamber floor began to shift, sand swirling in impossible patterns. From its depths rose a massive war hammer, its head carved with ancient runes that pulsed with an inner light. The weapon hung suspended in the air, surrounded by a semi-circle of golems standing at attention.


    On the opposite side of the chamber, more sand parted to reveal a helm that seemed almost alive, its silver metal rippling like quicksilver in the dim light. Another group of golems took position around it, their metallic forms gleaming.


    "Bob," Adom said, fighting to keep his balance as exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him. "Since your... friend built this place, is there anything you can tell me about it?"


    "Orynth wasn''t the only one who made it." Bob''s eyes darted between the two artifacts. "There were others. All of them powerful mages, mysterious types. Wouldn''t tell anyone what they were doing, spent decades working on it."


    "How long exactly?"


    "Orynth worked on it for sixty years of his life. Don''t know about the others."


    "Sixty years?" Adom frowned. "What was the purpose?"


    Bob shook his head. "He became obsessed with it near the end. Kept saying he had to finish it before his time came. Had to make sure everything was perfect."


    "But why? Was it the treasure? What could be worth sixty years of work from multiple master mages?"


    The leprechaun turned to look at Adom, and for once there was no trace of humor in his eyes. "I really don''t know, lad. That''s the honest truth. He changed over those years. Became... different. More secretive. Stopped coming by the shop. Last time I saw him..." Bob trailed off, looking troubled. "Well, let''s just say he wasn''t the same person who saved me from that wyvern."


    They arrived at the end of the golem-made corridor. A vast circular arena opened before them, its floor covered in fine, shifting sand


    "Sit down, lad," Bob said firmly, guiding Adom to a worn stone step. "You can barely stand. Let me handle this one."


    "But-"


    "No buts. Save your strength." Bob''s usual grin had been replaced by something harder, more focused. "Besides, speed''s me specialty."


    From the swirling sands emerged a new golem, taller than the others, its joints clicking like a deadly clockwork as it took position. The hammer hung between them, its runes pulsing with ancient power. The helm gleamed on the far side, liquid silver in the dim light.


    The wall''s script flared: BEGIN.


    Everything happened in heartbeats.


    The golem lunged forward, its metallic legs coiling like springs. Bob was already moving, a blur of green and gold. Sand erupted where the golem''s foot struck, but the leprechaun was gone, rolling under its reaching arms.


    Three steps to the hammer.


    The golem pivoted impossibly fast, its joints screaming. Bob twisted mid-stride, barely avoiding metal fingers that whistled past his ear.


    Two steps.


    They reached the hammer simultaneously. The golem''s hand closed on empty air as Bob dove between its legs, his own fingers wrapping around the weapon''s handle.


    One step.


    The hammer came up in a brutal arc, faster than something that size should move. The golem started to turn-


    CRACK.


    The sound echoed like thunder, followed by the quieter tinkle of shattered metal and stone hitting sand. The golem''s head bounced once, rolled, and came to rest at Adom''s feet. Its body swayed for a moment, then toppled.


    Four seconds. Maybe five.


    Bob stood there, hammer resting on his shoulder, chest heaving slightly. "Well," he said, breaking the stunned silence. "That was bracing."


    Adom realized he''d been holding his breath. "That... that was..."


    "What?" Bob grinned, his usual mischief returning. "Told you I was fast for me size." He gave the hammer an experimental swing. "Nice balance on this thing too. Might keep it as a souvenir."


    Relief flooded through Adom, making him dizzy. Or maybe that was just the exhaustion. Either way, he found himself laughing - a slightly hysterical sound that echoed off the ancient walls.


    "You''re insane," he managed between chuckles. "Absolutely insane."


    "Coming from the lad who traveled through time?" Bob winked, extending his free hand. "Come on then. Up you get. Something tells me we''re not done yet."


    And he was right.


    A new golem stepped forward, its runes pulsing with deadly intent. Bob and Adom exchanged glances.


    "Hang on," Bob frowned, hammer still resting on his shoulder. "Pretty sure I just turned the last one''s head into gravel, didn''t I?"


    "You definitely did."


    "Right. So..." Bob gestured at the waiting construct with his free hand. "What''s this about then?"


    He stepped forward, but two golems materialized from the shadows, crossing their spears to block his path. Their message was clear: no entry.


    "Oh, for the love of- What now?" Bob''s eye twitched. "Did I win too quickly? Would they prefer I dance a jig first? Maybe tell a few jokes?"


    Adom pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly. "I think... I think they want me to do it too."


    "What? No. Absolutely not. You can barely stand!"


    "We did the first trial together," Adom said quietly. "Maybe that''s the point. Everyone has to prove themselves."


    "Prove themselves?" Bob''s voice rose an octave. "To who? These oversized wind-up toys?" He turned to glare at the waiting golems. "Listen here, you stone-headed bastards! In case you hadn''t noticed, the lad''s about to fall over! If you think I''m going to let you-"


    "Bob."


    "-and another thing! Whoever''s pulling your strings can take their trials and shove them right up their-"


    "Bob!"


    "WHAT?"


    "I have to do this."


    The leprechaun deflated slightly, though his scowl remained. "No, you don''t. We can find another way. Or I could just..." He hefted the hammer meaningfully.


    Adom managed a weak smile. "Since when did you start worrying so much about me?"


    "Don''t get it twisted, lad. That big brain of yours is the only reason we''re not dead twice over already." Bob snorted. "And I''d rather keep it intact and inside your skull, not splattered across the floor. Need it to get out of this oversized maze, don''t I?"


    Adom sighed in relief.


    "What''s that look for?" Bob asked, hammer still casually propped on his shoulder.


    "Oh, just glad this didn''t turn into one of those cheesy moments."


    "Cheesy?" Bob''s brow furrowed. "What''s dairy got to do with anything?"


    "It''s a modern expression. Means overly sentimental."


    "You future folk are strange," Bob muttered. "Perfectly good words already exist for that sort of thing. Mawkish. Saccharine. But no, you had to drag perfectly innocent cheese into it." He shook his head. "Next you''ll tell me you use ''bread'' to mean something entirely different too."


    "Actually-"


    Adom almost laughed at the absurdity of it all - casually discussing modern slang while potentially walking to his death. There was something darkly hilarious about that. But the humor died in his throat as he stepped onto the sand.


    The moment his foot touched the ground, the world... shifted. The arena seemed larger from inside, the walls stretching up into impossible darkness. Sand swirled around his ankles, alive with strange patterns that made his eyes hurt if he looked too long.


    And he could have sworn the golem in front of him looked much less impressive from where he was sitting. The chamber felt different from this angle. More intimate. More real.


    From the depths rose another war hammer, identical to Bob''s, and another helm. The golem took position.


    The golems... Adom looked at the one in front of him, as it positioned itself.


    These constructs were centuries old, yet they put modern golems to shame. The most advanced constructs of his time were clumsy things that wealthy families used for basic housework - stiff, awkward magical masses that could barely manage to vacuum floors without getting stuck in corners. Even the elves, for all their magical superiority, hadn''t managed to create anything close to this level of sophistication.


    Yet here stood machines crafted ages ago, moving with deadly grace, executing complex combat maneuvers that should have been impossible with ancient magic. It was like finding advanced runic arrays in primitive cave paintings - knowledge that shouldn''t exist, couldn''t exist, and yet somehow did. What kind of man had Orynth been, to possess knowledge that would still be considered advanced hundreds of years in the future? And what had happened to all that knowledge?


    Adom''s exhausted muscles trembled, but his mind was clear. He had to win this.


    He breathed in deeply. Then out. Again. And again as the golem settled into a perfect combat stance. He could feel it happening inside him - his core churning, condensing the raw mana, transforming it into something denser, more potent.


    He let it rise up, felt the it respond, growing thicker, more potent. The sensation was like warm. Flowing through his veins. Pleasant.


    [You are using Fluid]


    "Wait-" Bob''s voice cut through his concentration, genuine surprise in the old warrior''s tone. "You can use that thing?"


    "Yeah."


    "What do you me-" Bob''s question cut off as the wall''s script flared to life.


    Adom moved.


    The Fluid surged through his system like liquid fire, every muscle screaming in protest at the sudden acceleration. The world narrowed to a single point : the hammer.


    His vision tunneled, heartbeat thundering in his ears.


    The golem was fast. Impossibly fast.


    Its metal feet barely seemed to touch the ground as it crossed the distance in explosive steps. Adom pushed harder, feeling his muscles strain beyond their limits. The hammer grew closer, closer-


    His foot slipped.


    Time slowed to a crawl as he saw the golem''s hand reaching out, metal fingers extending toward the weapon. Adom''s heart stopped. No. Not like this.


    Pure instinct took over. He threw his arms forward, using his momentum to launch himself into a desperate dive. The ground rushed up to meet him, sand stinging his eyes. The golem''s fingers were inches from the hammer-


    Adom kicked out with every ounce of strength he had left. His boot connected with the construct''s hand, sending a shock of pain up his leg.


    The golem''s grip missed by a hair''s breadth.


    He snatched the hammer mid-roll, muscles burning as he forced himself back to his feet. The golem was already pivoting, its movements liquid smooth as it darted toward the helm. Adom''s exhausted body responded on pure adrenaline. He hurled himself forward, swinging the hammer in a wild arc.


    The weapon connected with the helm just as the golem''s fingers brushed its surface. Metal rang against metal, the helm spinning away into darkness. The golem''s head snapped toward him, runes flaring-


    Adom brought the hammer down.


    The impact shuddered through his arms, nearly tearing the weapon from his grip. Stone and metal exploded outward as the golem''s head caved in. Its body stood for a moment, swaying, then collapsed in a heap of broken parts.


    Silence fell.


    Adom stood there, chest heaving, hammer trembling in his white-knuckled grip. Black spots danced at the edges of his vision. Every breath felt like drinking molten glass.


    "A Dhia na tr¨®caire..." Bob''s whisper echoed across the chamber. "Nach raibh sin..."


    [White Wyrm''s Body has reached level 2!]


    [After experiencing damage, your body is now slightly sturdier]


    Adom slumped forward, gasping for air. "I''m really... really not made for combat."


    "What are you on about?" Bob clapped him on the back, making him wheeze. "You moved like a bloody wildcat out there! Never seen anything like it - well, except for that one time with the pixie queen''s guard, but they had those mushrooms that make you-"


    A sound cut through Bob''s rambling. Metal on stone. Clang. Clang. Clang. Measured. Deliberate.


    The golems lining the walls parted like a metallic tide, revealing a figure that made Adom''s breath catch. Plates of armor covered it from head to toe. A massive sword dragged along the ground.


    "Oh, for feck''s sake," Bob muttered. "Can''t even let a man catch his breath, can they?"


    The armored golem stopped before them. Ready. Silent. The chamber rumbled, walls shifting and reforming. New text blazed across the stone.


    "The wall says we have to-"


    "Fight that thing to get out?" Bob interrupted, not taking his eyes off the armored golem. "To the death, I''m guessing?"


    "Obviously," Adom replied, then caught himself.


    When had discussing fights to the death become so... normal?


    "Well," Bob grinned, helping him up, "ready for the Knight-Golem? We can take him on if we try."


    <section>


    "...Give me five minutes."


    "You alright there, lad?" Bob''s voice seemed to come from somewhere far away, despite him standing right there.


    "Yeah." Adom tried to focus on the leprechaun''s face, but it kept... shifting. Like trying to read through water.


    "How many fingers am I holding up?"


    "What are you doing?"


    "How many?"


    Adom sighed, squinting. The fingers blurred, split, merged. "Four."


    "You hesitated."


    "Lost my glasses in the fight against the Sphynx," Adom muttered, trying to stand straighter but feeling his knees wanting to buckle. "Vision''s not great without them."


    "You''ve been fighting just fine without them until now." Bob''s voice had lost its usual playful edge. "Shouldn''t be a problem suddenly."


    Now that the adrenaline was fading, Adom became aware of just how heavy his body felt. His arms were lead weights. Each breath felt like inhaling through wet cotton. The chamber''s edges were starting to blur, not from poor vision, but because his brain was struggling to process what his eyes were seeing.


    He was reaching his limit.


    "Seriously. When''s the last time you slept, lad?"


    Four measly hours, cut short by those damn wakey birds. He should''ve listened to his body, should''ve went to bed... His thoughts wandered to Sam, probably curled up right now in a warm, comfortable-


    "Oi!" Bob''s sharp voice cut through his daze. "If you''re daydreaming about beds while standing, you''re in no shape for the Knight-Golem. Step aside, I''ll handle this one."


    Adom opened his mouth to protest, but his whole body felt heavy. Four hours of sleep, non-stop fighting since the Sphinx, and now this... Maybe Bob was-


    "That wasn''t a suggestion," Bob picked up his hammer, already moving forward.


    The wall''s runes shifted:


    FINAL TRIAL


    CHAMPIONS STEP FORWARD


    Suddenly, the chamber filled with a metallic chittering - every golem, broken or whole, trembling against stone.


    Adom stared at the knight. For a split second, he thought he saw-


    "Are they summoning a bloody demon or-" Bob started.


    Blue erupted from the knight''s joints. Not fire - Fluid. Pure, ethereal Fluid, coating metal in impossible ways, flowing like living mercury across armor. The Knight-Golem moved, each step leaving burning footprints that slowly faded.


    "Mother of..." Adom stumbled back, his exhausted mind struggling to process what he was seeing. Fluid-enhanced golems. This was impossible.


    An idea.


    Adom pulled Riddler''s Bane from his inventory, his tired mind straining to process the readings.


    The Fluid wasn''t just coating the golem - it was integrated into its core structure, flowing through channels that shouldn''t exist in metal. Runes pulsed in sequences he''d never seen, creating impossible interactions between magic and mechanics.


    This doesn''t make sense...


    He shook his head, the analysis only raising more questions. Modern mages would kill to see this. Or run screaming from it.


    The golem reached the arena''s center. It stood, waiting, the chamber falling into absolute silence.


    Adom glanced at Bob. "...Still wanna go alone?"


    "I- of course I do," Bob''s hammer shook slightly. "A leprechaun never goes back on his word."


    "I...thought leprechauns were supposed to be deceitful."


    "Bad rep from a few bad apples," Bob adjusted his grip. "Like humans with their-"


    "Ah," Adom nodded. "Yeah. We get that too."


    CHAMPIONS STEP FORWARD continued to pulse overhead, now casting red shadows across their faces.


    "Can you hold it off for a few minutes?"


    "Got a plan?"


    "A plan?" Adom slid down against the wall. "Need to see how it moves. Can''t afford to miss. Also, I have nearly depleted my fluid reserves"


    "I''ll just try not to die," Bob''s voice carried forced lightness.


    "Thank you."


    "Lad...if I don''t make it-"


    Adom lifted his heavy head. "What?"


    "Nothing," Bob didn''t turn around. "I said nothing."


    The leprechaun stepped forward, his feet barely whispering against stone as he approached the waiting giant.


    "Oi, you big heap of scrap! Me gran''s armor was shinier than yours!"


    Bob''s voice cut through Adom''s haze. The leprechaun danced, hammer glinting-


    SWISH.


    The golem moved.


    One moment there, the next- Adom''s tired mind couldn''t even track it. Only Bob''s speed saved him, launching himself backward as the Fluid-coated blade cleaved through where he''d stood.


    Bob''s hat wasn''t so lucky. It floated down, split clean in two.


    "My favorite hat!" Bob met Adom''s eyes, genuine fury flashing across his face. "May you rot in the deepest pits of T¨ªr na n¨®g, ya blasted tin can!" He ducked another impossibly fast strike. "Adom! You better use this time wisely, lad, or I swear by all the golden clovers-"


    The golem repositioned, its Fluid armor rippling like a disturbed pond.


    Adom leaned back against the wall, fighting to keep his eyes open. Bob''s shouts and the sounds of destruction echoed through the chamber. As long as he stayed outside the fighting zone...


    He closed his eyes.


    Breathe. Just breathe. Don''t think about anything. But how could he focus with the sounds of metal against metal, with Bob out there, alone, being the only thing between him and-


    Another crash. He opened one eye. Bob was bleeding.


    He squeezed his eyes shut again.


    Think. He needed to think of something calming. Something, anything-


    Summer. The garden. God, how long ago was that? Seventy years? More?


    Definitely more.


    The air had smelled of fresh-baked madeleine and salt breeze - Mother always baked before their beach trips. He could almost taste the anticipation of tomorrow''s adventure, but right then...


    Little Adom sat cross-legged on the grass, enormous glasses making his eyes look like owl''s.


    The book in his lap was almost as big as he was - "Fundamentals of Magic: A Comprehensive Guide." He''d just earned his silver crystal, a mage''s color. The youngest in three generations. Mother said it was because he was born in the Whispering Woods, where ambient mana pooled like morning dew. But that wasn''t important right now. What mattered was understanding why the third law of magical resonance-


    "Son." Father''s voice, gentle but firm. "Put the book down. Come meditate with me."


    "No!" Little Adom clutched the book tighter. "I''m reading about res''nance!"


    "The resonance will still be there after meditation."


    "But I almost understand it!" His voice rose to that particular pitch only angry five-year-olds could achieve. "Just three more pages!"


    "Adom."


    "I don''t like meditating father! It''s boring!"


    God, he''d been such a brat. Father had just sat there, patient as stone, while he threw his tantrum. Looking back now, through the lens of exhaustion and decades...


    Another crash from the arena, but Adom held onto the memory.


    His father sighed, settling on the grass beside him. "I understand you love your books, son. Your magic. I''m glad you''ve found something that lights up your eyes like that." He paused. "But do you know what most mages lack?"


    Little Adom hugged his book, curiosity winning over stubbornness. "...what?"


    "Patience." Father smiled. "Life is short for us humans. Seventy years, if we''re lucky. Most mages spend that time chasing after magic, but they forget its foundations." He looked at Adom. "Did you know the Farmer Mage was a knight before everything?"


    "Really?"


    "Indeed. And do you know what he did more than anything else? He meditated."


    "Why?"


    "That''s how he perfected his magic." Father crossed his legs. "Here, let me show you something. When you''re tired, when your Fluid feels empty, there''s a way to restore it. The way he did it."


    "But Fluid and mana are different!" Little Adom perked up. "The book says-"


    Father chuckled. "Watch." He closed his eyes. "First, you breathe. Not just normal breathing. You need to find a quiet place in your mind. For me, it''s the top of Mount Serene, where the air is crisp and clean. Can you picture your special place?"


    Little Adom nodded reluctantly. "The library."


    "Good. Now, imagine sitting there. Feel the air filling your lungs. Release it slowly." Father''s breath became rhythmic. "Focus inward. Feel your Fluid. It''s like... imagine a river inside you. When you''re tired, it slows to a trickle. But if you listen carefully, if you breathe just right..."


    Adom watched, eyes widening, as Fluid began to coat his father''s body. Not just coating - it swirled, danced, lifted him slightly off the ground. When Father opened his eyes, they gleamed with renewed energy.


    "Will I be able to do that?" Little Adom whispered, book forgotten in his lap.


    "Of course. When you learn to meditate."


    "But it''s boring!" The whine returned. "I don''t wanna sit still! I wanna learn spells!"


    "Adom-"


    "NO! Books are better! You can''t learn this from just sitting!"


    The memory blurred as another explosion rocked the chamber. Bob''s voice carried over the chaos: "That the best you can do, you glorified suit of armor?"


    Adom''s eyes snapped open. The library. His quiet place. Even now, he could smell the old books, feel the worn leather chair beneath him. Father had been right - as usual. He just hadn''t been ready to hear it at five years old.


    He closed his eyes again, focusing on his breath. In. Out. The sounds of combat faded... He reached for the familiar comfort of the library, but... no. Something felt wrong. The leather chair, the dusty tomes - that was little Adom''s sanctuary, the refuge of a stubborn child who hadn''t known what he had.


    He''d changed since then.


    The beach. Yes. The salt air filled his lungs, seabirds calling overhead. The warmth of sun on his skin, the gentle tickle of sand beneath his feet, waves lapping at his ankles. The laughs. The joy. So many memories there...


    The ambient mana whispered around him, familiar after years of manipulation.


    But this was different. Instead of directing it outward, he drew it inward, letting it pool in his core. Years of mage training made the process almost intuitive - the mana swirled, transformed, refined itself into something denser. Fluid.


    Breathe in.


    The rising sun made the water look like gold. Its warmth caressed his skin, and he felt lighter, as if the waves themselves were lifting him. The exhaustion that had weighed him down began to dissolve like they were never there.


    Breathe out.


    Higher now. The water released him to the sky, but there was no fear. Only peace. Only power. The Fluid spread through his body like liquid sunlight, filling empty channels, restoring depleted reserves. Each breath drew him higher into the endless blue, until the beach below was a distant crescent of gold.


    Floating. Free. Complete.


    His eyes opened to reality. Fluid coated his body in a gentle azure glow, and his feet hovered inches above the ground.


    [You have learned: Meditation]


    Strength restored to 48%


    Core capacity: 51%


    Fluid reserves: 53%


    [Expand to see more...]


    The numbers barely registered. This feeling - this was what his father had tried to show him all those years ago. Not just restoration, but transformation. Connection.


    Below him, Bob ducked another devastating swing from the Knight-Golem, but Adom saw it differently now. He was calmer, yet, more alert.


    Was this what knights and battle mages felt?


    He understood now. Finally, truly understood.


    [Riddler''s Bane equiped].


    Through the monocle''s lens, the golem''s armor blazed with information. Weak points appeared and vanished like dying stars - except one. There, just below where a human''s heart would be, a hairline fracture in the plating. Almost invisible, but...


    "Bob!" Adom''s eyes fixed on that spot. "The chest plate, left side! See how it''s reinforced?"


    "Bit busy trying not to die!" Bob ducked another swing that would have taken his head off. "What about it?"


    "They over-reinforced it! The core''s there, but the extra plating created a stress point!" Adom''s mind raced. "Hit that spot, same place, every time. We crack it open-"


    The golem''s blade whistled through the air where Adom had been standing. He rolled, came up gasping. "-we expose the core!"


    "That''s your brilliant plan?" Bob''s hammer sparked off the golem''s armor. "Hit the strongest part until it breaks?"


    "Trust me!"


    Bob spat blood and grinned. "Always do, lad."


    The leprechaun charged in, hammer raised. The golem''s blade came down in a killing arc, but Bob was already moving. His weapon connected with the chest plate - CLANG - the impact echoing through the chamber.


    A backhand caught Adom as he tried to flank.


    "Again!" he shouted, tasting copper.


    Bob struck the same spot - CLANG - sparks flying. The golem''s counterattack opened a gash across his shoulder, but he didn''t falter.


    CLANG


    CLANG


    CLANG


    Each hit precise, relentless. Blood ran down Bob''s arm, but his strikes never wavered. The golem''s movements became more aggressive, as if sensing the danger.


    Its blade almost caught Adom''s side. He stumbled, vision blurring.


    "It''s working!" Bob called out. A hairline crack had appeared in the plating. "But it''s adapting! Can''t get close enough-"


    The golem''s fist caught him square in the chest. Bob flew backward, hit the wall with a sickening crunch.


    "BOB!"


    "Still... here..." The leprechaun struggled to his feet, using his hammer for support. "Just... need an opening..."


    Adom watched the golem advance on his friend, its Fluid coating rippling like liquid metal. The crack in its armor was barely visible now, sealed by the flowing energy. If they didn''t finish this soon...


    His eyes caught something in the monocle''s display. The Fluid wasn''t just armor - it was part of the golem''s targeting system. Every movement was calculated, predicted, guided by that ethereal power.


    But predictions could be wrong.


    "Bob! When I say now, throw the hammer! Right at its head!"


    "What? But the core-"


    "TRUST ME!"


    The golem raised its blade for a killing blow. Bob tensed, hammer ready.


    "NOW!"


    Bob hurled his weapon with everything he had left. The hammer spun through the air, a perfect arc toward the golem''s head. The construct''s Fluid shifted, calculating the trajectory, preparing to dodge-


    Adom lunged forward.


    The golem had to choose - dodge the hammer or strike Adom. Its Fluid calculations split focus for a fraction of a second.


    "BOB! CATCH!"


    Adom snatched the hammer out of the air mid-spin and threw it back to Bob in one fluid motion. The golem''s blade missed him by inches, its perfect targeting disrupted.


    Bob caught the hammer and swung with the momentum, putting his entire body into the strike. The weapon connected with the weakened plating.


    CRACK


    The armor split open like a shell, revealing the pulsing core beneath. Fluid leaked from the wound like blood.


    "ADOM!"


    Bob''s hammer arced through the air again. This time, Adom was ready.


    He caught it, Fluid enhancement surging through his muscles. One perfect swing. Everything they had left. The hammer connected with the exposed core.


    The impact sent the core shooting out of the golem''s back like a cannonball, taking chunks of metal with it. The construct froze mid-motion, its Fluid coating flickering once, twice - then simply dropped to its knees and fell forward with a hollow clang.


    Silence fell.


    Adom collapsed, vision swimming. Every breath felt like inhaling glass. The chamber spun around him, but he forced himself to move. Crawling more than walking, he reached the remains of the golem. Its metal surface still radiated heat when he touched it.


    [Knight Golem obtained]


    [Golem Core obtained]


    Into the inventory they went. He''d study it later, understand how it worked...


    "Bob," Adom managed through ragged breaths, "we got something interesti-"


    The words died in his throat as he turned. Bob was propped against a wall, but something was wrong. Very wrong. His small frame was covered in deep gashes, and blood - too much blood - pooled beneath him. His usually rosy complexion had gone ashen, the characteristic leprechaun vitality drained away.


    But Bob still smiled. "What''s with the stare, lad? Tis'' but a scratch."


    Adom pocketed the pill and crawled to Bob. The leprechaun''s chest still rose and fell, barely.


    "Saw that coming," Bob wheezed. "Few hundred years without a proper fight..."


    Adom''s mind raced. No potions left. Healing magic was out - he could barely light a candle with his remaining mana. But Bob''s pulse was weakening.


    [Indomitable Will] flared as Adom hoisted Bob up. The leprechaun weighed like solid stone but was too weak to protest.


    The wall flickered: CONGRATULATIONS, YOU HAVE PASSED THE TEST OF STRENGTH. YOU MAY NOW LEAVE THE LABYRINTH.


    "Stay with me," Adom stumbled toward the exit, legs threatening to give out. "Keep talking. Your home - what was it like?"


    Bob''s voice came thin. "The crystal forests... never saw anything like ''em..."


    "Yeah?" Another step. His muscles screamed. "Tell me your name again," Adom panted as they crossed the threshold. "The real one."


    "Ah... Cearbhall¨¢n..." Bob''s voice grew fainter. "¨® Dochartaigh..."


    "Family name too?" Adom pressed, fighting the darkness. Each step felt heavier.


    "Clan of the... Midnight Bell..." The leprechaun''s words slurred. "Been ages since... anyone asked..."


    They disappeared into the shadows, Adom still urging his companion to pronounce more impossible syllables as the labyrinth''s light faded behind them.


    </section>

 Good news and Very good news

    Announcement time!


    I have good news and very good news! Let''s start with the very good news: I have officially finished writing Book 1 in its entirety on my end! I''ll be starting Book 2 very soon too. I''m incredibly excited for you all to see what I''ve been preparing, and I really hope it will meet your expectations.


    I''ve taken your feedback into account (thank you so much for that!), and I''ll be implementing those suggestions in the edits, even for the earlier chapters. I''ll also be editing a few things about the system - feel free to give your opinions on it, as they will absolutely be taken into account. Because of these upcoming edits, we''ll have to go back to the once-every-two-days release schedule for a while, but I''m working towards making this a daily release without dropping in quality (which is the tricky part).A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Now for the good news: I have a Patreon now! It''s super recent - like, less than an hour recent - and if any of you want to support the story or read ahead, you''re more than welcome to do so.


    For now, there''s only one tier, which is 5 chapters ahead, but in the coming days, it will become 10 chapters ahead for that tier, and we''ll add a new tier with 15 chapters ahead. This will not only help me stay disciplined with the edits but also allow me to allocate more time to writing the chapters - hopefully making them good enough for you all. The Patreon will also follow the every-two-days update schedule.


    I''ll also be setting up a Discord soon - we''re almost at 4000 now, and I think this calls for a proper little community! Thank you so much for that, by the way. I really, really hope I''ll be able to deliver a story that resonates with both you and me, bringing you entertainment value, fuzzy feelings, the occasional sad moment, and sometimes even making you ponder the meaning of life.

 Chapter 18. Goodness

    Bonds.


    Strange how they form. One moment you''re alone, the next you''re dragging a bleeding leprechaun through darkness, refusing to let him die. Adom only met Bob tonight - or was it today? Time blurred in the labyrinth''s depths.


    To be honest, he hadn''t even liked Bob at first. The nerve of him, claiming Adom was his hallucination. Calling him ''lad'' when Adom had lived through seventy-nine years, even if his body showed twelve. And that wit, sharp as a blade, matching Adom''s own grumpiness step for step.


    Yet here they were.


    A glimmer ahead pulled his attention. Exit? Trap? Bob''s breathing had grown shallow.


    Their night had been madness. Fighting sphinxes, golems, their worst fears - and each time, it was Bob''s face Adom would see first. It wasn''t that ugly of a face, mind you, but definitely not the sort one would want to wake up to. Unless old grumpy leprechaun were one''s taste. No judgment.


    But somehow, without realizing it, Adom had grown fond of the bastard.


    The light grew stronger. Adom adjusted his grip on the leprechaun, ignoring his screaming muscles. One more step. Then another.


    They''d make it. Both of them.


    "Bob!" Adom''s voice echoed in the tunnel. "Don''t close those eyes, no matter what!"


    Bob didn''t answer. His skin had gone from pale to grey, clothes soaked through with blood. The gashes across his chest still oozed, slower now - and that was worse. His eyes stared at nothing, glazed, barely blinking.


    Adom felt warm wetness seeping into his own clothes where he held Bob. Too much blood. Far too much.


    The tunnel''s end burst into white.


    Adom stumbled, blinked. Tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Or rather, what he wasn''t seeing. No walls. No ceiling. No floor. Just endless white in all directions. They stood on... something. Nothing. Both.


    And there, rising before them, a door. Black as pitch, massive enough to swallow a castle. Beside it stood a pedestal of twisted silver, like frozen mercury. On top, a single vial caught light that had no source.


    Bob''s head lolled against Adom''s shoulder. His breathing came in wet gasps now.


    The vastness of the white space pressed in. Wrong. Everything about this place felt wrong. Like reality had simply... stopped.


    Adom''s boots made no sound as he moved forward. The door remained impossibly tall no matter how close they got.


    He pressed two fingers against Bob''s neck. The pulse flickered like a dying candle. Too weak. Too slow.


    Adom approached the door. The symbols carved into it began to shift, flowing like liquid metal, bleeding into each other. Reforming.


    The darkness pulled away from the center, coalescing into a figure - humanoid, featureless, white as the void around them.


    Something snapped in Adom''s mind. All the fear, frustration, and rage of the past hours crystalized into a single moment of pure fury. His free hand clenched into a fist, mana surging through his exhausted body. Enough. Enough of these games, these trials, these manipulations-


    "Welcome."


    The word echoed from everywhere and nowhere. Not one voice, but many - old and young, male and female, all speaking in perfect unison. The sound rippled through the endless white space like waves through water.


    Adom''s attack died before it began. He took an instinctive step back, Bob''s weight suddenly heavier in his arms.


    He knew this type of magic - simulacrum spells, echoes of their creators. Basic ones could repeat phrases, more complex ones could hold simple conversations. At this point, nothing in this labyrinth surprised him anymore. The magic here went beyond anything he''d seen in his seventy-nine years of life - beyond even what existed sixty-seven years in the future.


    Bob''s pulse fluttered under his fingers. Right now, he needed to-


    "Your companion is dying," the figure stated.


    "Who are you?" Adom shifted Bob''s weight, trying to keep him upright. "..Are you Orynth?"


    "We are many," the figure responded. "Orynth was but one of us. At the height of magical understanding, when each discipline reached its peak, we combined our knowledge. Created this place. Just for this moment."


    Adom''s jaw clenched. "If you''re done with your games, we need to leave. I don''t have time for-"


    "Time," the figure interrupted him. "Yes. You are running short of it. We are glad you survived the trials." Its featureless face turned toward Bob. "What you experienced here was... necessary."


    Adom''s blood ran cold. He stared at the figure. "Do you know me? Do I know you?"


    "Hmm," the collective voices hummed thoughtfully. "A boy with a man''s mind. Isn''t that what you are?"


    Adom flinched at the words.


    "Do not be afraid," the figure said, its tone oddly gentle. "We are not your enemy."


    "Funny," Adom bit out. "Friends don''t typically force people through what you put me through."


    "We are not your friends either," the figure replied simply. "Merely, hopefully, allies."


    "What does that mean?"


    "Divination shows possibilities. Countless branches of time, of choices. In some, we meet. In others, we don''t. This encounter, here and now, is just one thread among trillions."


    "And what usually happens?" Adom asked, shifting Bob''s weight. "When we meet?"


    "We do not know exactly," the figure admitted. "The future branches too widely, too wildly, for such precision. We only know that in this moment, in this possibility, you needed to be ready."


    Before Adom could press further, the figure raised its arm, pointing to the vial. "This is the Elixir of Rebirth. It will heal your friend''s wounds completely. Within minutes."


    Adom narrowed his eyes, using [Identify]. The system''s response made his breath catch. SSS-rank. The figure wasn''t lying. An artifact that powerful could-


    Bob''s pulse skipped under his fingers. Then skipped again.


    Adom reached for the vial, fingers trembling slightly. It was so tiny, barely containing one drop. That''s all it would take. "Open your mouth, Bob, yo-"


    "Wait."


    His hand froze mid-motion. There it was. The catch. There was always a catch with these bastards.


    "What?"


    "You could indeed give this to your friend. It would heal his wounds, save his life." The figure''s voice rippled through the void. "Or... you could use it on yourself."


    Adom clicked his tongue. "He needs it more than-"


    "It could heal your illness right away."


    His head snapped up, heart stopping. The vial nearly slipped from his fingers.


    Two months. The symptoms wouldn''t even start for another two months. No one in this timeline should know about it. Not a soul. Let alone some echo of a few dead mages from centuries past. The realization that they had known about him, peered into his future, his private moments, his inevitable decline... it made his skin crawl.


    Bob''s weight seemed heavier suddenly. His breathing more shallow. Or was that Adom''s imagination?


    "You have a choice," it continued, as if it hadn''t just violated every boundary of his existence. "Save yourself - you need it. Or save him... and risk experiencing that powerlessness again."


    Adom''s hand moved to uncork the vial, tilting it toward Bob''s lips-


    "Are you certain?" the figure asked, its collective voices rippling with something almost like concern. "This elixir... you are unlikely to encounter its like ever again. The choice you make here cannot be undone."


    His hand tightened around the vial. Bob''s pulse fluttered weakly against his shoulder - one, maybe two minutes left. No hospital could help now, not with injuries like these.


    Cisco''s delivery was due in a month. But deliveries got delayed. Ships sank. Caravans were raided. Accidents happened. And even if it arrived... the cure wasn''t simple. Weeks of precise dilution, careful alchemical processes that could go wrong at any step. One mistake and...


    He looked at Bob''s face, grey and still.


    Honestly, what did he really know about him? A stranger he''d met hours ago. Grumpy, sarcastic, irritating Bob. Who''d saved his life two, maybe three times tonight. Who''d thrown himself between Adom and that last golem...


    But this was his life. His. He''d already lived through that hell once - the weakness, the pain, watching his body betray him day by day. Unable to live the way a human is supposed to. Lying there, useless, powerless...


    He''d killed himself once because of that illness.


    It could be so simple. Take the vial. Walk away. Sure, Bob''s death would haunt him for a while, but he''d be alive. Healthy. Safe.


    His fingers traced the vial''s stopper. Just one quick motion...


    Bob''s breathing hitched, a wet, rattling sound.


    The vial felt cold in his hand. Cold. Like that day, sitting at the kitchen table, a cold glass of milk in hand, sunlight streaming through the windows. He was eight, mind buzzing with the day''s ethics lesson.


    "Mother," he''d asked, watching Maria chop vegetables for dinner. Carrots, he hated carrots. " Damus and I were talking about something the mistress asked today. If there was a train coming, and you had to choose... would you save one person you love, or five strangers?"


    She''d chuckled, knife pausing mid-slice. "What kind of things are they teaching you at that school?"


    At first, he¡¯d expected her to laugh it off or give the kind of simple answer the mistress at school had wanted. But then her smile faded, replaced by that thoughtful look he knew so well.


    "...I would save the strangers."


    "Really?!" He''d straightened in his chair. "Even if that person was me?"


    The knife had clattered to the cutting board. Next thing Adom knew, she was kneeling before him, pulling him into a fierce hug. Her hands, calloused from years of herb-gathering, cradled his face.


    "Oh, Adom." Her eyes met his, warm and certain. ¡°The hardest choices in life aren¡¯t about picking what¡¯s right or wrong. That¡¯s usually pretty clear. What¡¯s hard is choosing what¡¯s right when it costs you something. When it feels like you¡¯re fighting yourself.¡±


    Her thumbs brushed his cheeks. ¡°Sometimes, you¡¯ll want to do something because it¡¯s easier, or because it makes you feel better in the moment. But easy isn¡¯t always good, Adom. And what feels good right now might hurt you¡ªor others¡ªlater. It might change you into someone you don¡¯t want to be.¡±


    She''d pressed her forehead to his. "If I saved you, knowing others would die, I''d be teaching you that your life matters more than theirs. That love is an excuse for selfishness. And that would poison your soul far worse than death ever could."


    "I''d like to think I raised a good person." She''d taken his cheeks between her hands, squishing them slightly, like she always did. "You will be a good person later, Adom, right? Do you promise?"


    She''d looked at him then, afternoon light catching in her dark hair, that gentle smile he''d see a thousand times more. He hadn''t thought much of it at the time, just another conversation with his mother, but somehow...


    "I promise."


    Two simple words. He couldn''t have known how they''d shape him, how they''d echo through the years. The decades.


    "Aww, look at you!" She''d squished his cheeks harder, laughing. "My kind boy! So serious! So cute!"


    "Mother!" He''d squirmed, trying to escape her grasp. "I''m eight! I''m a man!"


    "Oh yes, yes, of course." She''d released him, still grinning. "Such a grown-up man, my little Adom."


    The memory dissolved. In the endless white space, Bob''s pulse skipped again beneath his fingers.


    Adom smiled, hand moving again. Back then, he''d been so offended. Sulked for days, refusing to talk to her during dinner. What kind of mother would choose strangers over her own son? He''d thought.


    Brat.


    What did it mean to be good, really? Not the simplistic good of fairy tales - helping old ladies cross streets, rescuing cats from trees. But truly good. The kind that costs you something. The kind that hurts.


    Some did good to others for divine reward, parsing holy texts for guidelines on virtue. Others calculated karma like accountants, assuming good deeds would return with interest. The cynics claimed altruism was just clever selfishness - that even sacrifice was about feeling righteous, superior.


    Maybe they were all right. Maybe they were all wrong.


    His mother hadn''t talked about rewards or cosmic balance. She hadn''t mentioned gods or karma or social contracts. She''d spoken of poison - not of the soul being rewarded for goodness, but of it being corrupted by its absence.


    The vial felt heavier now. Was that what goodness was? Not a prize to be won or a ledger to be balanced, but a choice to remain uncorrupted? To stay human in moments that tempted you to be less than human?Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Bob''s chest barely moved. The white void watched, waiting.


    Perhaps that was why it hurt. Pain wasn''t the price of being good - it was the proof you still could be. That you hadn''t surrendered that choice, even when surrendering would be easier.


    The liquid caught the light as it fell from the vial, a single drop of possibility suspended in space. Not because it would bring him reward, or because some cosmic scale demanded it. Simply because, in this moment, this was who Adom chose to be.


    The drop touched Bob''s lips.


    The Leprechaun drew in a deep, shuddering breath, like a drowning man breaking the surface. Color flooded back into his face, the grey tinge dissolving like watercolor in rain. His wounds knitted themselves closed with quiet whispers.


    "So you have chosen your friend."


    "Damn, that''s some fast-acting stuff," Adom muttered, turning the empty vial over in his hands. The craftsmanship alone... the applications for research... He slipped it into his pocket with absolutely zero subtlety. "Could probably learn a thing or two from analyzing this."


    He let out a small huff. "Besides, I can always make my own cure later. No pressure."


    Bob''s breathing had settled into a steady rhythm, his face peaceful. Almost annoyingly peaceful, really. The leprechaun was probably going to be insufferably smug about this whole thing when he woke up.


    "You sure you don''t have any more of that lying around?" Adom asked, still shamelessly patting down his pockets where he''d stashed the empty vial.


    "You pass."


    "...Pass?" Adom''s voice dropped dangerously low. Then erupted. "That was another one of your stupid trials?!"


    "Yes," the figure''s many voices responded simply. "In all the possibilities we glimpsed, none where you chose to take the vial ended well. For you, or for what''s coming."


    "What''s that supposed to mean?"


    "Compassion is a mark of strength in itself. You will need strength, boy. Not just of magic or mind, but of heart." The figure''s featureless face turned toward him. "You chose to remain uncorrupted, even when corruption would have been easier. That matters more than you know."


    Adom pinched the bridge of his nose. Ah, here we go. Another ''chosen one'' story. Just what he needed today.


    He sank to the ground beside Bob''s unconscious form, the white surface beneath him neither warm nor cold, solid yet somehow insubstantial - like sitting on a dream.


    Bob''s chest rose and fell steadily now, color returning to his face. The blood still soaked his clothes, but somehow, his body seemed to be generating more - like watching life itself pour back into him. Adom had seen countless healing spells, but nothing quite like this. Magic. Always magic, twisting everything around them.


    "I have so many questions." His voice came out quieter than intended.


    "And we will answer what we can."


    Adom ran a hand through his hair, trying to organize the chaos in his mind. "Let''s start with why this is happening."


    "Three thousand years ago, Law Borealis had a vision."


    "Law Borealis..." Adom repeated, pieces clicking into place - Orynth''s involvement, the labyrinth, the trials. His throat felt dry. "The farmer mage? This is related to him?"


    "Yes." The figure''s response seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. "Everything is."


    "Explain," Adom said, his eyes fixed on the figure.


    "The farmer mage was like you. He died, and returned to his past after striking a deal."


    Adom''s eyes widened as the shock took hold.


    Law Borealis - the man whose name was whispered in every corner of every realm.


    Stories said he could manipulate Fluid by age five, weave spells by twelve, and best master swordsmen before his voice had deepened. Adom had always dismissed those tales as exaggerations, the kind that sprung up around any legend. But if he''d lived it all before...


    "God, it makes so much sense now."


    "When Law reached the pinnacle of his power," the figure''s voices wove through the void, "his mastery of divination let him peer into what lay ahead. He looked, driven by simple curiosity, to see what would become of the world of men after his passing."


    The figure''s next words seemed to drop the temperature of the endless white space. "All he saw was fire. Blood. Ashes."


    Adom''s hair stood on end, goosebumps racing across his skin. He knew those ashes. Had choked on them in another life, watched them fall like gray snow over the corpses of entire cities.


    "He saw your time, boy. Witnessed the devastation you fled from. And in his desperation to prevent the end of the world he''d worked so hard to save, to protect..." The figure''s many voices grew softer, almost gentle. "He began searching for a solution."


    In the white void, flames of ethereal blue burst into existence, dancing and twisting into shapes. Adom watched, transfixed, as the fire sculpted itself into the figure of a man - tall, broad-shouldered, wearing simple farmer''s clothes.


    "Law tried to act on the elements within his reach," the figure narrated as the blue flames showed the mage working, weaving, planning. "But despite all his power, despite everything he''d accomplished..." The fiery Law aged before Adom''s eyes, hair turning white, shoulders bowing under an invisible weight. "He was still just a man. And men die."


    The flames shifted, multiplied, splitting into countless branching paths that filled the void around them. Each path showed different versions of history unfolding, spinning out in endless variations. "He looked into trillions upon trillions of possibilities, searching for a way to prevent events that would unfold centuries after his death."


    The countless timelines swirled like a storm of blue fire, and in each one, a single figure began to glow brighter than the rest. Adom''s breath caught as he recognized his own silhouette, repeated again and again across the possibilities.


    "In all of them," the figure continued, "across every timeline, every possibility, one person stood out."


    "Me." Adom''s voice was barely a whisper.


    "Yes." The flames converged, forming Adom''s face in brilliant azure light. "You. Adom Sylla."


    "Fate is a strange thing," the figure said as the blue flames shifted and swirled. "There are endless possibilities, countless paths. Each choice you make forges your destiny - it''s all in your hands. But some threads run deeper than others."


    The flames showed Law again, older now, writing in massive tomes. "Unable to reach across millennia to aid you directly, Law decided to prepare for your arrival. The Borealis house has produced hundreds of descendants since his time. Each successor to the duchy was given a sacred task when deemed worthy: to aid you when the time came. To prepare for your arrival."


    "Orynth," Adom breathed.


    "Yes. Orynth Borealis carries Law''s blood in his veins," the figure''s voices resonated as the blue flames shifted, showing a younger Orynth receiving an ancient tome from what Adom assumed to be his father. "Like all before him, he inherited this burden when he proved worthy."


    The flames expanded, filling the void with scenes of a great hall. "During the Third Age''s Golden Era of Magic, Orynth gathered them all." The fiery images showed dozens of figures - Men, elves, dwarves, and so many others. "The greatest mages of every race, every discipline."


    Each figure took shape in the dancing flames - "Master diviners calculating million possible futures," - robed figures surrounded by floating crystals and time-charts - "druids spending years searching for the perfect serpent, its blood carrying the perfect ability, its lifespan long enough to await your arrival, yet not so powerful it would overwhelm you." - others deep in ancient forests, testing countless specimens - "battle mages designing the golem trials," - armored figures sketching complex runic arrays.


    "They worked as one," the figure''s voices grew stronger, "believing in a future they would never see. Believing in you."


    The flames showed them laboring through days and nights, seasons turning to years, some growing old as they worked. "The treasure you discovered was placed to aid your task. Every detail was measured, every possibility weighed. The perfect confluence of challenges and rewards, designed to forge you into what you needed to become."


    The figure''s voice resonated through the void. "We did what we could to ensure the future generations, our descendants, our life''s work would not go to waste. We hope you will make good use of it all."


    Adom sat there in silence.


    How do you even respond to that?


    His first reaction, to be honest, was to reject it all. What right did they have to place a burden like this on him? Why, in all these timelines, was he the one who stood out? He had so many questions, and each one led to other questions - why did Death even strike a deal with him in the first place? Why not another person? What were her motivations?


    "We understand this is a lot to take in. A lot to process," the figure''s voices said softly.


    "Hah." Adom let out a bitter chuckle.


    If Sam was here right now, he''d be jumping everywhere. Going on about how he was an actual hero like the ones in the stories. Complete with the ''chosen one'' narrative and all that. He made it a joke at first, but damn it all. It''s actually becoming true.


    He stared into the void, at the fading traces of blue flame that had just shown him centuries of preparation, all for him.


    "What the fuck?"


    Silence.


    The silence stretched after his outburst until Adom cleared his throat. "That wasn''t directed at you. Just... it''s a lot to take in. Indeed." His tone was completely flat as he ran a hand through his hair. "Just... wow. Colossally fucked, aren''t I? Death really pulled a fast one here. ''Oh, just come back to life, it''ll be fine!'' Yeah, sure. Didn''t mention any of... this."


    "You are not alone," the figure stated.


    "What?"


    "Throughout the years, we established an organization - the Order. They have existed for centuries, waiting to provide you with additional help. They await your arrival."


    "Well, that''s... thoughtful of you. Where are they?"


    "There are many branches across many continents," the figure''s voices explained. "But we can only guarantee the one in Silverkeep."


    "Guarantee?" Adom''s eyebrows rose. "Why''s that?"


    "Despite all our efforts, our divinations showed corruption taking root in many timelines. Even among them, not all can be trusted equally."


    "That''s... great. Really great."


    "The Silverkeep branch has remained most true to their initial values across all possibilities. They have not become political, have not deviated, and will aid you if they identify you as the one they await."


    Adom considered this for a moment. "And where do I find them?"


    "One of them was supposed to be here, in Arkhos, where we determined you would be reborn."


    "And who is this person?"


    "If they have not revealed themselves to you yet, they likely have their reasons. But they surely know you came back." The figure''s voices held a note of certainty. "They probably even welcomed you back."


    Adom frowned, trying to piece together who could be the Order''s agent. Who had he met since coming back? Who had welcomed- A sudden thought struck him, his eyes widening as he completely abandoned that train of thought.


    "Wait! There''s a boy I met. Eren. He has the potential to become the greatest mage in this era - I''ve seen it myself." He leaned forward. "How come it''s me, and not him?"


    The figure was silent for a long moment. Too long.


    Adom tilted his head, ignoring the persistent ache in his body.


    "We... do not know of such a name," the figure''s voices finally responded, "in all the timelines we have encountered..."


    "What?" Adom''s brow furrowed. "But isn''t this the timeline I''m supposed to be in? The one with all this ''chosen one'' business? How could you not know about Eren?"


    "This... appears to be a new timeline. One that was not supposed to happen."


    "I figured as much. In my previous timeline, Eren wasn''t known either, and-"


    "You must kill him."


    Adom went completely still. The words hung in the air, heavy and cold. He didn''t move, didn''t breathe, just stood there as the silence stretched.


    "...what?"


    "Of all the timelines we have seen - millions upon millions of them - there was never a boy with that name and the potential you describe." The figure''s voices grew urgent. "Perhaps this escaped our sight, but the safest course of action is clear. He is an anomaly. His very existence makes the future more unpredictable than it has ever been. If he lives..." The voices merged into one. "You may fail. Everything we have worked for, everything we have prepared - it could all collapse. The safest route is to eliminate the variable."


    Adom rose slowly, his voice carrying a dangerous edge. "What if I refuse? What are you going to do?"


    "Our primary role is to aid you," the figure''s voices replied evenly. "This suggestion was merely advice. We cannot force your hand if you refuse." The voices softened. "We have nearly fulfilled our role here. You have passed the trial of compassion, as our weavers instructed-"


    Something emerged from the white ground, rising smoothly - a grimoire. It hung in the air before drifting toward Adom, who grabbed it with wary hands. On its cover were inscribed runes: ???????? ?? ??? ?????????? ?????


    He couldn''t make sense of the script. Opening it revealed nothing but empty pages. When he used [Identify], the spell only returned [???] - which was odd.


    He looked up at the figure. "What is this?"


    "We do not know," the voices responded. "It was written by Law, for you. It was written for you, and now finds itself in the hands of its owner."


    Something cold settled in Adom''s stomach.


    "The time draws short," the figure said suddenly. "The mana sustaining this spell approaches its limit."


    "Wait- I have questions-" Adom stepped forward, panic rising in his voice.


    "The treasure will remain in the cave, where it was placed for you. As will everything else." The figure began to dissolve, fragments of light peeling away like autumn leaves. "We have fulfilled our task..."


    "No, wait!" Adom lunged forward, trying to grab the dispersing form. The figure split, multiplying into dozens of distinct forms - men and women of different ages and appearances, all circling him. Their faces were clear now - scholars, warriors, mages from different eras, all looking at him with the same intensity. These were them - the ones who had orchestrated everything, who had waited centuries for this moment.


    "Good fortune," they spoke in unison, all smiling at him, all having what looked like hope in their eyes.


    "Wait!" Adom''s eyes locked onto one face he thought belonged to Orynth. He reached out desperately. "Please, just-"


    But his hand passed through empty air as the figures dissolved into motes of light, scattering like stars before fading completely, leaving him alone in the white void with nothing but a mysterious grimoire and far too many questions.


    For a moment, Adom''s jaw clenched, anger rising like a tide. He wanted to grab the figure, shake answers out of it, demand explanations for everything that had happened since that day on the beach. But... what would be the point? You couldn''t bully information out of a spell.


    He picked up the book instead.


    He hadn''t been chosen by chance that day on the beach. He had a task - colossal, impossible, but a task nonetheless. That wasn''t news. What was news was this: this world was old, older than he''d imagined, and there were people who''d known things, seen things, planned things long before he''d ever drawn breath.


    That thought bothered him.


    Bob stirred, a small groan escaping his lips. His eyelids fluttered, consciousness seeping back slowly. The leprechaun blinked a few times, confusion written across his features as he tried to make sense of the endless white space.


    "You missed all the fun," Adom said drily.


    "Lad...?" Bob gasped suddenly, patting himself down frantically. "I- I was... how''m I...?" His hands found the places where wounds should have been, where blood should have stained.


    His eyes darted around, then back to Adom standing there.


    Adom opened his mouth. "Glad you''re sa¡ª"


    "Oh, blast it all," Bob''s face crumpled with grief. "You died too, laddie? Or are you just a hallucination?"


    "For fu¡ª I''M NOT DEAD!" Adom snapped, the burst of irritation completely disproportionate to the situation. "And I''m not a hallucination! How many times will I have to tell you?!"


    *****


    Adom explained what had transpired - the choice, the vial, the trial. He left out anything about regression, sticking to the immediate events. Bob listened intently, occasionally nodding, his eyes distant.


    The leprechaun looked at Adom for a long moment, then mumbled something under his breath.


    "What was that?"


    "Ah, just some old leprechaun gibberish, lad." Bob waved his hand dismissively. "I... thank you. For saving me life back there. For getting us through these blasted trials."


    "It was nothing," Adom shrugged, suddenly finding the infinite white space fascinating.


    Silence stretched between them, comfortable but heavy with unspoken thoughts.


    "By the way," Adom finally said, "I''ve been meaning to ask. How did you end up here? What happened between you and Orynth?"


    Bob''s face fell, age lines deepening around his eyes. "We used to be friends."


    "Then... why were you in the labyrinth? Last time I asked, you wouldn''t say, but..."


    "Because I betrayed him." Bob''s voice was soft. "And was punished for it."


    "What happened?"


    Bob''s eyes crinkled with a sad smile. "I like you, lad. I really do. But you''re asking too many questions." He tilted his head. "Besides, I still don''t understand how you knew about time travel, seeing as the sphinx detected no lies. Tell me that story, and I''ll tell you mine."


    "Let''s get out of here." Adom turned toward the door immediately.


    "Aye, that''s what I thought." Bob said, laughing.


    They heaved the massive door open together. As it swung wide, white mist poured through the opening, swirling around their feet. The void beyond seemed to stretch and twist, reality bending like light through water. Adom felt a strange tugging sensation, as if the world itself was being pulled inside out.


    "Ah, here we go," Bob muttered, swaying slightly. "Brace yourself, lad. These transitions can be a bit¡ª"


    The white space fractured like breaking glass. Colors rushed in from all sides - the deep blue of early morning sky, the purple-pink blush of dawn, the earthen browns of the cave mouth. The sudden assault of sensations was dizzying - wind on skin, the scent of dew-dampened grass, birdsong cutting through the silence.


    Adom stumbled, his hand finding the rough cave wall for support. His stomach lurched as if he''d just stepped off a spinning carousel. Beside him, Bob didn''t look much better, though the leprechaun was already straightening up, rolling his shoulders experimentally.


    "Sweet mother of mercy," Bob breathed, touching his chest where the fatal wounds had been. "That elixir of yours... I''ve never felt anything like it. Every limb of my body feels like it''s singing." He flexed his fingers, watching them move with wonder. "If I were you, lad, I''d have taken it myself without a second thought. You''ve got too good a heart for your own good."


    "Bob¡ª"


    "No, I mean it." The leprechaun''s eyes were serious now. "Good-hearted people can be proper idiots sometimes, rushing about, sacrificing themselves..." He shook his head, but there was warmth in his voice. "But I''m grateful you''re that kind of idiot. Don''t think I''ll ever stop being grateful."


    Adom''s first thought was that there was no way he''d make it to classes today, let alone training.


    A chuckle escaped him then - funny how he was already so accustomed to his new life that classes were his first concern after everything that had happened. He drew in a deep breath of morning air, savoring the freshness, the life in it. He hadn''t realized how much he''d missed it until now.


    As he exhaled, watching the sun climb over the horizon, he turned to Bob. "So, what are you planning to do now that you''re free?"


    "Well," the leprechaun stretched, his joints popping, "me magic was dampened in that cursed place and I can feel it returning. Think it''s time I paid me family a visit."


    "That''s a great¡ª"


    Before he could finish, Bob pressed something into his palm - a small whistle, intricately carved with symbols that seemed to shift when you weren''t looking directly at them.


    "This is goodbye, laddie, but not farewell." Bob''s eyes crinkled. "I''ll come visit once I''ve sorted through everything. A few centuries away gives you quite the to-do list, after all."


    "Oh, I totally understand," Adom laughed, examining the whistle. "What''s this for?"


    "Blow it if you ever need me before I return." Bob''s hand shot out as Adom raised the whistle to his lips. "Just¡ª !"


    Adom froze.


    "Just for emergencies, lad. This isn''t a toy."


    "Sure, sure," Adom grinned, tucking the whistle into his pocket alongside the empty vial.


    Bob turned to face the sunrise fully, his eyes drinking in the light like a man dying of thirst. His fingers trembled as he reached toward the sky, as if trying to touch the sun itself. After centuries in darkness, even the smallest ray must feel like a miracle.


    "Take care, lad."


    "You too, Bob."


    "That''s not me name, you know."


    Adom chuckled, still watching the sunrise.


    There was a sound like bells chiming underwater, a shimmer of green and gold, and when Adom looked back, Bob was gone - in true leprechaun fashion, leaving nothing but the faintest scent of clover in the morning air.


    Adom looked down at the winding path leading back to the academy. "Well," he sighed, already feeling the weight of exhaustion settling deeper into his bones, "I need to sleep."

 Chapter 19. (Trying To) Move On

    "Is he breathing properly?"


    "I think he is."


    "Damn. He looks better without his glasses."


    "I think so too."


    "Shh, he needs some rest, guys."


    "Poor thing must be exhausted."


    "Did anyone tell Headmaster Meris?"


    "Sam''s handling that."


    "Has he moved at all since they brought him in?"


    "Just mumbling sometimes. Something about a labyrinth."


    "And leprechauns."


    "I think he cursed death for some reason."


    "Fever dreams, probably."


    "Let him rest. Come on, let''s give him some space."


    "Someone should stay though."


    "I''ll take first watch."


    "Wake me for second."


    The door opened.


    "Out! All of you muscle-brains, OUT!" Miss Thornheart''s voice cut through the room like a thunder spell. "The boy needs rest, not an audience! He has severe fatigue, not a performance slot!"


    "But Miss," Diana''s voice cracked with emotion, "he felt so weak that he went hunting just to prove to us he was strong. How admirable..."


    That''s not what happened at all, Adom thought, maintaining his perfectly crafted fake sleep-breathing rhythm.


    "I know, right?" Hugo''s glasses clinked as he nodded. "Pushing himself so hard... reminds me of when I first started. Remember when I tried to lift that enchanted boulder?"


    "The determination..." Phil whispered reverently.


    "The spirit..." Harry added.


    "The complete disregard for personal safety..." Petra finished.


    Adom fought the urge to frown. They''d constructed an entire narrative in their heads and were now fully committed to it.


    Miss Thornheart let out a long-suffering sigh. "You can all admire his supposed heroics when he''s discharged. Now, out!"


    "Yes, Miss Thornheart..." they chorused, shuffling towards the door.


    "Thank you for taking care of him," Hugo said earnestly.


    The club members shuffled out, murmuring promises to return with potions and fruits.


    Adom cracked one eye open slightly - and immediately regretted it. Biscuit, Miss Thornheart''s perpetually excited Sunhound, was staring right at him, tail beginning to wag. He snapped his eye shut, but could feel the dog''s breath getting closer.


    Don''t bark. Don''t bark. Don''t bark.


    "Biscuit. Come here, you silly thing," Miss Thornheart called.


    The padding of paws moved away, and Adom heard the infirmary door finally close.


    Miss Thornheart''s long-suffering sigh followed them out.


    After they left, Adom heard her mutter, "Biscuit, you almost gave him away." A pause. "And you, young man, can stop pretending to sleep now."


    Biscuit''s tail thumped against the floor in agreement.


    Adom groaned, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "Sorry about that, Miss Thornheart."


    "Well," she said, adjusting a potion bottle on the bedside table, "I suppose playing dead was easier than explaining to that lot that you weren''t actually wrestling bears in the forest to prove your worth."


    Biscuit waddled over and plopped his head on Adom''s lap, drool already forming a small puddle on the white sheets.


    "They''re good kids," Adom sighed, absently scratching behind the dog''s ears. "They just have a... unique way of showing it. I think."


    "Unique is one word for it," Miss Thornheart snorted. "Last month they tried to sneak in an entire weight rack because one of their members had a cold. Said something about ''gains waiting for no virus.''"


    "I can only imagine," Adom muttered, stroking Biscuit.


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    Biscuit shifted his weight, making the bed creak as he tried to climb further onto Adom''s lap, despite being far too large for such an endeavor.


    "Biscuit, manners," Miss Thornheart scolded. "Here, drink this. It''ll help with the fatigue."


    Adom accepted the cup, eyeing the viscous liquid dubiously. "What is it?"


    "Nothing as exciting as whatever heroic quest your club members have invented for you," she replied dryly. "Just a simple restorative. Though I''m sure they''d prefer to believe it''s distilled Troll blood or something equally dramatic."


    "Don''t even joke about that," Adom muttered under his breath, then quickly downed the potion.


    The potion tasted like chocolate-flavored mud with an undertone of something oddly spicy - not entirely unpleasant, but definitely medicinal.


    "Anyway," Miss Thornheart said as he drank, watching him with sharp eyes, "what exactly did you get yourself into? There''s no beast on this island capable of doing... this," she gestured at his general state of exhaustion, "to a second year of this school."


    Adom finished the last drop, suppressing a shiver as warmth spread through his limbs. "I wasn''t careful enough. Went there already tired."


    Miss Thornheart retrieved the cup, her hand lingering in the air for a moment. "So... it really was hunting?" Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Are you sure?"


    Adom gave her his most genuine smile, the one that usually worked on most teachers. "One hundred percent."


    "Hmm." The word hung in the air like a particularly stubborn cloud. She tucked the cup away in her apron pocket with deliberate slowness, her expression suggesting she''d rather believe Biscuit had suddenly developed the ability to do advanced arithmetic.


    "Well then," she said finally, straightening her apron with practiced precision, "you''ll be excused from classes for the next few days. Hunting hazards are, after all, among our valid absence reasons."


    "Thank you, Miss Thornheart."


    "Just..." she paused at the door, Biscuit reluctantly trailing after her, "do try to be more careful with your... hunting next time."


    "Woof!"


    "Goodbye, Biscuit!" Adom waved.


    Once alone, he let out a deep sigh and sank back into the infirmary bed. The events of the past day played through his mind like a poorly rehearsed theater performance. Two hours of walking back to Xerkes, his legs feeling heavier with each step, the buildings of the city finally appearing like a mirage in the distance.


    Then... nothing. Just the vague memory of stones rushing up to meet him, and concerned voices floating around his head.


    They''d sent word to his parents - well, to his mother, at least. Father was probably halfway across the empire by now, doing whatever it was that Imperial Knights did when they disappeared for months at a time. He remebered he had a mission at the Twin Peaks at this time. Mother, though... she''d probably come from Kati, no doubt about it.


    Trust him to finally get a visit from her by practically collapsing in the middle of the street.


    A wry smile crossed his face as he stared at the infirmary ceiling. Communication crystals. That would be his next project - assuming he could figure out how to extend their range beyond the current pathetic distance.


    It was almost funny how such a basic concept hadn''t been properly developed yet. Sure, there were some prototypes floating around, but they were about as reliable as trying to train a cat to deliver messages.


    Adom lazily opened his status window, the familiar blue interface materializing before his eyes:


    [Name: Adom Sylla]


    [Level 6]


    [Race: Human]


    [Class: Mage]


    [Mana Pool: 197/600]


    [Life Force: 134/225]


    [Active Skills] (4/10)


    [Mana Manipulation] (Magic) Lvl 408


    [Boxing Mastery] (Common) Lvl 1


    [Fluid Control] (Uncommon) Lvl 1


    [Passive Skills] (3/10)


    [Indomitable Will] (Transcendent) Lvl 1


    [White Wyrm''s Body] (Rare) Lvl 2


    [Spiteful Fighting Spirit] (Rare) Lvl 1


    [Unique Skills]


    Identify


    [Merged Skills] (0/10)


    [Physical Condition: Fatigued*]


    [Active Quest]


    [The Race Against Time]


    Find a cure for Lifedrain Syndrome before symptoms manifest


    Time Limit: 2 months, 16 days, 10 hours, 37 minutes


    Adom glanced at the quest timer in his status window: [2 months, 16 days, 10 hours, 37 minutes]. "Heh." The sound wasn''t quite a laugh, wasn''t quite a sigh.


    He reached into his inventory and pulled out the empty vial. When he uncorked it, he caught a faint but distinct scent - strange and complex, like herbs and something metallic, with an undertone he couldn''t quite place. Sweet? No, not exactly. Whatever it was, the smell was barely there, just molecules clinging to the glass.


    He held the vial closer to his nose, trying to capture every nuance. Somewhere in those lingering molecules lay the key to its recreation - theoretically. But theory and practice were entirely different beasts, especially in alchemy.


    Creating a formula from residual molecules was like trying to rebuild a castle after it had crumbled to dust. You might have all the basic components there, but understanding how they originally fit together was another matter entirely.


    The precise timing of each reaction, the exact temperature at each stage, the specific stirring patterns - none of these left their mark on the final product''s molecular structure.


    Worse still, alchemical processes weren''t just about physical and chemical reactions. They involved mana flows and magical catalysts. Those ephemeral aspects left no trace in the remaining molecules, like trying to determine a dancer''s choreography by looking at their footprints in the sand.


    But Adom found himself smiling anyway. After all, the impossible just meant nobody had done it yet. And he had something most alchemists didn''t - a desperate need to succeed.


    Wait. Actually, most alchemists had that. It was probably why there were so little mages specialized in the field.


    That, and the fact that many of them were notorious criminals. If Adom remembered correctly, 37% of all deviant mages were alchemists. He''d heard of one father who merged his own daughter and dog together, trying to create the perfect chimera. He was executed for his transgression.


    But still. Desperation. That was the key word here.


    Adom slipped the empty vial back into his inventory. He''d have to speak with Professor Mirwen about this - though explaining why he needed help recreating an Elixir of Rebirth without revealing why would be... interesting. Still, she was probably the best option.


    His thoughts drifted to his labyrinth loot.


    Among the various items, what really caught his attention was the monocle he''d found near the Sphinx''s remains. He pulled it out carefully, turning it over in his hands.


    [Riddler''s bane]


    He held it up to his eye, peering through the pristine lens. For a brief moment, the world seemed to shift, like text overlaying reality, before the magic settled into a gentle hum.


    "Knowledge," he muttered. "The Sphinx was all about knowledge."


    He studied the monocle thoughtfully. The design was elegant but impractical for regular use. Perhaps he could have it integrated into a proper pair of glasses? That would be far more convenient, and less conspicuous than walking around with a monocle like some noble gentleman.


    He carefully wrapped it in a soft cloth before storing it away in the inventory.


    Adom stretched as his mind wandered to his more pressing tasks. The golem in his inventory needed studying. Speaking of inventory, he should tweak the ring a bit more. Then there was the book of Law, the mysterious person from the Order. Ah, he also needed to see the Headmaster about Eren''s sponsorship, and somehow get closer to Professor Kim without seeming too obvious about it.


    Hmm. Maybe he should take a week like he said the last time. These could wait.


    Maybe he could-


    The infirmary door creaked open, interrupting his thoughts.


    "Oh, you''re awake!" Sam stood in the doorway, arms full of fruits, his round glasses slightly askew. He pointed at Adom with his elbow, trying not to drop his load.


    "Hey Sam," Adom smiled at his friend''s familiar awkwardness.


    Sam shuffled in, depositing his burden on the bedside table. "The whole school''s talking about you again, you know. They''re saying all sorts of things."


    Adom couldn''t help but laugh. "What sort of things?"


    "Well," Sam adjusted his glasses, clearly excited to share the gossip, "some say you fought a monster. Others swear it was three monsters. And I heard one first-year claiming you wrestled a bear, but nobody''s believing that one, thankfully."


    Adom chuckled. If only he knew... "People have active imaginations."


    "Oh!" Sam jumped slightly, as if shocked by his own forgetfulness. "I brought you fruits!" He gestured at his earlier delivery - apples, oranges, and what looked like a bunch of purple berries that were probably from the school''s greenhouse.


    "Thanks, Sam." Adom grabbed an apple, biting into it. He hadn''t realized how hungry he was.


    They ate in silence for a moment before Sam''s expression turned serious, his earlier excitement fading. "Hey... are you really planning to become a battle mage instead of a runicologist?"


    Adom paused mid-bite. "Been thinking about it. Yeah, probably will."


    Sam nodded slowly, picking at a berry. "You''ve changed so fast lately, I barely had time to adjust." He looked up. "You said you were going to see Mr. Biggins yesterday. I''m assuming he didn''t beat you up?"


    "Honestly?" Adom let out a dry laugh. "I wish it was that simple."


    "Look," Sam set down his fruit, "I respect that you''ve made your choice and want to stick by it. But there won''t be much of a choice left to make if you die trying to do... whatever it is you''re trying to do." He met Adom''s eyes. "If you want to talk about what''s suddenly going on with you - well, I''m your best friend. You can tell me."If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    He paused, then furrowed his brow. "Wait. This isn''t one of those situations where you think you''re your best friend''s best friend, but you''re not, is it?"


    Adom chuckled despite himself. "No, you idiot. You''re my best friend too."


    "Oh, okay. Just making sure." Sam popped another berry in his mouth, then grimaced at its tartness. "These are not as ripe as they look."


    "You know what I could really go for?" Adom sat up straighter. "Some honey cake."


    "Hmm, honey cake. I like Homer''s."


    "Want to come with me tomorrow?"


    "Sure, but-" Sam''s eyes widened suddenly. "Oh! Speaking of tomorrow - Headmaster Meris wants to see you. Seemed pretty urgent actually. Said if you don''t go to him, he''ll probably come here."


    "Good timing. I needed to see him anyway."


    "Yeah?" Sam raised an eyebrow. "What for?"


    "There''s this kid I want to sponsor."


    "Oh?" Sam leaned forward in his chair. "What''s so special about him?"


    "He''s a two-circle mage."


    Sam laughed, then grabbed another berry. "No, seriously, what''s special about him?"


    Adom just looked at him, a slight smile playing on his lips.


    Sam''s chewing slowed. The smile on his face started to fade as he studied Adom''s expression. "Wait." He swallowed. "You''re serious?"


    "Mhm."


    "You''re bullshitting me."


    "Not even a little bit."


    "A two-circle mage."


    "Yep."


    "A two-circle mage."


    "I''ll introduce you. You''ll see."


    Sam threw a berry at him. "You know what? I don''t even know why I''m surprised anymore by your lies. Next week you''ll probably tell me you found a dragon in the library basement."


    "Don''t be ridiculous," Adom caught the berry. "Dragons prefer towers."


    "I hate you sometimes."


    "No, you don''t."


    "No," Sam sighed, "I really don''t. But I''m starting to think I should."


    *****


    The next day...


    The art of making honey cake was, according to Homer, "quite simple, really." A statement that managed to both overstate and understate the complexity of the process simultaneously. Sure, the basic recipe was straightforward enough: flour, eggs, butter, and, of course, honey. Mix them together, add a pinch of this, a dash of that, bake until golden brown, and voil¨¤ - honey cake.


    Except it wasn''t that simple at all.


    The secret - and many people didn''t know this - lay in the honey itself. Not just any honey would do. No, it had to be honey from bees that fed specifically on the violet-gold blossoms of the Sundarian moonflower. That''s a lot of words. These delicate flowers only grew in patches blessed by fairy dust - or rather, the powder that naturally fell from fairy wings during their morning dances.


    ...Which, when you thought about it, was essentially fairy dandruff.


    Okay. Best not to dwell on that particular detail.


    The resulting honey had a particular shimmer to it, almost like liquid sunlight, and when baked into the cake, it created something that was less a dessert and more of a religious experience.


    Adom lifted a spoonful to his mouth, letting the cake melt on his tongue. His eyes fluttered shut, and a small, involuntary "Mmmmm" escaped his lips as he wiggled slightly in his chair.


    Bliss.


    Sam watched this display with a mixture of amusement and secondhand embarrassment. "I know it''s good," he said, shaking his head, "but why do you have to make it weird?"


    "Been way too long since I had this." Adom took a sip of his orange-cardamom tea, wiggling again at the taste. "Life is so good sometimes."


    "Yeah, I can see that," Sam said dryly, watching his friend''s display of pure culinary joy.


    "Homer, you''ve outdone yourself," Adom called out to the rotund man behind the counter, who was humming contentedly while arranging fresh pastries.


    "Aww, you''re too kind," Homer beamed, his round face flushed with pleasure. He patted his considerable belly. "Quality control is very important in this business, you know."


    Sam glanced around the cozy shop, with its worn wooden tables and perpetual smell of baked goods. "Didn''t you say Eren would join us?"


    "Yeah, left a message with the ravens. If anyone comes asking for him, they''ll direct him to the weird stuff store. That''s where we''re heading after this."


    "You''re still obsessed with that Mr. Biggins thing, aren''t you?"


    "Yeah," Adom said, stirring his tea thoughtfully. "Need to check something."


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    The thing about cryptic messages in magical labyrinths was that they rarely lied. Someone from the Order knew who he was and could help him - that''s what he was told. And out of all the people he''d met since coming back, Mr. Biggins stuck out like a sore thumb that had been deliberately painted neon green and decorated with tiny bells.


    <section>


    Second, there was the mystery. The way he seemed to know things he shouldn''t, say things that made sense only in hindsight. Thinking back, he did tell ''Welcome Back'' to Adom, when he went there after coming back.


    And third - well, who just hands out high-grade elixirs to students and then conveniently disappears? That wasn''t just weird, that was suspicious with a capital ''Sus.''


    </section>


    They finished their desserts, thanking Homer as they left. The baker was already occupied with a fresh batch of doughnuts, humming what sounded suspiciously like a sea shanty while dusting them with sugar.


    The bell above the Weird Stuff Store (yes, that was actually its name, complete with a weathered sign that looked like it had been painted by someone who''d had too much coffee) jingled as they approached. The usual crowd of cats lounged on the windowsill - the orange tabby stretching lazily, a new calico giving them an imperious look, though Adom noticed the black one was absent.


    "I''m telling you," Sam said as they entered, "you''re being dramatic. Mr. Biggins isn''t some evil mastermind. He''s probably just a weird old man who-"


    "Welcome to the-"


    Sam''s mouth snapped shut so fast you could almost hear his teeth click. He suddenly became very interested in a shelf of color-changing quills that had never caught his attention before.


    "Oh hey Emma, how''re you doing?"


    "Hey Adom!" Emma''s bright voice came from behind the counter. "I''m doing good, you?"


    "Can''t complain. How''s the new job treating you?"


    While they chatted, Sam continued his bizarre exploration of the store''s furthest corners, examining items he''d never glanced at twice before - crystal paperweights, self-sorting bookmarks, and was that... a shelf of enchanted sock puppets?


    Best to ignore him.


    "You seem more comfortable here now," Adom noted, watching Emma confidently reorganize a display of mood-sensing bookmarks.


    "Yeah, it''s getting easier," she smiled. "The store''s becoming less of a mystery every day. Though..." she lowered her voice, glancing at a particular shelf, "I''m pretty sure the third shelf is haunted. Things keep moving around when I''m not looking, and sometimes I hear whispers..."


    "And Mr. Biggins?"


    "Still not back." Emma shrugged. "But I think he shouldn''t be away any longer."


    "Tell me..." Adom leaned against the counter. "Is Silverkeep where he traveled to?"


    Emma''s forehead wrinkled in thought. "You know, I don''t think he ever..." She trailed off, looking past him with a puzzled expression.


    Adom frowned and glanced back. Sam was pretending to be deeply fascinated by a collection of singing teacups, though his ears were distinctly pink.


    "Is your friend... alright?" Emma asked, trying and failing to hide an awkward smile.


    Adom caught himself laughing as realization dawned. Of course. They were still teenagers, weren''t they? Well, physically at least. Sam was acting exactly like what he was - a teenage boy trying very hard to look cool (and failing spectacularly) in front of a pretty girl.


    Although... Adom had noticed lately that his adult mind seemed to be gaining ground over his teenage body. The mood swings were easier to control, the hormonal impulses more manageable. Which was, quite frankly, a relief. Being almost 80 and getting flustered around a 12-year-old girl would have been... well, let''s just say "problematic" would be putting it mildly.


    Adom grabbed three frosties. "These too, Emma. One''s for Eren."


    They thanked her and headed out, Sam practically speed-walking through the door.


    "You know," Adom started, while giving treats to the cats, a grin spreading across his face, "for someone who claims to be smooth with-"


    "Dude," Sam burst out suddenly, "introduce me. Please."


    Adom nearly dropped his frostie. "Hold on. You actually like her?"


    "Was that not obvious?"


    "Sam," Adom said, in what he realized was definitely his ''old man giving life advice'' voice, "if you like a girl, you don''t get creepy around them. You either talk to them, or leave. There''s no third option where you lurk around pretending to be interested in..." he squinted back through the window, "singing sock puppets."


    Sam fell silent, staring at Adom with an increasingly bewildered expression. Then, out of nowhere: "Seriously, what the fuck happened to you?"


    "What do you mean?" Adom asked, licking his frostie with exaggerated innocence.


    "Don''t play dumb." Sam jabbed a finger at him. "Two months ago, you were the one getting weird around girls. Now you''re giving dating advice like some... some..."


    "Wise old man?"


    "I was going to say pretentious know-it-all, but yeah, that too." Sam narrowed his eyes. "It''s not just that. You''re different. The way you talk, the way you act... Even the way you eat that frostie is different. You used to inhale them. Now you''re savoring it like it''s some fancy wine."


    "People change-" Adom started, but Sam grabbed his shoulder, making him wince. His muscles were still very sore.


    "Teach me."


    "What?"


    "If you''ve somehow cracked the code on how to not be a complete disaster around girls, teach me. I''m tired of turning into a walking catastrophe every time-"


    "Uhh... Adom?"


    They both turned around. Eren stood there, hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched, watching them with careful eyes. He had that way of appearing silently that came from growing up having to be aware of your surroundings at all times.


    "Eren! Perfect timing." Adom extracted himself from Sam''s grip. "This is Sam, my best friend. Sam, this is Eren."


    "Hey there!" Sam''s entire demeanor shifted to something warmer, more welcoming. "Adom mentioned you''re interested in magic?"


    Eren nodded slightly, accepting the frostie Adom handed him with a quiet "thanks." He studied it for a moment before taking a small, cautious bite.


    "Sam here," Adom said, "is what we call a berd."


    "A what now?" Eren asked, the frostie making his words slightly muffled.


    "A book nerd," Sam explained, rolling his eyes. "It''s what this idiot calls anyone who actually studies instead of running headfirst into trouble."


    "Says the guy who tried to charm his own shoes and ended up stuck to the ceiling for three hours."


    "That was ONE time-"


    "Or when you tried to enchant your quill to take notes for you and it wrote love poems to your sandwich instead?"


    Eren''s lips twitched slightly at that one.


    "At least I didn''t try to use a levitation spell on myself and crash into Mrs. Peterson''s prize-winning petunias," Sam shot back.


    "That was before-" Adom caught himself. "Anyway, Sam knows more about magical theory than anyone else in our year. He could teach you the foundations while I handle the practical stuff."


    "If... if that''s okay," Eren added quietly, glancing at Sam.


    "Are you kidding? Finally, someone who might actually appreciate proper magical theory!" Sam''s enthusiasm was genuine, if a bit overwhelming. "We can start with the basic principles of energy flow, or maybe the way different emotions affect spell shaping, or how to properly visualize the patterns - oh! And the really fascinating bit about how intention shapes magical resonance-"


    "Maybe let him finish his frostie first?" Adom suggested, watching Eren''s eyes grow wider with each technical term.


    "Right, sorry," Sam grinned sheepishly. "I get excited about this stuff. We can start with whatever you''re comfortable with."


    Eren relaxed slightly, taking another bite of his frostie. "Thanks. I''d... I''d like that."


    "Great! Now that that''s settled," Sam turned back to Adom, "you still haven''t explained how you went from ''crashes into flowers'' to ''dispenses ancient wisdom'' in three days."


    "Ancient wisdom? I just told you not to be creepy!"


    "Don''t-"


    "Whoo.Time flies, kids," Adom cut in, checking the position of the sun. "I''ve got that thing with Headmaster Merris today, so I need to run."


    Eren shifted uncomfortably, glancing between them.


    "Hey," Adom said quietly. "Sam''s a good guy. You''ll be comfortable around him in no time. Besides," he grinned, "I wanted my two favorite nerds to know each other anyway."


    "I resent that classification," Sam protested.


    "Sure you do," Adom called over his shoulder as he walked away, leaving the two of them with their frosties.


    *****


    Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.


    Headmaster Meris''s office was exactly what you''d expect from a senior teacher - mahogany desk, green leather chairs, walls lined with bookshelves, and that perpetually ticking clock that seemed determined to make awkward silences even more awkward.


    Tick. Tock.


    Twenty minutes. Just the clock and two students, one fuming, one trying not to smile.


    The morning sun filtered through tall windows, highlighting the dust motes dancing in the air. Perfect weather for a lecture about proper conduct and the importance of maintaining dignity within academy grounds.


    Adom glanced sideways at Damus, who sat with his arms crossed, jaw working like he was chewing on particularly bitter words. It was strange, seeing him like this. As kids, they''d been inseparable. Running through the Lightbringer castle grounds, sharing lunch, planning adventures...


    Come to think of it, Adom had never really had the opportunity to talk to Damus much ever since he returned.


    Well, if they were going to sit here anyway...


    "Sooo," Adom drawled, "that fist technique of yours. Pretty solid."


    Damus''s jaw clenched. "Don''t talk to me."


    Teenagers. Ugh.


    "You know," Adom continued quietly, now watching the dust motes dance in the sunlight, "we never really talked about it. How you just... changed one day. Started pushing me around. What happened there, Damus?"


    The silence stretched. Damus''s jaw worked, but no words came out.


    "No?" Adom nodded slowly. "Alright. Then let me tell you what I think, and we can be done with this."


    He turned in his chair, facing Damus properly. "You disappointed me. Not because you stopped being my friend - people grow apart, it happens. But because you turned into exactly the kind of person we used to make fun of. Remember Lord Carston''s kid? The one who used to push around the servants?"


    Damus''s fingers dug into the armrests.


    "But you know what?" Adom continued, his voice dropping lower. "Your reasons don''t really matter anymore. What matters is this: the next time you try something like last time? I''ll break your jaw." He was relaxed now, almost casual. "That scared kid who let you do whatever you wanted is gone. And he''s not coming back."


    "Is that a threat?" Damus''s voice came out hoarse.


    "I like to think of it as a promise." Adom stretched his legs out. "Leave me alone, Damus. Find someone else to torment. Because this?" He gestured between them. "This is over."


    The clock kept ticking. Outside, students walked past the window, their shadows briefly darkening the room.


    "How..." Damus finally spoke, his voice uncertain. "How did you change like this?"


    "People change," Adom said simply. That was the perfect excuse for a regressor, really. "Especially when you bully them every time you''re bored." He smiled, but there was nothing friendly about it. "Funny how that works, isn''t it?"


    The thing about childhood trauma is how it lingers, seeping into the cracks of your adult life when you least expect it.


    In Adom''s first life, this moment - this conversation - never happened. The resentment festered, quiet and constant, even decades later when they both wore different titles. Damus, the legendary Sword Saint, defender of the realm. Adom, the brilliant but sickly magical researcher.


    Two successful men who could never quite look each other in the eye at state functions.


    Funny how time changes perspective. Seventy-nine years of life had taught Adom that sometimes closure doesn''t come with grand gestures or dramatic confrontations. Sometimes it''s just sitting in an office with morning sunlight streaming through the windows, finally saying the words you should have said decades ago.


    The weight of it all - the humiliation, the anger, the betrayal - seemed lighter now, dissolving like those dust motes dancing in the air.


    It wouldn''t fix everything, of course. Damus would still be Damus, and old habits die hard. But the rules had changed, and they both knew it. No more cornering in empty corridors, no more casual cruelty disguised as noble privilege. Just two people who used to be friends, now carefully maintaining their distance.


    The door opened with a soft creak, and Headmaster Meris''s boots clicked against the wooden floor. Time to face the music about proper conduct and maintaining dignity within academy grounds. Adom almost wanted to laugh - he''d already had his most dignified moment of the day.


    "Adom, my boy! And young Damus!" The voice was warm and scratchy, like well-worn leather. Both boys rose automatically.


    Headmaster Meris was barely visible behind the stack of scrolls he was carrying, his wild gray hair sticking out at odd angles around the parchments. He bumped into his desk twice before managing to deposit his load, sending a cascade of loose papers floating to the ground.


    He ignored them completely, instead attempting to scale his oversized chair. His first try ended with him sliding back down, his feet dangling for a moment.


    "Ha! They really make these chairs too tall these days," he said, adjusting his vest with dignified nonchalance. "Must be all those giants joining the faculty."


    Adom and Damus exchanged a quick glance, their mutual discomfort momentarily overshadowed by the shared experience of watching their respected mentor struggle with furniture. Their polite smiles weren''t entirely fake.


    On his second attempt, the Headmaster managed to scramble up, though several more papers went flying in the process. He settled into place, his feet nowhere near touching the ground, and finally Adom could properly see him.


    Headmaster Meris looked exactly as he always did - like someone had taken a brilliant researcher and shrunk him in the wash. His beard was as unruly as his hair, both shot through with gray that seemed to have appeared overnight sometime in the past decade.


    His eyes, though, were sharp and clear behind his round spectacles, carrying that particular gleam that appeared whenever he was working through a particularly fascinating problem.


    Adom felt the familiar surge of admiration he''d had since his fourth year, when he''d first started studying under the man who''d revolutionized modern runecology. The Headmaster''s office walls were covered in awards and commendations, most of them gathering dust while their owner focused on his latest research instead.


    Headmaster Meris gestured at the chairs in front of his desk, his silver rings catching the light. "Sit down, sit down, my boys. We have quite a bit to discuss."


    The Headmaster tapped his fingers on the desk, a rhythmic pattern that Adom recognized from countless research sessions. It always meant the Headmaster was organizing his thoughts.


    "Thank you, sir," Adom said, settling into his chair. Damus followed suit, his movements stiff.


    "Now then," Meris began, leaning forward slightly, "I heard some rather interesting news a few days ago. Something about two of our brightest students deciding to redecorate the west wing with spells and blood." His tone was light, but his eyes were keenly focused on both of them. "Would either of you care to elaborate?"


    "That''s correct, Professor," Adom said. Damus remained silent, his jaw clenched.


    "I see." Meris stroked his beard thoughtfully. "You know, when I was appointed to oversee this academy''s matters, I made a promise to myself. I told myself I would never be the kind of administrator who sees students as problems to be solved." He picked up a crystal paperweight, turning it in his hands. "But I find myself quite concerned when two young men with your potential resort to throwing spells in the hallways."


    He set the paperweight down with a gentle click. "The rules about dueling aren''t arbitrary, my boys. They exist because every year, some brilliant young mage thinks they can control more power than they''re ready for. And every year, we have to explain to parents why their child is in the infirmary."


    Adom felt heat rise to his face. Was there a need to talk about the bullying? He wondered. Beside him, Damus shifted uncomfortably.


    "Do you understand what I''m saying?" Meris asked, looking at them both in turn.


    "Yes, sir," they mumbled in unison.


    "Excellent!" Meris clapped his hands together, his whole face lighting up with a smile that made Adom''s stomach drop. "Then you''ll be happy to know I''ve arranged for you both to spend some quality time together."


    Both boys'' heads snapped up.


    "Oh come now," Meris laughed. "Did you think this would end with a simple scolding? No, no, my boys. I believe in practical solutions." He rubbed his hands together, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "And I have just the thing in mind."


    Adom was curious. Uneasy, but perplexed.


    "I see you''ve joined quite an interesting club, Adom my boy."


    Adom slumped in his chair. "...oh no."


    "What?" Damus turned to look at him, confusion clear on his face.


    "Now, now, don''t make such faces," Meris chuckled, bouncing slightly in his oversized chair. "And young Damus, you''re not in any clubs yet, are you?"


    "No, sir," Damus straightened his spine. "I''ve been focusing on my swordsmanship."


    "A noble pursuit indeed!" Meris stroked his beard. "Though, as you know, the Swordsmanship club doesn''t accept second-years..." His grin widened. "Which is why I thought you might join young Adom in his club."


    "Professor, with all due respect," Damus said stiffly, "I''m not interested in spending my time with books-"


    "Oh!" Meris''s eyes lit up. "But who said anything about books?" He turned toward the door. "Hugo, my boy! You can come in now!"


    The door opened, and Adom felt his stomach drop as Hugo ducked to fit his massive frame through the doorway. The sixth-year adjusted his glasses, his muscles rippling under his uniform as he moved.


    "Young Damus," Professor Meris gestured grandly, nearly falling off his chair in the process, "meet Hugo, president of the Combat Athletics Club. I believe you two will have quite a lot to discuss."


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    Adom stared blankly at the wall behind Professor Meris''s head. Next to him, Damus''s knuckles went white against the armrests of his chair.


    Hugo''s broad smile did nothing to ease the tension. Damus protested, of course - vehemently. But Headmaster Meris had that particular gleam in his eyes that meant his mind was made up, and no amount of "but sir" or "my father will hear about this" would change it.


    Adom found himself fighting back a smile. He hated the the idea but watching Damus squirm made it almost worthwhile. It was petty, really, and probably proved his immature side was still very much alive and kicking. Unfortunately.


    After a few more minutes of Hugo explaining the club''s schedule and Damus looking increasingly horrified, Meris finally started wrapping things up.


    "Actually, sir," Adom said, just as they were about to leave. "There''s something I''d like to talk to you about."


    Damus''s head snapped toward him, eyes wide with what looked suspiciously like fear. Probably thinking Adom was about to report the bullying.


    "Privately, if possible."


    "Of course, my boy," Meris nodded. "Hugo, young Damus, if you wouldn''t mind..."


    Once the door closed behind them, Meris settled back in his chair. "Now then, what''s troubling you? And speaking of troubles - where are your eyeglasses? I heard you got into quite a situation during that hunting expedition..."


    "Just a small mistake," Adom waved it off. "Won''t happen again."


    "I should hope not." Meris leaned forward, fingers steepled. "What''s on your mind?"


    Adom took a deep breath. "It''s about a boy I''d like to sponsor."


    The Headmaster''s eyebrows rose, disappearing into his wild gray hair.

 Chapter 20. Fulfilling Elderly Duties

    "I can''t."


    "Yes, you can. You''re not visualizing the weave properly." Adom leaned back in his chair, feet propped up on the practice room table in clear violation of at least three academy rules.


    "I am! Look - threads of mana, geometric patterns, all that stuff. Nothing''s happening."


    "Because you''re trying to force them into existence, Eren. They already exist. You just need to¡ª"


    "If you say ''focus'' one more time..."


    "I was going to say ''see them,'' actually. But now that you mention it, focusing wouldn''t hurt." Adom tilted his head, watching another failed attempt scatter golden sparks across the worn wooden table. "Though I have to admit, you''re very consistent at failing. Same exact fizzle every time. It''s almost impressive."


    "I do not like you, Adom. Like, at all."


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    Adom laughed. "Mana will answer to your intent - that''s how magic works. Right now, your intent isn''t helping because you''re so focused on proving you can do this that you''re not actually visualizing what you''re trying to do. See, mana responds to clear mental images. The stronger your intent to cast a spell, the clearer the pattern becomes in your mind."


    He watched another fizzle with amusement. "You know, there''s this theory that mana is semi-sentient - some mages swear it knows when you''re trying to force it without proper visualization. Not sure if I believe it, but watching you right now..." He smirked. "But what do I know? I''m just the guy who can actually do magic."


    "Why can''t I just punch things instead? I''m good at punching things."


    "Because punching things won''t make you impress Headmaster Meris and, you''re thinking too hard about the math and not enough about the image. It''s like trying to describe a color using only numbers."


    "But you always say magic is mathematical!"


    "It is. But first you need to see it. Feel it. The math comes after."


    "That makes zero sense."


    "Neither does your attempt at that weave. Try again."


    "...still nothing."


    "Because the pattern''s already there - you just need to reach out and grab it."


    "Easy for you to say, Mr. Perfect-Pattern-Every-Time."


    "I prefer ''Your Magical Magnificence,'' but I''ll accept that too."


    "Ugh. Show me again?"


    "Weren''t you watching the first three times?"


    "Please?"


    "Fine. But this time, actually watch the weave, not my amazing hair."


    Adom sat cross-legged across from Eren in the practice room. "Before we start with actual spells, you need to understand how weaving works. You can sense mana now, which is the first step, but manipulating it is different."


    "Different how?" Eren asked, watching the mana particles drift around them.


    "Think of it like this - every spell is essentially a pattern, a specific structure of mana. When you arrange mana in these patterns, it creates effects in the physical world. It''s not just about moving the mana around - it''s about organizing it precisely."


    Adom gathered some mana in front of them. "See how chaotic and unstructured it is naturally? Magic happens when we impose order on it. Every spell has its own unique pattern - like a blueprint or a template. Some are simple, others incredibly complex, but they all follow the same principle: mana arranged in specific structures produces specific effects."


    "So when mages weave spells..."


    "They''re essentially guiding mana to conform to these patterns, yes. That''s why we call it weaving - you''re taking these loose threads of mana and weaving them into a coherent structure."


    "Is that why some people can sense mana but can''t weave spells?"


    "Exactly. Sensing mana is one thing, but manipulating it - forcing it to hold these precise patterns - that''s what separates mages from non-mages. Now, let me show you a basic flame spell pattern..."


    "Watch closely," Adom said, gathering mana in front of them. "A flame spell has one of the most straightforward patterns. Feel how I''m structuring this?"


    Eren focused, sensing how Adom was arranging the mana. "It''s... organized. Not random anymore."


    "Right. The pattern for fire needs three distinct layers. First..." Adom carefully arranged the bottom layer of mana. "This base structure has to be perfectly stable. Feel how tight and orderly it is? Like a lattice."


    "I can sense it," Eren nodded, his eyes half-closed in concentration. "But why that specific arrangement?"


    "Because fire needs fuel. This pattern converts mana into heat and energy. If it''s not structured exactly right, you''ll either get no flame or an explosion." Adom traced the pattern with his finger. "See, magic doesn''t create something from nothing - it transforms mana into other forms of energy. The base layer breaks down mana into pure energy, mostly heat. The tighter the lattice, the more controlled the conversion."


    "So the flame isn''t... created? It''s transformed mana?"


    "Exactly. Everything in magic is transformation. When you make fire, you''re not creating flames - you''re converting mana into heat and light in a specific way. When you levitate something, you''re transforming mana into kinetic force. Even illusions work by transforming mana into light and sometimes sound."


    "That''s why stronger spells need more mana?"


    "Right. The more dramatic the transformation, the more mana you need. Making a small flame needs just a bit of mana converted to heat, but creating a fireball needs enough mana to generate both intense heat and the force to propel it." Adom paused. "Now, watch the second layer."


    The mana above the base began to shift, forming an intricate spiral pattern. "This part determines how the energy flows. See how it creates a natural upward motion?"


    "Yeah... it''s like a funnel?"


    "Good observation. The spiral pattern is crucial - it''s what actually generates the flame. Now for the final layer..." Adom carefully wove the top portion of mana into a looser but still precisely structured pattern.


    "That looks different from the others," Eren noted.


    "This layer controls the flame''s shape and behavior. More structured for a focused flame, looser for a spreading one. All three layers have to work together perfectly." Adom completed the pattern, and a small flame appeared above his palm. "See? The pattern holds the spell together. Without it, the mana would just dissipate."


    "Can I try?"


    "Start with just the base layer. Don''t rush - focus on getting the structure exactly right. Remember, magic isn''t about power, it''s about precision."


    Eren concentrated, trying to replicate the lattice-like pattern he''d seen. The mana moved sluggishly, refusing to hold the shape.


    "You''re thinking too much about moving the mana," Adom advised. "Focus on the pattern itself. The structure is what matters - the mana will follow if your visualization is clear enough."


    Eren sat there, face scrunched in concentration, completely still.


    "What are you doing?" Adom asked, raising an eyebrow.


    Eren opened one eye sheepishly. "Trying to... weave?"


    "Without hand movements? Is that why you''ve been refusing to use my old wand?" Adom shook his head. "Listen, there''s a reason first-years are given wands. Weaving is complex when you''re just starting - your mind isn''t used to manipulating mana in such precise patterns yet. Wands either direct the weaves automatically or have pre-structured spells stored in them."


    "But you don''t use hand movements," Eren pointed out.


    "Because I''ve practiced these basic spells thousands of times. The more you practice a specific spell, the more familiar its pattern becomes to your mind. Eventually, you can weave it instantly, without thought." Adom paused. "But you need to walk before you can run. If you really don''t want to use a wand, at least use hand movements. They help visualize the pattern better."


    Adom raised his hands. "Watch. The base layer?" He made a gathering motion, fingers curling inward. "This helps you visualize the compression of mana. Then," his right hand moved in a spiral motion, "this matches the energy flow pattern. Finally," his fingers spread and lifted, "this shapes the output."


    A perfect flame appeared above his palm. "See? The movements mirror the weave''s structure. They train your mind to recognize and replicate the patterns."


    To demonstrate, Adom then cast the same spell without moving, the flame appearing instantly. "With enough practice on a specific spell, your mind learns to shape the weave automatically. But you need to master the basics first."


    Eren''s frustrated expression made Adom pause. Then understanding dawned on his face, and he chuckled. "Eren... I get it. It must be frustrating seeing someone your age weave spells so easily without movements. You want to prove you can do it too, right?"


    Eren looked away. "Maybe."


    "I''ve had more years of practice than you could imagine."


    "But... I thought most second-years like you can''t cast without movements either."


    Adom grinned. "That''s because I''m me. A genius."


    "Oh, shut up," Eren groaned. "You''re impossible."


    "Impossibly talented, you mean?"


    "I take it back - you''re not a genius, you''re just insufferable."


    "An insufferable genius," Adom corrected with a smirk.


    "Come on. One more try. Then we can grab food from that place you like, the one with the suspicious meat pies."


    "They''re not suspicious, they''re traditional."


    "Traditional doesn''t mean safe. But fine, one more attempt, then questionable street food. Deal?"


    Eren''s last attempt fizzled spectacularly, sending a shower of golden sparks across the table. Adom watched the display with a mix of amusement and resignation. "Well, that''s enough for today. Let''s go."


    *****


    The streets of Arkhos were always busy this time of day, filled with the smell of cooking food and the chatter of merchants and customers.


    They found their usual spot at Old Mari''s stall, where Mari greeted them with her gap-toothed smile. "Ah, my favorite mages! The usual? Three pies and two sweet mango milks?"


    The meat pies - stuffed with minced lamb and wild mushrooms, seasoned with herbs from the northern mountains - were wrapped in flaky, golden-brown pastry that crackled perfectly with each bite.


    They looked suspicious mainly because Mari seemed to have a personal vendetta against conventional geometry - no two pies ever had the same shape, some looking more like abstract art than food.


    She also made them with chicken and leeks, or spiced beef and potatoes, but the lamb ones had become their favorite.


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    It was actually a discovery for Adom in this life - the stall had apparently been serving pies for 26 years, tucked away in this odd corner of the market district. Despite being somewhat hidden, the place was incredibly popular with locals who, for some inexplicable reason, refused to give directions to anyone asking.


    Why people insisted on gatekeeping good food was a question Adom would never understand. Did they not realize they were actively hurting Mari''s business? She could probably own three stalls by now if her customers weren''t so determined to keep their "secret spot" secret.


    Strange, strange people.


    It had been nine days since Adom''s return from the labyrinth.


    While he''d recovered enough to walk around and attend classes, the fatigue still lingered. He''d spent the past week teaching Eren, trying to prepare him to meet Meris.


    Two circles. At twelve. It was absurd no matter how Adom thought about it.


    During entrance exams, they didn''t typically check applicants'' mana pools - they focused on control and basic technique. Which was fortunate, because if they knew what Eren was capable of, the Empire would be all over him.


    A mage with that much raw power could shift the balance of power between nations. The Empire of Sundar would treat him like a precious resource - the best education, the finest accommodations, personal tutors... and suffocating expectations.


    Adom knew that pressure all too well. The constant monitoring, the "suggestions" about your career, the subtle reminders about your duty to the Empire. It could break someone if they weren''t prepared for it.


    That''s why he''d focused on teaching Eren the absolute basics.


    Better to have him enter the academy looking like a promising but normal student than a walking catastrophe waiting to happen.


    Headmaster Meris had barely believed it when Adom told him. He''d listened intently, his sharp eyes studying Adom''s face as he explained about finding Eren, about his raw potential, about the two circles. The old man had actually fallen silent for a full minute - something Adom had only seen happen twice before.


    They''d agreed that Adom would present Eren only after proper preparation, and Meris had readily accepted keeping the boy''s true capabilities under wraps. Adom knew the old Headmaster well enough - he''d always protected his students from unnecessary scrutiny and pressure. The man might be eccentric, but he understood the weight of expectations better than most.


    By the third day, Adom was starting to worry. For all the raw power Eren possessed, he was... distinctly untalented in magic. Below average, if Adom was being honest. The boy could barely weave the simplest spells, and his control was atrocious. Even with constant guidance, his attempts at basic patterns kept falling apart.


    The problem wasn''t just academic. Two circles of mana at twelve years old meant Eren''s power would only grow. Without proper control, without the ability to properly channel and regulate that much energy... Adom rubbed his temples, remembering the cases he''d studied in his previous life.


    Mages were walking powder kegs in that sense. It was why their education focused so heavily on control, on theory, on emotional regulation. Raw power without finesse wasn''t just inefficient - it was dangerous. A mage who couldn''t properly control their mana became a threat to themselves and everyone around them. Strong emotions, stress, fear - any of these could trigger an uncontrolled release of power.


    That''s why the academies were so strict about emotional control, why they drilled theory into students'' heads before letting them attempt even basic spells. One mistake, one moment of lost control, and...This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    Adom thought, despite himself, about the figure''s words in the labyrinth: "Kill him."


    Had he made a mistake? Taking responsibility for someone with this much power and so little natural ability to control it?


    The meat pie suddenly tasted like ash in his mouth.


    "You''re thinking too hard," Eren said, breaking into his thoughts. "Your face gets all scrunchy when you''re worried about something."


    "I do not get scrunchy."


    Adom watched Eren devour his second meat pie, contemplating how much the boy didn''t know about himself.


    He''d deliberately kept quiet about the true extent of Eren''s potential. Telling a twelve-year-old they had enough raw power to potentially level cities was... well, not the wisest move. Even the most level-headed kid might get ideas, and Adom had seen enough talented mages go wrong to know better.


    He hadn''t even hinted at it. "Talented" was all the boy needed to know for now.


    Besides, Adom still didn''t know Eren well enough to fully trust him with that knowledge. The child seemed kind and responsible, sure, but so had others before their power went to their heads.


    "Want my half of the pie? You only had one." Eren asked, pushing the wrapped package across their usual corner spot.


    "Thanks," Adom said, managing a smile. As Eren reached for his pocket to pay, Adom waved him off. "It''s on me."


    "Thanks," Eren said, looking relieved in that way kids do when they don''t have to spend their scarce pocket money.


    Old Mari wrapped up a fourth lamb pie, sliding it across her worn wooden counter with her characteristic gap-toothed smile. "This one''s on the house. You boys have been good customers this past week. Best entertainment I''ve had in years, watching you try to explain magic with those fancy hand gestures."


    "Thank you, ma''am," they both said almost in unison, which made the old woman cackle.


    "Such polite young mages," she said, already turning to tend to her geometrically challenged pies bubbling in their clay oven. "Now off with you before the evening rush starts and my regulars see me getting soft."


    "Same time tomorrow?" Adom asked as they reached the crossroads where they usually parted ways.


    Eren shook his head. "Actually, got to help mother at the tavern tomorrow, her boss has fired a few people recently. And there will be the usual rush and all that."


    "Makes sense," Adom said, stepping around a puddle from one of the street cleaners'' water spells.


    "Oh!" Eren snapped his fingers. "That reminds me - mother wants you to come for dinner at the tavern for Yule in a few months. Her boss accepted to let us have the tavern for the occasion. Says she wants to thank you properly for helping me with all this magic stuff." He grinned. "She also said you can bring your friends too, if you want."


    Adom blinked, caught off guard by the invitation. Despite his adult mind, he sometimes forgot he was physically Eren''s age now - complete with the social expectations that came with it. "That''s... kind of her."


    "So you''ll come?" Eren''s eyes lit up with that earnest excitement that made him seem even younger than twelve. "Mother makes the best roast for Yule. Way better than these pies." He glanced around suspiciously. "Don''t tell Mari that though."


    "Your secret''s safe," Adom said, amused. "Yule is only in a few months, but, what time should I be there?"


    "After sunset? When it''s quieter." Eren started walking backward, still facing Adom. "And thanks again for today. Even if I did almost set your textbook on fire."


    "Almost being the key word here," Adom called after him, watching the boy dash off towards the Dregs.


    Adom kept walking, his mind turning over the morning''s events. He paused at the corner of Merchant''s Row, where Jack was still performing his fire show. The floating dragons danced above an enthralled crowd, as mesmerizing as ever.


    Adom dropped a coin in Jack''s hat, a small smile playing at his lips. Some things really didn''t change.


    His thoughts drifted back to Eren and his situation. The Dregs weren''t kind to families trying to make an honest living. He''d seen the patches on Eren''s clothes, noticed how the boy always tried to pay for their study snacks despite clearly struggling to afford them. The tavern couldn''t be doing much better - not in that part of the island.


    A scholarship... that could work, if he could train Eren well enough. The boy had raw talent in spades, but control was still an issue. Those scorch marks Eren mentioned weren''t just teenage exaggeration. Still, with proper guidance...


    Or he could just leave a bag of gold coins at the tavern. Anonymous, of course, with a simple note.


    Not that it would change much in the grand scheme of things. With his magical potential, money wouldn''t be a problem for long once Eren got proper training.


    Still... a little help now might make a big difference in the present. Adom had seen too many talented young mages fall through the cracks in his previous life, their potential wasted simply because they couldn''t afford to nurture it. Just like Jack.


    Adom shifted his grip on the meat pie, still warm in its wrapping. Sam would demolish this in seconds, he thought with a small smile.


    A soft scraping sound echoed from the alley behind him. He kept walking, pace steady, but his senses sharpened. Another sound, closer this time. Footsteps, trying to be quiet but not quite managing it.


    The street was emptying as afternoon bled into evening. He passed a pair of police officers, noting their positions without being obvious about it. The crime wave in Arkhos was becoming more than just statistics now - especially with Helios'' people getting bolder. His hooded appearance that day had bought him some time, but now they were probably targeting any young mage they could find.


    More footsteps. Three sets now, maybe four. They were herding him, he realized, trying to guide him away from the main streets. The meat pie suddenly felt very inconvenient in his hands.


    The meeting with Cisco next week would change everything, but he had to survive until then. Eren had arranged that - he couldn''t waste it by getting ambushed in some back alley.


    Decision time. He could try to reach the guards, but that might put civilians at risk if these were indeed Helios'' people. Better to handle this cleanly, quietly.


    Adom turned down a narrow street, then another, seemingly random but actually leading exactly where he wanted. The footsteps behind him quickened slightly.


    The dead end ahead was perfect - high walls, no windows, single approach. He could feel the fluid enhancement humming through his veins, ready to respond. He turned to face the alley''s entrance, letting his pursuers think they''d trapped him.


    Four figures emerged from the shadows, trying to look menacing. Street thugs, not Helios'' people - he could tell from their stance.


    "Lovely evening for a walk," Adom said quietly, carefully setting down his meat pie on a nearby crate. No need to waste good food.


    "Hey there, friend!" The tallest one stepped forward, arms spread in an exaggerated welcoming gesture. His smile showed several gold teeth. "Bit far from Xerkes, aren''t you? Dangerous neighborhood for a student to be wandering alone."


    "We could escort you back," added a shorter man with a scarred eyebrow, moving to flank him. "For a reasonable fee, of course. Consider it a... scholarship contribution."


    The third one, barely older than Adom''s current physical age, laughed nervously. "Yeah, think of your fellow students. Some of us couldn''t afford those fancy clothes of yours."


    The fourth remained silent, but his fingers kept twitching toward something in his jacket. Probably a knife.


    "That''s thoughtful of you," Adom replied, noting how they were positioning themselves. "But I''m actually quite familiar with these streets."


    "Oh?" Gold-teeth''s smile widened. "Regular visitor? Must have deep pockets then. Come on, share some of that Xerkes wealth. We all know what those clothes cost."


    "Would be a shame if something happened to such a generous student," Scarred-eyebrow added, his friendly tone slipping slightly. "Lots of accidents happen in these alleys."


    The young one shifted uncomfortably. "Just make it easy, yeah? No need for anyone to get hurt."


    Adom sighed. They were desperate rather than cruel, but desperate people were often the most dangerous. "I understand times are hard," he said, letting his stance relax deliberately, invitingly. "But you really should have picked someone else."


    He weighed his options as he studied their faces. The coins in his pocket would mean nothing to him - he had more wealth than these men would see in their lifetimes. One generous handout and they''d leave him alone... for tonight.


    But then what? They''d mark him as an easy target, maybe follow him, try to befriend him. Worse, they''d be encouraged to continue targeting other students. Some of whom might not be as capable of defending themselves.


    Adom''s smile made the tallest one shift uncomfortably. "What''s so funny, kid?"


    The fluid in his veins hummed, a familiar warmth spreading through his body as he contemplated these four unfortunate souls. The elderly really did have a responsibility to guide wayward youth, didn''t they? Even if said elderly happened to be wearing a twelve-year-old''s face at the moment.


    "You know," Adom said conversationally, "you''re not very smart, are you?"


    Their smiles vanished, replaced by uncertain glances at each other.


    "See, you''ve made several critical errors in judgment. First, you''re targeting mages. Young mages, who are notoriously unstable with their powers, especially when they feel threatened. Did you know some students accidentally incinerated their entire dormitory last week because someone startled them during their sleep?"


    They took a collective step backward.


    "Second," he continued, as ethereal blue light began to dance around his fingers, "you picked an alley with one exit."


    [Mirage]


    The illusion shimmered into place behind them - solid stone where the entrance had been. The young one let out a strangled sound.


    "Which, speaking of exits..." Adom''s hands erupted in azure fluid-fire, casting strange shadows on the walls. "Currently seems to be missing."


    "Oh gods," the youngest squeaked, turning to Gold-teeth. "This was your idea!"


    "My idea?" Gold-teeth''s voice cracked. "You''re the one who said students were easy marks!"


    "Both of you shut up," Scarred-eyebrow hissed, but his eyes were fixed on Adom''s burning hands.


    "Ah ah ah, children," Adom chided, the fluid-fire crawling up his arms. "You''ve been very naughty, and it''s my responsibility to teach you proper manners."


    "This is your fault," the silent one finally spoke, jabbing a finger at Gold-teeth. "You said he was just some rich kid!"


    "Me?" Gold-teeth''s gold teeth chattered. "It was his idea!" He pointed at the youngest, who looked ready to faint.


    "I-I just mentioned I saw him walking alone! You''re the one who said we should-"


    "Fascinating," Adom interrupted, taking a step forward as they took another step back. "Please, do continue explaining whose brilliant plan this was."


    The one with the twitching fingers finally snapped. "He''s just a ki-"


    The knife never made it past his pocket. One moment he was lunging, the next - a fluid-enhanced straight right caught him perfectly on the chin. His eyes rolled back before he hit the ground, body twitching slightly from the neural shock.


    [+1 Boxing Mastery]


    The remaining three stared at their fallen companion, then at Adom, then back at their companion. Their brains seemed to be having trouble processing the sequence of events - probably because there had barely been any sequence to process.


    They dropped to their knees almost in unison, dignity forgotten.


    "Please don''t kill us!" Gold-teeth sobbed, his precious metals catching the blue light. "I have a cat!"


    "I''ll join a monastery!" the youngest one blurted, tears streaming down his face. "I''ll never take advantage of the weak again!"


    Scarred-eyebrow just whimpered something incomprehensible about his mother while staring at his unconscious friend, who was still occasionally twitching.


    Adom flexed his hand, studying the unconscious man with clinical interest. The fluid enhancement had turned what should have been a child''s punch into something that dropped a grown man instantly. It wasn''t his first time experiencing it, but still.


    Fascinating.


    He''d have to explore these limits more thoroughly later.


    "Now then," he said, letting the fluid-fire crawl up to his shoulders. "About your future career choices..."


    The three conscious men flinched.


    "The Merchant''s Guild is always looking for security escorts," Adom said conversationally, as if he wasn''t terrifying them out of their minds. "They need people who know these streets, who understand how... less savory individuals think. Legitimate work, good pay, and they don''t ask too many questions about your past."


    "These noble schmucks?" Gold-teeth mumbled under his breath. "I can''t believe this..."


    "Hm?" The fluid-fire flared brighter.


    "I-I mean!" Gold-teeth straightened up, suddenly very business-like. "We would be more than honored to work for the esteemed Merchant''s Guild, young... sir!"


    "Of course, they''ll need someone to vouch for you." The flames danced higher. "I could do that. Or..." He let the threat hang.


    "Yes! Please!" Gold-teeth was nodding so fast his teeth clicked. "We''ll go first thing tomorrow!"


    "Wonderful. And if I hear about any more students being troubled in these alleys..." The temperature dropped several degrees. "Well, let''s just say I''ll be very disappointed."


    Scarred-eyebrow raised a shaking hand. "What about..." he gestured at their unconscious friend.


    "Oh, he''ll wake up soon. Make sure he understands our little arrangement." Adom smiled, and they collectively shuddered. "I''ll know if you don''t show up tomorrow. I''ll be watching."


    Adom watched as they stumbled to their feet, the youngest and Gold-teeth hauling up their unconscious friend between them.


    They bowed awkwardly - multiple times - while shuffling backward, mumbling a chorus of "thank you, young sir" and "we won''t disappoint you" before finally turning tail and running as fast as they could manage while dragging their companion.


    "Senior citizen duty accomplished!" Adom declared cheerfully to the empty alley, picking up his miraculously undisturbed meat pie.


    The Silvester Family''s Merchant Guild was one of the five guilds on the island, and the only one not dedicated to adventuring. Their wealth was legendary - their mansions dotted the noble quarter like jewels, their ships dominated the harbor, and their influence reached into every corner of trade. They were also, as Gold-teeth''s reaction had shown, not particularly popular among the common folk.


    It wasn''t hard to understand why.


    The Silvesters had a habit of buying out smaller businesses, setting prices that independent merchants couldn''t match, and generally ensuring that the gap between rich and poor grew wider every year. They were the epitome of noble privilege - looking down on common folk while profiting from their labor, living in luxury while others struggled to put food on the table.


    But for people like those would-be muggers? The Guild offered something rare: a legitimate opportunity. The sad truth was that on this island and in the world in general, you either had connections or you struggled endlessly.


    The adventurer guilds wouldn''t touch anyone without combat experience or magical talent. Most merchants wouldn''t hire someone with a suspicious background. The mines were always hiring, sure - if you didn''t mind a life expectancy measured in months.


    The Silvesters'' security force was different.


    They provided real training, decent pay, and clear paths for advancement. Sure, the nobles would always look down their noses at you, but you could earn a respectable living, support a family, maybe even save enough to start your own business someday.


    They were always looking for people who knew the streets, who could spot trouble before it started, who understood how the desperate thought because they''d been desperate themselves.


    Adom headed toward the guild hall. Being a Xerkes student came with certain... privileges. The Silvesters might look down on common folk, but they''d trip over themselves to curry favor with someone wearing these robes. One word from him, and those four would have their chance.


    The guild hall''s application reception was a stark contrast to the opulent exterior - just a plain room with a desk, a few uncomfortable-looking chairs, and a bored guard who was currently slumped in his seat, sword propped against the desk, hat pulled over his face.


    Adom cleared his throat.


    No response.


    He cleared his throat again, more forcefully.


    Still nothing.


    "Excuse m-"


    "I heard you the first time," the guard drawled from under his hat, not moving an inch.


    "Then why didn''t you answer?"


    "Didn''t feel like it," the man replied, finally pushing his hat back and sitting up with the enthusiasm of a sloth. He blinked at Adom''s Xerkes robes, but his expression remained steadfastly unimpressed.


    "...You gonna stand there all evening or actually say something?"


    Adom sighed. Sometimes he missed the days when people showed proper respect to their elders. "I''m here to vouch for four potential recruits for the security force. They''ll be coming tomorrow morning to apply."


    "And what makes you think they''re suitable recruits?"


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    "Well," Adom said, "they attempted to mug me in an alley about twenty minutes ago. One of them is probably still unconscious. But they showed excellent teamwork, survival instinct, and a remarkable ability to recognize when they''re completely outmatched. Plus," he added cheerfully, "they''re very motivated to change careers now."


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    "That''s rather offensive."


    "Just being honest, kid."


    He stood up - and kept standing up. The man was easily six and a half feet tall, well-muscled beneath his uniform, with long dark hair tied back in a loose tail. He couldn''t have been more than twenty-five.


    Grabbing some papers from his desk, he pulled out a quill. "Names?"


    "Well, there''s Gold-teeth, Scarred-eyebrow, the young one, and the unconscious one."


    The guard''s quill stopped mid-stroke. He stared at Adom. "Those are their names?"


    "No, I was a bit too busy avoiding being mugged to ask for proper introductions."


    The guard snorted, then shrugged. "Tomorrow''s problem, I guess." He scribbled the descriptions down anyway. "Gold-teeth, Scarred-eyebrow, Young One, and..." he paused, "Unconscious One?"


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    "And the big one," Adom sighed.


    The guard paused his writing, looked at Adom, then at the paper, then back at Adom. "So... Gold-teeth, Scarred-eyebrow, Young One, and..." he made a final flourish with his quill, "...the one you knocked out cold. Got it." He sounded almost amused now. "You know, this might be the most interesting recruitment form I''ve filled out all month. Usually it''s just ''my uncle knows someone'' or ''I need money for my sick grandmother.''"


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    He reached for the heavy brass stamp beside him.


    The dull ''thunk'' of the seal hitting the paper echoed in the empty reception room. "Well, ''Young Master Who Knocks Out Muggers,'' your colorfully-named friends can show up tomorrow morning. Though I''d suggest they bring their actual names with them." He paused, then added with a hint of genuine curiosity, "You really knocked one of them out cold?"


    <section>


    "See ya!" the guard called out, already settling back into his chair and repositioning his hat.


    Adom stepped out into the evening air, finally heading back toward Xerkes. He looked down at the meat pie in his hand - stone cold now. All this mentoring and reforming of street thugs had really cut into his dinner plans.


    Just as he arrived at the west wing''s door, a deliberate rustling sound made him freeze. He spun around, a [Fireball] materializing in his palm, casting orange light across the courtyard. "Who''s there?!" He sighed in exasperation. "Really? Can''t I just go home for once?"


    Then he saw them - two gleaming eyes in the darkness of a nearby bush. A low, rumbling sound emerged, not quite a growl, not quite a purr. The hair on the back of Adom''s neck stood up - not from fear, but from that peculiar sensation one gets when being watched by someone else.


    "You." The [Fireball] flickered out immediately.


    It was the midnight puma.


    Had it followed him all this way? The creature remained in the shadows, its eyes fixed on him, unblinking. Adom could hear its breathing now, steady and controlled.


    He lowered his hand, remembering how his stance might appear threatening. He hadn''t seen the puma since that night in the alley, when it had saved his life and... well, ended another''s. He''d wondered about it often - where it had gone, if it was still in the city, if it was safe, if it had hurt anyone else...


    "Hey there," he said softly, crouching down to appear less imposing. "Remember me? From the alley?"


    A curious chirrup sound came from the bushes. The puma poked its head out slightly, ears perked forward, interested but cautious.


    "That''s it," Adom encouraged, keeping his voice gentle. "It''s just me."


    He looked down at his cold meat pie, then back at the hesitant feline. "Sorry, Sam," he murmured, placing the pie on the ground between them. "It''s lamb. Might be a bit salty for your taste, but you''re welcome to try it. It''s very good."


    The puma''s nose twitched visibly. It took one careful step out of the bushes, then another. The moonlight revealed its midnight-black fur, those same intelligent eyes he remembered from the alley.


    "That''s right," Adom coaxed, staying perfectly still. "No fireballs, no threats. Just a cold pie that could use a home." He watched as the puma took another step forward. "You''ve been keeping an eye on me, haven''t you?"


    The puma paused, tilting its head slightly as if considering his words. Its tail swished once, twice. It finally approached the pie cautiously, keeping one eye fixed on Adom as it lowered its head to sniff the offering.


    "Go on, it''s just for you."


    It began to eat, its movements quick and desperate. In the moonlight, Adom could see how its ribs pressed against its skin, how its flanks had hollowed. At least that answered one question - it clearly hadn''t been feeding on humans, or it wouldn''t be this thin.


    "You know," Adom mused, watching it devour the pie, "I''ve been wondering how you managed to stay hidden in a city like this. Not a single report of a puma sighting, not even a rumor. How did you-"


    He never finished the question.


    The puma''s form began to shrink, faster than seemed possible, until with a soft ''poof'', a regular black cat with startling blue eyes sat where the massive predator had been just moments before.


    "Whoa!" Adom fell backward in surprise. This was unheard of. Animals couldn''t change form like that.


    Unless... unless they were not animals.


    Eyes wide, he cast [Identify] on the cat.


    [???]


    Adom''s jaw dropped as the black cat looked at him and simply went, "Meow."


    </section>

 Chapter 21. Professor Kim

    "Meow."


    "I thought you didn''t want to have cats."


    "I don''t."


    "Then why is there a cat drinking milk in our dorm?"


    "It''s a long story."


    Adom sat on his bed, watching the small black cat lap delicately at the bowl of milk he''d scrounged earlier. It was surreal seeing such a dainty creature and knowing that just hours ago, it had been a massive midnight puma. The transformation still boggled his mind.


    The cat - he wasn''t even sure if he should still call it a puma - paused its drinking to look up at him with those startling blue eyes. In the warm light of the dorm room, they seemed to shimmer with an intelligence that made him distinctly uncomfortable.


    Sam sat down on his bed too, nursing his scratched hand. He''d learned the hard way that their new guest had strong opinions about being petted without permission. "At least it''s cute. I like cats. Let''s keep it."


    "Yeah," Adom said, watching the black cat meticulously clean its whiskers. "At least for now."


    "So..." Sam looked at his roommate. "What are we naming it?"


    "Haven''t really thought about it."


    "How about Asteroid Destroyer?"


    "No."


    "Apocalypse Bringer?"


    "Absolutely not."


    "Death''s Shadow?"


    The cat actually hissed.


    "Maybe we should call it-"


    "Please stop," Adom begged. "You''re terrible with names."


    "Hey. I named my father''s familiar!"


    "Sam."


    "What''s wrong with that?"


    "Mighty Fox is not a proper name for a fox familiar."


    "I liked it."


    "That says more about you than anyone else."


    Sam flopped back onto his bed with an exaggerated huff. "You and your cat have no sense of grandeur." He lay there for a few seconds before rolling onto his side. "So... are you going to make it your familiar?"


    Adom looked at the black cat, which was now watching their exchange with what he could swear was amusement in those too-intelligent blue eyes. "No."


    After much consideration, Adom had decided to bring the creature - puma, cat, or whatever it truly was - back to the dorm. The decision wasn''t entirely logical, but it hadn''t tried to maul him in the alley, which seemed like a point in its favor.


    At first, he''d thought it might be a spirit, but those had a different feel to them - more ethereal, less... solid.


    A shapeshifter, perhaps? But natural shapeshifters usually couldn''t maintain forms this perfectly, and they tended to avoid cities.


    A familiar without a mage? Possible, but unlikely - familiars didn''t typically show this level of independence.


    The more he observed its seamless transformations and those unnaturally intelligent blue eyes, the more one explanation kept rising to the top of his list: a curse.


    Curses were tricky things in the magical world - not quite spells, not quite bindings, but something in between. They worked by imposing a twisted pattern onto someone or something''s natural mana flow.


    While normal spells were temporary transformations of mana, curses were more like permanent distortions, forcing someone''s mana to flow in unnatural ways that created lasting effects.


    The strength of a curse depended on how deeply it was woven into the target''s mana.


    Surface curses were relatively simple - things like bad luck or minor transformations. These sat on top of someone''s natural mana flow, like a parasitic pattern. Deeper curses actually altered the fundamental structure of someone''s mana, making them far more difficult to break.


    What made this particular case interesting was the transformation aspect. Most cursed transformations were crude - turning someone into a toad or a rat. But this was different. The creature moved between forms with an unsettling grace, and those eyes... they held far too much awareness for a simple transformation curse.


    This had to be old magic, the kind that went bone-deep and rewrote the very essence of someone''s being. The kind that was very rare to study. And as a mage that stumbled upon a very rare case...


    Adom knew that breaking it would require more than just dispelling the surface pattern - he''d need to understand the entire structure of the curse, layer by layer, and carefully unwind it without damaging the original mana pattern underneath.


    If he even could. Some curses became so integrated with their target that removing them was like trying to separate two colors of paint after they''d been mixed.


    But it made for a good challenge.


    Adom looked at the cat, then at Sam, who was already burrowing under his covers. He probably should tell his friend that this tiny, milk-drinking ball of fur had been a massive, shadowy puma just hours ago.


    "Sam..."


    "Goodnight guys," Sam mumbled into his pillow, then rolled over with a sleepy yawn.


    Adom watched the steady rise and fall of his roommate''s breathing. "Hmm. Maybe another time."


    The cat caught his eye and let out what sounded suspiciously like a snort of agreement.


    "Come on," Adom said to the cat, patting a spot on his bed.


    The cat looked at him, blinked once, very slowly, then deliberately curled up right where it was - perfectly centered on Sam''s rug. Within seconds, it was making small sleeping noises, whiskers twitching.


    Adom chuckled despite himself. Right. That''s why he didn''t want pet cats - their absolute refusal to acknowledge any authority but their own. Even a cursed one, potentially dangerous and definitely magical, still had that insufferable feline tendency to do exactly the opposite of what was asked of it.


    "Suit yourself then," Adom said, finally getting to bed.


    *****


    2 weeks later...


    [Indomitable Will activated]


    [+1 Endurance]


    [+3 Endurance]


    "COME ON, ADOM!" Hugo''s voice boomed across the training hall. "YOU''RE ALMOST THERE!"


    "He''s actually doing it!" Diana shouted, jumping up and down at the track''s edge.


    "GO GO GO!" Phil and Kaius were practically vibrating with excitement.


    "THIRTY SECONDS LEFT!" Vale called out, watching the timer.


    "DON''T YOU DARE STOP!" Even Sam, who usually treated physical exercise like a personal insult, was screaming himself hoarse. "DON''T YOU DARE!"


    Adom couldn''t really hear them anymore. His world had narrowed down to the burning in his lungs and the steady thud of his feet against the track. Every breath felt like swallowing fire. His legs had stopped being legs about six minutes ago - they were just pain-filled appendages that somehow kept moving.


    [Stamina critically low]


    [Pain Tolerance increase detected]


    [Body operating at 77% capacity]


    He wanted to throw up. He really, really wanted to throw up. But throwing up would mean stopping, and stopping wasn''t an option. Not today. Not when he was so close.


    [Pain suppression increased]


    [Secondary wind activated]


    "FIFTEEN SECONDS!"


    His vision was starting to blur at the edges. The constant notifications in his peripheral vision had melted into a smear of blue light. He couldn''t feel his face anymore.


    Was that normal? Probably not.


    "TEN SECONDS!"


    [Heart rate very high]


    [Warning: Physical limits approaching]


    [Recommendation: Decrease pace]


    "SHUT UP!" he growled at the system, pushing harder.


    "FIVE!"


    "FOUR!"


    "THREE!"


    "TWO!"


    "ONE!"


    [Congratulations! Side Quest Completed!]


    [10 Miles completed in: 59:58]


    [Achievement Unlocked: Breaking Barriers Of One''s Body]


    [Reward: Skill - [Iron Lungs] unlocked]


    Description: Dramatically increases overall stamina and oxygen efficiency. Reduces fatigue build-up, enables longer periods of sustained physical activity, and improves recovery time.


    [+5 Stamina permanently added]


    [Body Adaptation Progress: 27%]


    Adom barely registered being lifted off his feet. The entire club had rushed the track, hoisting him onto their shoulders like he''d just won some grand championship instead of just... not dying during cardio.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "HE DID IT!" Hugo screamed.


    "Up! Up! Up!" The club chanted, tossing him in the air. Through his exhaustion-addled brain, Adom noticed Sam grinning like an idiot, clapping harder than anyone.


    "Now that," Sam shouted over the celebration, "was actually kind of awesome!"


    Adom would have replied with something appropriately sarcastic, but he was too busy trying not to throw up on his celebrating clubmates.


    Also, he couldn''t feel his legs. Or most of his body, really.


    [Iron Lungs skill integration beginning...]


    [Estimated recovery time: 47 minutes]


    [Recommendation: Water. Lots of water.]


    "It was just a ten-minute run..." Damus''s dry voice cut through the celebration from somewhere in the back of the room, where he was casually leaning against the wall.


    The entire club turned to glare at him in perfect synchronization - even Sam, who normally avoided confrontation.


    Hugo just grinned wider, still holding the almost unconscious Adom. "Everything''s ''just'' something until you actually try to do it."


    Damus raised an eyebrow, but wisely chose not to comment further.


    *****


    Adom sat against the wall, legs stretched out, watching the blurry shapes of people training. His vision had gotten worse since losing his glasses - now he could barely make out anything beyond 157 inches. Just vague shapes moving around, their edges bleeding into each other. The cat sat next to him, back straight, looking thoroughly unimpressed with the whole affair.


    A water bottle appeared in front of his face, blocking what little vision he had left.


    Adom squinted, which only made Hugo laugh.


    "You know," Hugo said, settling down next to him, "you actually look pretty good without the glasses. Very scholarly-warrior chic."


    "Everyone''s telling me that. But I look like I''m constantly judging everyone," Adom muttered, accepting the water bottle. The cat gave it a disdainful glance.


    "Aren''t you, though?"


    "That''s... fair."


    Hugo''s laugh boomed across the training hall, making several students miss their steps. "You should really get new ones though. Can''t have you missing all the important form corrections I''m about to show Sam."


    As if summoned by his name, Sam''s yelp of surprise echoed from somewhere in the blur of motion that was the training area. The cat''s ear twitched - the closest thing to interest it had shown all morning.


    "I can see just fine," Adom lied, taking a sip of water.


    "You''ve been staring at the storage closet for five minutes."


    "...that was the sparring area."


    "No, that''s over there," Hugo pointed somewhere to the left. "You were literally having a staring contest with a door."


    "Ah."


    Note to get new glasses. Very soon.


    The cat chose this moment to yawn deliberately, showing off an impressive array of teeth that seemed just a bit too sharp for comfort. Hugo glanced at it, his expression shifting ever so slightly.


    "Your new friend doesn''t seem very impressed with our training methods."


    "The cat," Adom said, "has very high standards."


    "Have you considered making it your familiar?" Hugo asked, watching the cat with curious eyes.


    "I tried. It... declined the offer."


    Hugo''s laugh echoed through the hall again. "Very cat-like indeed."


    Adom hesitated for a moment, then turned toward Hugo. "By the way..."


    Over the past two weeks, Adom had been carefully planting seeds. A question here about advanced magical theory during water breaks. A casual mention there about helping younger students with their assignments. He''d even started organizing the equipment after training sessions without being asked.


    The club was just a club - a place for training. But it was also where Hugo spent a good portion of his time when he wasn''t assisting Professor Kim in his research. And that''s what Adom needed - those moments between exercises, those casual conversations where he could show he was more than meets the eyes.


    Never anything obvious. He couldn''t afford to seem eager. Just a second-year student showing unexpected maturity and academic insight. The kind of thing that might come up naturally in conversation between a teaching assistant and his professor.


    It was a delicate balance.


    Too much interest in Professor Kim''s work would mark him as just another fan. Too little would defeat the purpose entirely. So instead, Adom focused on becoming the type of student Professor Kim would want to meet. The type Hugo would mention in passing during their assistant meetings.


    The worst part was the waiting. Every time Hugo praised his progress or nodded thoughtfully at one of his theoretical questions, Adom had to resist the urge to press further.


    He couldn''t rush this. After all, he was supposed to be focused on training, on improving himself. The fact that he happened to be exactly the kind of student Professor Kim might want as a future assistant? That had to seem coincidental.


    Hugo, for his part, seemed genuinely intrigued by Adom''s questions. He''d pause before answering, sometimes cocking his head slightly as he considered the depth behind what seemed like simple curiosity. It wasn''t the polite attention he gave to most students - there was a sharpness to his focus when Adom touched on more complex theories.


    A few times, he''d even stayed after training to continue their discussions, absently fixing stances and correcting forms while diving deeper into magical theory. It was during these moments that Adom caught glimpses of the assistant researcher beneath the jovial club president - someone who clearly spent hours in the lab, who understood magic at a level far beyond basic spellwork.


    But Hugo never quite took the bait. He''d engage enthusiastically with Adom''s ideas, challenge his assumptions, even praise his insights - but he kept the conversations firmly in the theoretical realm. If he suspected Adom''s ulterior motives, he gave no sign of it. And if he ever mentioned these conversations to Professor Kim, Adom had no way of knowing.


    Then again, maybe that was the point. Hugo hadn''t gotten to be a sixth-year research assistant by being oblivious to people''s intentions.


    "By the way," Hugo said, adjusting the straps of his bag as they finished cleaning up.


    Adom''s hands stilled on the training mat he was folding. He kept his voice casual. "Hm?"


    "You know I''m Professor Kim''s assistant, right?"


    "Yeah. Why?"


    Hugo shouldered his bag. "I mentioned our conversation about micro magic to him the other day." He paused. "The professor said he''d like to meet you, if you''re interested."


    Adom carefully kept folding the mat, fighting to keep his expression neutral even as something warm unfurled in his chest. There we go.


    "Oh?" he managed.


    "Don''t play too cool now," Hugo said, his usual grin returning. "I saw that almost-smile."


    "What does he want to discuss?" Adom asked, placing the folded mat on the pile, carefully not meeting Hugo''s eyes.


    "Your theory about resonance patterns in enchantment arrays." Hugo was watching him now, that familiar sharp focus back in his gaze. "It''s similar to something he''s been working on in the lab. Actually..." He paused, and Adom could feel him choosing his next words. "It''s not just similar. You approached it from a completely different angle, but you ended up at the same theoretical framework he''s been developing."


    Adom allowed himself a small smile. Weeks of careful suggestions had paid off - dropping bits of advanced theory disguised as innocent questions, presenting alternative approaches as if they were just interesting thought experiments. He''d known exactly which problems Professor Kim was tackling in some of his research, and had carefully guided Hugo toward those specific topics, making the connections seem natural, coincidental.


    A second-year student wouldn''t know the solutions, of course. But asking the right questions? Suggesting unconventional approaches? That was just showing promise. And now it had worked - he had his opening.


    "When did you want me to meet him?"


    "Right now, actually, if you''re free. He''s usually in the lab around this time," Hugo said, adjusting his glasses.


    Adom made a show of considering it, as if he might have more pressing matters than meeting one of the academy''s leading researchers. "Yeah, that works for me. We could head over together?"


    <div>


    *****


    The cat padded silently between them as they made their way through the academy''s winding corridors, its tail held high like some sort of furry navigation system. It had rejected every name Sam had suggested over the past week - "Lord Whiskers" had earned a particularly withering glare.


    As they approached the research wing, Hugo slowed his pace. "I should probably warn you," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "The professor is... special."


    "I know," Adom nodded. "His work on magical resonance theory is brilliant. The implications for enchantment stability alone¡ª"


    "No, that''s not¡ª" Hugo cut himself off, looking oddly uncomfortable. "I mean, yes, he''s brilliant, but that''s not what I''m talking about." He sighed, glancing down at the cat, which had stopped to clean its paw with deliberate disinterest. "You''ll see for yourself. Just... look beyond the apparent. You might be surprised."


    Adom felt a twinge of unease.


    In his past life, Professor Kim had been a reclusive figure, known only through his groundbreaking papers and occasional presentations. The man himself had remained a mystery, always declining public appearances in favor of his research. Now, watching Hugo''s strange hesitation, Adom wondered what exactly he''d gotten himself into.


    The cat finished its grooming and looked up at them both, its expression somehow managing to convey that it found their conversation tedious. It flicked its tail once and continued down the hall, clearly expecting them to follow.


    "Right," Hugo muttered. "This way." He paused. "And try not to stare. He really hates that."


    Stare at what? Adom wanted to ask, but Hugo was already moving again, following the cat around a corner toward a heavy wooden door marked "Advanced Theoretical Research - Authorized Personnel Only."


    Hugo approached the door and knocked - one-two, one-two-three, one-two - a rhythmic pattern that made Adom and the cat exchange glances. Before Adom could comment on the peculiar entry code, the door swung open on its own with a soft creak.


    A wave of smells hit them: the sharp tang of magical reagents, the bitter undertone of spent tonic potions, the metallic note of enchanted equipment running hot. It wasn''t unpleasant, exactly, but it had the distinct aroma of too many hours spent indoors with too little ventilation. The kind of smell that spoke of sleepless nights and forgotten meals.


    The laboratory itself was dim, lit only by the soft blue glow of various magical instruments and the occasional spark from whatever experiment was running in the corner. Shadows played across walls lined with shelves of equipment and books, their shapes shifting as different devices pulsed with energy.


    "Let''s go in," Hugo said, stepping through the doorway. "Professor Kim, how are you doing today?"


    The figure at the workbench didn''t turn around or pause in whatever they were doing. Their hands moved in precise motions over what looked like a complex array of crystals and metal, either completely absorbed in the work or deliberately ignoring them.


    Hugo sighed. "And there he goes again." He glanced at Adom with an apologetic shrug. "Sometimes he gets like this when he''s working. Could be hours before he¡ª"


    The explosion wasn''t particularly large, but it was bright enough to make them all flinch. Blue sparks scattered across the workbench as the professor cursed under his breath, frantically scribbling in a notebook.


    "Fascinating reaction to the microscopic resonance, must account for the crystalline matrix''s tendency to¡ª"


    "Professor," Adom said carefully, "I think your mustache is on fire."


    "Professor Kim! Fire!" Hugo called out.


    The professor spun around, eyes wide behind protective goggles. "Oh! Hugo! And a random boy! And a random cat! Fire?" His hands patted his coat. "Where? Oh, my mustache!"


    He looked left, then right, then left again, before lunging toward a large aquarium filled with what appeared to be glowing fish. Without hesitation, he dunked his entire head into the water.


    "What the f¡ª" Adom started, but the professor was already pulling his head out, water and a few confused fish dropping from his now-extinguished mustache.


    "Welcome to my laboratory!" Professor Kim beamed at them, pushing his goggles up onto his forehead. "I was just conducting a minor experiment. Completely routine explosion. Now, who might you be?"


    "Professor," Hugo began, "this is Adom Sylla, the second year I¡ª"


    "Adom Sylla?!" Professor Kim''s face lit up like one of his experimental arrays. He practically bounded across the laboratory, narrowly avoiding three different precarious-looking setups, water still dripping from his mustache. "The one who proposed the alternative approach to resonance patterns!"


    He grabbed Adom''s hand and shook it with enthusiasm that bordered on concerning. "How are you? Wonderful to finally meet you! Hugo''s told me all about your theoretical framework. Brilliant perspective, absolutely brilliant. Have you considered the implications for multi-layered arrays? Of course you have, you must have, that''s why you suggested the parallel configuration, isn''t it?"


    Adom stood there, his hand still being vigorously shaken, trying to process how he''d gone from watching a man dunk his head in an aquarium to being praised for theoretical magic in the span of thirty seconds. He managed a "Thank you, Professor" while attempting to subtly regain control of his arm.


    "Oh! But you must see what I''m working on! Well, what just exploded, but the principle is sound!" Professor Kim finally released Adom''s hand only to grab his sleeve instead, pulling him toward the workbench. "Hugo, bring that notebook, the blue one."


    "This one?"


    "No, the other blue one. The blue-blue one!"


    As Professor Kim excitedly pulled him toward the still-smoking workbench, Adom''s eyes darted between the scattered crystals, the charred metal components, and what appeared to be a small flame that was now burning upside down.


    This... was not what he''d expected. All his careful planning, all those subtle conversations with Hugo, and now he was being dragged toward an active explosion site by a man whose mustache was leaving a trail of confused, glowing fish on the floor.


    "See, the resonance matrix should have stabilized here," Professor Kim pointed at a blackened crystal, "but instead it created this fascinating chain reaction¡ª" Another small pop made them both jump. "Oh, don''t worry about that, completely normal. Probably."


    He suddenly spotted one of the glowing fish flopping near his feet, just as the cat was crouching into pouncing position. "Oops, sorry Gege!" He scooped up the fish and dropped it back in the aquarium, barely breaking stride in his explanation. "Now, where was I? Ah yes, the chain reaction..."


    Adom found himself torn between genuine academic fascination and basic self-preservation instincts. The theoretical framework was brilliant, he could see that even in its half-destroyed state, but he was also fairly certain that smoke wasn''t supposed to be that color.


    Behind them, he heard Hugo muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "At least nothing''s on fire this time." This time?


    Professor Kim was still talking about resonance patterns when Adom''s eyes adjusted enough to the dim light to make out something in the corner. Behind stacks of books and equipment, partially covered by a heavy cloth, sat an unfinished framework. A prototype. Even in its crude state, the theoretical arrays were unmistakable.


    So this was where it started, Adom thought. Dragon''s Breath.

 Chapter 22. Magic Theory

    The funny thing about world-changing discoveries is how they always seem to start with the best intentions. "This will revolutionize everything," they say. "Think of the possibilities," they insist.


    And they''re right, of course. Just not in the way they expect.


    Take Dragon''s Breath, for instance.


    When Professor Kim first unveiled his prototype, he could barely contain his excitement. Here was a material that could store as much magical energy as a proficient second-circle mage. "Imagine," he''d said, eyes bright behind those ridiculous goggles, "a world where even those without magical talent could access powerful enchantments. Where every home could have the energy equivalent of a mage at their disposal!"


    The academic community went wild. Papers were published. Theories were proposed. Everyone wanted a piece of what promised to be the greatest magical breakthrough since the re-discovery of magic by Law, the Farmer Mage.


    No one stopped to ask the obvious question: what happens when you give that much power to people who really shouldn''t have it?


    Well, no. That''s not entirely true. Some people did ask that question. They just weren''t the ones anyone was listening to.


    Three months after the initial announcement, Professor Kim was found dead in his laboratory. The official report called it an accident - something about an experimental malfunction. Quite convenient, really, how all his notes burned in the same "accident." Even more convenient how the prototype vanished without a trace.


    The world moved on. New discoveries were made. Papers were published about other breakthroughs. Life continued its predictable pattern of magical academia doing what magical academia does best - arguing about theoretical frameworks while missing the bigger picture.


    And then Verdant Isle disappeared.


    One day it was there, a thriving community of fifteen thousand souls. The next? Nothing but a smoking crater where an island used to be. The first public demonstration of Dragon''s Breath wasn''t exactly subtle.


    The textbooks would later call it "The Mana Conflicts" - a nice, sanitized term for what was essentially everyone trying to either steal, replicate, or defend against a weapon that could turn cities into memories.


    Within five years, three more countries had their own versions of Dragon''s Breath. Within ten, the death toll had reached numbers that made statisticians quit their jobs and take up farming. The kind of numbers that stop being numbers and start being tragedies.


    Which just goes to show that if you''re brilliant enough to create something revolutionary, you should probably be smart enough to imagine how people might revolutionarily misuse it.


    Then again, Professor Kim did keep glowing fish in his laboratory and seemed to regularly set his own mustache on fire, so perhaps expecting that level of foresight was asking a bit much.


    Adom had one mission: sabotage the prototype that would one day become Dragon''s Breath and eventually kill millions. Simple enough.


    But first, he needed Professor Kim to stop talking.


    Just. Stop. Talking.


    "¡ªand see, the crystalline matrix here interfaces with the¡ª" the professor was saying, hands waving enthusiastically as he knocked over what looked like a very expensive piece of equipment. He caught it without looking, still focused entirely on his explanation of magical theory. "¡ªwhich creates a cascading effect through the secondary array¡ª"


    The world''s most dangerous invention was sitting right there, covered in dust and old papers, and its creator was currently explaining the proper way to calibrate resonance frequencies while his mustache smelled like burnt hair and gel. Lots of gel.


    "¡ªabsolutely fascinating implications for energy transfer across multiple¡ª"


    Stop. Talking.


    That''s when Adom noticed his cat, perched on the highest shelf with predatory focus, blue eyes fixed on the dust-covered prototype.


    "¡ªand if we adjust the resonance frequency, we could theoretically¡ª" Professor Kim''s endless monologue cut off abruptly as he spotted the cat. "Oh! Hello there, kitty cat! Aren''t you a cute little¡ª"


    The cat didn''t even blink.


    "Professor," Hugo said slowly, "I don''t think it likes that name."


    The cat''s eyes met Adom''s.


    There was a moment of perfect understanding between man and feline. The kind of silent communication that transcends species, time, and common sense.


    "Kitty cat, don''t you dare¡ª" the professor warned, scrambling toward the shelf.


    The cat''s tail twitched. Once. Deliberately.


    Time seemed to slow as both Professor Kim and Hugo raised their hands, weaving a spell. But they were too late.


    The cat maintained perfect eye contact with the Adom as it extended one paw and, with the kind of casual malice only felines can achieve, viciously batted the prototype off the shelf.


    Adom watched it all unfold like a perfectly choreographed disaster: the prototype tumbling through the air, Professor Kim and Hugo diving forward with matching expressions of horror, papers scattering in their wake.


    The cat remained on its perch, looking thoroughly pleased with itself, as if it hadn''t just potentially altered the course of history.


    Or prevented it.


    But then...


    No sound of feline-induced destruction followed.


    Adom looked down, heart sinking as he saw Hugo, hand raised and brow furrowed in concentration, holding the prototype suspended in a perfect levitation spell. Damn it.


    Professor Kim stood frozen, arms still outstretched, mouth open in a silent scream that had yet to catch up with reality. For perhaps the first time since Adom had met him, the professor was completely silent.


    "I''ve got it, Professor," Hugo said, carefully maneuvering the prototype back to safety. "It''s okay. Everything''s fine."


    The professor seemed to remember how to breathe. "Oh thank the circles, Hugo. Thank you. Thank you!" He practically collapsed against his desk, dabbing at his eyes with his sleeve. "That was... that was..."


    "I am so sorry," Adom said, watching his cat stretch lazily on its perch, looking entirely too satisfied with itself. "I really don''t know what got into¡ª" Actually, he knew exactly what had got into it. The same thing that made him wish Hugo had been just a fraction slower with that spell.


    "No, no," Professor Kim waved him off, definitely wiping away tears now. "It''s a cat. Cats do cat things. It''s what they do. Can''t blame them for following their nature, can we?"


    Hugo carefully placed the prototype on the professor''s desk. "Maybe we should keep it somewhere more... secure?"


    The professor''s eyes fixed on the device, now free of its dusty cover. "Oh, this?" He noticed Adom''s intense gaze. "I suppose you''re wondering what all the fuss is about?"


    "It must be something important," Adom said, trying to keep his voice neutral. "To cause such a reaction."


    "Important?" Hugo snorted. "It''s only twenty years of the professor''s life."


    "Twenty-three, actually," Professor Kim corrected, running a gentle finger along the prototype''s edge. "My magnum opus, you could say. The project that''s consumed nearly half my life."


    "Really?" Adom leaned forward, feigning fascination while his stomach churned. "What exactly does it do?"


    The cat''s tail twitched again, but this time Hugo shot it a warning look. "Don''t even think about it."


    So Adom endured three more hours of theoretical discussion, nodding at the appropriate moments while the professor excitedly explained concepts that Adom had already learned ¨C would learn? ¨C from the professor''s own published works. Future works. Works that would be scattered across charred library remains.


    The irony of correcting the professor''s theories using the professor''s future discoveries was not lost on him.


    "That''s... actually a fascinating perspective," Professor Kim said for the third time, scribbling frantically in his notebook. "I never considered approaching the resonance matrix from that angle. Hugo, are you noting this down?"


    "Every word, Professor," Hugo replied, though he kept shooting suspicious glances at Adom. Whether it was due to the cat incident or Adom''s surprisingly deep knowledge of experimental magical theory, it was hard to tell.


    Adom could have completed the prototype in two weeks if he wanted to. He had all the knowledge, after all ¨C decades of research compressed into his memory. But that was exactly why he needed to guide the professor down a different path. Plant seeds of doubt. Suggest alternative approaches that would lead nowhere. Buy time.


    "But what if," Adom said carefully, watching the professor''s eyes light up with each new suggestion, "we considered a non-linear absorption pattern?"


    The professor''s quill stopped mid-sentence. "Non-linear? But that would mean..."


    "Complete restructuring of the base theorems," Hugo finished, frowning at the equations.


    "Exactly," Adom said, trying not to smile as he watched twenty-three years of research begin to unravel. Sometimes the best way to prevent a disaster wasn''t to destroy it, but to ensure it never quite came together in the first place.


    The guilt gnawed at Adom''s stomach as he watched the professor enthusiastically tear through decades of his life''s work, redesigning fundamental principles based on suggestions that Adom knew would lead nowhere.


    The man''s pure excitement and genuine love for discovery made it worse. But then Adom remembered Verdant Isle, and the guilt became a bit more manageable.


    "Oh circles!" Professor Kim suddenly exclaimed, checking his pocket watch. "The council meeting! I completely forgot!" He scrambled around the laboratory, stuffing papers into his bag in no particular order while Hugo calmly collected the actually important documents and slipped them in as well.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    "It was wonderful talking with you, truly fascinating discussion¡ª" the professor rambled as he headed for the door, nearly tripping over three different chairs in the process. "Hugo, could you¡ª"


    "Already locked the prototype cabinet, Professor."


    "Ah, yes, thank you, and the¡ª"


    "Secondary arrays are powered down."


    "Right, right, and¡ª"


    "The fish are fed, the wards are up, and you''re already ten minutes late."


    "Right! Yes! Thank you!" The professor disappeared through the door.


    Adom had just started to relax when the professor''s head popped back in. "Oh, and Adom!"


    "Yes, Professor?"


    "This was absolutely wonderful! Such fresh perspectives! You must come back, we have so much more to discuss! The non-linear absorption patterns alone could revolutionize¡ª"


    "Professor," Hugo interrupted. "The council?"


    "Right! Yes! But Adom must return!"


    "Don''t worry, Professor," Hugo said, with a smile that didn''t quite reach his eyes. "I''ll make sure to bring him back myself."


    "Marvelous! Simply marvelous!" And with that, the professor finally disappeared, his rapid footsteps echoing down the hallway.


    Hugo adjusted his glasses, leaning against one of the workbenches.


    "So," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Want to tell me how a second-year student knows more about experimental magical theory than most 6th years?"


    The cat jumped down from its perch, landing silently between them.


    "I read a lot," Adom said, which wasn''t technically a lie. He had read everything ¨C would read everything? ¨C about this field. Including Hugo''s own future contributions to magical theory.


    "You read a lot," Hugo repeated, a slight smile playing at his lips. "And somehow developed insights that took the professor decades to reach?"


    "Sometimes fresh eyes see things differently," Adom said, carefully constructing each response. "When you''re not bound by established theoretical frameworks, you can spot patterns that others might miss because they''re too close to the work."


    Hugo''s eyebrows rose slightly. "That''s... actually a good point."


    "Besides," Adom continued, "half of what I suggested might be completely wrong. I just think it''s worth exploring different approaches."


    "No," Hugo said, pushing off from the workbench. "Your suggestions about the non-linear absorption patterns? Those calculations were solid. Complex, but solid." He paused, studying Adom with renewed interest. "You''re not just well-read. You understand this at a fundamental level."


    Adom shrugged, letting a bit of genuine pride show through. After all, he had learned from the best ¨C including the man standing before him. "I find it fascinating. Always have."


    "You know," Hugo said, a glint of academic excitement replacing the suspicion in his eyes, "there are some other projects I''ve been working on. Things that could benefit from... fresh eyes."


    "I''d be honored," Adom said, meaning it. Future-Hugo''s research had saved countless lives during the Mana Conflicts. Getting to see his early work would be genuinely fascinating.


    The cat, apparently bored with their academic d¨¦tente, began methodically knocking empty vials off a nearby shelf.


    "Although," Adom added, watching the cat, "maybe somewhere with fewer breakable things?"


    Hugo laughed, the last of his suspicion melting away. "Agreed. The east wing''s cafeteria''s still open. We could grab something to eat while we talk theory?"


    *****


    The day had slipped away faster than Adom expected, and he was still sitting there, staring at an empty book through Riddler''s Bane like it would somehow make words magically appear on the blank pages. Despite spending the better part of the week trying to figure out what exactly Law had given him, he had made exactly zero progress. Which was both frustrating and impressive, considering there wasn''t even anything to make progress on to begin with.


    No words. No invisible ink. No hidden messages. Not even a single doodle in the margins. Just page after page of absolutely nothing.


    He was starting to wonder if Law was just messing with him at this point. Maybe the real treasure was the time he''d wasted along the way.


    "Hey," Sam said from his bed, where he was sprawled out looking like he''d been hit by several successive waves of exhaustion, which, considering the day''s training, wasn''t far from the truth. "You could just buy new glasses instead of trying to read with some old guy''s monocle."


    Adom snorted, finally letting the book drop onto his lap. "Yeah."


    His mind was still racing with theoretical frameworks and potential alterations to history, while his cat lounged across his pillow like it owned it. The empty book could wait - it wasn''t like it was going anywhere, being empty and all.


    "You know," Sam said, voice muffled by his pillow, "I''m really glad you didn''t die during running practice today."


    Adom snorted again. "Thanks?"


    "No, seriously." Sam actually pushed himself up to sitting position, which was impressive given how he''d been declaring himself ''permanently horizontal'' just moments ago. "You looked like death warmed over, but you kept going. Like, I''ve never seen anyone look so absolutely done with existence but still refusing to stop."


    "I mean, stopping would have meant dying on the spot, so..."


    "That''s exactly it!" Sam was fully animated now, gesturing with unusual enthusiasm. "You just... pushed through. And I was thinking, maybe I should do that too, you know? Not just with running, but with everything. Like, maybe I could be... better? A better version of me?"


    Adom turned to look at his friend, genuinely surprised. Sam, who took pride in his ability to find the path of least resistance through life, Sam who once spent three hours figuring out how to avoid a ten-minute task, was talking about self-improvement?


    The silence stretched between them, growing increasingly awkward as Sam seemed to realize what he''d just said out loud.


    Adom couldn''t help it. He started laughing.


    "Oh, shut up," Sam groaned, falling back onto his bed, his face noticeably redder. "This is why I don''t say things."


    "No, no," Adom managed between chuckles. "It''s just... you know what? You are changing. You''ve been different lately. In a good way."


    "Yeah?" Sam asked, trying and failing to sound disinterested.


    "Yeah." Adom stood up, stretching. "Change looks good on you."


    The cat opened one eye to watch him move toward the door.


    "Where are you going?" Sam asked, propping himself up on an elbow.


    "Just need to walk a bit. Bit of insomnia tonight."


    "Ah." Sam was already sinking back into his pillow. "I''ll probably be asleep when you get back."


    "Probably for the best. You look like you''re about to pass out mid-sentence."


    "Do not," Sam mumbled into his pillow, already half-asleep. "G''night."


    "Night, Sam."


    The cat silently padded after Adom as he slipped out the door. Behind him, he could already hear Sam''s soft snoring beginning to fill the room.


    Whether it was the [Iron Lungs] skill making him more resilient to fatigue, or just the endless stream of magical theories bouncing around in his head, sleep felt like a distant concept.


    The conversations with Professor Kim and Hugo had stirred something in him ¨C that familiar excitement of pushing magical boundaries that he''d known in his previous life.


    The night air was crisp as he walked through the academy grounds, watching the massive stone buildings slowly drift across the landscape like clouds made of marble and granite.


    The Third-Year dormitory was currently rotating clockwise, its gothic spires scraping against the star-filled sky, while the Library Tower seemed to be waltzing with the Alchemy Department, their foundations leaving trails of soft blue light in their wake.


    "Evening, Adom," called out Guard Captain Marina from her patrol route. She was accompanied by two newer recruits ¨C Adom recognized them from last week''s incident with the escaped experimental frogs.


    "Everything alright?" asked Devon, the younger of the two guards, hand instinctively resting on his wand.


    "Just couldn''t sleep," Adom replied, gesturing vaguely at the shifting buildings. "Thought I''d walk it off."


    "Ah, insomnia," Marina nodded knowingly. "The gardens are particularly nice tonight. Just keep an eye out ¨C the Rose Garden''s getting a bit territorial again. Tried to eat Thompson''s hat yesterday."


    "I liked that hat," the other guard, Thompson, muttered.


    "I''ll keep my distance from any suspicious-looking roses," Adom promised, earning a chuckle from the guards.


    "Stay safe, kid," Marina called as they continued their rounds. "And try to get some sleep eventually!"


    Adom watched them disappear around a corner before continuing his walk. The Rose Garden was indeed settling into place near his dorm ¨C he could already smell the mix of night-blooming varieties.


    It was his favorite among the academy''s numerous gardens, not just for its beauty but for its personality. Even now, he could see some of the more mischievous bushes trying to rearrange themselves into new patterns while the older roses swayed disapprovingly.


    A particularly bold red rose attempted to snag his sleeve as he passed, but the cat swatted it away with practiced indifference.


    Finally, he reached his destination ¨C one of the practice rooms, its stone walls still settling into place with a soft grinding sound. The room had just finished its nightly migration.


    He placed his hand on the door, feeling the protective wards recognize him. This was probably a terrible idea, especially with tomorrow''s meeting with Cisco looming. But his mind was too awake, too full of possibilities, and sometimes the only way to quiet a restless mind was to exhaust it completely.


    The door swung open silently, revealing the empty practice room beyond. The cat slipped in first, its tail held high like a banner, while Adom followed.


    The crystal lights embedded in the walls flickered to life as he walked deeper into the practice room, casting a soft blue glow that made the polished stone floor shimmer. Adom reached the center of the room, the magical circles etched into the floor dormant but ready.


    The cat settled itself on the edge of the innermost circle, tail wrapped neatly around its paws, watching him with those too-intelligent eyes. Over the past weeks, their relationship had shifted dramatically.


    Ever since that conversation about curses, when Adom had tested his theory by asking the cat to respond to increasingly complex questions, things had been... different.


    The cat wasn''t just smart ¨C it was human-level intelligent, trapped in feline form. Sometimes, late at night in their dorm room, Adom would find himself discussing magical theory with it, and the cat would respond with deliberate movements: one tap for yes, two for no, or complex patterns of movement that somehow conveyed entire concepts. It was unnerving how quickly they''d developed their own form of communication.


    Most people at the academy assumed it was his familiar, which made things easier to explain, but also felt wrong somehow. How do you treat something that looks like a pet but isn''t?


    The cat noticed his hesitation and gave him what he''d come to recognize as its "you''re overthinking things again" look.


    "I know, I know," Adom said quietly. "Once I sort out a few things on my end, I promise you''re next on the list. There has to be a way to break your curse."


    The cat blinked slowly at him ¨C their shared signal for agreement ¨C before settling in to watch whatever experiments he was about to attempt.


    Adom pulled out the broken golem knight in front of him ¨C or what was left of it, anyway.


    He''d been working on it a lot these past few days.


    The cat''s ears perked up with interest, moving closer to inspect the remains.


    "See this?" Adom murmured, picking up one of the larger pieces. "Golems shouldn''t be able to use Fluid. They''re magical constructs powered by runes and crystallized mana. But this..." He traced the channels where the fluid had once flowed. "This is more like a circulatory system. Almost organic."


    The cat placed a paw on one of the smaller pieces, then looked up at Adom with what he''d come to recognize as its "theoretical question" expression.


    "Exactly," Adom nodded, already setting up a basic analysis array on the floor. "If someone managed to create a hybrid between mechanical and organic systems in a golem, that would be..." He paused, remembering the future he was trying to prevent. "Well, that would be groundbreaking. And potentially terrible."


    The cat''s tail twitched ¨C their signal for danger or warning.


    "Don''t worry," Adom said, arranging the golem pieces within the array. "I just want to understand how it works. Knowledge itself isn''t dangerous. It''s what people do with it that causes problems."


    The cat gave him a look that clearly said "that''s debatable," but settled down to watch as Adom began his analysis. Sometimes he wondered if the person trapped in that feline form had been a researcher too ¨C they certainly had the mindset for it.


    With methodical precision, Adom began dismantling the golem''s outer shell. Each piece of armor came away with careful application of a minor dispelling charm ¨C whoever had built this hadn''t wanted it to be easily taken apart.


    The cat watched intently, occasionally batting away pieces that rolled too close to the analysis array''s boundaries.


    "Let''s see what you''re really made of," Adom muttered, using Riddler''s Bane. The monocle immediately sharpened his perception, making the magical patterns more distinct. The construct''s internal structure began to make more sense ¨C or rather, its strangeness became more apparent.


    "I really don''t get it," he said, tracing what appeared to be crystallized fluid channels. "These pathways... they''re not just conducting mana. They''re transforming it somehow." The cat leaned in closer, equally fascinated.


    The internal architecture was unlike anything he''d seen in standard golem crafting. Instead of the usual rigid mana channels, these were more like veins, flexible and adaptive. "It''s almost like..." Adom paused, an idea forming. "Like it''s turning regular mana into fluid form as it flows through the system."


    But that would require...


    His fingers found the central chamber where the core should be. Most golems had a simple crystalline core, a power source that fed mana through fixed channels. This was different. The core was organic, almost heart-like in its construction.


    "This isn''t just a core," he realized. "It''s a converter. But converting mana to fluid form requires..." He trailed off, carefully extracting the core-like organ from the dismantled body and setting it on the analysis array. The golem''s remains lay scattered around them, completely inert without its power source.


    The cat made a questioning sound.


    "Well, technically, if we want to understand how it works..." Adom began, already knowing this was probably a terrible idea. He formed a small mana channel between his palm and the core. "We just need to restart it. Just enough to observe the conversion process."


    The cat''s tail began to twitch nervously.


    "Just a tiny bit of power," Adom assured it, feeding a careful stream of mana into the core. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the core pulsed, once, twice, and a pattern of runes he''d never seen before began to glow along its surface.


    "That''s... interesting," he said, leaning closer to examine the runes. "These look almost like¡ª"


    The cat suddenly hissed, fur standing on end.


    "What''s wrong?" Adom asked, looking up from the core in his hands.


    "Oh."


    Behind the dismantled pieces of armor, behind the exposed channels and deconstructed parts, the golem''s eyes were glowing blue.


    Without its core.

 Chapter 23. Golem

    Here''s the thing about golems: they need cores to function. That''s like, Magical Engineering 101. Day one stuff. The kind of basic fact you learn right after "don''t eat mysterious glowing mushrooms" and "yes, that ancient tomb is probably cursed."


    So when you''re holding a golem''s core in your hands, staring at the very definitely core-less golem whose eyes are now glowing a serene blue, you start questioning everything you know about magical engineering. And possibly your life choices.


    Adom stood there, [Fireball] spell burning hot and ready in his palm, aimed at what remained of the golem''s exposed frame. Behind him, a low growl filled the room as the cat''s form began to shift and expand, fur rippling as muscles grew and stretched until a full-sized puma stood in its place, teeth bared and ready to pounce.


    "Wait," Adom said, holding up his free hand.


    Something wasn''t adding up.


    The golem hadn''t moved. Hadn''t attempted to reassemble itself. Hadn''t tried to recover its core. It just... sat there, pieces scattered across the practice room floor, eyes glowing with that steady blue light. Watching.


    Adom''s spell flickered slightly as a new thought occurred to him. He''d been ready to reduce the construct to ash based on pure reflex, but this wasn''t matching any known pattern. The golem had been fully capable of violence in the labyrinth, yet now, even in its most vulnerable state, it showed no signs of aggression. His mind was racing through possibilities, each more unlikely than the last. A backup core? Some sort of residual power? A really elaborate trap?


    "This is either going to be the most interesting discovery I''ve made," Adom said to the puma, "or the stupidest last words anyone''s ever had."


    The puma made a rumbling sound that somehow managed to convey both "please don''t" and "you''re going to anyway" at the same time, but remained tensed and ready, blue eyes fixed on the golem''s remains.


    The soft hum of the [Fireball] spell provided an oddly comforting background noise as Adom took one careful step forward, then another. The crystal lights in the practice room cast overlapping shadows of the scattered golem parts across the floor ¨C a scene that would''ve been almost artistic if it wasn''t so unsettling.


    "Hey there," Adom said, immediately feeling foolish for talking to what was essentially a head with glowing eyes surrounded by metallic parts.


    But then again, he regularly had conversations with a cursed cat, so who was he to judge what constituted normal conversation partners?


    The golem''s eyes tracked his movement, but that was all. No sudden movements, no attempt to reassemble itself, no ominous whirring sounds. Just that steady blue glow, like a pair of calm lakes on a moonlit night.


    Adom glanced down at the core in his left hand, still pulsing with those strange runes, then back at the golem. Something about this felt... deliberate. Like walking into a room and finding everything slightly out of place ¨C not enough to scream ''trap'', but enough to know someone had been there.


    "You''re not supposed to be active," he said to the golem, keeping his spell hand ready. "That''s not how you work. That''s not how any of this works."


    The golem, predictably, didn''t respond.


    The puma, now back into its cat form, had moved from behind his legs to a position where it could watch both Adom and the golem, its tail twitching with what he''d learned to recognize as analytical interest rather than fear.


    Through Riddler''s Bane, the core''s runes shimmered with that same ethereal blue glow, their geometric patterns forming intricate webs that seemed to pulse with ancient power.


    Runes were the building blocks of organized magic ¨C precise geometric patterns that could accomplish specific magical effects when properly arranged. A modern runicologist might pride themselves on knowing a few thousand of them, but there were millions upon millions of possible configurations, each with its own unique purpose.


    Even for Adom, who had spent years studying these mystical geometries, these particular patterns were far beyond anything in modern use. No surprise there ¨C if this core truly dated back to Orynth''s time, it would be roughly a thousand years old, placing it squarely in the Third Age.


    The Ages of Magic were a testament to humanity''s cycle of triumph and catastrophe.


    Four times now, human civilization had climbed to dizzying heights of magical achievement, and four times it had stumbled spectacularly, forcing each new age to begin almost from scratch.


    The Third Age had ended when some brilliant fool had attempted to pierce the veil between life and death, trying to resurrect their lost love. The Second Age collapsed after an equally ambitious attempt at time travel tore reality apart at the seams.


    Each time, the accumulated knowledge of an entire civilization was largely lost, leaving future generations to piece together what they could from fragments and ruins. The Fifth Age had advanced magical engineering far beyond its predecessors in many ways ¨C modern runic arrays were marvels of efficiency and precision, refined through centuries of methodical study and experimentation.


    But sometimes the old ways held secrets that time had forgotten.


    These Third Age runes were different from the standardized patterns Adom knew ¨C not crude or primitive, but following a completely different philosophy. Where modern runes were precise and specialized, these were adaptable, interconnected in ways that defied current magical theory.It was like finding an intricate water clock in an age of steam engines ¨C not necessarily better or worse, but achieving similar goals through fundamentally different means.


    The glowing patterns beneath his monocle hinted at principles of magical engineering that had been lost in the great collapse.


    Politics hadn''t helped, of course.


    The older races ¨C the elves with their thousand-year lifespans and the dwarves with their carefully guarded archives ¨C had their own reasons for keeping certain knowledge from reaching human hands.


    Can''t really blame them, given humanity''s track record with world-ending magical disasters. A few strategic "accidents" here, some conveniently lost manuscripts there, and human progress remained carefully measured. Just another layer in the complex dance of inter-species relations that had shaped the magical world for millennia.


    These runes, though... these were something else entirely. They spoke of an era when human mages had stood at the height of their power, before hubris brought it all crashing down. And now here they were, glowing with impossible life in a core that somehow worked even when separated from its golem.


    Adom spread his notes across the practice room''s floor, positioning them where the crystal lights cast the clearest illumination. The cat ¨C he really needed to give it a proper name one of these days ¨C perched on a stack of reference texts, tail swishing with scholarly interest.


    "Right," he muttered, sketching the core''s outermost runic circle in his notebook. "Modern containment runes are derived from older patterns, simplified over centuries of refinement. These have to connect somewhere..."


    He traced a [Mana Flow] rune in the air with his finger, letting a trickle of power illuminate the pattern. Next to it, he sketched the corresponding pattern from the core. Where the modern rune was elegant in its simplicity ¨C three clean lines intersecting at precise angles ¨C its ancient counterpart sprawled like a thorny vine, branching into subsidiary patterns.


    The cat''s ears perked up, and it made a sound somewhere between a meow and "obviously."


    "Yes, yes, I see it too," Adom replied, adding another sketch. "The secondary branches aren''t decorative. They''re..." He paused, squinting through the monocle. "They''re fail-safes. Alternate power channels. Modern runes are more efficient, but these... these are adaptable."


    Hours slipped by as Adom filled page after page with comparative diagrams. The cat moved between positions ¨C sometimes watching the golem, sometimes batting at his quill, occasionally making that distinctive grunt that meant "you''re thinking about this wrong." Each time he thought he''d grasped the pattern, some new detail would catch his eye, sending him back to his references.


    "Look here," he said, tapping his quill against a particular sequence. "We use [Power Containment] runes as pure boundaries ¨C energy goes in, stays in. But these older versions..." He traced the pattern with a finger glowing with mana. "They''re more like... membranes. Permeable. They don''t just contain power, they..."


    The cat''s tail went rigid.


    "They transform it," Adom breathed. "That''s why the golem''s still active. The core isn''t just a power source ¨C it''s more like a... a template. The actual energy could come from..." He glanced around the room, suddenly very aware of the ambient magical field generated by the practice room''s crystal lights.


    Carefully, he sketched a modified version of a modern [Energy Detection] rune, incorporating elements from the ancient pattern. A drop of mana to activate it, and...


    The air lit up with flowing streams of power, all converging on the scattered golem parts. The cat yowled a warning, but Adom was already moving, fascinated by the implications. "It''s using the ambient magic! The core wasn''t the power source at all, it was just the- shi¡ª!"


    The golem''s arm moved faster than anything that size had any right to, missing Adom''s head by inches as he threw himself backward. The cat ¨C now very much a puma again ¨C caught him mid-fall, breaking his tumble as the fist crashed into the wall behind them.


    "Right," Adom said, heart pounding as he scrambled to his feet. "Note to self: successful magical breakthrough does not always equal good magical breakthrough."


    The golem parts began to twitch, and the blue glow in its eyes flickered to a deeper, darker shade.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Another set of runes caught his attention - spiraling patterns that seemed to fold in on themselves.


    "No way," he muttered, sketching furiously. The cat peered over his shoulder with unusual intensity.


    Back in the labyrinth, he''d seen this golem use Fluid. At the time, he''d been too busy trying not to die to question how a construct could possibly manipulate it.


    But here it was, written in the runes themselves. These patterns weren''t just storing mana - they were processing it, compressing it, forcing it through layers of increasingly dense runic matrices until...


    "It''s artificially generating Fluid," he breathed. The cat''s tail went completely still - a sign Adom interpreted as surprise. "These mad geniuses actually created a runic sequence that can transmute raw mana into Fluid."


    He could recognize maybe one in every dozen runes in that particular sequence. The rest were completely foreign, following principles that violated half of what he knew about the subject. The fact that it worked at all was nothing short of miraculous.


    "I could spend years studying just this section alone," he muttered, adding another diagram to his growing collection.


    *****


    Scattered papers rustled as Adom paced the room, running fingers through his disheveled hair. His monocle caught the moonlight from the high windows, casting prismatic patterns across his diagrams.


    The hour of the wolf.


    "It''s not just storing power," he muttered, while yawning and adding another hasty sketch to his growing collection. "Look at these branching patterns here ¨C they''re not containment runes at all. They''re... they''re more like a nervous system."


    The cat chirped inquisitively, batting at a diagram with its paw.


    "Exactly!" Adom''s quill flew across the page, matching ancient patterns with their modern equivalents. "Modern golems use rigid control runes ¨C direct commands, binary responses. But these..." He traced a complex spiral pattern, letting mana illuminate its branches. "These allow for adaptive responses. The core isn''t just a power source or a control unit ¨C it''s more like a... a template for consciousness."


    His hands shook slightly as he drew a new diagram, combining Fifth Age precision with Third Age adaptability. The first attempt sparked and fizzled. The second left scorch marks on the page. The third...


    The third pattern hung in the air, shimmering with potential.


    "That''s why it responded to the ambient magic. The core contains the pattern, but any compatible energy source can power it. It''s brilliant, really. Terrifying, but brilliant."


    Hours melted away as Adom worked, the cat alternating between helpful suggestions and judgmental naps. Each breakthrough led to new questions, each solution revealed deeper mysteries. His fingers were stained with ink, his sleeves dusted with chalk from countless erased attempts.


    "The key," he said, marking a complex series of interlocking runes, "is the resonance pattern. Modern golems use standardized control runes, but these..." He pressed his palm against a freshly drawn array, pushing mana through it. The pattern absorbed his energy, shifted, adapted. "With the right modification, I..." he smiled. "I think I can make these attune themselves to the my personal mana signature."


    The cat''s tail twitched ¨C approval.


    "One more element." Adom''s voice was hoarse from hours of muttered calculations. He sketched a final set of runes ¨C a hybrid creation combining modern stability with ancient adaptability. "A control matrix keyed to my specific mana frequency. Without it, we''d have a fully conscious construct with no loyalty parameters. In theory."


    Finally, after triple-checking every connection, he lifted the core. New runes of his own design now intertwined with the ancient patterns, glowing with a subtle resonance that matched his own magical signature.


    Adom took a deep breath, weaving a [Shield] spell and raising it around himself ¨C the strongest he could maintain. The cat shifted into its larger form, muscles tensed beneath midnight fur.


    "If this goes wrong," he said, positioning the core above the golem''s chest cavity, "we run. No heroics."


    The puma huffed in agreement.


    "Three..." His hands steadied as he aligned the core.


    "Two..." The shield strengthened around him.


    "One..." Ancient runes pulsed in harmony with his additions.


    "Rise." The word carried power, echoing off the stone walls as Adom pressed the core home.


    Blue light rippled through joints, coursing like liquid lightning until it reached those massive eyes. Adom stepped back, shield humming, while the puma''s muscles bunched in anticipation.


    Theory was one thing - he''d spent hours modifying those runes, weaving his mana signature into their very structure.


    But would it work?


    The golem stood motionless, its magical field pulsing in perfect synchronization with the core. Just as the calculations had predicted.


    Adom and the puma shared a look. This was the moment of truth.


    Magic, at its core, was all about intent. Every mage knew this - it was why the most powerful spells came from the heart rather than the tongue. And Adom had done something rather clever with that principle. He hadn''t just marked the core with his magical signature; he''d woven it into the very fabric of the golem''s consciousness matrix. In theory, the construct should respond not just to his magic, but to his will.


    In theory.


    He cleared his throat. "Raise your right arm?"


    The golem''s arm lifted in one smooth motion, holding perfectly steady at shoulder height.


    Adom contained his excitement.


    No, no. Too soon to jump. let''s try...


    "Lower it."


    The arm descended.


    Adom''s quill slipped from his suddenly trembling fingers, clattering to the floor. He stared at it for a moment, then at the golem. "Would you... um, please pick that up for me?"


    The golem moved with surprising grace for something its size, kneeling to retrieve the quill. But here was the real test - before Adom could say another word, the construct was already extending its arm, offering the quill back to him.


    Just as he''d hoped. Not responding to words at all, but to the pure intent flowing through that modified core.


    "YES!" Adom leaped into the air with a whoop of joy, papers scattering around him. "I DID IT!"


    The puma, finally satisfied that the immediate danger had passed, shrank back into its smaller form, giving him a look that somehow managed to be both pleased and exasperated.


    Adom''s celebration froze mid-jump. "Oh."


    The cat''s ears perked forward inquisitively.


    There was more to this golem than simple tasks.


    The core''s architecture had revealed layer upon layer of combat runes - formations, attack patterns, weapon stances. This wasn''t some simple worker construct or messenger automaton. This was a knight, a warrior, built for the battlefield. The same deadly efficiency that had nearly killed them in the labyrinth was now under his control.


    "I got an idea," Adom said, a grin spreading across his face as the cat''s ears flattened in preemptive disapproval. The room suddenly felt full of possibilities - and maybe just a hint of future regret.


    Adom pulled out the Flamebrand sword from his inventory, turning it over in his hands.


    The craftsmanship was evident - perfect balance, elegant lines, deadly purpose in every curve. Growing up as a knight''s son meant he could at least recognize quality, even if he couldn''t use it properly.


    He''d seen enough of his father''s training sessions to know that becoming proficient with a blade took years of dedicated practice. Years he''d spent hunched over books instead, learning runes and occasionally punching things that annoyed him.


    Strange how satisfying that had become, actually. When had he started enjoying the feeling of his fist connecting with enemies? Probably around the same time he started collecting scars and getting into increasingly questionable situations.


    He extended the sword toward the golem, handle first. The construct''s fingers closed around the grip with precise, practiced movements.


    "Show me how this is supposed to be used."


    The golem settled into a stance. Then, out of nowhere, the blade erupted into flames.


    It could do that?


    "Oh." Adom blinked. "Right. Flamebrand. It''s in the name."


    The demonstration that followed made Adom feel slightly better about his own inability to use the weapon. The golem moved like liquid metal, each strike flowing into the next, leaving trails of fire in the air that hung for moments before dissipating.


    High guard, low sweep, thrust-parry-riposte - movements Adom recognized from his childhood but had never seen executed with such mechanical perfection. The blade sang through the air, its flames showing patterns that would have been beautiful if they weren''t so obviously deadly.


    The cat watched from atop a table, tail twitching with grudging approval.


    "Well," Adom said as the golem returned to ready stance, flames still dancing along the blade, "that''s definitely better than me smacking things with it and hoping for the best." He had effectively just gained a personal knight, one that would never tire, never question, and apparently knew exactly how to use a magic sword.


    The corner of his mouth twitched upward. "I wonder what else you know how to do?"


    *****


    Morning.


    The sun felt particularly offensive today, its cheerful rays completely at odds with Adom''s current state.


    He stared into his untouched coffee, watching the steam rise in lazy spirals. The private dining room''s morning light felt too bright, too cheerful, and definitely too early. Across the oak table, Cisco methodically spread butter on his toast while Marco arranged the morning''s documents with precise movements.


    Valiant sprawled in his chair, tail swishing against the polished wood. "Rough night, huh?"


    "Interesting one," Adom managed, suppressing a yawn.


    "Ohoho," Valiant''s whiskers twitched. "Interesting, he says. I bet it was interesting." He winked, grinning. "Very interesting, if you know what I mean."


    Valiant laughed heartily, tapping the table.


    Three sets of eyes turned to the young mouse beastkin. All had different intensities, but carried the same sentiment. Disappointment.


    The silence stretched.


    Valiant''s laughter died slowly, like air leaking from a balloon. He glanced between their faces, tail going still. "You guys have no sense of humor."


    Cisco turned another page of his morning report.


    <div>


    <div>


    Adom wasn''t quite sure what to make of Valiant. The young mouse beastkin treated everyone like a childhood friend, even those he''d just met, skipping entirely past the usual social graces that made interactions bearable.


    Perhaps it was the exhaustion from last night''s work with the golem making him irritable, or maybe it was just his age showing, but there was something particularly grating about someone who acted like the court jester at a funeral.


    <div>


    "Ah," Adom took a sip of his coffee, keeping his expression neutral. "Got one recently."


    "WHAT?!" Valiant nearly knocked over his cup, tail straight as a rod. "You? A cat? Those things are vicious! My cousin got scratched up real bad by one last month! Said it looked at him like he was breakfast!"


    "It''s just their nature," Adom said mildly, thinking of judgmental blue eyes and surprisingly supportive purrs. "They''re independent creatures. They do what they want."


    "Independent? More like murderous! Did you know they play with their food? Actually play with it before¡ª"


    "We''re aware of feline hunting habits, Valiant," Marco interrupted, not looking up from his papers. "Some of us even appreciate their efficiency."


    Valiant shuddered dramatically. "Efficiency. Right. That''s what we''re calling it now."


    "They''re also excellent judges of character," Cisco added, with just the slightest emphasis that made Valiant''s whiskers droop.


    The conversation drifted into a comfortable lull, broken only by the clink of cups and the rustling of papers, until Cisco finally set down his toast and cleared his throat.


    "As entertaining as this morning''s zoological discussion has been," he said, wiping his hands, "I believe we have more pressing matters to discuss?"


    "Thanks for meeting on such short notice," Adom said, settling into his chair. "Eren mentioned you had something to discuss as well?"


    Cisco nodded, his usual calm demeanor carrying a hint of tension. "There have been... complications with your order."


    "Complications?" Something in Cisco''s tone made Adom''s stomach tighten.


    "The wyvern proved more troublesome than anticipated. Ambushed our first hunting party near its nest. We lost good people." Cisco''s fingers drummed once on the table. "I''ve dispatched a second team, more experienced with aerial predators, but it will delay things."


    "How long?"


    "Two weeks. Perhaps three at most." Cisco spread his hands apologetically. "We''ll adjust the price accordingly, of course."


    Adom forced himself to breathe slowly. Two weeks. He ran the calculations in his head - the preservation spells on the other ingredients would hold, barely. The cure was still possible within that timeframe. Just... tighter than he''d like.


    "Two weeks," he repeated, more to himself than the others. "Alright. We can work with that."


    "Now," Cisco said, leaning back slightly, "what did you wish to discuss?"


    "Right." Adom set down his cup. "Few weeks ago, I was attacked. Broad daylight. My friend was with me." He paused. "Children of the Moon. Helios''s people, without question."


    "How did they track you?" Cisco asked.


    "The Undertow incident. They slipped a tracking spell on me during all that mess."


    "Cunning bastards," Valiant muttered.


    "They are."


    "So you want to kill the vampire," Cisco said, reaching for his cup. "Getting him out in daylight won''t be easy, but we could do it if we try."


    "Not quite." Adom''s voice was level. "Killing Helios won''t stop the Children of the Moon from coming after me for retribution." He let the words settle. "Which is why I think it''s time we dealt with them. All of them. Permanently."


    The clink of Marco''s pen against the inkwell was the only sound in the room. Valiant''s whiskers twitched once, twice, then went still. Even Cisco, who rarely showed surprise, sat a fraction straighter in his chair.


    "You''re not suggesting a mere disruption of operations," Cisco finally said.


    "No," Adom said simply. "I''m not."

 Chapter 24. Operation Bring Down the Bat

    How does one take down a criminal organization?


    Well, the smartest approach would probably be to not mess with them in the first place. Walk away. Move to another city. Change your name. Buy a cottage somewhere remote and take up gardening.


    But since that option was thoroughly out the window¡ªthanks to a tracking spell and two attempts on his life¡ªAdom had to consider alternatives.


    He could go to the authorities, except, according to Cisco, the Children of the Moon had their tendrils deep in local law enforcement. He could try to bankrupt them, but that would take years he didn''t have. He could challenge their leader to single combat... Actually, nevermind. That was stupid. That''d definitely get him killed.


    Adom''s approach was simpler: identify the weak points and press until something broke. It wasn''t elegant, but then again, neither was he. What he did have was a frighteningly practical mind, a talent for magic that surprised even himself sometimes, and the kind of cunning that came from spending too much time thinking about how things could go wrong.


    It turned out those were exactly the right qualities for bringing down a criminal empire. Who knew?


    "You''ve caused quite the mess in the Undertow," Cisco said, his tiny paw now adjusting the silver-headed cane. "The Children haven''t had time to properly hunt you - too busy fighting a war on six fronts."


    "Me?"


    "Hmm." His whiskers twitched. "Bad blood runs deep in the Undertow. The Silver Circle never forgot how the Children muscled into their shipping routes five years ago. The River Kings still remember the warehouse massacre. Even the Shadow Market holds a grudge over a business with some artifact smuggling." The mouse''s dark eyes glinted. "All it needed was a spark. A spark that you caused."


    "And now?"


    "Now?" Cisco''s tail curved with satisfaction. "The Children are losing territory by the day. Their allies - the few they had - are suddenly developing selective memory when it comes to old agreements. No one wants to back a losing side." He gestured at his ledger. "My profits are up thirty percent - turns out a lot of people were waiting for an excuse to move against them."


    "They made enemies of everyone who mattered in the Undertow," Adom noted.


    "Arrogance." Cisco shrugged. "They thought fear would keep everyone in line. But fear only works until something scarier comes along." He paused. "Or until someone shows that the monster can bleed."


    "In that case," Adom said, "I don''t suppose I could get a discount?"


    Cisco''s deep laugh filled the office. "No."


    "That¨C"


    "Now, about the Children of the Moon." Cisco''s voice cut through Adom''s budding protest. "They''re vulnerable. Their attention is split, resources stretched thin. Perfect time to strike."


    He tapped his cane against the desk. "First, we identify their income streams. Protection money, smuggling routes, gambling dens. Interrupt those, their soldiers don''t get paid. Unpaid soldiers get... creative with their loyalties. Then we target their information network. Bad intel leads to poor decisions. Poor decisions..." He gestured with one tiny paw. "Well."


    "And you know all their weak points."


    "Naturally. Complete intelligence package: locations, contacts, schedules. Everything you need to dismantle their operation." He paused. "For a price."


    "Which would be?"


    "Eighty thousand."


    "That''s¡ª" Adom stopped. "Hold on. This benefits you too. You said they have been a thorn in your side for years."


    "True."


    "And I''ve already helped increase your profits."


    "Also true."


    "So really, you should give me a discount."


    Cisco''s tail curved thoughtfully. "Fifty percent."


    "Ninety-five. Plus you still owe me that twenty-seven point five percent reduction on the assassin, as Marco calculated that day."


    Marco adjusted his glasses.


    "Ninety percent. And fifteen off the assassin."


    "You know," Cisco said, each word measured like drops of poison, "most people who sit in that chair understand the delicate nature of our relationship. The careful balance between..." His tail coiled. "...favor and necessity."


    "I understand perfectly. I''m still not paying full price for something that benefits me so little."


    "So little?" Dark eyes fixed on Adom. "Tell me, what do you think happens to the territory once the Children fall? The wealth? The connections?" His deep voice grew softer, more dangerous. "Have you considered that perhaps I already have plans for all of it?"


    "Keep it," Adom said flatly. "I don''t want their territory, their money, or their people. I want them gone."


    Cisco went very still. "No profit?" A pause. "Just destruction?"


    "Just destruction."


    The mouse''s expression shifted - something between appreciation and curiosity. "Five percent of operational costs. You cover your own expenses."


    "Deal."


    Marco adjusted his glasses again, probably calculating how many headaches this partnership would cause him.


    Cisco lifted his absurdly tiny coffee cup. "We start today. The Children have a shipment coming in at midnight - weapons, mostly. Would be a shame if someone tipped off the city guard about illegal cargo at dock thirteen."


    "And you''re just now mentioning this?"


    "Information has a shelf life." He took a delicate sip. "I''ll keep you updated on similar opportunities. And I''ll be expecting that five percent soon." His dark eyes shifted. "Marco, what''s the exact figure?"


    "Forty thousand gold pieces, accounting for operational costs, minus the previously discussed reductions, factoring in current market variables and anticipated resource allocation," Marco said without looking up from his ledger, "comes to thirty-nine thousand, seven hundred and twenty-two gold pieces and four silvers."


    Adom looked at Marco. "I still say you''re making these numbers up."


    Marco adjusted his glasses.


    "He always does that," Cisco said, setting down his cup. "It''s either extremely impressive or extremely annoying. I haven''t decided which."


    <div>


    *****


    After all the morning''s discussion, things wrapped up pretty quickly. Cisco laid out his plan for what he called "Operation Bring Down the Bat" ¨C which would kick off that very night.


    He''d start by disrupting their weapons shipment and keep hitting them where it hurt, creating the kind of chaos that made criminal organizations implode. All Adom had to do was pay his 5% and watch it all unfold from a safe distance.


    Speaking of money well spent, he''d decided to call his armored construct "Golem Knight." Simple, effective, and it did exactly what it said on the tin. Though he made a mental note to commission a new set of armor soon ¨C might as well make an already intimidating magical construct even more formidable. Another thing for the to-do list.


    Oh, and about to-do lists... Adom checked his pocket watch and felt his stomach drop. 11:34 AM. Oh no. Alchemy class was in twenty minutes.


    Adom slipped into the alchemy classroom just as Professor Mirwen was setting up for today''s demonstration. The scent of herbs and mineral solutions filled the air, mingling with the perpetual undertone of scorched wood that seemed embedded in the very stones of the classroom.


    "Today, we''ll be studying the Aureolin Healing Draught," Professor Mirwen announced. "Can anyone tell me why this particular potion is considered one of the most challenging healing solutions to brew?"


    As usual, only Mia Storm''s hand shot up, while the rest of the class suddenly found their notebooks fascinating.


    "Yes, Miss Storm?"


    "The Aureolin Draught requires perfect temperature control throughout its brewing process. A variation of even half a degree can render it useless ¨C or worse, toxic."


    "Excellent, Miss Storm," Professor Mirwen said, making a note in her ever-present grade book. "That''s another perfect answer for your participation record."


    Adom watched as Professor Mirwen began the demonstration. The potion started as a clear liquid, slowly taking on a golden hue as she added precisely measured ingredients. When she introduced powdered sunstone, the mixture began to emit a soft, pulsing glow.


    "What makes this potion particularly valuable?" she asked again.


    Mia''s hand was already up. "Unlike standard healing potions, the Aureolin Draught can heal internal injuries without side effects, and it works instantaneously."


    Lisa Chen, still sporting faint purple spots from last class''s mishap, whispered something to her friend about Mia being a know-it-all. Sam, next to Adom, was sketching what appeared to be a detailed diagram of the brewing process, his tongue stuck out in concentration.


    The demonstration continued, with Professor Mirwen explaining each step in detail. When she added three drops of artificial phoenix tears (which made half the class gasp ¨C those were rare and expensive), the potion shimmered like liquid sunlight.


    "And finally," she said, "why must this potion be brewed during daylight hours?"


    This time, even Mia hesitated, but raised her hand anyway.


    "The potion draws power from natural light," she said, though less confidently than before. "Artificial light would..."


    "Close, Miss Storm, but not quite," Professor Mirwen smiled. "Can anyone else...?" She looked around the silent classroom. "Mr. Sylla?"


    Adom, who''d been lost in thought about possible improvements to the formula, startled slightly. "The potion doesn''t actually draw power from light at all," he said. "It''s the ambient life energy that peaks during daylight hours. Brewing at night would result in a potion that draws vitality from the patient instead of supporting their natural healing process."


    A few students turned to stare at him.


    As the class ended and students filed out, Sam packed up his things. "Market later? We cannot go empty handed." he asked.


    "I''ll join you there," Adom replied, gathering his materials. "Need to speak with Professor Mirwen first."


    Sam nodded and headed out, nearly colliding with a first-year who was trying to peek through the doorway at him.


    As Adom waited for the last students to file out, he pulled the carefully wrapped vial from his bag. Before he could approach Professor Mirwen''s desk, Sam suddenly turned back.


    "Oh, wait. Almost forgot." Sam rummaged through his bag, pulling out something wrapped in soft cloth. "Found these while cleaning my drawer last night. Thought you might want them back."


    Adom unwrapped the cloth, and his eyes widened. In his hands were his old glasses from first year ¨C the ones that had been broken during that awful day when Damus and his friends had cornered him behind the library. The frame had been carefully repaired, though you could still see the places where it had snapped. The lenses had been replaced, and despite the frame''s worn appearance, they were clean and functional.


    "You... kept these?" Adom''s voice was barely above a whisper.


    Sam shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed. "Just in case, you know? You''ve been squinting a lot lately, and well... figured they might help until we can get you new ones."


    Adom''s hands trembled slightly as he unfolded the arms of the glasses. He slipped them on, and the world snapped into focus. They weren''t perfect ¨C there was a slight scratch on the left lens ¨C but they felt familiar. Right.


    "How do I look?" he asked, adjusting them self-consciously.


    Sam grinned. "Finally like yourself again."


    Adom couldn''t help but laugh, though it came out a bit shaky. "We definitely need to get new ones soon."


    "Obviously. But these''ll do for now." Sam headed for the door again. "See you at the market!"


    Adom started walking.


    The delayed shipment of ingredients left him uneasy. He wanted to believe everything would work out, that he was just being paranoid and the delivery would arrive right on schedule. But a nagging voice in the back of his mind wouldn''t let him rest easy. Experience had taught him the value of contingency plans. Even if the alternative was far more complicated, the peace of mind it offered was worth the extra effort.


    Better to have a backup plan and not need it, than need it and not have it.


    He''d spent hours analyzing the Elixir of Rebirth, combining his knowledge with Riddler''s Bane, but had made frustratingly little progress.


    Not surprising, really ¨C while he was no slouch in alchemy, his expertise lay in magical theory and runicology. Completely different beasts.


    No, what he needed was the insight of a true master of the craft. And they didn''t come much more qualified than Professor Alissa Mirwen.


    Her thesis on catalytic transmutation had revolutionized modern alchemy, earning her the Paracelsus Medal three times over. The shelves in her office practically groaned under the weight of awards and recognitions from every major alchemical institution in the known world.


    Her work on stabilizing volatile compounds had saved countless lives, and her contributions to medical alchemy were required reading at every prestigious academy.


    A bitter thought crossed his mind. In his original timeline, after Arkhos fell ¨C and Xerkes with it ¨C he''d never managed to learn what happened to her, or to so many others. The lists of the missing had been endless, and most were presumed dead in the chaos that followed.


    But here she was, very much alive, preparing for her next class with the same methodical precision he remembered. If he could get her to appoint one of her student assistants as his tutor... well, that would be ideal.


    Professor Mirwen was known for taking promising alchemists under her wing, training them personally in advanced techniques. Her assistants were among the most knowledgeable students in the academy when it came to practical alchemy.


    Adom approached Professor Mirwen''s desk, the cat padding silently behind him.


    "Mr. Sylla," Professor Mirwen looked up from her notes, eyebrows raised slightly. "How unusual to see you lingering after class. Usually it''s Miss Storm who..." She glanced past him. No one was there.


    "I''ve been doing some thinking about my future path," Adom began. He''d rehearsed this conversation in his head. "And I believe I''d like to pursue alchemy."


    "Oh?" Professor Mirwen set down her quill, giving him her full attention. "That''s quite a departure from your current focus on magical theory and runic studies."


    "Not necessarily," Adom said, warming to his role. "I''ve come to realize that alchemy represents a perfect synthesis of theoretical knowledge and practical application. The way different elements interact, the precise calculations required..." He was surprised to find some truth mixing with his performance. "It''s fascinating, really."This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Professor Mirwen''s lips twitched slightly. "And this sudden fascination wouldn''t have anything to do with your recent... extracurricular activities?"


    Adom nearly missed a beat. Careful now. "I''m not sure what you mean, Professor."


    "Mr. Sylla," she said, leaning back in her chair, "in the past weeks, you''ve shown up to class without your glasses, been into a fight, joined a club..." Her lips curved into a slight smile. "For which, I must say, I commend you."


    "Uuh... Thank you?"


    "And I''ve heard interesting rumors about you running through the forest at odd hours." She paused. "Not to mention that rather remarkable familiar that''s suddenly appeared."


    The black cat, as if on cue, wrapped itself around Adom''s ankles, its blue eyes fixed unblinkingly on Professor Mirwen.


    "You know, Mr. Sylla," she continued, her voice taking on a gentler tone, "it''s quite common for students your age to go through... periods of change. Seeking to affirm themselves, making bold decisions, sometimes rash ones." She adjusted a small brass scale on her desk. "It''s a natural part of finding one''s path."


    Ah, Adom thought, she thinks this is some sort of teenage rebellion phase. The irony almost made him smile.


    "In my experience," she continued, "students going through such changes tend to cause quite a bit of trouble." Her eyes met his, sharp and knowing. "Are you going to cause trouble, Mr. Sylla?"


    "No, Professor," Adom said, trying to look as sincere as possible. "I just want to learn."


    "Hmm." She drummed her fingers on the desk thoughtfully. "And I suppose this sudden interest in advanced alchemy is completely unrelated to all these changes?"


    "I..." Adom started, then switched tactics. "Would you believe me if I said it''s all related to my newfound interest in alchemy?"


    "Not for a moment," she said cheerfully. "However, your actual motivations are your own business. What interests me is that you''re here, asking for additional training in my field." She drummed her fingers on the desk. "Though I suspect you were about to suggest something specific?"


    Adom nodded. "I was hoping you might be able to assign a senior student to help me with some advanced studies. Someone who could guide me through the basics I might have... missed."


    "A senior student," Professor Mirwen repeated thoughtfully. "Someone to help you understand certain specific aspects of alchemy, perhaps? Particular formulations or... effects?"


    Well played, Professor, Adom thought. Well played indeed.


    "Something like that," he admitted.


    "Well then," Professor Mirwen said, standing up, "I believe I have a better solution." She began gathering her materials with precise movements. "Instead of assigning you a student tutor, I''ll handle your additional training myself."


    Adom blinked. He''d been prepared for several possible outcomes, but this wasn''t one of them. "Professor, I couldn''t possibly¡ª"


    "Oh, but I insist," she said, and there was a glint in her eye that reminded him why she was considered one of the most brilliant minds in modern alchemy. "As it happens, I already conduct special sessions with Miss Storm on Thursday evenings. Advanced theoretical work, transmutation, experimental procedures, practical applications..." She smiled. "The sort of things that might interest someone with your... newfound passion for the field."


    Adom felt a genuine smile tugging at his lips. This was better than he could have planned. Not only would he have direct access to Professor Mirwen''s expertise, but the regular sessions would provide perfect cover for his increasing interest in advanced alchemical processes.


    "That would be perfect," he said aloud. "Thank you, Professor."


    "Excellent. Thursdays at seven, then." She paused at the door. "And Mr. Sylla? Whatever game you''re playing, whatever answers you''re seeking... do be careful. Alchemy can be rather... volatile when approached with hidden agendas."


    "I''ll keep that in mind. Thank you professor."


    As Adom turned to leave, the black cat let out a questioning meow, its blue eyes fixed on him.


    "I need to make a quick stop somewhere with Sam," he told the cat, adjusting his bag. "Care to join us?"


    The cat''s only response was to pad silently after him as he left the classroom, its tail held high like a banner.


    *****


    The strider''s long legs ate up the dirt road with an easy gait, the cart swaying gently behind it. The black cat perched regally on the front bench between them, watching the passing landscape while the light breeze carried the mingled scents from their market haul - fresh bread, ripe peaches, and what the vendor had sworn were the best butter cookies this side of the isles.


    Law''s Farm.


    The thought had been needling at Adom ever since the events of the labyrinth. A living piece of history, still running after all these centuries, and he''d never bothered to visit. Then again, until recently, ancient farms hadn''t exactly been high on his priority list.


    But Ben had invited him, hadn''t he? The old groundskeeper''s warm voice and easy manner still fresh in his memory, along with the promise of hospitality...


    "You know," Sam''s voice cut through his thoughts, "we''ve been at Xerkes what, two years now? And I''ve never actually been up there." He gestured toward the clifftop where enchanted windmills spun lazily against the morning sky. "Pretty sad when you think about it. I mean, it''s literally the Farmer Mage''s farm. The Farmer Mage." He shifted in his seat, glancing sideways at Adom. "You sure it''s okay for me to tag along? I mean, the old man invited you, not me."


    "Yeah," Adom replied, adjusting a peach that threatened to escape its wrapping. "I don''t like going to new places alone anyway."


    The cart wound its way up the mountain path, each turn revealing more of the sparkling ocean below until the whole southern coast of Arkhos stretched out like a painting.


    The sunlight caught the enchanted windmills, their crystalline blades throwing rainbow light across fields of gently swaying wheat that definitely wasn''t in season anywhere else on the island.


    Stone fences lined with wildflowers marked the boundaries between pastures where fat sheep grazed alongside creatures that looked like someone had tried to cross a cow with a cloud - their wool-like fur shifting colors in the breeze.


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    A border collie spotted them first, barking excitedly as it raced alongside their cart, herding them up the final stretch of road.


    The cat merely glanced at the energetic dog with royal disdain, turning its head away as if the very concept of acknowledging such common behavior was beneath its dignity. Adom and Sam exchanged looks and burst out laughing.


    Herb gardens surrounded it in concentric circles, each ring holding plants that shouldn''t have been able to grow together - winter mint beside summer sage, frost berries next to desert bloom.


    The air itself felt different here - cleaner, easier to breathe, carrying the mingled scents of ocean spray and fresh-baked bread. Even the cat seemed affected, ears perked forward with unusual interest as it surveyed this new domain from its perch.


    A booming laugh rolled across the farmyard as Ben emerged from behind a stack of freshly cut timber, his face creasing into a map of cheerful wrinkles. "Well, if it isn''t my jogging friend!"


    He dusted off his hands on his work pants, that same twinkle in his eye Adom remembered from their first meeting. "And you''ve brought company! Including..." he paused, studying the black cat who had jumped down from the cart with unusual grace, "...quite an interesting cat."


    "Thank you for the ride," Adom turned to the strider driver, reaching for his coin pouch. "Would you be able to return in about two hours?"


    "Nonsense!" Ben interjected, waving his hand dismissively. "I''ll take you back myself later. No need to arrange another ride."


    After Adom paid the driver, he lifted a covered basket from the cart. "We brought some things from the market - just a small thank you for having us."


    "Oh, you shouldn''t have!" Ben''s face lit up as he peeked under the cloth. "Fresh peaches! And are those butter cookies I smell?"


    "The vendor claimed they''re the best in the duchy," Sam chimed in with a grin. "Though personally, I think the honey cakes might give them a run for their money."


    "Sorry for dropping by unannounced," Adom added. "This is Sam, by the way - my friend from Xerkes."


    "A pleasure, sir," Sam said, offering a polite bow.


    "Another mage in training, are you?" Ben''s eyes crinkled with interest.


    "Yes, sir. Second year, like Adom." Sam gestured at the windmills. "I''ve read so much about this place - those enchanted windmills are famous even in the northern provinces."


    "Ah!" Ben''s face lit up. "My daughter''s a mage too - graduated Xerkes few years back. Works with weather patterns now, down in the southern isles. Always nice to meet fellow practitioners. Though," he chuckled, "I''m just a simple farmer myself. The land does most of the magic around here - I just tend to it."


    "Does she work with the merchant ships?" Sam asked, genuinely curious.


    "The southern isles are quite far," Adom mused. "Must be quite different from working the farmland here."


    "That''s my Maya - never could resist a challenge," Ben beamed proudly. "Though she started right here, helping me predict the rains for planting season."


    The old groundskeeper''s eyes lingered on the cat for a moment longer than strictly necessary, but his warm smile never wavered. "Perfect timing too - just finished splitting the morning''s wood. Though," he added with a knowing grin, "I suspect you didn''t come all this way just to watch an old man stack lumber."


    "Actually," Adom began, but Ben raised a weathered hand.


    He wiped his brow with a worn handkerchief, gesturing toward the main house. "Come on then, let''s get you two settled. Nothing like morning tea after a long ride, that''s what my grandmother used to say. Course, she also said never to trust a rooster that could do arithmetic, but that''s a story for another time..."


    Following Ben''s lead, they made their way through the farmyard. Sam''s head kept turning left and right, taking in everything with wide eyes.


    "The air here..." Sam whispered to Adom, "it''s incredible."


    Adom nodded. Even for a mage-tended farm, the concentration of mana was unusual.


    It permeated the air like morning dew, fresh and pure, making them feel oddly light, almost buoyant. Each breath seemed to fill them with vitality.


    Past the windmills and orchards, a grand manor house rose in the distance, its stone walls gleaming in the morning sun.


    "That''s the duke''s residence," Ben explained, following their gaze. "Though it''s been quiet these past months. His Grace was summoned to the capital by the Emperor himself - took most of the household with him. Just us caretakers watching over things until they return."


    A loud meow interrupted them as the black cat suddenly darted ahead, making straight for an ancient apple tree. Despite the season, its branches were bare of fruit.


    "Oh! Adom, look!" Sam''s voice rose with excitement. "Is that-?"


    Ben''s hearty laugh rolled across the grounds. "I see you know your history, young man! Yes, that''s Master Law''s tree - or so the stories say. Been here longer than any of us, that''s for certain. Three thousand years, give or take a century." He sighed fondly. "Used to bear the sweetest apples you''d ever taste, golden as sunrise. Haven''t seen a single fruit in years now, though. Still, just having it here..." He patted the gnarled trunk as they passed. "Well, it''s a piece of history, isn''t it?"


    Despite Sam''s excitement, Adom felt nothing particular from the ancient tree.


    He''d hoped for... something, anything - a residual trace, a whisper of magic that might give him a clue about Law or the book. But the tree, however old, seemed to hold its secrets close.


    Ben led them to a wooden table under a sprawling oak, its weathered surface worn smooth by countless meals. As he busied himself with an old iron kettle over a small cooking fire, Sam kept sneaking glances at the apple tree, practically bouncing in his seat with barely contained enthusiasm.


    The smell of herb tea and honey mingled with woodsmoke. Ben had also brought out fresh bread, still warm, and a pot of thick stew that had been simmering since morning. It was simple fare, but somehow perfectly suited to the setting.


    "Nothing better than a hot meal in the open air," Ben said, ladling out generous portions. "Though Maya always says I add too much pepper."


    Adom found his eyes drawn back to the apple tree. The black cat remained there, sitting perfectly still, staring up into the bare branches as if seeing something they couldn''t. Even Ben''s old sheepdog, which had wandered over hoping for scraps, couldn''t distract it from whatever had caught its attention.


    He was about to get up and investigate when Ben placed a steaming mug in front of him. "Here you go, boys. My special blend - good for clearing the mind."


    The tea was fragrant and soothing, and soon they were all listening to Ben''s stories about Maya''s early days of magic study - how she''d accidentally created a miniature raincloud that followed her around for a week, how she''d made the windmills spin backwards trying to improve their efficiency.


    It was only when Ben started clearing the dishes that the cat finally sauntered over, looking perfectly satisfied with itself, and settled near Adom''s feet as if it had never been anywhere else.


    "...and that''s when Maya realized you can''t actually herd butterflies with wind magic," Ben chuckled, gathering the last of the cups. "Though I must say, it made for a spectacular garden party."


    *****


    Several hours later, nightime, somewhere in the docks of Arkhos...


    "Pass me the blunt, Lars."


    Lars handed it to Johan without looking away from the water. The moon caught the ripples just right, making the harbor look almost pretty, if you ignored the smell. "Getting cold out here. Winter''s coming."


    "That''s what your sister said last night," Frank drawled from his perch on a crate.


    Hans snorted his drink. Lars flipped Frank off without turning around. "Go fuck yourself."


    "Can''t. Too busy with your¡ª"


    "Both of you shut it," Johan cut in, though his shoulders shook with silent laughter. "Guard patrol in ten."


    Frank stretched, joints popping. "They''re late anyway. Cisco sure this is the right dock?"


    "When''s he ever wrong?" Hans asked, wiping his nose with his sleeve.


    "Fair point." Frank pulled his coat tighter. "Still. Sitting here with my ass freezing to these crates wasn''t how I planned to spend my night."


    "Could be worse," Lars said. "Remember that job in the sewers?"


    A collective groan rose from the group.


    "We agreed never to talk about that again," Johan muttered, passing the blunt back.


    "Heard that mage kid''s been stirring up trouble," Hans said, breaking the comfortable silence. "The one who got the Children all riled up."


    "You mean the one who got them and the Circle at each other''s throats?" Johan took another drag. "Smart play."


    Lars checked his pocket watch. "Midnight."


    "You don''t think..." Frank shifted uneasily. "You don''t think Helios shows up tonight, right?"


    "Relax," Hans said. "Marco said he''s busy elsewhere. Something about a meeting with¡ª"


    A scuff of boots against wood.


    The blunt hit the ground, stomped out in one fluid motion. Steel whispered against leather as weapons appeared in practiced hands. Lars pressed himself against a stack of crates, counting footsteps. One set. Light. Trying to be quiet and failing.


    A shadow moved past their hiding spot.


    Lars lunged, one hand clamping over the stranger''s mouth before they could scream. The knife at their throat caught moonlight.


    "Wait," Johan hissed, moving closer. The tension bled out of his shoulders. "Lars, let him go. It''s our guy."


    Lars released his grip.


    The guard''s eyes flicked from Johan''s curved blade to Frank''s brass knuckles, then lingered on the worn grip of Hans'' crossbow. He swallowed hard, Adam''s apple bobbing.


    "Those, uh..." His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, tried again. "Those weren''t part of the arrangement."


    "Insurance," Johan said simply.


    The guard''s gaze settled on Lars'' knife. A small dark stain marked his collar where he''d started sweating. "Right. Insurance. Of course." He let out a weak laugh that didn''t reach his eyes. "Totally reasonable. Totally normal. I''m just here to unlock the gate and look the other way. Like we agreed."


    "Then do it," Lars said quietly.


    The guard led them down the dock, past rows of legitimate cargo until they reached a section marked with a subtle chalk symbol - a crescent moon inside a triangle.


    "Just came in," he whispered, gesturing to a stack of unmarked crates. "Arrived through the ghost port."


    "Ghost port?" Frank asked.


    The guard glanced around before explaining. "They use hedge mages to create a pocket space - like a bubble between realities. Ships sail in through normal waters, then slip sideways into the bubble. Makes them invisible to harbor patrol. When they''re ready to unload, they phase back in, but only part way. Cargo exists in both spaces at once until it''s marked and pulled through completely."


    Lars ran his fingers over the chalk symbol. "Smart."


    "That''s why you need someone like me to mark it," the guard said, a hint of pride creeping into his voice. "Without the right sigils, you''d reach for a crate and your hand would pass right through. Or worse - get stuck between spaces."


    "Fascinating," Johan drawled. "Now open it."


    The guard pulled out another key, this one marked with similar symbols to the chalk marks. "Right. Yes. Of course."


    The lock clicked and the crate''s lid creaked open. Rows of weapons packed in straw.


    "Would you look at that," Hans whistled low. "Quality stuff."


    Frank lifted a crossbow, testing its weight. "Children aren''t going to like missing these beauties."


    Lars grinned, running his finger along a sword''s edge. "Shame, that."


    They shared a laugh, the kind that comes easy after a job well done.


    "Keep it down," the guard hissed, though he was smiling too. "My payment?"


    "Alright, alright." Johan chuckled, reaching into his pocket. Then¡ª


    "Huh."


    It was such a small sound. Confused. Almost thoughtful. Lars turned just in time to see Johan''s eyes go wide, his mouth forming a perfect ''O'' of surprise. A dark stain spread across his chest.


    The moment stretched like molasses. Lars saw everything with crystal clarity - the way Johan''s hand fell from his pocket, coins scattering across the dock. The guard''s empty smile. The metallic gleam between Johan''s ribs.


    Then time snapped back like a bowstring.


    "AMBUSH!" Lars screamed, but Hans was already falling, a crossbow bolt through his throat. Frank''s brass knuckles caught moonlight as he spun¡ª


    Hot blood sprayed across Lars'' face.


    Frank''s head took a lazy spin through the air, a look of surprise forever frozen on his features before it splashed into the dark water. The body stood for a moment, a fountain of red, before crumpling.


    "FRANK! JOHAN!"


    "Good evening, gentlemen."


    The voice was smooth as silk, almost cheerful. Lars turned slowly, blood dripping from his chin.


    A tall figure stood at the edge of the lamplight, sword resting casually on his shoulder. Moonlight caught his unkempt blonde hair, and stubble shadowed his jaw like he hadn''t bothered to shave for a few days. His eyes glowed an unnatural green, shifting and swirling. The same energy dripped from his blade, as if it was on fire. Green fire.


    A Fluid user.


    The guard broke first, scrambling backwards. "Please, sir, I was just¡ª"


    "Leaving?" The figure''s smile widened. "How rude." He made a lazy flicking motion with his sword. A crescent of green fluid sliced through the air.


    A signature move every person in the Empire knew to fear and admire.


    The guard''s scream cut off abruptly as his upper half slid away from his legs. Both pieces hit the dock with a wet thud, the cut so clean it took several seconds for blood to well up.


    "Star Knight," Lars whispered, the words tasting like ash. Every story, every warning about these enhanced killers crashed through his mind. The fluid in their veins that made them more than human. The impossible speed. The casual violence.


    "Oh, you recognize me? I''m flattered." The knight stretched, joints popping like he was preparing for a light workout rather than standing in a growing pool of blood. "Though I have to say, this wasn''t much of a challenge. I was hoping for some entertainment tonight."


    Hans raised his crossbow with shaking hands.


    "Now that''s the spirit!" The knight''s laugh echoed across the water. "But really, you might as well throw rocks. It would be just as effective and far less embarrassing."


    Lars never thought he''d count the seconds to his own death. Funny how the mind works.


    One.


    The knight moved like he wasn''t bound by the same rules as everyone else.


    Hans got off his shot. The knight caught the bolt with his teeth, spat it out, and crushed Hans'' skull under his boot in one fluid motion. "Oops," he chuckled, wiping gore from his boot on Hans'' jacket. "Been meaning to cut down on the sweets."


    Two.


    The last two members of Lars'' crew died in the space of a blink. One bisected vertically, the other''s spine pulled out through his chest. The knight was humming a tavern song.


    Three.


    Lars stood alone, watching his own breath fog in the cold air. The knight hadn''t even broken a sweat. If anything, he looked bored.


    "Would''ve been faster," the knight mused, flicking blood from his blade, "but I do enjoy our little chats. Makes the job less monotonous, you know?"


    Lars realized he was still counting. There wouldn''t be a four.


    "What''s your name?"


    Lars'' tongue felt like lead. Was this some sick game?


    "Come now." The knight patted his shoulder, making Lars flinch so hard he nearly fell. "Easy there, friend. I''m not that frightening, am I?" He paused, considering. "Well, perhaps a little."


    "Silver Circle or another group?"


    "A-another group," Lars managed, surprised he could form words at all.


    The knight sighed dramatically. "Shame. Was hoping to catch some Silver Circle rats. Oh well."


    He waved his hand dismissively. "Not important. Listen carefully now - I need you to deliver a message. Since your people knew about this shipment, you clearly have decent information networks. So maybe you can help spread the word about ''him'' ."


    "Him?" Lars asked before he could stop himself.


    "Oh, you can talk properly! Wonderful." The knight''s cheerful tone made Lars'' knees weak. "You know - that troublesome mage. The one causing all this fuss. The Children are paying quite handsomely for his head, so tell him to do us all a favor and come quietly." His green eyes flickered. "Before I have to find him myself."


    "Do you understand?"


    "Yes," Lars whispered.


    "Excellent!" The knight made a shooing motion with his hands. "Off you go then."


    Lars stood frozen, certain this was a trap. The fourth second had come to pass. The moment he turned, that blade would¡ª


    "Oh, for heaven''s sake." The knight rolled his eyes. "Go. Scram. Vamoose. Whatever word you prefer. I don''t have all night, and you''re getting blood on my nice clean dock."


    Lars ran. He ran until his lungs burned and his legs gave out, the knight''s laughter echoing in his ears. He ran until the dock and its horrors were far behind him, though he knew with terrible certainty that no distance would ever be far enough if that man decided to chase.

 Chapter 25. Its Not Murder If I Ask For It

    "Standard rules."


    Professor Crowley stood in the academy''s training grounds, morning light casting long shadows across the grass. The copper circles beneath their feet had seen countless duels, worn smooth by generations of students.


    Around them, crystalline pillars hummed softly, ready to contain any wayward spells.


    "No lethal spells, no strikes to vital points. Basic enhancement and defensive arts only - nothing beyond second-year curriculum." His voice carried across the field. "Remember - you are mages of Xerkes. Honor that."


    The usual chatter from the stone benches had died away. Even the birds seemed to have gone quiet.


    Duels always had that effect. For some reason.


    Adom studied Karion across the circle. The other boy''s hands were steady, his stance balanced - no swagger. Just focus.


    The copper circles began to glow as both drew power. Around them, the crystal pillars hummed, barrier spells shimmering into place.


    "This counts for ten percent of your finals," Crowley said. "Remember - the moment you step outside your circle, the duel begins. Victory by yield, incapacitation, or ring-out." He looked between them. "Ready?"


    The silence deepened.


    Neither boy moved.


    Neither blinked.


    Crowley raised his hand and let it hung in the air, suspended between one moment and the next.


    And then it fell.


    "Fight!"


    Adom wove a barrier - no gestures, just pure intent shaped by will. A heartbeat later, Karion''s force bolt crashed against it, bright and violent.


    Fighting another mage was like playing three games of chess at once while running a marathon. Every spell cost mana. Every defense needed maintenance. Every moment required complete awareness - of your reserves, your opponent''s stance, the dozen possible counterspells you might need in the next breath.


    Adom let his barrier fade and launched three quick bolts of his own. Karion deflected two, dodged the third, his hands tracing the standard defensive forms. Those precious half-seconds of gesture-weaving gave Adom the opening he needed. He layered a subtle binding spell beneath his next attack - basic second-year magic, but perfectly timed.


    Karion saw the obvious strike coming. He didn''t notice the trap until his shield spell snagged on the binding, destabilizing both. His recovery was fast, but Adom was already moving, pressing the advantage with a series of precise, mana-efficient strikes.


    This was the core of magical combat - not raw power, but the interplay of technique and timing. Every spell was a commitment of energy. Every defense had its blind spots. Victory went to the mage who could think three moves ahead while executing the current one perfectly.


    Karion switched tactics, abandoning complex shields for quick deflections. Smart - less mana drain, more mobility. But Adom had anticipated this. He wove his attacks into patterns, each spell forcing specific responses, gradually limiting Karion''s options. Like a net slowly tightening.


    But lately, these pure magical duels had started feeling... sterile. Adom couldn''t quite place when the restlessness had begun. Was it puberty increasing rashness as Professor Mirwen had so diplomatically suggested? Or maybe after everything he''d been through, he''d simply developed a deep, personal appreciation for solving his problems with a well-placed punch to the face.


    The cause did not matter that much. He liked it that way.


    Adom began closing the distance, weaving his spells tighter, shorter. More personal.


    Karion noticed.


    A grin spread across his face. He understood.


    Karion Dimitri, heir to the Dimitri Barony in the northern reaches of Sundar. They weren''t friends, barely spoke outside of classes, but everyone knew of his family. The Dimitris were an old bloodline, notorious for their unique approach to magic. While most noble houses focused on pure spellcraft, the Dimitris had maintained their warrior-mage traditions for generations, blending physical combat with magical theory.


    The boys met in the middle of the arena. Adom''s barrier deflected a force bolt while his left hook sliced through where Karion''s head had been a moment before. The other boy moved like water, his counter-spell flowing into an elbow strike that Adom barely blocked.


    This was better. This was alive. More challenging. Pure spell-weaving? Adom clearly had the edge there. But here, in this dance of fist and force, technique and timing? Here, Karion was in his element.


    Magic crackled between punches. Basic spells woven in split seconds, defensive barriers snapping up and down between exchanges. Adom''s straight right connected, backed by just enough force magic to make it sting. Karion answered with a sweep enhanced by momentum spells.


    The adrenaline sang in Adom''s blood. This wasn''t just about mana management anymore - it was about reading muscles, anticipating strikes, feeling the flow of combat in bone and breath. Their spells became shorter, sharper, integrated into their movements. A barrier flash-formed to cover a dodge. A force push disguised by a feint.


    Adom saw the trap a fraction of a second too late. Karion''s apparent opening was a lure, his defensive stance a lie. That was when something strange occured.


    Time. Time seemed to slow as Adom''s body registered what his mind already knew - he''d overcommitted.


    The world spun. When his vision cleared, Karion had him locked, position perfect, leverage absolute.


    "I yield," Adom managed between heavy breaths.


    [[Mana Manipulation] (Magic) has reached level 103!]


    [[Boxing Mastery] (Common) has reached level 2!]


    The training grounds erupted.


    "Did you see that?!"


    "Holy- that was incredible!"


    "The way they switched from spells to combat-"


    "Idiot threw away a perfect advantage-"


    "Shut up, that was the best duel we''ve had all year!"


    "Pure Dimitri style right there-"


    The second-years were practically falling off the stone benches, their previous silence forgotten in an explosion of excited chatter and wild gestures. A few were already trying to mimic the moves they''d just witnessed, nearly smacking their classmates in the process.


    Karion rolled off him, breathing hard, sweat darkening his uniform. He extended a hand down to Adom, who was still trying to remember which way was up.


    "That," Karion panted, grinning, "was a proper fight."


    Adom looked up at the offered hand, smiled, and grabbed it. As Karion pulled him up, he added, "Though you know you would''ve won easily if you''d stuck to pure spellwork, right?"


    Adom laughed, wiping dirt from his clothes. "Where''s the fun in that? Besides, I wanted to see if the stories about Dimitri combat magic were true."


    "Speaking of stories," Karion said, rolling his shoulder where one of Adom''s enhanced punches had connected, "I always see you in the library. Or used to, anyway. Then the rumors started about you going hunting in the forest preserve..." He gestured at Adom''s improved physique. "Guess they weren''t just rumors."


    "Could''ve used my glasses though," Adom admitted, squinting slightly. "Pretty sure I missed some good openings there."


    "You fight without your-" Karion started before Professor Crowley''s voice cut through their conversation.


    "If you two are quite finished with your mutual admiration society," he called out "we have three more duels to get through before lunch."


    The boys shared a look and quickly moved to clear the arena, but Crowley pulled them aside as the next duel was setting up, speaking low enough that only they could hear.


    "Excellent showing, both of you. Mr. Dimitri - 17 out of 20. Clean victory, good form throughout." He turned to Adom. "15 out of 20. Your initial spell work was exceptional, but deliberately abandoning a winning position during an exam..." He shook his head. "Test your limits on your own time, Mr. Sylla."


    "Fifteen?" Adom frowned. He''d expected a deduction for abandoning his advantage, but that seemed...


    "Not for your tactical choices," Crowley clarified, his voice dropping even lower. "You used Fluid. Just for a fraction of a second, but you did. I don''t need to remind you that''s forbidden, regardless of your year."


    "You can use Fluid?" Karion whispered, eyes wide.


    Adom opened his mouth to deny it, then hesitated. That moment when time had seemed to slow... had he unconsciously...?


    "We''ll discuss this another time," Crowley said firmly. "Now, back to your seats. Both of you."


    The morning''s matches continued, the arena''s barrier spell humming back to life as Professor Crowley called the next pair.


    Around the arena''s edges, students and their familiars watched with varying degrees of interest. He felt something warm press against his leg. The black cat - still nameless, still mysterious - had decided to grace him with its presence. It now allowed him to scratch behind its ears, purring softly.


    "That was amazing!" Sam whispered, still wide-eyed from Adom''s match. " I mean, you lost, but still. When did you learn to-"


    "Samenel Harbinsky and Reed Pierce, take your positions!"


    Sam''s face lost all color.


    "Stop panicking," Adom said quietly. "Your spell weaving is good. Just be confident. Good luck."


    "...Thanks. I''m gonna need it." Sam muttered as he stepped into the circle, adjusting his robes with trembling hands.


    But as soon as Reed launched his first attack - a simple fire spiral that any second-year should be able to counter - Sam''s shield crumpled like paper in rain.


    Adom winced.


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    "Match!" Crowley called out. "Pierce, 14/20." He turned to Sam. "Harbinsky, 11/20. Your weaving patterns were correct, but hesitation in combat is fatal. Work on your confidence before the next evaluation."


    <section></section>


    Whispers rippled through the crowd. "Two copper on Damus''s match?" "Make it three, and I''ll take that bet."


    Sam slumped onto the bench beside Adom, nursing a singed sleeve. "I don''t suppose you could-"


    "Sam. Let''s train together," Adom said immediately, before Sam could continue.


    He''d been watching his friend struggle for weeks now, and something in today''s match had finally crystallized his decision. Sam had potential - Adom had seen it in their theoretical classes, in the way he could break down complex spell patterns like they were children''s puzzles. He just needed someone to believe in him.


    And while Adom might not be the most qualified teacher, having learned most of his combat skills from that old street fighting manual and surviving against people who''d thought they could steamroll him... well, sometimes the best teachers were the ones who remembered what it was like to struggle.


    "Really?" Sam''s eyes lit up slightly, though he tried to hide it. "You''re not too busy?"


    "For you? Don''t be ridiculous." And maybe, Adom thought, teaching would force him to better understand the basics he''d been skipping over in his rush to get stronger. It was time to commit to this properly. "We''ll start tomorrow morning."


    Several matches blurred past - the usual display of standard academy techniques, nothing remarkable. Then Damus stepped into the arena.


    The whispers died. Even Crowley straightened, his scarred face showing keen interest.


    Damus moved like his element was air itself, each gesture flowing into the next. His opponent, a tall girl from the eastern provinces named Jana, never stood a chance. The fight lasted exactly forty-three seconds.


    "Match! Lightbringer. 18/20. Kars. 16/20. Good match." Crowley''s announcement was unnecessary. Everyone had known the outcome before it began.


    Adom watched Damus bow to his defeated opponent, every movement precise, controlled - the hallmark of a true combat mage in training. The memory of their own fight rose unbidden. He''d won that day, yes, but it was pure luck, really - the surprise of the "Shrimp" fighting like a back-alley knife fighter.


    The ''Art of Street Fighting'' had given him an edge that day, but only because Damus hadn''t expected it. Next time...


    He could feel the stares boring into his back, hear the whispers.


    "How did that guy even beat Damus?"


    "Must''ve been a fluke."


    "Maybe Lightbringer was sick that day?"


    "No way he''d lose to someone half his size otherwise."


    Adom resisted the urge to roll his eyes. First off, Damus was not that taller than him.


    And second, yes, because height was clearly the determining factor in magical combat. These people would probably fall for the same tricks Damus had, but that wasn''t the point.


    Adom''s fingers drummed against his notebook where he kept track of the Fluid movement exercises.


    His current approach - using surprise and cunning to overcome superior skill - had worked so far. But sooner or later, he''d face someone who wouldn''t give him the luxury of being underestimated. Someone who''d come at him with full force from the start.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    The club''s schedule flashed through his mind. If he doubled his boxing practice, added extra Fluid control exercises between classes...


    *****


    Later that day, after classes...


    "You never did tell me how you lost your glasses during hunting," Sam said as they walked down the cobblestone streets of Arkhos. Market stalls lined both sides, their colorful awnings fluttering in the early autumn breeze. "How does someone even struggle with a deer that badly?"


    "Bold of you to assume it was a deer," Adom said, stepping around a puddle that reflected the city''s floating towers. "I tripped over a root and fell into a thorny bush. Not my finest moment."


    Sam''s skeptical look suggested he wasn''t buying it, but he didn''t press further.


    The fact that Adom had actually spent hours in a magical labyrinth with a grumpy leprechaun doing a series of tests- and somehow emerged stronger rather than irreparably traumatized - was probably best left unmentioned. He still wasn''t entirely sure how Orynth''s magic had managed that particular feat of mental gymnastics.


    "The optician''s shop should be around this corner," Adom said, pausing at a vendor selling roasted chestnuts. The warm, sweet smell made his stomach growl. "Unless they''ve moved since the last time I was here."


    Which was about six decades ago.


    They turned onto Silver Street, where enchanted lanterns were already starting to glow despite the early hour, their light catching on the various magical implements displayed in shop windows. The optician''s sign - a pair of golden spectacles that actually blinked at passersby - creaked gently in the wind.


    "At least we won''t have to go all the way to the upper district," Sam said, eyeing the floating towers above them. "I hate those sky bridges."


    "Not fond of heights?"


    "Not fond of bridges that sway in the wind while floating hundreds of feet in the air, no."


    The shop bell tinkled as they stepped inside, it smelled like polish and old wood.


    A plump woman with silver-streaked hair looked up from where she was adjusting a pair of floating spectacles with a crystal wand. Her own glasses shifted through different colors as she spoke.


    "Welcome to Clarity & Craft! I''m Madame Iris- oh my, those are quite the prescription frames you''re missing, young man."


    Adom blinked. "You can tell?"


    "Thirty years of matching eyes to lenses, dear. Your squint has a squint." She gestured at the displays around them. "Now, we have everything from Basic Clarity to our premium Eagle''s Vision line. Those let you spot a copper coin from two districts away - though I wouldn''t recommend them unless you fancy constant headaches."


    Sam wandered over to a pair that kept splitting into multiple frames and merging back together. "What about these?"


    "Ah, the Diplomat''s Choice! Shows you what people looked like five minutes ago. Wonderful for catching liars, terrible for avoiding motion sickness."


    "Just prescription lenses, please," Adom said hastily. "For reading and distance."


    "Sensible choice." Madame Iris pulled out a small golden disk etched with concentric rings of runes. "Hold still, dear. This will map your sight-pattern."


    The disk hummed softly, runes lighting up as she held it before his eyes. "Interesting... your magical signature is quite unique. Almost like-" She paused, then smiled. "Well, never mind that. Now, frames?"


    They went through several options - self-cleaning, unbreakable, ones that adjusted their tint based on lighting. Adom settled on a simple pair with thin silver frames.


    "Good choice. Now, the attunement..."


    She placed the frames on a velvet cushion and began tracing patterns with her wand. The runes from the disk transferred to the lenses, shrinking until they were nearly invisible, mere whispers of light catching the glass.


    "The runes will sync with your sight," she explained, "adjusting constantly as you wear them. Try them on."


    Adom put them on. The world snapped into focus.


    "They''re great. But..." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the monocle - Riddler''s Bane. "Would there be any way to integrate this into the new glasses?"


    Madame Iris took the monocle carefully, her own color-shifting glasses flickering rapidly as she examined it. Her eyes widened slightly. "This is... my word, this is quite the artifact you have here, young man," she said in a lower voice, glancing at Sam who was thoroughly distracted by a display of smoke-lens spectacles.


    "Can it be done?"


    "Done? I could do it right now." Her eyes sparkled with professional excitement. "Give me a few minutes in my workshop."


    They heard various sounds from the back room - gentle chiming, a few whispered chants for some reason, what might have been crystal being carefully worked. When she emerged, she held a pair of glasses that looked almost identical to the simple silver frames Adom had chosen, but with an almost imperceptible sheen to the right lens.


    "I''ve layered your prescription over the artifact''s lens, and changed its form to better adapt to the pair," she explained quietly, "maintaining its original properties while adding the clarity you need. The enchantment shouldn''t be affected at all - in fact, the prescription layer might even help focus its effects more precisely. Quite remarkable craftsmanship in this piece, by the way. Haven''t seen work like this in decades..."


    "Perfect," Adom said, then frowned. "Though for combat training..."


    "Say no more." Madame Iris produced a thin enchanted cord. "Dwarvish style metalweave. Flexible but unbreakable. Might save your nose in a fight. And they are thin enough to be almost invisible."


    As she attached the cord, Sam peered at a pair of specs that seemed to be made of living smoke.


    "Don''t even think about it," Adom told him. "Those probably show you your own future or something equally headache-inducing."


    "Ghost Glimpse model," Madame Iris confirmed cheerfully. "Very popular with spirit mediums and temple diviners. Quite the marvel for ceremonial work - though I always advise customers to use them sparingly. The ethereal plane can be... overwhelming for beginners." She adjusted her own color-shifting glasses with pride. "We do have a modified version that''s gentler on the senses, if you''re interested in divination work."


    Sam''s eyes lit up for a moment before Adom shook his head. "Maybe another time. We should head back before afternoon classes."


    "Of course, of course," Madame Iris said, wrapping up their purchase. "But do come back if you''re curious about our specialized collections. A young mage never knows when alternative perspectives might come in handy."


    They walked back through the market, Adom occasionally tilting his head just to marvel at how crisp everything looked. It had only been a few days without his glasses, but he''d somehow forgotten just how clear the world could be. The floating towers weren''t just vague shapes anymore, and he could actually read the market signs without squinting himself a headache.


    With a subtle thought, he activated the artifact''s power in his right lens - the world shifted, mana particles dancing through the air like dust in sunlight. Another thought, and they vanished, leaving just the crystal-clear normal vision. Perfect. The integration was seamless.


    "We''re getting those chestnuts," he declared, already veering toward the vendor they''d passed earlier. Now he could properly see the steam rising from the roasting pan, the way the shells had split to reveal the golden-brown nuts inside. "I can actually see how perfectly roasted they are now."


    Sam laughed. "Is this going to be a thing? You rediscovering everything with working eyes?"


    "Absolutely." Adom bought a paper cone full of hot chestnuts, sharing them as they walked. The warmth seeped through his gloves, and the sweet, nutty taste was exactly as good as the smell had promised.


    The rest of the day unfolded normally - afternoon classes, training with the club, the usual chaos of academy life - except now Adom could actually see what he was doing. The round silver frames settled on his nose like they''d always belonged there, and if anyone noticed the nearly invisible cord keeping them secure, they didn''t mention it.


    But as the last class wrapped up, Adom wasn''t ready to call it a day.


    "Hey," he caught Sam''s sleeve as they left the lecture hall. "Come to the pitch with me?"


    Sam clutched his books closer, eyeing the darkening sky like it might bite. "Now? It''s cold out there. And dinner-"


    "Won''t take long. Besides," Adom grinned, "you can''t hide in the library forever."


    "I don''t hide," Sam muttered, but fell into step beside him anyway. "I strategically avoid situations where people might set me on fire."


    "That''s why we''re going now. No one around to see you practice."


    "Oh, wonderful. So when I freeze to death, no one will find my body until spring." Sam hugged himself tighter. "You know, my father says everyone in this school is basically a walking disaster waiting to happen. One bad day, one slip in control..." He gestured vaguely. "Boom."


    "That rarely happens."


    "But it happens. Remember last year? When that fifth-year lost control during exam week? Three people in the infirmary." Sam''s voice dropped. "As my father says, better safe than sorry when everyone around you can accidentally kill you with a sneeze."


    Adom stayed quiet for a moment. He couldn''t exactly argue with that.


    He''d seen enough training accidents to know how quickly things could go wrong.


    He glanced at his friend, understanding the weight behind those words.


    Sam came from a long line of merchants - generations of non-mages who''d never had to worry about accidentally setting things on fire or freezing them solid. Then Sam had awakened at eight, the stone turning silver for him when the seekers came.


    The first mage in his family''s history.


    No one had been prepared for what that meant, least of all Sam himself. That devastating loss of control, his sister being injured and his mother still lying comatose in a healing ward three regions away... The monthly letters Sam wrote, knowing she might never read them.


    Like all awakened mages, he''d had no choice but to learn control - it was imperial law, and simple necessity.


    No wonder his father''s protective instincts had transformed into constant cautioning against the dangers of magic. Better safe than sorry had become the family motto, even as they supported Sam''s education from afar. After all, what merchant father knew how to raise a mage child safely?


    Sam wasn''t a coward - cowards didn''t spend extra hours in the library learning theory, didn''t push themselves to understand every aspect of magic they could. Cowards didn''t keep trying, keep studying, keep pushing forward despite their fears.


    That same caution that kept Sam safe, though, was also holding him back from reaching his full potential.


    "That''s why we''re doing this," Adom finally said, gentler than usual. "So next time someone loses control, you''ll be ready."


    The krozball pitch stretched out before them, vast and empty in the deepening dusk. The black cat padded after them, settling on the sidelines like a tiny spectator.


    "Seriously though, what are we doing out here?" Sam rubbed his arms. "In case you hadn''t noticed, it''s cold as a frost giant''s-"


    "Learning," Adom said, feeling his Fluid stir, warming him from within. "Remember what you said about eastern focusing techniques? Time to put theory into practice."


    He planted his feet shoulder-width apart and drew in a deep breath. The cold air filled his lungs, sharp and crisp. As he exhaled, a thin wisp of vapor curled upward. Another breath in, slower this time, deeper.


    The Fluid responded, thrumming beneath his skin like a second heartbeat.


    Sam shifted uncomfortably. "Is this the part where you reveal you''ve secretly been a breathing expert all along?" When Adom didn''t respond, he turned to their feline observer. "Any idea what he''s doing?"


    "Meow."


    "Thanks. Very helpful."


    With each measured breath, more vapor spiraled around Adom.


    The autumn chill bit deeper than it should, especially this early in the season. Something in his chest tightened - not from the cold, but from memory. The year 847 had ended just like this, hadn''t it? The same unseasonable chill that everyone had laughed off as a quirk of weather. No one had thought to question it until years later, when that Necromancer rose from the northern wastes.


    But Adom was too weak to do anything about that now. Too far away. And who would believe him anyway, based on nothing but unusual weather? No, he just had to focus on the task at hand.


    One final exhale and...


    The warmth that had been building beneath Adom''s skin suddenly erupted, rushing through every vessel and pathway in his body. Blue Fluid burst from within, wreathing him in light that rippled like water yet moved like flame.


    His breath caught ¨C not from effort, but from the sheer euphoria flooding his system. Every nerve sang, every sense sharpened. The autumn chill that had been biting at him moments ago became nothing more than a gentle caress.


    Power. Pure, intoxicating power thrummed through him, settling into his bones like it had always belonged there.


    "FLUID?!" Sam stumbled backward, the blue light reflecting off his glasses. "You manifested actual Fluid?! How did¨C when did you¨C"


    Adom couldn''t help the smile that spread across his face. It wasn''t the first time, but the rush of manifesting Fluid never got old ¨C that perfect moment when everything clicked into place and the world became sharper, brighter, more real somehow.


    His body felt lighter yet stronger, as if gravity itself had loosened its hold.


    "This," he said, "is what we''re going to learn."


    Adom rolled his shoulders. His joints cracked satisfyingly as he stretched, the sound crisp in his heightened awareness. He bounced on his toes, luxuriating in how responsive his body felt.


    "So what emotion did it for you?" Sam asked, watching him warm up. "Everyone says it''s different. Anger, joy, desperation..."


    "Spite."


    Sam fell quiet for a moment. Then: "You know what? That''s totally like you."


    Adom paused mid-stretch. "You think I''ve always been like that?"


    "There were signs." Sam adjusted his glasses, speaking in that matter-of-fact way of his. "Like when Instructor Brown from our first year said you''d never master basic shielding, and you spent three weeks perfecting it just to demonstrate it in front of the whole class. Or that time when Drew said memorizing runic sequences was pointless, so you learned the entire Third Codex by heart just to correct him every time he misquoted it. Oh, and remember when Helena said your handwriting was atrocious? You spent two months practicing calligraphy until yours was better than hers."


    Adom blinked. He didn''t remember any of those moments from his actual childhood ¨C his first childhood. These were memories from this life, this version of him. But hearing them laid out like that...


    "You just..." Sam waved a hand vaguely, "get this look in your eyes sometimes. Like someone told you ''no'' and you decided that was personally offensive."


    Adom let out a laugh that was maybe a touch too self-conscious, suddenly aware of how that look Sam described might be playing across his face right now.


    "Well, since you''re such an expert on my personality..." He rolled his wrists. "Want to help me figure this out? All those eastern scrolls you''ve been hoarding in your room, all those theories about Fluid manipulation ¨C we could test them." The Fluid flickered slightly, betraying his still-tenuous control. "I mean, I can barely keep it stable, but..."


    Sam''s eyes lit up behind his glasses. He was already reaching for the notebook that seemed permanently attached to his robes. "Wait, you mean ¨C all those treatises about emotional resonance and energy pathways? The meridian theory from the Jade Scrolls?"


    "Exactly." Adom grinned. "And maybe watching might help you find your own trigger. You''ve got the theory down better than anyone ¨C probably better than most of the instructors."


    "I''ve been studying the way Fluid manifest differently in each person," Sam was already scribbling. "The scrolls say it''s like a fingerprint ¨C unique to each individual.Let''s start by the basics, Breathing.?"


    The black cat, which had been dozing, suddenly perked up its ears, golden eyes fixing on the blue light dancing around Adom.


    "Oh, getting interested, are we?" Adom smiled at their feline observer. "Just watch ¨C we''re about to put on quite a show."


    "I found my breath pattern, by the way. I can meditate." Adom said casually, still stretching.


    Sam nearly dropped his notebook. "What? Already? It takes years to find yours among hundreds of thousands of possibilities! Even masters spend decades helping people find their individual patterns. How did you¨C"


    "Accident, really." Adom shrugged, turning to face the practice pitch. His Fluid rippled with each controlled breath. "The spite got it started, but emotion alone isn''t enough to maintain it. You know what they say ¨C Fluid can only be optimized in a strong body. I need to work on control, on the physical aspect."


    Sam was practically vibrating with excitement now, pushing his glasses up his nose repeatedly. "This is incredible! We could document your progress, map your pattern, study how it develops with¨C wait." He pulled out a fresh page. "What are we going to try first?"


    "Well," Adom rolled his shoulders one last time, then turned to Sam with a slight smile. "You''re going to shoot me."


    "...what?"


    "Shoot me. With fireball spells. Or wind arrows. Anything. Your choice."


    "Have you lost your mind?"


    "No? I am completely sane."


    "Adom..." Sam pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses. "There are dozens of safer ways to test Fluid control. We could start with basic resistance exercises, or energy circulation paths, or¨C"


    "Boring."


    "¨Cor measure your Fluid''s response to controlled stimuli¨C"


    "Still boring."


    "¨Cor document its natural flow patterns¨C"


    "Sam." Adom''s Fluid pulsed slightly with his impatience. "I need real pressure. Real stakes. How am I supposed to learn control if I''m just standing there doing breathing exercises?"


    "By not dying?" Sam threw his hands up. "Look, even if ¨C and that''s a big if ¨C I agreed to this madness, my accuracy with offensive spells is terrible. I could actually hurt you."


    "Perfect! That makes it even more motivating."


    Sam stared at his friend for a long moment. "You know, when I imagined helping with your training, I was thinking more along the lines of taking notes and offering theoretical insights. Not... attempted murder."


    "It''s not murder if I ask for it," Adom said cheerfully. "Come on, what''s the worst that could happen?"


    "Do you want that list alphabetically or by severity of bodily harm?"


    "Look, it''s not just about testing limits. Fluid enhances reflexes, right? But I need to learn how to gauge that enhancement, how to control it under pressure. I can''t do that with theoretical exercises." Adom''s Fluid swirled more steadily now, matching his more serious tone. "Right now, I either can''t access it at all, or it comes out too strong. I need to find the middle ground, and for that..."


    "...you need dynamic stimulus," Sam finished reluctantly, his academic side starting to see the logic. "And the threat response would create more realistic conditions for control practice."


    "Exactly. Besides, if I''m going to lose control, better do it here with you than in the middle of a battle."


    "You''re going to be in battles?"


    "Don''t mind that." Adom waved his hand dismissively, and before Sam could press further, he continued, "You know enough theory to spot if something''s going wrong, and you''re too cautious to actually hit me with anything dangerous."


    Sam adjusted his glasses, clearly wavering. "The principle is sound, but... You do realize you''re asking me to break about fifteen different academy safety protocols?"


    "Seventeen, actually. I counted." Adom grinned. "Think of it as a practical research opportunity."


    "Hmm."


    "So, are you in or are we doing this the boring way?" Adom asked, already settling into a ready stance.


    Sam sighed heavily, Taking off his robe despite the cold. "I can''t believe I''m agreeing to this. If anyone asks, I was coerced."


    "That''s the spirit!"


    "And we''re starting with the weakest possible spells."


    "Fine, fine."


    "And if I see anything ¨C anything ¨C looking unstable, we stop immediately."


    "Yes, Professor."


    "And¨C"


    "Sam," Adom interrupted, his Fluid beginning to stir more actively. "Stop stalling and shoot me."


    "Okay, I''m weaving the spell now," Sam announced, raising his hand with exaggerated slowness.


    Adom rolled his eyes. "You know, the point of combat training is that I''m not supposed to know exactly when you''re going to¨C OW!"


    [-1 Life Force]


    A small burst of wind caught him in the shoulder, making him stumble back a step. Sam''s mouth twitched. "You were saying?"


    "That," Adom said, rubbing his shoulder, "was actually pretty good."


    "Theory isn''t everything." Sam readied another spell, looking slightly more confident. "Ready?"


    This time, Adom didn''t answer, but his Fluid began to move with more purpose.

 Chapter 26. Curse

    "Huff... Huff.. Hufff..."


    "This is completely insane," Sam announced, for what felt like the hundredth time that evening.


    [Indomitable Will Active]


    "On- huff.. one more time..." Adom wheezed, straightening up with determination that his wobbling knees somewhat undermined.


    This was attempt number twenty-one. Sam had missed twice - though Adom suspected at least one of those "misses" had been intentional. The other nineteen hits had left various parts of his body stinging, his pride somewhat bruised, and his earlier confidence about this brilliant training idea significantly dented.


    Who knew the academy''s most cautious student could aim so well when properly motivated by academic curiosity?


    Despite the bruises forming under his robes, Adom couldn''t help but smile. Because there had been progress. Real, measurable progress.


    [Fluid Control has reached Level 2!]


    [White Wyrm Body has reached Level 3!]


    [ [Boxing Mastery (Dodging)] is getting better]


    [ [Agility] is getting better]


    [ [Iron Lungs] is getting better]


    [Physical enhancement moderately strengthened]


    The difference was subtle but unmistakable. His Fluid moved more smoothly now, less like choppy waves and more like flowing water. The world around him seemed to come into sharper focus - he could track the slight movements of Sam''s fingers as he prepared his next spell, catch the whisper of wind before it manifested into an attack.


    His body responded faster too. Not by much, but enough that he''d managed to partially deflect the last three hits instead of taking them full force. The Fluid wrapped around him more naturally, like a second skin rather than an ill-fitting coat.


    It had taken twenty-one attempts, multiple bruises, and what felt like enough wind spells to power a small windmill, but he''d done it. Level 2.


    ...Level 2.


    Adom''s smile turned slightly manic as he straightened up. Because here was the thing about Level 2 - it meant Level 3 existed. And if Level 3 existed...


    Sam apparently recognized that look. He''d seen it too many times not to. "No," he said firmly, already knowing it was futile. "Whatever you''re thinking, no. You can barely stand."


    But Adom was already settling back into his stance.


    After all, what kind of person would he be if he stopped at Level 2 when Level 3 was just waiting to be reached?


    "Just a few more tries," he said, ignoring how his muscles protested the movement. "I think I''m getting the hang of it."


    The black cat, still watching from the sidelines, let out what sounded suspiciously like a sigh.


    Adom breathed in deeply, then out.


    "Are you r-"


    The world didn''t exactly slow down. That would have been too simple, too convenient. Instead, everything became... clearer. More defined. Like switching from a clouded lens to a crystal-clear one.


    It had started around the eleventh attempt, when desperation and bruises had finally forced him to stop trying to just react faster and actually think.


    He''d noticed something then - a pattern so subtle he''d almost missed it. The way Sam''s weight shifted slightly to his left when preparing a low shot. The barely perceptible tension in his right shoulder before a high one. The slight difference in how he moved his fingers for a straight shot versus a curved one.


    Since then, every attempt had been less about dodging and more about observation. Learning. Understanding.


    His Fluid responded differently now too.


    Instead of trying to make it circulate faster in his body, he let it flow naturally, using it to enhance his already-improving perception. Each trial added another piece to the puzzle - the timing between Sam''s inhale and the spell''s release, the correlation between wind pressure and attack angle, the almost rhythmic nature of spell combinations.


    It wasn''t perfect. Far from it. But where before he''d been frantically reacting to each attack, now he was starting to... anticipate. His body, battered but adapting, was slowly learning to move before his conscious mind caught up. Muscle memory building up through painful repetition.


    [Pattern Recognition is forming...]


    The notification flickered at the edge of his vision, but Adom kept his focus. He could feel it - that space between conscious thought and instinct where everything just... flowed. What he''d started calling ''the zone'' in his head, for lack of a better term.


    Sam''s fingers twitched in a now-familiar pattern. High shot, coming from the right. Adom''s body was already moving, Fluid shifting to reinforce his dodge before the spell had fully formed.


    It wasn''t mastery. Not even close. But it was the beginning of understanding, and sometimes that was even more valuable.


    One...


    In that crystalline clarity of focus, Adom could see it. The telltale distortion in the air, like heat waves rising from hot pavement, except... purposeful. Directed. The wind arrow took shape, and for a brief, beautiful moment, he could almost trace its path in his mind - the way it would curve upward, heading straight for his chest.


    Two...


    His muscles tensed, Fluid already flowing to support his planned movement.


    Three...


    Time seemed to stretch like honey as a small smile tugged at his lips. This time. This time he had it. He could see it, feel it, knew exactly where it would go at fou-


    "OUCH!"


    The sharp sting in his right thigh broke through his focus like a rock through glass. He hopped awkwardly on his left leg, pride stinging almost as much as his thigh.


    The arrow had dropped. It had dropped, and he hadn''t seen it coming at all.


    Sam, the traitor, was trying very hard not to look amused. "You know, when you said ''one more time'' twenty minutes ago, I don''t think either of us thought you meant twenty more times."


    Adom rubbed his thigh, mind already analyzing what had gone wrong. He''d been so sure about that trajectory... Maybe if he paid more attention to the way the air currents moved instead of just the initial formation? Or was there something in Sam''s stance he''d missed?


    He opened his mouth to say "again," but then stopped, the word dying in his throat. His mind finally wrestled control back from his stubborn determination. His legs were shaking, his energy reserves were running dangerously low, and he could already feel tomorrow''s bruises forming. Being bold was one thing. Being reckless was another.


    "Same time tomorrow?" he asked instead, straightening up with what dignity he could muster while still favoring his right leg.


    Sam looked at him for a long moment, then chuckled and shook his head. "You know, normal people would take at least a few days to recover after getting hit nineteen times with wind arrows."


    "Good thing I''m not normal people then," Adom replied with a tired grin. "I''m a manly man. The manliest of men, in fact." He attempted to flex, which resulted in a poorly concealed grimace. "Don''t you agree, kitty cat?"


    The black cat''s ears flattened, accompanied by a low warning growl.


    "...Is that its name now?" Sam asked, eyebrows raised.


    "No, that''s just one of the names it hasn''t hissed at yet," Adom said, still nursing his pride along with his various bruises. "Besides, I had to test it. For science. Like a proper manly man would."


    The cat''s tail twitched in what looked suspiciously like disdain.


    Besides, Adom had several theories about that dropped arrow that needed testing.


    *****


    They gathered their things, Sam wincing as he rolled his shoulders. "I need a long shower after this."


    "You need a shower? All you did was stand there and torture me."


    "Shows what you know about spellcasting." Sam massaged his temples. "My mana pool is practically empty. Wind arrows might be basic, but maintaining precision for that many casts..." He gave Adom a pointed look. "Which, may I remind you, was entirely your idea."


    "Fair," Adom conceded with a laugh. "Though I notice, around the 5th time, you didn''t seem to mind using me for target practice anymore."


    "Academic curiosity," Sam said primly, then broke into a smile. "Come on, let''s grab some snacks from the dining hall. I''ve got that new strategy board game from a toy store - the new one with the knights and mages roles?"


    "Meow," the black cat interjected, tail swishing deliberately.


    Adom paused, his expression shifting to that familiar contemplative look. "Actually... I think I''ll head to the library first."


    "Now?" Sam raised an eyebrow. "It''s getting late."


    "Says the one who practically lives there," Adom countered. "I actually sleep, you know. You''re the one who''s managed to make Miss Grimclaw tolerate you through sheer persistence."


    "Oh please, she tolerates us both," Sam snorted. "Though lately you''ve been spending more time getting beaten up than reading. Sorry - ''training in battle magic.''" His air quotes were practically audible.


    "At least I''m not the one she caught drooling on a book at three in the morning."


    "That happened once! And I wasn''t drooling, I was... contemplating deeply."


    "With your eyes closed? And snoring?"


    Sam waved his hand dismissively. "Just go do your research, man. Some of us have a date with hot water and muscle salve."


    They parted ways at the courtyard intersection, trading good-natured barbs until they were out of earshot.


    Adom watched Sam''s retreating form until he disappeared around the corner of the dormitory wing. A familiar weight settled in his stomach - guilt. He wasn''t actually heading to the library, and lying to Sam, even by omission, felt wrong.


    But what choice did he have? Sam would either think he''d lost his mind or, worse, try to help by telling a professor. No, some secrets were better kept, at least for now.


    The black cat headbutted his leg with an impatient "Mrrrow!"


    "Yeah, yeah, I''m moving," Adom said, turning away from the library path and heading toward the eastern exit. The cat trotted alongside him, tail high in the air.


    "Meow! Mew mew!" The cat''s complaints echoed off the stone walls.


    "Look, I told you - I''m not exactly an expert in curses. The theory, sure, but actually breaking them?" He spread his hands. "That''s advanced magic."


    "Mrrrrrrrrrrow!" The cat somehow managed to sound both skeptical and annoyed.


    "Oh, if you''re asking about a solution?" Adom grinned down at his companion. "I might have one in mind. Though we''ll have to see if-"


    "Meow?"


    "Patience. We''re almost there."


    They reached the massive eastern doors of Xerkes. The guards wouldn''t make their rounds until late at night - their job was more about keeping students from doing anything foolish than keeping outsiders away. The enchantments handled that part well enough, allowing exits but preventing unauthorized entry. Adom reached for the handle-


    "STUDENT ADOM SYLLA!"


    He spun around. A glossy black raven circled overhead, a piece of paper clutched in its claws. As the bird released its cargo, the cat crouched, muscles tensing.


    "Cat. Don''t you dare," Adom warned. "That''s an employee of the school."


    The raven perched on a nearby gargoyle, looking down at the cat with what could only be described as disdain. Then, to Adom''s amazement, it actually scoffed - a short, harsh sound that was definitely not part of normal raven vocabulary - before spreading its wings and taking off.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    Adom''s chuckle at the raven''s attitude died in his throat as he unfolded the paper, reading Eren''s familiar scrawl:


    Cisco wants to see you at the coffee spot in 2 days at 1pm. Says there''s something to talk about. I sent a raven, but it came back and said it didn''t find you in the main yard, so I left this letter. Hope that''s okay.


    - Eren


    His heart dropped.


    What happened? Was it about his order? The timeline flashed through his mind - one month and twelve days until the first symptoms.


    His fingers tightened on the paper, crinkling it. Not enough time. Never enough time. Had something gone wrong with the ingredients? Maybe they couldn''t get what he needed. Or worse, what if it was stolen? His breath quickened. Or was it about their operation? The one they''d discussed over steaming cups of coffee?


    Please let it be about the operation, he thought, his mind spinning faster and faster. At least that he could handle. That wouldn''t mean-


    "Meow."


    Sharp claws pricked through his pants leg, yanking him back to the present. The cat stared up at him, tail twitching.


    Adom blinked, becoming aware of how tightly he was gripping the paper, of how his shoulders had tensed up to his ears. He forced his fingers to relax, stuffing the crumpled note into his pocket.


    "Let''s go," he said, pushing the heavy door open. No point torturing himself with maybes. Better to just find out.


    The early night air hit his face as they stepped out into the city.


    *****


    The streets of Arkhos wound past like a familiar dream. Through the Weird Stuff Store''s window, Adom caught a glimpse of her arranging crystals on a shelf, Mr. Biggins nowhere in sight. Emma was still there, she looked up, but he was already past, moving deeper into the city where the streets grew wider and the buildings shorter.


    The strider station buzzed with its usual evening activity - drivers calling out destinations, passengers haggling over fares. A young man with bright red hair leaned against his cart, feeding his strider an apple.


    "Beach district?" Adom asked.


    The driver grinned, tossing the apple core aside. "Hop in."


    The cart''s wooden seats creaked as Adom settled in, the cat curling up beside him. They rolled forward with a gentle lurch, the strider''s paws clopping against cobblestones.


    Above, the full moon hung like a silver coin in the darkening sky. The autumn wind carried the scent of smoke from chimney fires, and Adom pulled his cloak tighter.


    The steady rhythm of the strider''s gait and the cart''s swaying motion made his eyelids heavy. His muscles ached from the training session, and Cisco''s message gnawed at the edges of his mind, but the exhaustion won out. He slumped against the cart''s side, his breathing growing deeper...


    "Mrrrow!"


    Adom jerked awake to find the cat''s paw batting his nose. The cart had stopped moving.


    "We''re here," the driver called over his shoulder. "Beach district, as requested."


    "Thanks." Adom stretched, working out the kinks in his neck. "Any chance you could wait here for a bit? I''ll need a ride back."


    The driver patted his strider''s flank. "Can spare an hour. That work?"


    "Perfect." Adom hopped down, his boots sinking slightly in the sand. "That should be enough."


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    The cat jumped down and padded beside him in the sand. Waves crashed to their right, and the city''s lanterns glowed behind them.


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    He''d spent hours hunched over his desk one night, pencil scratching paper, trying to capture her features. Nothing came out right. Just fragments: eyes that held eternity, a smile that made him forget to be afraid.


    Would she look the same when they met again? Because they would meet again - that was certain as sunrise. He just hoped next time it wouldn''t be because he''d failed.


    Adom stopped, bending down to unlace his boots. The sand was cold between his toes, and he wiggled them deeper, enjoying the sensation. Salt air filled his lungs as he breathed in deep. Something about beaches at night always calmed him - the steady rhythm of waves, the vast darkness of the ocean ahead.


    <section>


    A scuttling movement caught his eye. The cat pounced, batting at a small crab that had ventured too far from the water. The crab waved its claws in protest before disappearing into the cat''s mouth with a crunch.


    "You know," Adom said, watching the cat lick its paws clean, "I''ve been searching everywhere for someone who can break your curse." He kicked at a piece of driftwood. "The Veyshari are probably getting ready to leave Arkhos soon - they always do when it gets cold. Better visit them now while we can."


    "Meow?" The cat looked up, bits of shell still stuck to its whiskers.


    Adom chuckled. "You''ll see. Come on, their camp should be just past those rocks."


    A gust of wind whipped his cloak around his legs. Above them, clouds drifted past the moon, casting shifting shadows on the sand.


    The Veyshari. Every city had stories about them - whispered rumors of demon blood and dark pacts. But that''s all they were: stories.


    The truth was simpler. They were nomads who followed the warm seasons, setting up their colorful camps on the outskirts of cities, trading goods and offering services that locals either couldn''t or wouldn''t provide.


    Curses were their specialty. While temple priests and local mages would demand explanations and permissions, the Veyshari just asked how much you could pay. They didn''t care if you wanted to curse someone or break a curse - gold was gold.


    Adom glanced down at the cat padding beside him. In his months of research about curses, he''d barely scratched the surface. Books only told you so much, and most "experts" were frauds looking to empty your pockets. But the Veyshari? They had generations of real knowledge, passed down through families. If anyone could figure out what - or who - this cat really was, it would be them.


    The first hint of their presence was a faint drumbeat carried on the wind - so distant Adom almost thought he''d imagined it. But as they walked, it grew clearer: the steady thump of hands on leather, joined by the higher notes of pipes. Soon he could make out voices too, singing in a language he didn''t understand.


    Around the bend, the beach widened.


    The music was louder now, mixing with laughter and the crack of burning wood. Then he saw them: dozens of colorful tents and wagons arranged in a half-circle, a massive bonfire at their center. People danced, their feet kicking up sand as they spun. Others sat in groups, passing around bottles and plates of food, their faces glowing in the firelight.


    "We''re here," Adom said to the cat. But before he could take another step-


    "Dikhen! Ek streyino!" A child''s voice cut through the music. "Hai les yekh ma?ka!"


    The drums stuttered and fell silent. The pipes squeaked to a stop. The dancers froze mid-step, and every head turned toward them.


    Adom fought the urge to step back. "Just... act normal," he whispered to the cat, immediately feeling foolish. The cat responded by sitting down and starting to groom itself.


    The silence stretched. Someone coughed. A baby''s cry rang out from one of the tents, quickly hushed.


    "Right," Adom muttered. "This isn''t awkward at all."


    He took a hesitant step forward, forcing what he hoped was a friendly smile. "Hello? Good evening?" His voice cracked slightly.


    An old man near the fire spat into the flames.


    Adom froze.


    Was that bad? Was he supposed to leave? He''d read about tribal customs, but nothing about fire-spitting.


    "I''m, uh..." He glanced from face to face, finally settling on staring at the fire instead. Easier to speak that way. "My name is Adom. Adom Sylla. And this is..." He gestured downward. "...Cat."


    The cat chose that moment to let out a loud "Mrrrow!"


    "Ma?ka!" a little girl squealed with delight.


    "Oh! Yes, uh... ma...chka?" Adom attempted, mangling the word thoroughly.


    A deep laugh rumbled from the crowd, and the circle of people parted. A man stepped forward - no, stepped wasn''t the right word. He seemed to fill the space as he moved, massive and barrel-chested, with wild white hair that cascaded past his shoulders. His beard was even more impressive, gleaming in the firelight like spun silver, matched by bushy eyebrows that seemed to have a life of their own.


    "Welcome, welcome!" His voice was like distant thunder, his words carrying an exotic lilt. "I am Mirko, and these peoples, they are my peoples." He spread his arms wide, encompassing the entire camp. "What brings boy and his ma?ka to our fires, hm?"


    Adom glanced uncertainly at the crowd still watching him. Mirko must have noticed his hesitation because he waved a hand dismissively. "Speak free, young one. We are all family here."


    "Well..." Adom swallowed. "I think... I think this cat is cursed. And I was hoping you might be able to help me... uncurse it?"


    Mirko glanced over his shoulder at someone in the crowd, then turned back to Adom. "And what makes you tink dis cat is having curse, hm?"


    "Kitty Cat, if you would?" Adom said softly.


    The cat stretched lazily, then let out a growl that seemed to come from somewhere far deeper than its small body should allow. People backed away as the growl grew louder, more primal.


    The cat''s form began to shift and stretch, its shadow on the sand morphing into something much larger. Muscles rippled beneath expanding fur, midnight black in the firelight. Within moments, a massive puma stood where the housecat had been, its deep blue eyes reflecting the flames.


    A collective gasp rose from the crowd. Someone whispered a prayer. A child started crying.


    "What do you think?" Adom asked.


    Mirko turned again, this time to a young woman who stood slightly apart from the others. Copper-red hair fell in wild waves past her shoulders, adorned with small bells and colored beads that chimed softly as she moved. Intricate runic tattoos spiraled up her arms, disappearing beneath the flowing sleeves of her embroidered dress. Her face bore ceremonial paint - three white dots beneath each eye, and a crescent moon on her forehead.


    She stepped forward, bare feet silent in the sand, and circled the puma. Her hands moved in subtle gestures as she walked, and her lips formed silent words. The puma watched her, turning its massive head to follow her movement. Finally, she returned to Mirko''s side and whispered in his ear.


    "Our sorceress, she is saying cat has powerful curse indeed," Mirko announced, nodding gravely.


    "Oh," Adom said, shoulders sagging with relief. "Well... that''s good to know. I mean, not good, but... I wasn''t imagining things."


    "You want us to lift curse?" Mirko asked, spreading his massive hands.


    "If you could, that would be nice, yeah."


    "Hmm-" Mirko began, but the sorceress grabbed his sleeve.


    "Kak," she said urgently, "Me mangav te dav tut duma."


    "Ah," Mirko turned back to Adom. "Must speak with sorceress first. But come! Join camp!"


    "Uhh..." Adom glanced at the puma, which was now sitting placidly in the sand.


    Before he could protest, hands grabbed him from all sides. Laughing voices pulled him forward as children darted around his legs.


    "XABEN!" Mirko''s voice boomed over the crowd. "TE KERAS PATIV AMARE GOSTOSKE!"


    The camp erupted in cheers. The drums picked up again, faster now, joined by pipes and tambourines. Someone started singing in that mysterious language.


    Mirko winked at Adom. "Make self comfortable with cat. We return soon."


    "Wait-" Adom started, but a clay bowl was thrust into his hands. Steam rose from its contents.


    The old man who''d spat in the fire appeared at his elbow. "Thud," he said, nodding at the bowl. "Good for cold night. Drink, drink!"


    "Thank you," Adom said. He looked around and spotted the puma already lapping from its own bowl, surrounded by children who were cautiously patting its head.


    He raised the bowl to his lips. The warm liquid was rich and creamy, sweet but not cloying. There was cinnamon, he thought, and maybe honey, and something else he couldn''t quite place. It coated his tongue like melted silk. Before he knew it, he was tilting the bowl back, drinking deeply until it was empty.


    He lowered the bowl to find expectant faces watching him. "Eh? Eh?" they asked, gesturing at the empty vessel.


    "It''s very good," he said, giving an awkward thumbs up.


    "BAXTALO!" they shouted in unison, and several people reached out to pat his shoulders and back. The music swelled, and the dancers spun faster, their skirts swirling like autumn leaves in the firelight.


    The dancers whirled around him, a kaleidoscope of colors and movement. An older woman with silver braids grabbed his hand. "Dance! Dance!"


    "Oh, no, I can''t-" But another grandma had already seized his other hand, pulling him into the circle.


    "Like this!" Silver-braids demonstrated a simple step-kick-step. Adom tried to copy her, his feet stumbling over themselves. The grandmas cackled good-naturedly, guiding his movements with surprising strength in their weathered hands.


    Step-kick-step. Step-kick-step. The rhythm began to make sense. The drums seemed to pulse through his feet, up his legs, into his chest. Hey, this wasn''t so bad! He found himself grinning as he spun between the women, his steps growing more confident.


    [Your Stamina is improving]


    "No more, no more!" he gasped finally, chest heaving. The grandmas released him with approving pats on his back, and he stumbled to the edge of the circle, breathing hard.


    That''s when he noticed Mirko approaching with the sorceress. The music softened, though it didn''t stop entirely.


    "We can lift curse," Mirko announced.


    "Oh, nice!"


    "But is expensive." Mirko raised his bushy eyebrows. "You sure you have money?"


    "How much?"


    "One hundred gold pieces."


    "A hundred gold?" Adom repeated. He''d expected thousands, given how rare curse-breaking was. He fought to keep the smile off his face. "Deal."


    Mirko''s hand engulfed his in a grip that made Adom''s bones creak. "Deal is made!" the big man declared. "Cannot be broken now!"


    Adom flexed his fingers when they were released, trying not to wince. "When do we start?"


    "Now," the sorceress said, her voice clear and firm. The puma''s ears pricked forward, and it padded toward them.


    Mirko called out in in their tongue, and the crowd melted away from the center of the camp, forming a wide circle. Only Adom, Mirko, the sorceress, and the puma remained in the firelit space.


    "Please, step back," the sorceress instructed Adom. He retreated to the edge of the circle.


    She knelt in the sand, her skirts pooling around her, and began drawing runes with her finger. Adom recognized them - ancient symbols of unbinding, breaking, and freedom. The puma sat perfectly still as she worked, watching her create the intricate circle of runes around it.


    From her dress, she produced a crystal that pulsed with deep purple light. Adom''s eyes widened. Mana crystals like that were rare outside dungeons, where magical energy concentrated naturally. Breaking a curse this powerful would need significant magical reserves - the crystal made sense.


    "Anen mange bakro!" she called out.


    Through the crowd came two men, leading a sheep. Another man began digging a hole in the sand. Adom''s throat went dry. Were they going to...?


    The sorceress drew a knife from a sheath at her hip. The blade caught the moonlight, gleaming sharp and clean. "O rat si va? o Del," she intoned, "thaj o mas va? e manu?."


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    The sheep stood quietly, almost serene, as if understanding its role in all this. Its dark eyes reflected the moonlight as it gazed at the blade, showing neither fear nor resistance.


    When the knife moved, there was only a soft exhale - almost like a sigh of acceptance - before the blood began to flow. The men held the animal steady as its blood filled into the hole, dark against the pale sand. The sorceress began moving her hands in complex patterns, her lips forming words Adom couldn''t hear.


    The camp had fallen completely silent. Even the babies weren''t crying. Children peeked from behind their parents'' legs, eyes wide. The firelight cast long shadows that seemed to dance with the sorceress''s movements.


    A single drum beat cut through the night.


    Adom''s head snapped right.


    Another beat, from the left.


    More drums joined in, their rhythm slow and deliberate. Then voices rose, deep and melodic, men and women weaving an ancient chant.


    "Do not be afraid," the old man whispered beside Adom. "Is tradition." Adom managed a weak smile in response.


    The chanting grew stronger as wisps of mana began to coalesce around the sorceress. The blood in the hole started to move, defying gravity, seeping into the runes she''d drawn. They glowed crimson, then formed a shimmering barrier around the puma. The great cat looked at Adom, confusion in its blue eyes matching his own.


    Much of this ritual seemed... excessive, but who was he to judge another culture''s ways?


    Suddenly, the puma gasped - a terrifyingly human sound. The bonfire, which had been burning steadily, began to writhe and dance wildly. The chants rose in pitch as smoke started seeping from the puma''s fur. It paced the circle''s edge, growing more frantic.


    Adom instinctively stepped forward, but the old man''s hand gripped his arm. "No interrupt," he hissed. "Sacred moment."


    The fire roared higher, its light casting twisted shadows. The chanting reached fever pitch as thick smoke obscured the puma. From within came growls and yowls, the sounds of both great cat and house cat intermingling. Then, horrifyingly, human words: "Hurts! It... hurts!"


    The bloody runes pulsed purple, drawing mana from the crystal like threads of lightning. The air grew thick, heavy with power. Adom felt his hair stand on end, sweat beading on his forehead despite the night''s chill. The light from the circle intensified, brighter and brighter, until he had to shield his eyes.


    The drums reached a crescendo, the chanting became a roar, the fire twisted impossibly high - and then, with one final thunderous drum beat, everything went silent.


    "Come on, kitty cat... come on..." Adom whispered into the silence. The sorceress remained on her knees, chest heaving, spent from the ritual. No one spoke. No one moved.


    The smoke began to drift away on the sea breeze, revealing something - someone - curled on the bloodstained sand. Dark hair spilled across pale shoulders like spilled ink in the moonlight.


    The woman stirred, and when she opened her eyes, they were the same striking blue as the puma''s. Her features were delicate, almost feline - high cheekbones, a fine nose, lips slightly parted in confusion.


    Their eyes met. For a moment, time seemed to stop - then Adom''s brain registered her complete lack of clothing, and he spun away so fast he nearly fell.


    There was a rustle of fabric as the sorceress draped a blanket over the woman''s shoulders. From the corner of his eye, Adom could see her trying to stand on shaking legs, looking at her own hands as if she''d never seen them before.


    "It is done," the sorceress said softly.


    </section>

 Chapter 27. Kitty Cat And Little Mage

    Well... shit.


    Adom''s mind was still trying to process what had just happened. The cat - his cat - the one he''d been living with for days now... was a woman. A grown, very beautiful woman.


    His brain helpfully began cataloging every single time he''d changed clothes in front of the cat. Every morning routine. Every post-training shower. That time he and Sam spent an entire evening making increasingly crude jokes about one of their professor''s mustache...


    Oh God.


    The realization hit him like a bucket of ice water. He''d even given the cat a bath once, after it - she - had fallen into a mud puddle. He could feel his ears burning at the memory.


    Through the embarrassed haze, he watched as the Veyshari women fussed over her, bringing more blankets and what looked like a spare dress. Her movements were uncertain, like someone relearning how to use their own body. But there was something about her face that tugged at his memory - a half-remembered dream, perhaps? The curve of her cheek, the way her eyes crinkled slightly when she looked around... it felt familiar, yet he was certain he''d never met her before.


    As if sensing his thoughts, she turned toward him. Their eyes met again, and this time she smiled - a warm, gentle expression that transformed her entire face. She raised her hand slightly, beckoning him over.


    Adom stood frozen, his feet apparently having forgotten how to move.


    "Very beautiful woman," the old man beside him commented matter-of-factly. "Good hips. Strong."


    "Purano beng!" An elderly woman - who from their familiar bickering had to be the old man''s wife - smacked him on the back of his head with practiced precision. "Na dikh pe late kavka!"


    The old woman turned to Adom, shooing him forward with her hands. "Go, go. No mind him. Old goat only has eyes left, brain gone long time ago."


    Yes. Definitely his wife. Man had it coming too.


    Adom''s feet began moving, though his brain was still debating the wisdom of this decision. The crowd parted before him, creating a path that felt miles long. He passed two men carrying the sheep''s carcass, their knives already working with practiced efficiency. The metallic scent of blood mixed with woodsmoke and sea air.


    Different faces turned to watch his progress. An old grandmother nodding approvingly. Young children giggling behind their mothers'' skirts. A teenager rolling his eyes and muttering something that made his friend snicker. Somewhere, the drums had started again, softer now, like a heartbeat in the background.


    What was he supposed to say? ''Hi'' felt ridiculous. ''You look different without fur'' would probably get him slapped. ''Sorry about that bath last week'' - God, no. Maybe something dignified about being honored to finally meet her properly? No, too formal. ''You have beautiful eyes'' - true, but creepy given the circumstances.


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    He carefully stepped around the bloody runes still drawn in the sand, his shadow stretching long in the firelight. The sorceress was helping the woman adjust the borrowed dress, which hung slightly loose on her frame.


    Up close, he had to tilt his head back to look at her properly - she was tall, easily a head and a half taller than his current twelve-year-old body.


    Something about that height difference made him feel even more awkward about the whole situation.


    "Kitty Cat?" he heard himself say.


    ...For God''s sake.


    The instant the words left his mouth, he wanted to walk straight into the ocean and keep walking. Several of the Veyshari women didn''t bother hiding their laughter. Even the sorceress''s lips twitched.


    But the woman - the former cat - just smiled wider, and somehow that was even worse.


    "Hello, little mage."


    "Little... mage?" Adom squeaked, then immediately wished he hadn''t.


    She laughed softly, one hand covering her mouth in a surprisingly delicate gesture. "You don''t need to be so stoic, you know. I''d like to think we know each other well enough by now."


    Get it together, he told himself firmly. You''ve faced death. Literally. This is just... just...


    "I... I..." he started, but she cut him off.


    "Thank you," she said simply.


    Adom fell silent, watching as she spread her fingers in front of her face, examining them like precious treasures. She touched her hair, ran her hands down her arms, wiggled her toes in the sand. Each movement seemed to fill her with quiet wonder.


    "It''s strange," she said softly, "being an animal. Everything is... simpler. Clearer. Hunger means eat. Tired means sleep. The world is all scents and sounds and instincts." She touched her face, tracing her own features as if making sure they were real. "But human thoughts are still there, just... muffled. Like trying to read through foggy glass. And then sometimes the cat''s mind would take over completely, and I''d find myself chasing mice or batting at string, and the human part of me would just watch, amused."


    She stretched her arms above her head, arching her back slightly. "But this... oh, this feels right. Like slipping into your own bed after a long journey. Everything exactly where it should be." A soft smile played across her lips. "Though I might miss being able to lick my own shoulder."


    "I''m glad you''re back then," Adom finally managed, finding his voice.


    "Me too," she smiled warmly. "And thank you, again."


    He kept looking at her, brow furrowed slightly. There was something... He could swear he''d never met her before, and yet...


    She caught his stare and her smile faltered. "What''s wrong? Is there- is the curse still-?" Her hands flew to her face, checking for whiskers or fur.


    "No, no, nothing like that," Adom quickly assured her. "It''s just... I feel like I know your face from somewhere. I can''t place it, but..."


    His eyes narrowed slightly as he tried [Identify], expecting the curse-induced [???] to have disappeared. But the same mysterious marker floated above her head. That was... odd. He''d assumed the unknown status was because of the transformation magic, but now...


    "Oh. I suppose you would." Her voice grew quiet, something unreadable passing across her features. She didn''t elaborate.


    Adom wanted to ask more, but something in her expression made him hold back.


    She straightened, offering a slight smile that didn''t quite reach her eyes. "My name is Morgana," she said softly, "though it''s been... quite a while since anyone called me that."


    Before Adom could respond, Mirko''s heavy hand landed on his shoulder, nearly knocking him off balance. "Curse gone! One hundred gold pieces!" The old man was beaming, his teeth glinting in the firelight.


    "Right," Adom said, still a bit dazed. He reached into his inventory, pulling out the agreed-upon payment. Several of the Veyshari gasped and muttered among themselves as the coins materialized from thin air.


    "Ah! You mage too?" Mirko asked, eyebrows rising as he counted the coins.


    "Yes."


    "Then why you not break curse yourself, eh?" He pocketed the money with practiced swiftness.


    "I''m... not really specialized in curse-breaking. Different school of magic entirely."


    Mirko burst out laughing, reaching out to grab the sorceress who had been trying to slip away. "My sister''s daughter! Best curse-breaker in all tribes!" The woman yelped indignantly as he pulled her into a one-armed hug. "Best, yes? You tell him - best!"


    The sorceress jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow, spitting out what sounded like several creative curses in thier tongue.


    "Yeah," Adom agreed, watching as she finally extracted herself from her uncle''s grip with a huff. "She''s definitely the best."


    The best... the best... He repeated in his thoughts, an idea rising.


    Adom turned back toward Morgana, but his mind was already racing in two directions - the impossible cat on one side, and on the other... He studied the sorceress, remembering the intricate dance of her hands as she drew those runes.


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    "Those symbols you used," he said, gesturing to the fading marks in the sand. "Some of them are really old. Most mages don''t even use them anymore."


    The sorceress shrugged, adjusting her shawl. "Is tradition."


    "Yes, I understand that, but..." Adom''s eyes traced the patterns again. Most were familiar, true, but others... they reminded him of... His hand moved almost automatically to his inventory. "Actually..."


    He pulled out the Grimoire of Law. One of the runes drawn by the sorceress caught his attention during the ritual - a complex swirl that seemed to shift under his gaze. He tried [Identify] on it, but just like with the book itself, all he got was [???]. Another dead end.


    Behind him, he was vaguely aware of some children tugging at Morgana''s dress, offering her bread and what smelled like fresh stew. Her gentle laughter carried on the evening breeze.


    "Do you recognize any of these runes?" he asked, holding the book out to the sorceress.


    She muttered something under her breath, her eyes widening slightly. "This very old," she said, switching to her accented trade speech. "Where you find?"


    Adom ignored the question. "Can you read it?" Hope crept into his voice. After weeks of getting nowhere...


    She held out her hands, and he passed her the grimoire. She opened it, frowned at the blank pages, then looked at him questioningly.


    "I know, it''s strange. But the cover - can you read what''s on the cover?"


    She studied it intently, her finger tracing the symbols. She and Mirko exchanged rapid words in their language, pointing at different marks. Adom''s heart beat faster with each nod and gesture.


    Finally, she shook her head. "No. Not know meaning."


    His shoulders slumped. "But look," he said, pointing to one of the symbols. "This one, it''s like the blood rune you used earlier for binding, but it''s different from how we draw it today. It''s more like..." He traced the pattern in the air.


    "Ah," she said, nodding. "But this knowledge, it come from father, from his father. We not make these. We learn from giants."


    "Giants?" Adom blinked. "But they''re practically extinct. Nobody''s seen one in a hundred years, and they''re all the way across the-" He stopped, wheels turning in his head.


    Behind them, Morgana was now surrounded by a small crowd of children, showing them how to properly hold a spoon ("No, like this - see? Much more dignified."). But Adom barely noticed, his mind churning with possibilities.


    "The giants," he said slowly. "They would know about these runes?"


    The sorceress nodded, handing the book back to him. "They make first runes. All magic writing come from giants. You want know about book?" She pointed east, toward the distant mountains that marked the edge of the Aslan continent. "Find giants."


    "Thank you, uh..." Adom said to the sorceress, realizing he''d never caught her name.


    "Mirela," she said, adjusting her shawl.


    "Thank you, Mirela."


    She nodded once, and Adom turned away to look at a group of women by the fire.


    Morgana sat cross-legged there, surrounded by children who kept calling her "ma?a femeie" while touching her hair. The women presented her with the sheep''s heart on a wooden plate, steam still rising from it. Adom watched from where he stood, the grimoire heavy in his hands.


    "Powerful curse," Mirko said beside him, making Adom jump slightly. "Need life force to break. Sheep die, curse break." He slapped Adom''s back with another booming laugh. "Magic! Who knows how work, yes?"


    Adom rubbed his shoulder, wondering if bruises from friendly gestures counted as combat damage. "Right..."


    "She must eat heart," Mirela added softly, watching as Morgana picked up the offering. "Her curse take sheep life. Must honor sacrifice."


    Adom nodded, transfixed by the scene.


    Under the firelight, Morgana brought the heart to her mouth with both hands, not bothering with the offered utensils. There was something mesmerizing about watching her eat a raw heart with the delicate savagery of a wild animal.


    Her movements were still feline - efficient, graceful, predatory. Blood trickled down her chin, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand, seemingly unbothered by the watching children.


    A glint of moonlight caught his eye, and Adom''s stomach dropped. The moon! The Strider had said he''d only wait an hour...


    "I have to go," he said quickly, already moving toward Morgana. The drums continued their steady rhythm as he approached, and she looked up at him, hands still red with the sheep''s blood.


    "Leaving already?" Morgana wiped her hands on a cloth offered by one of the women.


    "The Strider''s waiting for us- well, me." Adom shifted awkwardly. "Since you probably can''t exactly walk into Xerkes..."


    She smiled, understanding. "I''ll walk with you a bit along the beach."


    As Adom turned to leave, the camp erupted in a flurry of goodbyes. Mirko wrapped him in a bone-crushing hug. "Stay! We eat sheep, yes? Good meat!"


    "No, no, he drink with men!" someone shouted from behind.


    "Idiot, he boy still. No drink!" came another voice, followed by what sounded like a light smack.


    The sorceress pressed a small pouch of herbs into his hand. "For good dreams," she said.


    Huh?


    Children tugged at his clothes, asking in broken trade speech if he''d show them more magic next time. One small girl clutched his leg until her mother pried her away, scolding gently in their tongue.


    Finally, after what felt like a hundred handshakes and back-slaps and promises to return, Adom managed to extract himself from the warmth of the camp.


    They walked along the shoreline, waves lapping at their feet, the drums of the Veyshari camp fading into a distant heartbeat.


    The moon cast silver streaks across the dark water, and neither spoke for a while.


    "Sam was supposed to be the quiet, shy one," Morgana said suddenly, breaking into his thoughts. "Seems you both share that trait after all."


    "I prefer ''reserved,''" Adom corrected with mock dignity. "It sounds more dignified."


    They both chuckled, the sound mixing with the rhythm of the waves.


    "You can ask, you know," she said after another moment. "I know you well enough by now to recognize that look. Curiosity - terrible habit, really."


    "Well... if you insist." Adom kicked at a bit of wet sand. "How exactly did end up cursed? And, why? And more importantly, by whom?"


    Morgana''s steps slowed.


    Instead of answering immediately, she walked to the water''s edge, where the waves lapped gently at her feet. She knelt down, peering at her reflection in the moonlit water. A small gasp escaped her lips.


    "Is something wrong?" Adom asked, moving closer.


    "No, no..." She touched her face gently, watching her reflection ripple in the water. "It''s just... the last time I saw my own face, I was ten years old." Her voice grew soft. "I look so much like my mother now."


    She sat down in the sand, not seeming to mind that the waves occasionally reached her dress. After a moment, she patted the space beside her. Adom hesitated briefly, then sat down too.


    "What year is it now?" she asked suddenly, still studying her reflection.


    "847," Adom replied.


    Morgana was quiet for a moment, doing the math in her head. "So I''m twenty-one now..." she murmured, more to herself than to him. She ran her fingers through her hair, seeming fascinated by its length. "Eleven years as an animal. No wonder everything feels so... strange."


    "I can imagine..." Adom said. Still waiting for her to answer the questions.


    "The ''who'' doesn''t matter anymore," she said, watching the waves. "As for the how and why..." A slight smile touched her lips, though it didn''t reach her eyes. "Let''s just say I made some people very angry by existing in the wrong place at the wrong time."


    She glanced at him, then back at the ocean. "Sometimes the safest thing to be is a cat in a crowd of people who are looking for a girl."


    "But why would anyone curse a ten year old?"


    Morgana chuckled softly. "You know, in all these years, you''re the first person who''s actually helped me without asking too many questions."


    She was deflecting the question, it seemed.


    Morgana drew patterns in the wet sand with her finger. "Most people want something. Information, favors... but you just saw a puma in trouble and decided to help. Even took me to a curse-breaker."


    "Well," he said, "I was mostly curious about who or what might have been behind that curse."


    She looked at him then, really looked at him, and her expression softened. "Thank you for that. For everything. The food, the shelter, even that dreadful bath after the mud puddle incident."


    Adom felt his ears burn at the memory, but she just laughed.


    "Don''t worry about it. Cats don''t really care about modesty."


    They both laughed at that.


    "What will you do now? Where will you go?" Adom asked after their laughter faded.


    "Oh, somewhere. Anywhere." She smiled more genuinely now. "It''s been a long time since I could go wherever I wanted." She reached out and ruffled his hair, much like she used to bump her head against it when she was a cat. "Don''t worry about me. I''m quite good at landing on my feet."


    She stood up, brushing sand from her dress. "Though I must admit, I''ll miss our little chats, little mage. Even if they were rather one-sided."


    "Are you planning to go with the Veyshari?"


    "Well, they seem like quite the welcoming people." Morgana said, glancing back toward the distant firelight. "I could see some places that way."


    "Yeah, that''s a good plan."


    Morgana tilted her head, studying him with that feline curiosity. "You sound like you want to tag along."


    "I want to travel," Adom admitted. "At the end of the year, when we choose our paths... I''m going for Battle Mage. And for practical experience, I''m thinking of asking to leave school for a while. Get an adventurer''s license, be more free to move around. See some things in the world, you know?"


    "That sounds like a good plan..."


    "They won''t leave until first snow," Adom said. "That''s still some time away. Maybe I could... visit again?"


    "I''d like that."


    Adom stood up, brushing sand from his clothes. "I should go before the Strider leaves without me."


    "Tell Sam I said hi," Morgana called after him.


    "I''d rather not. He''d freak out if he knew you were..." Adom trailed off.


    Morgana put her hands on her hips, eyebrows raised. "If I were...?"


    "Well... a lady."


    She laughed. "Bye, little mage."


    "Bye, Kitty Cat."


    Which, oddly enough, didn''t feel weird at all. Unless you thought about it.


    *****


    The Strider''s silhouette loomed against the moonlit beach, its legs shifting restlessly in the sand. The young man tending to it perked up at Adom''s approach.


    "Oh, you came! Was just about to leave, actually."


    "Thanks for waiting," Adom said, climbing onto the cart. The wood creaked under his weight.


    The young man''s eyes scanned the beach behind Adom. "Where''s your cat? The black one you came with?"


    "She... said she''d like to stay."


    "The cat... said?" The young man''s brow furrowed, but after a moment he just shrugged and clicked his tongue. The Strider lurched forward, its chitinous legs finding purchase in the loose sand.


    The rhythmic swaying of the cart and the soft whisper of waves gradually faded into white noise. Adom leaned back, letting his thoughts drift through the day''s events. The curse-breaking ceremony kept replaying in his mind - the blood runes, the sacrifice, Morgana emerging from the smoke...


    He shook his head. That was one mystery solved, at least. Though ''solved'' might be too strong a word. Morgana clearly had her secrets - big ones, dark ones. The kind that got ten-year-olds turned into cats. He wasn''t entirely sure he wanted to pull on that particular thread. Well, he did, but...


    Better to focus on more pressing matters. The puma problem was officially off his mental checklist. Now there was the Eren case, and the new lead with the Law grimoire. Giants. He''d have to check the library for any information about their runic systems. Though really, how much could he accomplish here at school? By next year, he''d be free to travel, to search for answers firsthand. After dealing with Dragon''s Breath, of course.


    The cart hit a bump, jolting him from his thoughts. Right. The cure. Something was definitely wrong with Cisco''s situation - he could feel it in his gut. Maybe it was time to seriously consider alternative solutions.


    Actually... this might work out perfectly. Tomorrow was Alchemy with Professor Mirwen. Perhaps he could start laying the groundwork for another approach to the cure.


    His system interface flickered at the edge of his vision:


    Time Remaining: 1 month, 28 days, 14 hours, 45 minutes


    Good. No big deal. Things would go smoothly. Positive thoughts.


    Adom yawned, his eyelids growing heavy as the cart swayed. Everything would be alright. Everything would be...


    His head nodded forward as sleep took him, the Strider''s steady gait carrying him back toward Xerkes under the watching moon.

 Chapter 28. Alchemy

    Through the classroom window, autumn painted the academy grounds in warm colors. A gentle breeze scattered fallen leaves across the courtyard, where a first-year was poking at a particularly fat frog with a stick.


    The boy wasn''t being cruel, exactly - more like that peculiar brand of childhood curiosity that involved seeing how far you could annoy something before it hopped away.


    Adom watched the scene with mild interest, Professor Lan''s lecture on basic ward theory fading into background noise.


    The first-year managed to flip the frog onto its back. The creature''s legs kicked uselessly at the air while the boy watched, fascinated.


    Adom''s mind drifted to his own problems. Professor Kim''s Dragon''s Breath project needed careful handling - one wrong move and the consequences would ripple through decades. Then there was the cure... The time limit in his interface was a constant reminder ticking away in the corner of his vision.


    The frog had righted itself, only for the stick to prod it again.


    Seventy-nine years of magical knowledge crammed into a twelve-year-old brain made formal education feel rather redundant. He could ace every test, answer every question - except in Alchemy, ironically enough. That one he actually needed to attend. Everything else though...


    His fingers traced absent patterns on his desk. He could be in the library right now, researching giant runes or working on the cure. Instead, he was sitting through lessons he could probably teach in his sleep. Had taught, in fact, to wide-eyed recruits who''d called him "Lord Mage Sylla" with varying degrees of terror and respect.


    The frog made another bid for freedom. The first-year blocked its path with the stick.


    Without moving his head from its comfortable position propped on his hand, Adom weaved a subtle attraction spell, just enough to make the frog zip suddenly between the boy''s legs. The startled yelp that followed was rather satisfying.


    A small giggle escaped before he could catch it.


    "Care to share what''s so amusing, Mr. Sylla?"


    Professor Lan''s voice cut through his thoughts like a knife through butter. Right. Maybe he should pay at least some attention to class. For appearance''s sake, if nothing else.


    Adom straightened in his chair, offering Professor Lan an apologetic smile. The rest of the class dragged by like molasses, his mind constantly wandering to more pressing matters - Cure, Dragon''s Breath, freedom...


    By lunch time, the dining hall hummed with the usual chaos. Apprentice mages clustered around long wooden tables, their voices echoing off stone walls as they compared notes, complained about assignments, or argued about the proper pronunciation of that new fire spell their Professor had demonstrated.


    Adom took another bite of his turkey leg, savoring the tenderness of the meat. The kitchen staff had outdone themselves - perfectly seasoned, just the right amount of smokiness. A welcome distraction from the day''s monotony.


    "You''re doing it again," Sam said from across the table, pointing his fork accusingly.


    "Doing what?"


    "That thing where you stare into space and look all..." Sam waved his hands vaguely. "You''ve been moping all day. Is it because your cat left?"


    Adom nearly choked on his turkey.


    "I mean, cats do that sometimes," Sam continued, misinterpreting Adom''s reaction. "They just... wander off. Could come back today even."


    A laugh bubbled up from Adom''s chest before he could stop it. "I really doubt that."


    "Well, you never know with cats." Sam shrugged, then brightened. "Hey, what are you doing after lunch? I was thinking of heading to the club, get some training in."


    "Would you look at that," Adom grinned, setting down his turkey leg. "Wasn''t it just a few weeks ago you were cursing my name for dragging you there? What was it you said? Something about ''sadistic training regimens'' and ''cruel and unusual punishment''?"


    "I was young and ignorant then," Sam declared with mock solemnity. He pushed up his sleeve with flourish. "Look! Look what all that training did!"


    Sam flexed his arm dramatically. There was... well, there was certainly enthusiasm, if not actual muscle definition. Yet.


    "Very impressive," Adom said with complete seriousness, while a third-year at the next table poorly disguised their snicker as a cough.


    "Right?" Sam beamed, completely missing the sarcasm. He rolled his sleeve back down, nearly knocking over his water goblet in the process. "So, you coming or what?"


    "Can''t today. Got that thing with Professor Mirwen," Adom said, wiping his hands on a napkin.


    "Oh right, the special course." Sam shook his head. "I still don''t get you, you know? First, we were both going for Runicologist. Then suddenly you''re all about Battle Mage, and now you''re taking extra Alchemy classes?" He gestured with his fork. "What''s next? Divination?"


    "It is what it is," Adom said, standing up with his plate. "Speaking of which, I should get going. Lesson''s in a few minutes."


    Adom made his way to the disposal area, where animated dishes scrubbed themselves clean in perpetual motion.


    "See you later then," Sam called after him. "Try not to blow anything up!"


    Adom waved goodbye and stepped out into the corridor, where Xerkes'' ever-shifting architecture was beginning its occasional dance.


    He checked his map of the building''s current layout. Professor Mirwen had said to meet in the East Tower''s secondary laboratory - which, given the building''s constant movement, meant he needed to take the third corridor, wait for the rotating bridge to align, then catch the floating platform before it drifted too high.


    Three sharp knocks echoed in the stone corridor.


    "Come in!" Professor Mirwen''s voice carried through the heavy oak door.


    Adom stepped into the laboratory, it had a... sterile smell. If that meant something. Copper apparatus lined the walls, their tubes and vessels gleaming in the light of crystals. Professor Mirwen stood behind a workbench, her silver-streaked hair tied back in its usual practical knot. Beside her, Mia sat perched on a tall stool, her notebook already open.


    "Hey," Adom nodded to Mia.


    "Hey, Adom." she returned the greeting with a smile then looked back at her notes.


    "Ah, perfect timing, Mr. Sylla. We were just about to begin." Professor Mirwen gestured to an empty stool. "Please, join us."


    Adom settled onto the wooden seat, noting how different the atmosphere felt with just two students instead of a full class. More focused. Less opportunity to daydream, too.


    "Now then," Professor Mirwen said, resting her hands on the workbench. Her rings clinked softly against the worn wood. "Before we delve into the practical aspects, I''d like to hear your understanding of alchemy. Mr. Sylla?"


    "Ah, sure." Adom straightened slightly. "Alchemy is the magical discipline that focuses on the transformation of matter through the manipulation of its fundamental properties. Unlike pure transmutation magic, it requires catalysts and reagents to achieve stable results. Its primary applications include potion-making, material enhancement, and the creation of magical compounds."


    "Very good." Professor Mirwen''s lips curved in a slight smile. "That''s the textbook definition, word for word if I''m not mistaken. But tell me - what is alchemy to you?"


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    The question hung in the air between them, accompanied only by the soft bubbling of something green in a nearby retort.


    But alchemy? He glanced at the bubbling retorts and intricate apparatus surrounding them.


    His expertise there began and ended with potion-making, and even then, only because necessity had demanded it. The countless hours spent with healers and alchemists, desperately working on the Lifedrain cure, had taught him enough to reproduce that specific potion. But that was like claiming to be a chef because you could make one really good sandwich.


    Magic was vast. Impossibly vast. Even after seven decades of study, some aspects remained as mysterious as they''d been when he first stepped into Xerkes as a wide-eyed eleven-year-old. Put him in front of a healing circle, or ask him about druidic transformations - paths that some spent upwards of a decade mastering - and he''d be as lost as any first-year.


    Professor Mirwen''s smile softened at his hesitation. "It''s alright, Mr. Sylla. Your silence speaks volumes." She adjusted one of her rings. "Many students come to alchemy thinking it''s just another branch of magic to master. But it''s more than memorizing reagents and following recipes."


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    The green liquid in the nearby retort chose that moment to change to a deep purple, as if emphasizing her point.


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    She set the vial in a brass holder and drew a circle around it with chalk. "You both know the fundamental laws, I assume? Ms. Storm?"


    Mia sat up straighter. "Yes, Professor. The first is the Law of Conservation - matter and energy can''t be created or destroyed, only transformed."


    As she spoke, Professor Mirwen traced five small circles around the main one, each containing a different runic symbol. "Exactly. Watch." She touched the first circle, and the liquid in the vial began to separate into distinct layers. "Every component maintains its essence, even as it changes form."


    "Then there''s the Law of Equivalent Exchange," Mia continued. "The output must equal the input."


    Mirwen nodded, touching the second circle. The layers in the vial began to merge again, but differently. "If I want to strengthen this solution, I must provide additional energy or material of equal value. Nothing comes free."


    "The Law of Elemental Harmony requires balance between the five quintessences," Mia said, as Professor Mirwen activated the third circle. The liquid stabilized, taking on a golden hue.


    "Precisely why most amateur alchemists fail," Mirwen noted. "They focus on the physical components and forget the elemental balance. One drop too much fire essence, and..." She gestured at some scorch marks on the ceiling.


    "The Law of Providence states that materials can only be transformed within their natural limitations," Mia recited. "And finally, the Law of Resonance - similar elements amplify each other."


    Professor Mirwen activated the final two circles. The golden liquid brightened, then settled into a perfect, stable shimmer. "These aren''t just rules in a textbook. They''re the fundamental principles of reality itself. Break them, and the consequences are... severe." She lifted the vial, now containing what looked like liquid sunlight. "This is what happens when you work with the laws, not against them."


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    "So, Mr. Sylla," Professor Mirwen held up the vial of golden liquid, "what did you understand from this demonstration?"


    Adom adjusted his glasses, the Riddler''s Bane having helped him follow the flowing patterns of magic during her work. The artifact didn''t give him new knowledge, but it had clarified what he''d already learned about transformation magic during his work with the Lifedrain cure.


    "You started with nightshade," he said. "I recognize it from healing work - mild, irritating poison in its natural state. Then you used the runic circles to..." He gestured at the chalk marks, "to break it down. Fire pulled it apart, water and air moved things around, earth kept it stable while it changed." He paused, watching the golden liquid shimmer. "And the runic circle for mana gathering at the end made the change stick. You turned something that hurts into something that doesn''t."


    "Not quite right," Mia interjected, twirling her quill. "The mana circle didn''t just ''make it stick'' - it powered the whole transformation. Without it, the other elements would''ve just moved things around uselessly."


    Professor Mirwen nodded. "Ms. Storm is correct. Mana is the foundation, not the finishing touch." She held the vial up to the light. "But you grasped the essential concept, Mr. Sylla. Alchemy isn''t about destroying and creating - it''s about understanding what something is, and guiding it to become what it could be." She set the vial down with a soft clink. "Though I must say, I''m surprised you followed the process so well. Most non-alchemists only see the end result."


    <section>Adom scratched his cheek, offering a small smile. "You just have a way of making complex things clear, Professor."</section>


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    <section>


    "My, my." Professor Mirwen''s eyes twinkled with amusement. "I didn''t take you for one to give compliments, Mr. Sylla."


    Mia snickered as Adom''s smile turned awkward. He adjusted his glasses again.


    "Could I..." he hesitated, then pushed forward. "Could I try a transmutation?"


    "Confident, aren''t we?" Professor Mirwen raised an eyebrow.


    Confidence had nothing to do with it.


    If anything, the thought of attempting alchemy made his stomach twist. But time wasn''t a luxury he had anymore. The Lifedrain Syndrome would return in less than a month, and with the Cisco situation growing more unstable by the day... He needed to understand this. The Elixir of Rebirth might be beyond his current abilities, but if he could grasp these principles, maybe he could develop an alternative to the cure. Something more permanent. Something that wouldn''t require constant renewal.


    He met Professor Mirwen''s gaze, and something in his expression must have conveyed his urgency, because her amused smile softened into something more understanding.


    "Well then," she said, reaching for a fresh piece of chalk. "Let''s see what you can do."


    Adom knelt by the workbench, chalk in hand.


    The circle part was simple enough - he''d studied enough runes to draw perfect circles in his sleep. He sketched the main circle, then the five smaller ones around it, each designated for an element. Fire in the east, water in the west, air in the north, earth in the south, and mana at the top. His runes were precise, each stroke carrying meaning: transformation, flow, stability, harmony, power.


    Professor Mirwen nodded approvingly and placed a bottle of clear liquid in the center. "Water with trace amounts of fat and protein. Turn it into milk."


    Adom adjusted his glasses, activating Riddler''s Bane. The world shifted, magical currents becoming visible like streams of light. The liquid in the bottle wasn''t just water - he could see the suspended particles.


    "You might want to put your palms together during the weaving," Mirwen suggested. "It helps focus the mana flow. Optional, of course, but recommended for beginners."


    "Go on, Mr. Sylla."


    Adom brought his palms together, mind racing through the laws. Conservation - he had the basic components, just needed to rearrange them. Equivalent exchange - the energy he''d put in would determine the transformation''s extent. Elemental harmony - balance was key.


    He touched the fire circle first, watching the components separate. Then water, to maintain fluidity. Air to distribute the particles evenly. Earth to stabilize the new structure. Finally, mana to power the transformation.


    The liquid began to change, turning white, but something wasn''t quite right. The consistency thickened too much, and a distinctive odor filled the air - like milk that had been left in the sun for several days. Or weeks.


    Adom winced as wisps of vapor rose from the now-gooey substance.


    "Actually quite impressive for a first attempt," Professor Mirwen said, though she did take a step back from the pungent fumes. "Ms. Storm, what did our aspiring alchemist miss?"


    Mia tapped her chin thoughtfully. "The sequence was right, but the proportions were off. You pushed too much power through the fire circle, which overheated the proteins. And when you tried to compensate with water, it threw off the balance. That''s why it curdled."


    Adom''s eyes widened. Of course - he''d treated it like a runic array, where more power meant stronger effects. But in alchemy, precision mattered more than power.


    The smell of his failed experiment grew stronger, making his eyes water.


    "Well, at least nothing exploded." Mirwen joked.


    The next two hours flew by as Professor Mirwen guided them through advanced alchemy concepts. Despite his initial disaster with the milk, Adom found himself absorbing the principles with growing fascination. Each demonstration made the abstract laws more concrete, more real.


    "Well," Professor Mirwen said finally, clearing away the last of their practice materials, "this was quite productive. I must say, Mr. Sylla, I expected you to be rather behind Ms. Storm." Her eyes crinkled with amusement. "You are, of course, but not nearly as much as I anticipated."


    "Watch out, Storm," she teased. "Looks like you''ve got competition."


    Mia laughed, gathering her notes. "I''ll believe that when he can transmute water into milk without creating biological weapons, Professor."


    Professor Mirwen reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a small card with gold trim. "Here, Mr. Sylla. When you have time, visit the library''s fourth-year section. This will grant you access."


    Adom''s eyes widened as he took the card. "Fourth-year?"


    "We''ll be working at that level," she nodded. "Best to get familiar with the essential concepts now." She smiled at their stunned expressions. "Off you go, both of you. I''m sure you have other classes to prepare for."


    As they walked through the corridors, Mia glanced at Adom. "I didn''t expect you to choose the alchemist path. You seemed more like the pure theory type."


    "I find it fascinating," Adom admitted, still looking at the library card. "The way everything connects, how understanding one principle leads to another..."


    "Really?" Mia''s eyes lit up. "My mother''s an alchemist - she''s the one who got me interested in it. Used to let me watch her work when I was little. Probably broke about a dozen safety regulations," she chuckled. "But seeing her transform things, understand how they worked at their core... it was like magic within magic, you know?"


    Mia Storm.


    She defied every expectation Adom had about top students. Perfect scores across the board, walking the path that would have made her the youngest Archmage in Sundar''s history at 44 - if she hadn''t died in the wars before then...


    With her perfect scores, one would have expected her to be someone buried in books, awkward in conversation, isolated. Instead, here she was, the most popular second-year student by far, with even Damus trailing behind her in that regard, talking about her mother''s alchemy experiments like they were sharing jokes over lunch.


    "How do you do it?" The question slipped out before he could stop it.


    "Do what?"


    "All of it. The perfect scores, the advanced studies, and still..." he gestured vaguely, "being normal?"


    Mia chuckled, adjusting her bag. "Let''s just say when your family''s been attending Xerkes for generations, you pick up a few tricks about succeeding here."


    "What kind of tricks?"


    She glanced at him sideways, seeming to weigh something in her mind. "Well..." she lowered her voice slightly, "take alchemy, for instance. Everyone struggles with the fourth-year curriculum because they''re going about it the wrong way."


    Adom leaned in, intrigued.


    He knew well enough how the Empire''s ranking system worked - the highest-scoring graduates from Xerkes were fast-tracked to positions as lord mages, given lands and privileges, their academic achievements directly translating to status and power.


    This naturally created a cut-throat environment where students guarded their study methods like precious gems. Not wanting the others to be higher. The fact that Mia was sharing anything at all was surprising.


    "There''s this old grimoire in the third-year section - ''Paracelsus''s Incomplete Works.'' Most people ignore it because it looks like a basic text, but..." she glanced around before continuing, "you have to weave your mana in a specific pattern - first a thin stream through the page''s core, then spread it like a web while pulsing it at exactly three-second intervals, on page 394. If you get the frequency right, the hidden notes appear. You''ll find hundreds of notes in the margins. Some student or professor from centuries ago basically broke down all the complex concepts into simpler terms. Nothing new or groundbreaking, just clearer explanations that make it easier to grasp the fundamentals."


    She adjusted her bag. "That''s the thing about Xerkes - they don''t hand you anything. Most of the real knowledge, you have to dig for it yourself. Find your own shortcuts, discover your own methods." A small smile played on her lips. "Half the learning is in the searching."


    The casual way she dropped this information made it feel less like she was sharing a secret and more like she was commenting on the weather.


    "Thank you for sharing this," Adom said warmly. "I''ll definitely check it out as soon as I can."


    "No problem," Mia replied with an easy smile. "Just... keep it between us, yeah? These little discoveries are worth their weight in gold around here."


    "Don''t worry about that," he assured her, suddenly changing direction at the next intersection.


    "Oh? Where are you heading?" Mia asked, tilting her head.


    "Got one last thing to do today - meeting with Professor Kim."


    "The Professor Kim?" Her eyes widened slightly.


    "Ah, yes," Adom nodded. "He''s allowed me to consult with him occasionally. Today''s one of those days."


    "Really? You have to introduce us sometime," Mia said, a hint of excitement in her voice.


    "Definitely will, once I get a bit closer to his inner circle," Adom promised with a slight smile. "Baby steps, you know?"


    They parted ways there, Mia heading towards the dormitories while Adom turned towards the professor''s tower


    </section>


    *****


    The sound of Adom''s footsteps echoed through the academy''s corridors as he made his way from Professor Mirwen''s alchemy session to Professor Kim''s lab. His mind was still processing Hugo''s words from earlier - another chance to meet with the professor. Another opportunity to prevent catastrophe.


    Except this time, there would be no convenient feline intervention. No judgmental stares or perfectly timed tail-flicks of disapproval. The absence of Morgana''s silent presence beside him felt strange, like missing a particularly critical piece of equipment before an experiment.


    "See some places," she''d said. Right.


    A group of first-years scurried past, giving him odd looks for talking to himself. He barely noticed them.


    He reached Professor Kim''s laboratory door, his hand pausing before the knocker. Today''s goal was simple enough - continue subtly derailing Dragon''s Breath research.


    "One apocalypse at a time," he reminded himself, and just as his knuckles were about to meet wood, the door swung open. His hand connected with something solid instead - a broad chest covered in a well-worn leather coat.


    "Oh, what''s up?" The man''s voice was friendly, almost jovial. Stubble dotted his jaw in a way that suggested he''d forgotten to shave rather than chosen not to. His blond hair caught the afternoon light filtering through the corridor windows. Green eyes regarded Adom with casual interest.


    "Oh, sorry," Adom said, taking a step back.


    The stranger''s smile widened. "No harm done." He stepped aside with an easy movement, gesturing for Adom to enter. "Here for the professor?"


    "Yes," Adom replied. "He''s expecting me."


    "Ah, you must be the promising student Hugo mentioned," the man said. "Adom, was it?"


    "Uh, yes," Adom replied.


    "Huh. Got a good head on your shoulders, kid." He looked at Adom for a moment. "Well, don''t keep the professor waiting."


    As Adom passed him, he found himself wondering if the man was a warrior, maybe an adventurer, or a martial artist. He had that same indefinable quality his father carried - something you couldn''t quite put your finger on unless you''d grown up around it.


    "Oh, Adom!" Professor Kim''s voice called from somewhere behind a stack of books. "Perfect timing! Just let me finish with this... no, wait, that''s not right... ah, there we go!"


    Adom stepped into the chaos of the laboratory, where papers defied gravity by clinging precariously to every available surface. Hugo stood by the workbench, methodically organizing what appeared to be the aftermath of one of the professor''s "eureka" moments.


    Professor Kim''s head popped up from behind a teetering stack of books. His mustache looked slightly singed on one side. Again.


    "Adom! Perfect timing! You won''t believe what happened with the resonance matrices after we implemented your suggestions!" He waved a paper enthusiastically, nearly knocking over a jar of something that definitely shouldn''t be knocked over. Hugo caught it without looking up.


    "They exploded," Hugo supplied helpfully.


    "Magnificently!" The professor beamed as if this were the greatest possible outcome.


    "They weren''t supposed to explode," Hugo added, carefully placing the jar out of the professor''s reach.


    "But that''s what makes it fascinating!" Professor Kim practically bounced across the room. "The non-linear patterns created an unexpected feedback loop in the¡ª"


    "Speaking of unexpected," Adom cut in, before they ended up down another three-hour theoretical tangent, "I just ran into someone leaving. Tall fellow, blond hair?"


    "Oh, that was Gale!" Professor Kim''s eyes lit up. "Mr. Fox''s new right hand man. Such a pleasant fellow, always asking such interesting questions about our progress."


    Adom blinked. "Mr. Fox?"


    Hugo looked up from his organizing, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Our benefactor. The academy''s board thought the project was..." he glanced at the professor, choosing his words carefully, "perhaps too ambitious."


    "They called it impossible!" Professor Kim threw his hands up. "Said I was chasing fairy tales! That the energy conversion rates I proposed violated fundamental magical laws!"


    "Which they did," Hugo muttered under his breath.


    "But Mr. Fox understood the vision!" The professor continued, either not hearing or choosing to ignore Hugo''s comment. "Fifteen years of funding! Complete creative freedom! All he asks for are progress reports!"


    Adom felt his stomach drop.


    External funding? In his past life, he''d always assumed Dragon''s Breath had been an academy project, contained within Xerkes'' walls. But private backing meant outside interests. Unknown players. People he hadn''t accounted for in his plans.


    The implications made his head spin. How many others knew about this research? How far had the information spread? And more importantly - what did they plan to do with it?


    Hugo caught his expression. "Mr. Fox keeps to himself. Most people haven''t heard of him. Even we''ve only met him once or twice."


    "Three times!" Professor Kim corrected. "Remember that winter solstice party?"


    "Professor, that was a cat. A ginger cat that wandered into your office."


    "Are you sure? He had the same mysterious aura..."


    Adom barely heard their banter, his mind racing through possibilities. A merchant wealthy enough to fund fifteen years of unrestricted magical research should have been impossible to miss. Yet in seventy-nine years of life, through wars and politics and countless intelligence briefings, he''d never heard the name Fox mentioned once.


    Something wasn''t adding up.


    But, despite himself, he pushed the mystery of Mr. Fox aside. He had more immediate concerns - like the prototype sitting innocently on the workbench, waiting to destroy the world. One enigmatic merchant wasn''t going to distract him from¡ª


    "Oh!" Professor Kim exclaimed suddenly. "That reminds me! The explosion revealed something fascinating about the crystal matrix''s stability under pressure..."


    Adom settled in for another long session of carefully guided misdirection, though a small part of his mind kept circling back to the man named Gale. Something about that man...


    No. Focus. One potentially world-ending problem at a time.

 Chapter 29. Ghost Port Operation

    Through the quiet evening paths of the academy grounds, Adom''s footsteps carried the weight of frustration. Another day of subtle sabotage ¨C or attempts at it, anyway. Four times he''d tried to derail the prototype today, each attempt more creative than the last, and each time feeling Hugo''s sharp eyes following his movements with growing suspicion.


    The worst part wasn''t even the failed attempts. It was watching Professor Kim''s eyes light up at each "mistake," that dangerous spark of scientific curiosity growing brighter. Every suggestion Adom made to lead the research astray just seemed to fuel Kim''s fascination.


    The man was treating Adom''s carefully planned misdirection like an intellectual puzzle, a game of "what if" that only made him more determined to see his original project through to completion.


    "At this rate," Adom muttered to himself, adjusting his glasses, "he''ll have a working prototype within the week."


    The thought sat like lead in his stomach. He needed a new approach, something more direct, but what? The prototype was nearly complete, and time was running out. Each passing day brought them closer to¡ª


    "Student Adom Sylla!"


    The sharp call cut through his brooding like a knife, causing him to stop mid-step.


    "You have a visitor waiting at the entrance," the messenger raven announced. "They identified themselves as Eren."


    "Thanks," Adom said, watching as the raven immediately spread its wings and took off without another word. "Rude."


    His earlier frustrations about Kim''s prototype evaporated, replaced by a sharp alertness.


    Adom adjusted his course toward the entrance.


    He spotted Eren before Eren saw him - a small figure in a worn jacket, leaning against the academy''s outer wall, one foot propped up against the weathered stone. When Eren finally noticed him approaching, he pushed off the wall with an easy motion that didn''t quite hide his tension.


    "Hey Eren," Adom said. "Everything alright?"


    "Hey." Eren''s grin was quick but didn''t reach his eyes. "Not great, to be honest."


    "What''s going on?"


    Eren glanced at the passing students, lowering his voice. "Things got really messy in the undertow lately."


    "What do you mean?" Adom asked, feeling his stomach tighten.


    "Cisco wants to see you as soon as possible. He''ll explain everything."


    "How soon?"


    "Now."


    "That bad?"


    "Probably worse," Eren said quietly.


    Adom let out a short, stressed laugh. "Of course it is." He ran a hand through his hair, glancing back at the academy towers. "Where?"


    "The cafe. You know, the one from last time."


    *****


    A few moment later...


    "We have a problem."


    "What kind of problem?"


    "Star Knight problem."


    "Oh."


    Silence


    "That''s bad."


    "Very bad, indeed."


    "How bad are we talking, exactly?"


    "The kind of bad that killed three of my men," Cisco said flatly, setting his cup down with a soft clink. "Left one alive and deeply traumatized to spread the word. Made quite a show of it too."


    "He was asking questions." Marco added.


    "About?"


    "You."


    "...Me?"


    "The troublesome mage who caused trouble in the Undertow and caused the Children Of The Moon to enter a war with the Silver Circle."


    "Ah."


    "Yeah. Ah."


    The cafe''s usual warm atmosphere felt suddenly cold. Through the window, Adom watched people pass by, going about their normal day, completely unaware of the conversation happening inside. He could almost pretend this was just a casual coffee and pastry time, if not for the grave look in Cisco''s eyes.


    "All this time," Adom said, his voice barely above a whisper, "I thought I was being clever. Playing them against each other. A perfect little distraction while we..." He trailed off, staring into his untouched coffee. "I never thought they''d bring in a Star Knight."


    "Nobody did," Cisco said. "The Children aren''t known for outsourcing their problems."


    "They must be desperate," Marco added.


    "Or angry," Eren said quietly.


    Adom replied. "Both. Definitely both." Then asked. "How did the Knight become involved?"


    "According to our intel, he was in the capital," Marco said, leaning forward. "Doing mercenary work for some noble families. Mostly intimidation, few assassination jobs. The Children approached him a few days ago."


    "After the warehouse incident," Cisco added.


    "The one where¡ª"


    "Yes. Where we exposed their smuggling route to the Circle. Cost them nearly half a million in product." Marco''s voice dropped lower. "They lost face. Bad enough to lose the cargo, but letting their rivals know about the ghost port was the kind of embarrassment they couldn''t let slide."


    "So they hired the one person who could guarantee results," Cisco finished. "Someone even the Circle''s elite would think twice about crossing."


    "Star Knight," Adom said, the name tasting bitter.


    "Star Knight."


    This was less than ideal. No, that was an understatement - this was a catastrophic deviation.


    Adom sighed, rubbing his temples. "What exactly did you have in mind, Cisco?"


    "There''s a price on your head." Cisco said casually as he took a sip of his coffee.


    Adom opened his mouth to respond, but the beastkin''s cold laugh stopped him. "Not just yours. Me, my men... seems the Children want to make an example of everyone involved in this little escapade."


    Marco nodded grimly. "They''re making it personal."


    "So we have no choice but to act," Cisco concluded, his tiny fingers drumming a quiet rhythm on the table.


    Adom''s mind raced. Going to the authorities was worse than useless. The Children had too many badges in their pocket, and a dead informant in a dark alley would just be another unsolved case.


    He glanced at Cisco, the information broker who''d built his empire on knowing exactly which officials could be bought and which ones might actually care. If even Cisco wasn''t suggesting the legal route, that spoke volumes.


    "What if we outbid them?" Adom asked.


    Cisco let out a short laugh, then caught himself. "First of all, I''m impressed. You''ve been holding out on us if you think you can match what they''re paying." He shook his head. "But more importantly, that''s not how this works."


    "What do you mean?"


    "Mercenaries operate on reputation, young man. The moment one accepts a counter-offer, their career is over. No one would ever hire them again. Other mercenaries would hunt them down themselves, just to keep the system intact." Cisco leaned forward. "You can''t buy loyalty in this world - not the professional kind. Once a contract is signed, it''s final. Breaking it isn''t just unprofessional; it''s suicide."


    An idea then came.


    Adom leaned back. "Well then, if we''re all in the same sinking boat..." He picked up his coffee cup, finally taking a sip. "Perhaps we should focus on sinking theirs first."


    "Did you not hear the part about the Star Knight?" Eren''s voice cracked slightly. "Because I feel like you''re not properly processing the ''Star Knight'' part of this situation."


    "Actually..." Adom set his cup down. "There''s something in what Cisco said that made me think." He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "What happens if the client can no longer pay the service?"


    "Thinking along the same lines, I see." Said Cisco.


    "The Knight''s fee alone must have cost them a fortune." Marco added.


    "And they''re already stretching thin trying to maintain their territory against the Circle and other organizations," Cisco said. "Hit them hard enough, fast enough..."


    "They won''t be able to maintain their contract," Adom finished. "And a mercenary without payment..."


    "Is no longer our problem," Cisco concluded. "The question is, how many of their operations can we disrupt before he catches up to us?"


    Adom sat straight, fingers interlaced around his coffee cup. "When''s their next big operation? Something that would hurt if it went wrong?"


    Cisco glanced at Marco, giving a slight nod.


    Marco pulled out a small notebook. "According to our intel, they have three major moves tomorrow night." He flipped through the pages with his thumb. "First, weapons shipment coming through the north docks. Mid-level risk, decent security. Would cost them about fifty thousand if disrupted."


    He turned another page. "Second, protection money collection from the merchant district. Low risk, but high visibility. Losing that would cost them around thirty thousand, plus reputation damage with the merchants."


    Marco''s voice dropped slightly. "Third one''s the big one. They''re moving something through the ghost port. Don''t know what exactly, but..." He tapped the page meaningfully. "They''ve stationed their elite guards there. Triple the usual security. Conservative estimate puts the cargo value at half a million, minimum."


    "I''ll take the ghost port," Adom said quietly.


    The cafe fell silent. Even the gentle clink of cups seemed to pause as three pairs of eyes fixed on him.


    Eren was the first to break the silence. "You''re joking, right?"


    "Their elite guards," Marco said slowly, "are there for a reason."


    Cisco just watched him, eyes narrowed, waiting for the explanation he knew was coming.


    Adom took a deliberate sip of his coffee, ugh, so bitter. Honestly, he preferred tea. The fragrant, tasty type. Anyway.


    "Think about it." He begain. "The Knight''s probably watching the obvious targets - the docks, the merchant district. But the ghost port?" He set his cup down. "That''s their secret ace. They wouldn''t expect us to know about it, let alone hit it. Not after what happened last time."


    "Which is exactly why they''ve tripled security," Marco pointed out.


    "Yes," Adom smiled thinly. "Which means they''ve pulled guards from other locations. They''re expecting muscle. They''re expecting the Circle. They''re not expecting one mage who can slip through their defenses."


    Adom''s smile faded slightly. "Of course, it''s a gamble. The Knight could very well be there, watching their most valuable operation."


    "And you''re not afraid?" Eren asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "To face a Star Knight?"


    Adom turned to look at Eren, a glint in his eyes that hadn''t been there before. "Who said ''I'' would do it?"


    *****


    Back in their shared room, Adom dropped onto his bed face-first, not even bothering to remove his shoes. The mattress creaked in protest.


    "That you?" Sam''s voice came muffled from the bathroom, accompanied by the sound of running water and brushing.


    "Yeah," Adom mumbled into his pillow.


    "Hey, I found some interesting references about those enchantment arrays we were discussing the other day." Water splashed. "There''s this fascinating variation from the eastern provinces that uses a completely different geometric progression-"


    Adom made a vague sound of acknowledgment, his mind already drifting. Tomorrow. Ghost port. He needed to review the layout again. Do some shopping. Some work. The timing would have to be perfect. And then there was still Kim''s prototype to deal with...


    "...and apparently, they''ve been using this method for centuries, can you believe that? It''s like we''ve been doing it the hard way all this time..."


    Sam''s enthusiastic voice faded into a comfortable background hum. Adom''s thoughts grew hazier, mixing with half-formed plans and calculations. Elite guards. Security patterns.


    "...Adom? You still awake?"


    But Adom was already gone, his breathing deep and even, still fully clothed on top of his covers. The last thing he heard was Sam''s quiet chuckle and the soft click of the bathroom light being turned off.


    *****


    Morning. 7AM.


    Adom stared at the transportation crystals laid out before him, listening to a halfling try to scam him.


    The merchant was a round-faced fellow with meticulously combed sideburns and clothes just a touch too fine for his shabby little shop - the kind of outfit meant to suggest prosperity without actually proving it.


    "...finest quality, straight from the Crystal Gardens themselves," the halfling continued, his stubby fingers gesturing at the array of blue-tinted stones. "You won''t find better prices anywhere in the capital, I guarantee it. Why, just last week, a noble from the upper district came by and bought three dozen-"


    To anyone with basic knowledge of transportation crystals, the flaws were painfully obvious. One had a visible crack running along its surface - a disaster waiting to happen. Another''s core was clouded, its energy matrix probably destabilized. Using any of these for emergency teleportation would be like playing dice with death, except the dice were loaded and death was definitely winning.


    "-and my supplier, very exclusive contact, mind you, ensures each crystal is personally inspected by master artificers-"


    Adom watched the halfling''s animated performance with a sort of detached fascination. The merchant hadn''t even noticed that his potential customer''s eyes hadn''t left that cracked crystal for the past minute. Or perhaps he had noticed and was hoping his steady stream of practiced patter would somehow hypnotize Adom into ignoring the obvious death trap he was trying to sell.


    "-so, what do you say? Interested in making a purchase? For you, I could offer a very special price."


    Adom looked at the crystals again. By all rights, he should be furious. A defective transportation crystal wasn''t just bad business - it was practically attempted murder. That crack alone could send someone into the void between spaces, or worse, scatter them across half the continent.


    He sighed. It wasn''t worth the energy.


    "Thank you for your time," Adom said, already turning toward the door.


    "Wait, wait!" The halfling''s voice jumped an octave. "Perhaps we could discuss the price? I''m sure we can reach an arrangement that-"


    The door''s bell jingled as Adom stepped outside. This was the fifth store he''d visited this morning.


    He walked a few steps, then stopped.


    No, he couldn''t just leave it.


    Defective transportation crystals weren''t just a scam - they were a public hazard. Someone less knowledgeable might actually buy one of those death traps.


    As if on cue, he spotted a city guard doing his morning rounds.


    "Officer," Adom called out, gesturing at the shop he''d just left. "That store is selling malfunctioning transportation crystals. One of them has a visible crack in the matrix."


    The guard''s eyebrows shot up. "You''re certain?"


    "Absolutely. Saw them myself." Adom said casually. "Just thought you should know."


    The guard''s expression hardened as he started toward the shop. "Right. I''ll handle this."


    He had it coming, Adom thought as he sank into a bench near the park.


    The morning air was still crisp, carrying the scent of dew and fresh bread from nearby bakeries. He''d been out since 5 AM, searching for transportation crystals suitable for tonight''s operation. They weren''t exactly rare, but ones powerful enough to cover the distance he needed? Those were another matter entirely.


    His initial plan had seemed so straightforward in the cafe yesterday. But after five shops and nothing but frauds or weak crystals, he was starting to reconsider. Maybe he should call it off. A failed attempt would be worse than no attempt at all, especially with a Star Knight in play.


    Adom stood up, stretching his stiff muscles. Well, might as well check if Biggins had returned, as he did every morning. The familiar walk to the Weird Stuff Store helped clear his head.


    The usual cluster of cats was absent from the storefront - probably too early for their daily congregation. The bell chimed as he pushed open the door.


    "Welcome to the Weird Stu- oh, hey Adom!" Emma''s cheerful voice greeted him from behind the counter.


    "Hey Emma," he smiled back. "Aren''t you supposed to be at Xerkes? Kind of early for a morning shift."


    "Oh, my classes don''t start until afternoon," she explained, organizing some crystals in a display case. "I''m on the healer''s path, so most of our practical sessions are scheduled later. The morgue''s busier in the evenings, you know?"


    Adom nodded. Made sense - most magical accidents tended to happen in the afternoon labs when students were tired and more prone to mistakes.


    "I assume Mr. Biggins hasn''t-"


    "No, still no sign of him," Emma said apologetically.


    Adom sighed. "Well, I''ll just take a-"


    A sudden blur of motion was his only warning before something slammed into his chest with enough force to knock him backward. Emma gasped.


    Adom groaned, pushing himself up onto his elbows. The world was still spinning slightly.


    "Oh gods, are you alright?" Emma rushed around the counter. "I''m so sorry! This is exactly what I was afraid would happen!"


    "I think so," Adom managed, rubbing his chest. "What exactly-"


    Then he saw it. Lying innocently on the floor beside him was a transportation crystal roughly the size of a small barrel, its blue surface pulsing with a gentle inner light. His academic mind immediately started cataloging details - crude cut, unpolished edges, but the core... the core was practically singing with power.


    "What the- how did-" Then it hit him. The thought-reading enchantment on the store, designed to provide customers with what they were looking for, as long as it existed somewhere in the inventory.


    Emma was already trying to wrangle the massive crystal, muttering under her breath. "I always knew this would cause trouble. Who even puts something like this on the top right shelf? It''s just asking for accidents..."


    "Why is there a transportation crystal in this store?" Adom asked, still slightly dazed.


    Emma gave him an apologetic shrug. "We sell all kinds of things. It is the Weird Stuff Emporium, after all..."


    "Fair enough," Adom replied, surprised by her touch of sarcasm. He pushed himself to his feet, studying the crystal more carefully. Despite its rough appearance, the energy matrix was remarkably stable. Perfect, actually. "Can I... buy it?"


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Emma''s face lit up with unexpected enthusiasm. "Yes! Please! Everything here is for sale, especially this menace that''s been threatening to fall on my head since day one!" She squinted at the small tag attached to the crystal. "Oh, it''s one silver piece."


    Adom''s jaw dropped. "One silver piece?" He stared at the crystal, then back at Emma. "For this?"


    He''d seen smaller, less powerful crystals sell for tens of gold pieces. This one was crude, yes, and needed serious polishing, but the quality was undeniable. One silver piece was absurd. It was practically giving it away.


    A smile spread across his face. "Deal."


    *****


    A few moments later...


    "Is that a transportation crystal?"


    "Yep."


    "It''s huge."


    "Yep."


    "Must have cost your entire allowance and a kidney," Sam whistled, eyeing the crystal. "These things aren''t cheap."


    "One silver piece."


    Sam''s laugh died when Adom didn''t join in. "You''re joking."


    "Nope." Adom fished in his pocket and pulled out both the original price tag and a slightly crumpled piece of paper. "Emma even wrote me a receipt. Well, not really a receipt - the Weird Stuff store doesn''t do those - but I asked her to write it down because I knew you wouldn''t believe me."


    Sam snatched both items, staring at them in disbelief. "One silver... how is that even... what?"


    "You planning to make a lot of crystals?"


    "Yeah."


    Sam leaned against the doorframe of their shared room, watching as Adom carefully positioned the massive blue crystal on his workbench. "That''s why you were out since morning?"


    "Among other things." Adom was already pulling out his tools - precision chisels, measuring instruments, stabilizing runes.


    "Need any help?"


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    Adom looked up from his work, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I thought you''d never ask."


    <section>


    "Well, transportation crystals, obviously. But I''ve got something else in mind too. Something more complex."


    "I''m listening."


    Now, for one unfamiliar with the intricacies of magical transportation, it would be important to clarify - transportation crystals are not to be confused with transportation portals. Where portals were fixed magical constructs requiring elaborate rune circles and permanent power sources, crystals were more... let''s say, personal.


    See, a transportation crystal starts its life as part of a larger whole - a mother crystal, like the impressive specimen currently occupying Adom''s workbench. The trick was, one needed two crystals from the same source, cut from the same block. They were like twins, in a way, sharing an inherent magical resonance that can''t be replicated between crystals from different sources.


    The real artistry lay in the extraction and attunement process.


    The craftsman had to carefully carve out two smaller crystals while maintaining their internal matrix structure. Then came the delicate part - feeding mana into both crystals, attuning them to the same frequency.


    This mana infusion created a unique magical signature, ensuring the pair would respond exclusively to each other and ignore the resonance of any other crystals from their original source.


    It was like teaching them to sing the same note, a note that carried the magical signature of their maker.


    A poorly attuned pair could lead to chaos. With each jump, the crystals would swap positions - the destination crystal taking the place where the traveler had jumped from. In badly harmonized pairs, the destination crystal might even materialize at random locations within the resonance perimeter.


    Stories abounded of inexperienced craftsmen losing their crystals entirely, watching helplessly as each jump scattered them further and further apart, turning simple travel into a dangerous game of magical hide-and-seek.


    But when properly maintained, the magic worked with elegant simplicity. One crystal would be placed at the intended destination, while its twin remained with the traveler. A jump required only focused thought on the desired location.


    As long as the destination lay within the perimeter created by the resonance between the two crystals, travel was possible to any point in that space - much like a spider moving along its invisible web of threads.


    The larger and purer the original mother crystal, the greater the distance these paired crystals could cover. And judging by the size of Adom''s new acquisition, he was planning to cover quite a distance indeed.


    </section>


    Sam held the stabilizing frame steady. Adom''s hands moved with surgical precision, guiding the enchanted chisel along invisible fault lines in the massive crystal. Sweat beaded on his forehead - one wrong move could shatter weeks'' worth of potential.


    "Little more to the left," Sam murmured, squinting at the crystalline matrix through a mage-lens. "There''s a natural cleavage plane... right... there."


    A soft chiming sound filled the air as the first smaller crystal separated cleanly from its mother. Sam caught it in a cushioned basket while Adom let out a breath he hadn''t realized he''d been holding.


    "One down," Adom grinned, already repositioning his tools. "Ready for round two?"


    The second extraction went even smoother than the first. Soon, they had two perfectly matched crystals, each about the size of a fist, gleaming with inner light.


    "Now comes the fun part," Adom said, setting up the attunement circle. Runes carved into the wooden workbench began to glow as he positioned the crystals.


    Sam watched, fascinated, as Adom closed his eyes and began channeling his mana. The crystals'' blue glow intensified, then shifted, taking on a slight purple tinge that matched the color of Adom''s magical signature.


    "They''re fighting it," Adom muttered through gritted teeth. "Still too connected to the mother crystal."


    "Try modulating your output," Sam suggested, monitoring the resonance patterns. "Pulse it, like a heartbeat."


    The change was immediate. The crystals'' glow stabilized, pulsing in perfect synchronization.


    Hours melted away as they tested the pairs. They started small - Sam would place one crystal in the courtyard while Adom jumped from their workshop. Then they pushed further - the market square, the city limits, the farming districts beyond.


    "This is incredible," Sam called through their low range communication crystal as he placed a crystal in a field well outside the city. "The resonance is still strong, barely any degradation. How far are we?"


    "Forty-five kilometers," Adom replied, checking his measurements. "Want to push it further?"


    They did. With each successful jump, they added distance. At fifty kilometers, most transportation crystals would have started showing strain. These barely flickered.


    The afternoon sun was high in the sky when Adom made his final modifications, carefully etching enhancement runes into the crystals'' bases. The purple glow deepened, gained complexity.


    "Seventy kilometers," Sam announced finally, reading the distance measurements with obvious pride. "Stable as a rock. For homemade crystals, this is incredible. I mean, sure, the Imperial artificers managed that insane 340-kilometer jump with their specially grown crystals, but this? With a random find from the Weird Stuff store?"


    Adom collapsed into a chair, magically exhausted but satisfied. The crystals pulsed softly on the workbench, their harmony perfect, their attunement complete.


    "Not bad for half a day''s work," he smiled, watching the last rays of sunlight play across the crystals'' facets. "Not bad at all."


    *****


    "Man, I missed this," Sam said, stretching his arms overhead. "Just us, doing weird magical experiments. Feels like forever since we''ve had time for side projects."


    "Between our club duties and my... everything else," Adom shrugged, organizing his tools.


    "Speaking of which," Sam glanced at the darkening sky. "I should head to the club. Got a meeting with some of the seniors about next week''s event."


    "Go ahead. I''ll stay here, get some more work done."


    "Don''t blow anything up while I''m gone," Sam called over his shoulder, already heading for the door.


    "That''s YOUR job!"


    After Sam''s footsteps faded, Adom waited a few extra moments before reaching into his inventory.


    The golem emerged.


    When transportation crystals were first discovered, everyone saw two crystals connecting and allowing transport between them. They assumed both crystals were equally creating this connection. When measuring maximum range, they''d place the crystals apart and test jumps, naturally concluding that 70km was the "maximum connection distance."


    Confirmation bias.


    This assumption was so fundamental that for centuries, no one thought to question it. All experiments were designed to measure "connection distance," so that''s exactly what they found.


    A breakthrough 30 years from now happened when a mage was experimenting with crystal resonance patterns and noticed something odd, with the proper runic configuration, one crystal generated a consistent field regardless of its pair''s location. It turned out one crystal created the field, and its pair just responded to it. Simple, but nobody saw it because they were all too busy measuring "connections" between crystals to notice one was doing all the work.


    Adom carefully completed the runes he''d started earlier, but with a crucial difference.


    Instead of the traditional configuration that treated both crystals as equal partners, he modified one to be the controller - the field generator. Its paired crystal, which he embedded in the golem along with the talisman, would be able to instantly relocate anywhere within that 70km bubble.


    He''d had the idea during the coffee with Cisco - crazy, maybe, but potentially brilliant. The golem was already an extraordinary piece of work, but with these crystals... He carefully began dismantling the chest plate, looking for the perfect spot to embed one of the transportation crystals.


    The other purchase he''d made that morning burned in his pocket. The talisman vendor had been... an experience.


    The shop had been tucked away in an alley so narrow Adom had to turn sideways to reach the door. Inside, a thin man with uncomfortably intense eyes had watched him browse the "relationship enhancement" section with growing amusement.


    "Ah, the Connection Talisman," the vendor had practically purred when Adom finally pointed to it. "A popular choice. Very popular. Though usually purchased by... shall we say, more paranoid lovers?"


    "It''s for a project," Adom had muttered, avoiding eye contact.


    "Of course, of course. They all are." The vendor''s knowing smile had made Adom want to sink into the floor. "Would you like me to wrap it in our discrete packaging? Many customers prefer-"


    "Just the talisman, please."


    Now, looking at the innocent-seeming piece of jewelry, Adom pushed away the lingering discomfort. Yes, these were typically used by suspicious partners to spy on each other - hence the vendor''s unsettling implications - but the magical principle was sound.


    Once linked, the talismans would allow him to see and hear everything from the golem''s perspective.


    He carefully embedded the transportation crystal into the golem''s chest cavity, then attached the talisman next to it. The matching talisman went around his own arm. With these modifications, he''d be able to instantly summon the golem anywhere within that 70-kilometer radius, while maintaining perfect awareness of its surroundings.


    The crystals pulsed with their soft purple glow, harmonizing with the golem''s existing enchantments. Perfect.


    "Well," he said to the empty workshop, "let''s see what you can do."


    He closed his eyes, channeling mana into the small jewel. The metal grew warm against his skin, then-


    The world... doubled.


    Adom''s breath caught. He was still himself, standing there in the workshop, but he was also... taller. Much taller. Through the golem''s eyes, he watched himself - a slim figure in academy robes, looking somewhat better than he remembered from the mirror this morning. Was his hair always that neat? And when did his shoulders get so straight?


    The sensation was dizzying, magnificent, terrifying. Two sets of eyes, two sets of ears, both feeding information to his mind with perfect clarity. Through the golem''s enhanced vision, the workshop appeared sharper, more defined. Each sound came through with crystal clarity - his own breathing, the distant chatter of students in the hallway.


    "This is..." he whispered, and watched himself speak through the golem''s eyes. The word echoed strangely, bouncing between his perspectives.


    An idea struck. Without really thinking about it, without any conscious command, the golem moved. Two smooth steps brought it to his bed. Metal fingers slipped beneath the frame, and-


    "Oh." The word escaped him as the golem lifted the entire bed one-handed, as easily as if it were made of paper. Through his own eyes, Adom watched two meters of enchanted metal and stone hoist his furniture skyward. Through the golem''s eyes, he looked down at his human self from what felt like a mountain''s height.


    He found himself grinning. The golem didn''t grin - couldn''t, really - but he could feel its mechanical readiness through their shared connection.


    "Put that down," he told himself, half-laughing, "before Sam comes back and thinks I''ve lost it."


    The bed settled back into place without a sound. The golem''s control was perfect - all that strength, wrapped in precision. Like having the power of a storm contained in a surgeon''s hands.


    Right. The transportation crystal. Adom fingered the smooth surface in his pocket, then glanced at the golem''s chest where its twin lay protected beneath layers of enchanted metal. Time to try the real test.


    He focused on a spot about five steps ahead, right next to his workbench. Clear visualization, that was the key. Just like they''d practiced with Sam earlier. A touch of mana into the crystal, a clear thought of the destination, and-


    THUD!


    "Whoa!"


    Adom''s actual body stumbled backward, landing hard on his behind as the golem vanished and reappeared instantly at the targeted spot. The jump had taken less than a blink, but the sudden shift in perspective - seeing himself fall from across the room while also experiencing the fall - sent his head spinning.


    "Okay," he muttered, pushing himself up, "that''s going to take some getting used to."


    As he steadied himself, another thought crossed his mind. The beach. The one where he and Morgana had walked last week, with its distinctive rock formation jutting out over the water. He could picture it perfectly - the weathered gray stone, the way the waves crashed against the cliff face, the exact spot where they''d stood watching the sunset...


    Blip.


    "AHHH!"


    Splash!


    Cold seawater engulfed the golem''s frame as it materialized three feet off-target - right over the ocean instead of the beach. Adom''s real body, safe and dry in the workshop, still let out a yelp of surprise. He couldn''t feel the water - the golem had no sense of touch - but the visual sensation of plunging into the sea was so vivid his brain insisted he should be soaked.


    He willed the golem to wade out of the surf, metal feet crunching against wet sand. The sound of children''s excited shouts drew his attention.


    "Uria? de fier! Uria? de fier!"


    A group of Veyshari kids had stopped their game to stare at him, dark eyes wide with wonder. Adom made the golem wave, earning delighted squeals and enthusiastic waves in return.


    Time to go before he drew more attention. He focused on his workshop, on the exact spot he was looking at from his flesh-and-blood eyes, right in front of himself-


    Blip.


    The golem reappeared precisely where he''d been looking, water still streaming from its joints. Adom let out a breath he hadn''t realized he''d been holding.


    "Well," he said to his metal companion, "looks like we need to work on our targeting. A few feet off might not matter in an empty room, but..." He glanced down at the puddle forming around the golem''s feet. "Let''s try to keep our feet on solid ground from now on."


    Over the next few hours, Adom practiced jumps within the safety of his workshop. Five steps ahead. Next to the window. Beside the bookshelf. Each jump got more precise as he learned to focus his visualization. A clear mental image was everything - the exact height from the floor, the specific angle, the precise spot in space.


    But there was still one glaring problem.


    THUD.


    Even with perfect positioning, each landing announced the golem''s presence like a hammer strike. Two meters of armored construct hitting the ground wasn''t exactly subtle. And for what he had planned...


    "This won''t do at all."


    He called the golem back, already reaching for his engraving tools. Sound dampening runes were tricky - too weak and they''d be useless, too strong and they''d create suspicious zones of silence. But if he modified the standard configurations...


    The first set of runes went around the golem''s feet and joints, designed to absorb impact vibrations. The second set, spiraling up its legs and torso, would catch and disperse any residual sound waves. A third set, more complex, created a kind of acoustic barrier - sound could pass through, but muffled, distorted.


    For good measure, he added concealment runes along the golem''s shoulders and back. Not true invisibility - that would require way more power than he could spare - but enough to blur its outline, make it harder to spot in shadows.


    "Right then," he said, setting down his tools. "Let''s see if-"


    A knock at the door nearly made him jump out of his skin. Sam''s voice carried through: "Adom? You still up? I forgot my key..."


    The golem vanished into his inventory just as the door handle turned. Adom threw himself onto his bed, trying to look casual.


    Sam stepped in, then paused. His eyes narrowed. "What were you doing?"


    "Nothing. Just... working."


    "Uh-huh." Sam''s gaze drifted to the bed, which was sitting at a distinctly different angle than usual. "And why is your bed crooked?" His eyes dropped to the floor. "Is that... water?"


    "I was working with the crystals."


    "Right." Sam crossed his arms. "So why do you look like I just caught you doing something inappropriate?"


    "Oh please," Adom rolled his eyes. "I know about your special collection under your bed. Don''t even try playing this game."


    Sam''s face reddened. He hurried to his desk, snatched his locker key. "I have no idea what you''re talking about."


    "The magazines, Sam. The ones with the-"


    "I''m going back to the club!" Sam practically bolted for the door. "And we''re never speaking of this again!"


    "Deal."


    "I''ll be back in an hour. That should be... enough time, right?"


    "Will do!" Adom called after Sam''s retreating back, face burning.


    Adom groaned and buried his face in his pillow. Great. Now his friend thought he was some kind of... He groaned again, louder.


    At least it made for a decent cover story. Better to have Sam think he was up to something embarrassing than figure out what he was actually planning. Though he''d definitely need to be more careful about the water puddles next time.


    Adom rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. A part of him wanted to tell Sam everything - about the golem, the crystals, all of it.


    But no. Sam would freak out. He''d probably try to talk Adom out of it, or worse, insist on helping.


    "He''s just a kid," Adom muttered to himself, then snorted at how that sounded. They were technically the same age, but... well, Sam still got excited about new enchantment theorems and academy gossip. He shouldn''t have to worry about criminal organizations or whatever Adom might find in that place tonight.


    Adom sighed, pushing himself up from the bed. His stomach growled, reminding him he''d skipped lunch entirely. Between the crystal work and the golem modifications, he''d lost track of time completely.


    He straightened his bed, carefully adjusting it back to its proper angle. No need to give Sam more ammunition when he returned.


    The library would be quiet this time of day. He could grab some food, find a secluded corner among the towering shelves, and just... think. Plan. There was still so much to consider, and tonight...


    Tonight, he would strike.


    The thought sent a shiver down his spine - equal parts excitement and apprehension. He checked his inventory one last time, making sure everything was secure, then headed for the door.


    Time to clear his head. He had a few hours left to make sure everything was perfect.


    It had to be perfect.


    *****


    Night. 2AM.


    A letter from Cisco had arrived earlier through a raven - encrypted. "Star Knight confirmed in Meridian District. Window clear." Simple, direct. Just what he needed to know.


    After hours spent in the library practicing micro-jumps and height control until his head ached, Adom settled into position in the practice room of the Combat Athletic Club of Xerkes, 50 kilometers from the ghost port. He''d burned those cargo coordinates into his memory.


    There was something he''d been itching to try since he got the golem knight. At the time, he''d wondered what practical use such an asset could have.


    Now he knew.


    [Golem Knight Activated]


    The moment Adom activated the golem, his consciousness stretched like taffy being pulled in two directions. One part remained anchored in Xerkes, while the other... the other plunged into his inventory for the first time. It wasn''t the abstract menu he''d grown used to - it was an endless void, neither dark nor light, simply... nothing. And there, suspended in that nothing, stood his golem knight, waiting.


    He took it out.


    Cisco''s detailed map of the ghost port flashed in his mind - the exact spot he needed, marked with precise coordinates. Third warehouse, central courtyard, where the support beams created a perfect killing ground. He focused on those coordinates, and reality... shifted.


    The void cracked open, and suddenly he was seeing through eyes that weren''t his own. The golem materialized silently - those hours of practice paying off - behind a thick support beam. Through enhanced senses, he caught the glint of two guard uniforms not five meters away.


    His consciousness melded with the golem''s frame, heart pounding in his actual body back in Xerkes. One wrong move...


    "Did you hear that?" Guard One''s hand twitched toward his weapon.


    "For fuck''s sake, Milo, how much did you drink?"


    Adom pressed the golem''s frame against the beam. The warehouse was full of shadows and blind spots. Even with enhanced vision, he could barely make out the path to his target through the forest of containers and support columns. One wrong jump in this darkness...


    "Just... just a bit. Zara offered, and-"


    "The succubus from the red light district? Again?" A deep sigh. "You absolute moron."


    He needed them to move. Every second here was a risk, but jumping blind would be worse. Much worse.


    Through the golem''s vision, Adom watched Guard One''s face flush red. "It''s different with her! She actually listens when I talk about my dreams. About opening that little shop in-"


    "She''s a succubus. It''s literally her job to make you think-"


    Come on, move. Just take three steps forward. Clear the path.


    "You don''t know her like I do! Last night she told me about her childhood in-"


    "Succubi don''t have childhoods, they manifest from- you know what? Fine. Waste your savings. Just don''t come crying when-"


    A distant metallic creak echoed through the warehouse. Both guards tensed, hands on weapons. Adom''s consciousness froze in the golem''s frame.


    Three seconds of absolute silence.


    "...probably just the wind," Guard One muttered, then brightened. "Anyway, Zara said once I save enough, we could-"


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    Guard Two''s groan almost masked the sound of Adom''s relief cycling through the golem''s cooling vents. The pair began walking their patrol route, their voices growing distant as they argued about succubi and true love.


    The path ahead finally clear, Adom let out a slow breath back in Xerkes, his golem frame stepping out from behind the beam-


    Orange light spilled across the floor.


    His core processes froze. A guard, torch in hand, had just rounded the corner of a cargo container. Not ten feet away. The flame''s glow caught the golem''s semi-transparent frame, casting ethereal shadows on the warehouse walls.


    Time stretched like cold honey.


    The guard''s eyes went wide, torch trembling in his grip as he took in the two-meter translucent figure before him. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. His hand inched toward his sword.


    Adom raised one finger to where the golem''s lips would be. Don''t.


    The guard''s mouth twitched. His fingers wrapped around the sword handle-


    No choice.


    The golem crossed the distance in a blur. One hand clamped over the guard''s mouth, muffling his startled intake of breath. The other fist connected with his face in a sharp crack. Blood sprayed from his arcade, running into his eyes. He swayed, dazed but still conscious, trying to focus through the crimson veil.


    The second punch dropped him like a stone.


    Adom''s heart hammered in Xerkes as the golem dragged the limp body behind a cargo container. Every second exposed was a second too long. He had to move. Now.


    <section>


    Through the golem''s senses, he listened. Footsteps echoing off metal - two pairs heading east, probably the love-struck guard and his partner. Another set moving along the upper walkway, boots on grating. Murmured conversation from somewhere behind the maze of containers - at least three more voices.


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    There. The cargo Cisco described. Fargonian make - the distinct copper-threaded reinforcements on the corners, those characteristic runes etched into the seals. Plain steel container at first glance. Third row, second stack.


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    One hand reached into the dimensional pouch, fingers closing around the artifact - a small crystalline sphere, no bigger than a marble.


    Looked innocent enough, but beneath its surface, intricate runic patterns pulsed with stored potential. In his other hand, back in Xerkes, he held the trigger stone - when infused with mana, it would resonate with the identical patterns etched into each explosive sphere, setting off a chain reaction.


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    The artifact felt cool against the golem''s palm as he approached the container. Once placed, a simple surge of mana into the trigger stone would turn this entire weapons cache into-


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    A clatter, followed by a curse.


    "Everything alright down there?" A voice echoed from somewhere above.


    Adom froze, the artifact still warm in the golem''s palm.


    "Yeah, just... slipped on something." Metal scraped as the guard picked himself up.


    "Slipped? On what?" The voice from above sounded puzzled. "We keep this place bone dry. Can''t risk water anywhere near the cargo."


    Through enhanced vision, Adom watched the guard bend down, torch hovering near the floor. A dark smear gleamed in the firelight. The guard''s head tilted. "Is that blo-"


    The golem''s strike was precise. A dull thud, and the guard crumpled.


    "Hey, what was that noise?" A pause. "Marcus?" Another pause, longer, more annoyed. "You know it''s really rude to ignore people, right? We''ve talked about this. Just because you''re new doesn''t mean-"


    The voice was coming from the walkway above - third support beam, moving west. Adom willed the golem upward, silent as shadow.


    "I swear, if you''re playing one of your stupid pranks again, I''ll-"


    The guard never finished his sentence. The golem''s blow dropped him mid-word.


    Are they dead? The thought flashed through Adom''s mind as he stared at the two still forms. He hadn''t meant to- The first guard twitched. Relief flooded through him.


    The man groaned softly.


    Bam. Back to sleep.


    </section>


    Adom moved the golem swiftly through the shadows, scanning. Time was running out - someone would notice the missing guards soon. He sorted through sound patterns: two guards still chatting by the east entrance, one set of footsteps circling the perimeter, and-


    There. Second cargo. Same characteristics. He reached into the pouch-


    Footsteps above. Too close.


    The golem pressed against the container wall, becoming nearly invisible as a guard passed on the walkway overhead. Three seconds... five. Clear.


    Movement resumed. The second artifact joined its twin, nestled against the container''s base. Just one more to-


    "Hey! Anyone seen Marcus?"


    Adom''s hands moved faster. The final cargo container stood twenty meters ahead. The third artifact felt slick in the golem''s grip. Almost there. Almost-


    "Marcus? Marcus! Check the west section! He''s not responding to me!"


    No time for stealth. The golem sprinted the final stretch, Adom started placing the artifact, metal fingers moving with precision despite the chaos. Just one more after this-


    There was a hole in the cargo Adom was trapping. He could have ignored it, but...


    <section>


    Through the golem''s eyes, a soft blue radiance seeped beneath a massive iron door, pulsing like a captive heartbeat. The artifact in the golem''s grip suddenly felt insignificant.


    "No..." The word escaped Adom''s lips, barely a whisper. His mind refused to process what his eyes were telling him.


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    The footsteps were getting closer. He needed to finish placing the crystals. He needed to leave. But that light... he knew that light.


    <section>


    These crystals formed only in the deepest, most mana-dense dungeons, where ambient magical energy compressed under its own weight for centuries. Like diamonds of pure magic, each one worth a king''s ransom. Too pure and unstable to be used in common enchantments - they''d shatter at the slightest magical resonance.


    Unless, of course, they underwent the Awakening. A rare phenomenon where the crystals were exposed to a precise sequence of elemental energies. The process stabilized them, made them capable of channeling immense magical power.


    The same property that made them the final, crucial component of Dragon''s Breath.


    Footsteps thundered down the corridor. Adom directed the golem to quickly place the corrupted crystals.


    Time stretched like molasses. The void began to swallow the golem, reality peeling away layer by layer, when¡ª


    Green.


    A sickly emerald glow came from the distance, closing fast. Too fast. Through the golem''s enhanced senses, Adom registered movement at impossible speeds. Death approached, wreathed in verdant light.


    "DODGE!"


    The golem twisted, catching the flash of blue flame-like energy coating the blade as it sliced through the space where its torso had been a fraction of a second before. Steel whispered past crystalline form, missing by mere inches.


    The figure pivoted, ethereal green light casting strange shadows across a face Adom knew. The same face he''d seen at Professor Kim''s, the one that had made him think of his father.


    Gale.


    Their eyes met as the golem''s head entered the void again. A heartbeat stretched into eternity. Adom''s fingers closed around the artifact in his pocket, sending a resonance pulse through the network of artifacts he''d laid.


    And Gale... smiled.


    The first fire from the artifacts ripped through the facility as the void claimed the last of the golem. That smile burned itself into Adom''s memory. The smile of a hunter acknowledging his prey.


    One second. The entire encounter had lasted less than one second.


    </section>


    </section>

 Chapter 30. I Am Regretting This

    Gale.


    Mr. Fox''s right-hand man, according to Professor Kim. And Mr. Fox had been funding the professor''s research for years.


    If Gale was the knight employed by the Children of the Moon, and he answered directly to Mr. Fox, then that meant either the man was a big shot among the Children or...


    "He''s the founder of the Children of the Moon, and its current boss," Cisco said. "His true name is Ernest Boyle."


    "And that knight..." Adom''s voice trailed off.


    "You said you knew him as Gale?" Cisco shifted in his chair. "We managed to find some information about him, he is a noble, from fallen House Coeur-de-Lion. Galahad Coeur-de-Lion."


    "Galahad Coeur-de-Lion," Adom repeated, tasting each syllable. "Ernest Boyle. The Children of the Moon."


    New names. New pieces on a board he was only beginning to understand. A noble house he''d never heard of. An organization that seemed to have its fingers everywhere. Were these the people that would eventually assassinate Professor Kim? The same people who would put Dragon''s Breath out there, triggering the future he was trying to prevent?


    It made too much sense. The professor''s funding. The Celestial Tears hidden in that facility. All the pieces were falling into place, forming a picture that made his blood run cold.


    Because if he was right ¨C if these were indeed the players who would shape that dark future ¨C then he wasn''t just dealing with common criminals or ambitious nobles. He was up against an organization with the resources to create magical mass destruction weapons, the connections to silence renowned professors, and the audacity to sell apocalypse to the highest bidder.


    He''d always assumed Professor Kim was assassinated because the project was publicized, drawing unwanted attention from power-hungry vultures. Now he realized the bitter truth: whether the professor went public or not was irrelevant. The very people he desperately tried to keep in the dark hadn''t just known about the project ¨C they''d been bankrolling it years before Adom drew his first breath.


    The stakes hadn''t just risen. They''d exploded.


    But with hardships came ease.


    The path ahead had crystallized. Two objectives, clear as day: stop turning around the bush, and destroy the prototype then get the professor out of the equation. Not dead ¨C god, he''d had enough of death already. But out. Safe. Away from the Children of the Moon.


    Could he just... tell Kim the truth? "Hey, professor, your benefactor is actually the head of a secret organization that''s going to kill you and use your invention to create magical weapons of mass destruction. How about we grab some coffee and discuss your retirement plans?"


    He snorted. Right.


    But then again... Kim wasn''t stupid. The man was brilliant, even if he currently trusted his benefactors. That was the problem, wasn''t it? The professor was too focused on his research to see the wolves in sheep''s clothing. Too grateful for the funding that let him pursue his life''s work.


    Adom''s chair scraped against the floor as he suddenly stood, anger flashing in his eyes. "Cisco. You told me he was in Meridian District. Your letter specifically said the window was clear!"


    Cisco''s whiskers twitched, his usually composed demeanor showing a crack of genuine concern. "That''s what has been bothering me since last night. My man watching him swears the Knight was there, then..." The mouse beastkin''s paws gestured in frustration. "One moment he was in Meridian, the next he was moving at impossible speeds toward your location. No warning, no indication. Just sudden movement, as if he knew exactly where to go."


    "That doesn''t make any sense," Adom said, pacing now. "How could he have known? The only people who knew about the operation were-"


    "We''re still looking into it," Cisco cut in, his tone grave. "But I assure you, the intelligence breach didn''t come from my end."


    Adom opened his mouth to argue further when Marco burst through the door, slightly out of breath.


    "The operation," Marco said, excitement breaking through his usual professional demeanor. "It worked. They definitely lost significant assets."


    Adom''s anger momentarily subsided. "How much are we talking about?"


    Marco shook his head. "Hard to tell right now. We haven''t gotten all the intel yet, but-"


    Adom''s mind was already racing again. The Knight''s impossible appearance, the speed, the timing... something wasn''t adding up. How had Gale known? And more importantly, what else might he know?


    He straightened in his chair.


    That wasn''t the immediate problem. He needed to open Kim''s eyes, but how? Wild claims about the future would sound insane. But he had something better: he had seen their facility. He knew their names. He could provide concrete evidence that the Children of the Moon were more than just generous benefactors.


    "Would you have anything on Ernest Boyle?" Adom leaned forward. "Documents, records, anything that could prove what kind of man he is?"


    Cisco''s whiskers twitched once as he reached for his glass. "I''ll have Eren bring you a package."


    "Thank you."


    "No," Cisco swirled the amber liquid in his glass, "thank you. What you pulled off at that facility..." He paused, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You cost them. Significantly. Right now, they''re running themselves ragged trying to find the culprit."


    He took a slow sip, his eyes never leaving Adom. "My sources tell me they''re looking for a fearsome warrior. Tall. Imposing." The mouse beastkin set his glass down. "No offense, but you don''t exactly fit that description."


    Adom offered a polite smile, not really in the mood for jokes but not wanting to be rude.


    "Their own assumptions work against them," Cisco continued. "Makes them blind to... certain possibilities. Keep that advantage. You''ll need it."


    "I''ll keep that in mind." Adom said, getting up.


    Before turning to leave, he paused. "While I still have you here - about my order?"


    "Ah, yes." Cisco nodded, setting his glass down. "The Water of Jouvance has been obtained. It''s already en route." He glanced at Marco. "And the other item?"


    Marco straightened. "The wyvern''s heart will be here in a week."


    "A week?" Adom''s eyebrows rose. "Are you sure?"


    "Positive," Marco replied with quiet confidence. "Our contact in the north is reliable."


    "Looking forward to it, then." Adom rose from his chair. "Cisco. Marco."


    They exchanged brief nods, the practiced courtesy of professionals, before Adom took his leave.


    *****


    The autumn chill bit through Adom''s coat as he trudged back toward Xerkes. His steps dragged against the cobblestones, each one feeling heavier than the last. He hadn''t slept more than an hour or two since last night''s operation, and his body was making its protests known.


    His stomach should have been growling - when was the last time he''d eaten? Yesterday? But there was no hunger, just a hollow emptiness that matched his thoughts.


    Children of the Moon. Celestial Tears. Star Knights and fallen noble houses.


    Adom ran a hand through his hair, not caring how disheveled it made him look. How exactly was he supposed to approach Kim about any of this?


    Even if Cisco''s documents proved convincing enough - and that was a big if - what then? The prototype was already near completion. Who was to say they wouldn''t just take it by force? These people had resources, connections, and apparently a knight who could move faster than should be physically possible.


    A bitter laugh escaped his lips, drawing curious glances from passersby. He couldn''t tell if his growing headache was from lack of sleep, the weight of the situation, or both.


    Both. Definitely both.


    And then there was his own clock ticking away. One month? A little bit more?


    He took a glance at the system: 1 month, 18 days, 12 hours, 21 min


    The illness lurking in his future felt simultaneously too close and too distant, like a storm cloud that kept changing position every time he looked up.


    "Where the hell is he?!"


    Adom''s head snapped up. A crowd was gathering ahead, their murmurs carrying across the street. More shouts rose above the general din, urgent and afraid.


    He should probably keep walking. He was tired, irritated, and had enough problems without-


    His feet were already moving toward the commotion.


    Because of course they were.


    The crowd parted as Adom approached the Adventurer''s Guild entrance. Two warriors stood their ground, armor still caked with dried blood, facing a man whose rage seemed to fill the entire street.


    "Gankers!" The man''s voice cracked with fury. "You left him to die!"


    In his white-knuckled grip, he clutched a muscled arm. Just an arm. The severed limb still wore a bronze bracer, its surface scratched and dented.


    "Sir, please," the female adventurer tried, her voice steady despite her pale face. "When the dungeon started shifting-"


    "Lies!" the man lunged forward, nearly dropping the arm. "My boy was strong! He wouldn''t just-"


    "The walls changed," the male adventurer cut in. "One moment he was there, the next-"


    Adom had seen this before. Everyone did. Dungeons were as much a part of life as markets or taverns.


    They appeared without warning, promising riches, artifacts, power. But for every successful raid, there were scenes like this. Parents receiving pieces of their children. Wives becoming widows. The lucky ones got bodies to bury.


    "Where''s the rest of him?" The father''s voice dropped. "Where''s my son?"


    "The dungeon''s sealed," the female adventurer said. "Won''t open for another month. We barely made it out ourselves."


    The father''s face twisted. With a roar, he charged the adventurers, his son''s arm raised like a club. "You cowards! You left him! You-"


    Guards appeared, seemingly from nowhere, grabbing the grieving man. He thrashed in their grip, still clutching the arm, screaming accusations as they dragged him away.


    The crowd murmured, some shaking their heads, others just watching in silence.


    Adom turned away, jaw clenched. As if this day wasn''t difficult enough already.


    He walked faster, leaving the scene behind, but his frustration only grew. One more thing. One more goddamn thing on a day already overflowing with them.


    Adom pushed open the door to his room, the familiar creak barely registering in his exhausted mind.


    Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    Sam was sprawled across his bed, nose buried in a thick tome, legs dangling off the edge. "Oh hey, you won''t believe what I found in the library today - there''s this fascinating theory about elemental resonance in early morning spellweaving and-" He looked up, his excited grin fading. "Whoa, you look like death warmed over. Where''ve you been? You missed all of Runicology."


    "Not in the mood for classes today." Adom made his way to his bed, letting gravity do most of the work as he collapsed onto it. The mattress welcomed him like an old friend, and he suddenly realized just how desperately he needed sleep.


    "Not in the- since when are you not in the mood for classes?" Sam sat up, letting his book fall closed. "Did something happen?"


    "Everything''s fine." The words came out muffled against his pillow.


    Adom just sank deeper into his bed, not even bothering to take off his shoes. His mind felt like it was stuffed with cotton, heavy and useless.


    "Sam," he said, not looking up as he took off his glasses and placed them carefully beside his pillow, "wake me at dawn, please."


    "Uuh, yeah," Sam said hesitantly, closing his book entirely now. "Are you... are you alright?"


    "Yeah," Adom mumbled into his pillow, his voice already heavy with approaching sleep. "Everything''s perfectly fine."


    The obvious lie hung in the air for a moment, but Sam did not call him out on it, and Adom couldn''t bring himself to care. Not today.


    "Sleep well then," Sam said softly, setting his book aside with unusual care.


    "Thank you Sam."


    *****


    THUD. THUD. THUD.


    Each impact sent vibrations through Adom''s arms, sweat already soaking through his shirt despite the early hour. The training room was empty except for him and the punching bag, which swayed with each strike.


    [+2 Iron Lungs]


    [+1 Boxing Mastery]


    His breathing remained controlled, measured, even as his thoughts raced. Ernest Boyle. Gale. The future. His parents. The world. All of it threatened to overwhelm him, so he channeled it into his fists instead.


    THUD. THUD. THUD.


    Adom''s arms burned, but he pushed through it. The illness in his blood was spreading ¨C he could feel it. How long until it became noticeable? How long until he became a cripple again?


    [+1 Endurance]


    The face of Gale flashed in his mind, that smug smile, those calculating eyes. THUD. Then Ernest Boyle, the man giving him such a hard time. THUD. The future he''d seen, his parents'' deaths, the world in flames. THUD. THUD. THUD.


    His technique grew sharper with each strike, more precise. He couldn''t afford to fail. Couldn''t afford to die. Too many lives depending on him, too many threads to unravel, too many disasters to prevent.


    [Indomitable Will Activated]


    The burning in his muscles intensified, but so did his focus. He''d never trained like this before, never pushed himself this hard. But then again, he''d never had to save the world before either.


    His strikes became faster, harder. The bag swung wildly, chains creaking in protest. Still, he didn''t stop. Couldn''t stop. Not while there was still strength in his arms, still breath in his lungs.


    Because if he failed...


    No. That wasn''t an option. He would succeed. He had to. No matter what it took, no matter the cost.


    THUD. THUD. THUD.


    "Whoa there brother, way to go!" A sudden voice cut through his focused haze.


    Adom stopped mid-strike, chest heaving as he turned around. Kaius stood in the doorway, his tall frame leaning casually against the entrance. Despite the early hour, he was already in his training gear, a towel draped around his neck.


    "Hello Kaius," Adom managed between breaths, suddenly aware of how drenched in sweat he was.


    "Morning, Adom," Kaius grinned, but his eyes narrowed as they fell to Adom''s hands. "Hey, your wraps are loose, and those gloves..." He crossed the room in a few long strides. "The way you''re throwing those crosses, you''ll mess up your wrists. Here."


    Adom looked down at his hands. He hadn''t even noticed the wraps had started unraveling, or that his form had deteriorated as exhaustion set in.


    "Oh," he said, flexing his fingers. "I wasn''t really... I mean, I''m not actually trying to learn boxing properly."


    Kaius raised an eyebrow. "Having a tough time?"


    Adom''s throat tightened. He turned back to the bag, adjusting his glasses which had started sliding down his sweaty nose. "You could say that."


    "Listen," Kaius said, moving to hold the bag steady. "If you''re going to beat up this poor bag, at least let me show you how to do it without beating yourself up too." His voice carried no judgment. "Trust me, nothing worse than having to explain to the healers why your wrists are sprained from improper form."


    Adom hesitated, his breath still coming in heavy pants. Part of him wanted to dismiss the offer - he hadn''t come here for a lesson, just needed to vent. But Kaius was right; his hands were already starting to ache in ways they probably shouldn''t.


    "Here," Kaius continued, stepping back from the bag. "First, let''s fix these wraps. You want support, not a tourniquet." He gestured at Adom''s hands. "Plus, if you''re going to channel all that frustration into something, might as well get stronger while you''re at it, right?"


    The corner of Adom''s mouth twitched despite himself. That was Kaius - always finding ways to turn any situation into an opportunity for improvement. It was probably why he was one of the few upper-years Adom actually didn''t mind being around.


    Just like all the other club members, really.


    "I suppose you have a point," Adom conceded, starting to unwrap his hands.


    Kaius expertly rewrapped Adom''s hands, explaining each loop and cross. His movements were precise, neither too tight nor too loose. "See? You want to protect these knuckles, but still keep mobility in your fingers. There''s an art to it."


    While working, he glanced up at the bag. "Got some time before my usual routine. Want to spar a bit?"


    "Sure," Adom said, flexing his newly wrapped hands. They already felt better.


    Kaius smiled, moving to grab his own gear. As he prepared, he spoke casually over his shoulder. "You know, I used to come here at dawn too. Still do, sometimes. There''s something about hitting things that helps clear the head better than any meditation technique they teach us." He paused, adjusting his wraps. "Whatever''s eating at you ¨C it doesn''t have to make sense to anyone else. Sometimes life just gets heavy, you know?"


    Adom watched him, surprised by the mature perspective. He''d gotten so used to seeing his schoolmates as children that moments like these caught him off guard. "Do you have a younger sibling?" The question slipped out before he could stop it. "You seem experienced at... this."


    Kaius''s hands stilled for a moment. His smile remained, but something shifted in his eyes. "Used to," he said simply.


    "Oh." Adom replied. "I''m sorry."


    "Don''t be," Kaius shook his head, resuming his preparations. "Made peace with it a while ago. Life''s funny like that ¨C throws you curveballs, knocks you down." He finished wrapping his hands and turned to Adom with a wink. "But as my favorite philosopher would say, you can come back from anything ¨C it''s all about the mindset."


    They moved to the padded area of the training room, Kaius taking a relaxed stance while Adom settled into a more rigid position. Despite his earlier exhaustion, Adom felt his focus sharpening.


    "Remember," Kaius said, bouncing lightly on his feet, "this isn''t about winning. Just move, breathe, and let it flow."


    The next fifteen minutes were a lesson in humility. Kaius wasn''t just strong; he was efficient. Every time Adom threw a punch, Kaius seemed to flow around it like water, responding with light taps that could have been devastating hits if he''d wanted them to be.


    [System recalibrating...]


    "Good," Kaius would say occasionally, "but guard your left side more." Or, "Nice dodge, now follow through."


    By the end, Adom was completely drained, but his mind felt clearer than it had in days. The overwhelming thoughts about Ernest, Gale, and the future were still there, but they''d settled into something more manageable.


    "Water?" Kaius tossed him a bottle from his bag. They sat on the training room floor, catching their breath.


    "Thanks," Adom said, both for the water and everything else.


    "Same time tomorrow?" Kaius asked casually, wiping his face with a towel. "If you''re going to make a habit of dawn training, might as well do it right."


    Adom looked at Kaius, a sudden heaviness settling in his chest.


    In his original timeline, he''d never heard of a battle mage named Kaius. No notable achievements, no memorable stories - probably just another name lost in the endless casualty lists from the wars that would come. The kind of person whose life would be reduced to a statistic, a footnote in history.


    Looking at him now - young, strong, full of easy smiles and quiet wisdom - Adom felt something shift in his perspective.


    This wasn''t just about preventing an apocalypse. It was about people like Kaius, who deserved more than becoming another casualty in senseless conflicts. People who should have the chance to live, to grow old, to pass on their philosophy about comebacks and mindsets to others.


    Kaius was still waiting for an answer, casually wiping sweat from his neck.


    "Yeah," he found himself saying. "Same time tomorrow."


    [System recalibrated!]


    [Boxing Mastery has reached Level 2!]


    [Basic footwork and striking techniques have been improved]


    [Damage reduction while boxing increased by 5%]


    The day unfolded like most others at Xerkes Academy, except it didn''t ¨C they never really did.


    During the Spell Weaving class, Adom adjusted his glasses as he watched Gus Howl''s salamander familiar, Gizmo, set fire to Jason Burke''s robes after the latter over-stimulated the creature.


    Some students still hadn''t learned that magical creatures weren''t toys for entertainment.


    "He had it coming," Sam whispered beside him, trying not to laugh as the Professor calmly extinguished the flames.


    The morning continued with Runicology, where the pop quiz proved to be more entertainment than challenge. After seventy-nine years of life and a previous career that heavily relied on runes, the basic principles felt like reading children''s books.


    "Whatever you''re doing, keep doing it," Professor Wei said as he handed back Adom''s paper, a rare smile on his stern face. "The only perfect score in class."


    The afternoon''s Monster Anatomy class started normally enough with Professor Drake dissecting a cave crawler ¨C until Finn, one of Damus'' friends, displaying the kind of curiosity that often preceded disaster, decided to poke the yellow-green organ on the creature''s abdomen.


    "What''s this one do?" he asked, finger already in motion.


    Professor Drake''s "DON''T-" came a moment too late.


    The resulting explosion of post-mortem gases sent students scrambling for the exits, leaving behind half-written notes and dignity in equal measure. The stench managed to accomplish what three years of cleaning spells hadn''t ¨C it cleared out the decades-old dust from the classroom''s corners.


    Hours later, after multiple baths, Finn trudged into the dining hall trailing a unique combination of tomato, lime, and lingering cave crawler essence.


    The whispers of "Finn the Smelly" started at the far table and spread like wildfire.


    Kids could be cruel.


    Between classes, he spotted three fourth-years cornering a first-year behind the library building. Rather than intervene directly, he simply caught Guard Captain Marina''s attention as she passed nearby. She handled the situation with her usual efficiency.


    As the day wound down and students began heading to their dorms or clubs, Adom turned to Sam. "Hey. Want to help me with fluid control practice?"


    Sam''s enthusiasm vanished. "No. Absolutely not." He shifted uncomfortably. "Last time I hit you five times in ten minutes, Adom. And that''s with me holding back."


    "That''s why I need the practice," Adom insisted. "The fluid enhancement should help me dodge better."


    "Should. But doesn''t." Sam ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "Look, you''re my best friend, and no offence but you''re... well, you''re kind of an easy target. Even for me. And I''m terrible at combat magic."


    "None taken." Some was taken. "Plus, that makes you perfect for practice," Adom pressed. "Come on, I need to figure this out. Just one more session?"


    Sam looked at him for a long moment. "Fine. But the moment it gets too rough, we stop. I mean it this time." He pointed an accusing finger at Adom. "And no more ''just one more try'' after I knock you down three times in a row."


    Adom smiled. "Deal."


    "I''m going to regret this, am I not?"


    *****


    "I am regretting this."


    This was the twenty-third attempt.


    [-4 Life Force]


    [White Wyrm Body has reached level 4!]


    [Fluid Control has reached level 3!]


    [+3 Endurance]


    [+7 Iron lungs]


    [Physical enhancement moderately strengthened]


    [Indomitable Will is active]


    "One more time," Adom panted, pushing himself up from the ground.


    Sam sighed.


    Adom smiled.


    "Are you a masochist, Adom?"


    To any outsider, yes, it might have looked like Adom was actually enjoying the constellation of bruises left by Sam''s increasingly potent wind spells (way to go Sam!), the cold air in the pitch, and the distinct feeling that tomorrow''s muscles would have some choice words for him. But to Adom, who had a blue screen hovering in his peripheral vision, there was a very good reason to be happy.


    [Subject [Adom Sylla] is approaching emergence threshold...]


    Something was changing.


    Sam exhaled sharply. "Here goes nothing."


    "I saw that lip twitch," Adom said. "You''re trying not to smile."


    "This hurts me more than it hurts you."


    "I doubt i-"


    The spell cut him off mid-sentence. That little-


    Time slowed.


    In the last twenty-three attempts, Adom hadn''t managed to dodge a single hit. Not one. He''d seen some of the spells coming - translucent ribbons of compressed air, twisting like serpents, distorting the space around them - but seeing wasn''t enough. Each failure had taught him something, though. The way wind moved. The way it curved. The subtle differences between a feint and a real attack.


    The first few attempts, he''d relied purely on reflexes. That hadn''t worked.


    Then he''d tried predicting trajectories based on Sam''s movements - also a failure.


    He''d created scenarios in his head, mapped possible paths, calculated angles. Each attempt added another layer of understanding, another piece of the puzzle. Sometimes the spell would curve when he expected it to go straight. Sometimes it would speed up when he thought it would slow down. Every assumption he made was proven wrong, until he realized he was thinking too much.


    It wasn''t about thinking. It wasn''t about calculating. It was about feeling.


    The Fluid enhancement had made him faster, sharper. His eyes could track the spell''s movement better now, his body could respond quicker. But that wasn''t enough either. He needed something more.


    The wind spell was coming. Time seemed to stretch. His eyes tracked the distortion in the air, the way it rippled and twisted. Based on its trajectory, it was aimed at his right thigh - but something felt off. An instinct, born from twenty-three failures, screamed that this wasn''t right.


    He hesitated. The logical part of his brain insisted the spell would hit his thigh. The angles, the speed, the trajectory - everything pointed to it. But that feeling, that nagging sensation...


    Trust it.


    The world slowed to a crawl. The spell curved, and in that moment, Adom saw it - really saw it. Not where it was going, but where it wanted to go. Not its path, but its intention.


    His body moved before his mind could catch up. He bent backward, feeling the Fluid surge through his muscles, supporting the impossible angle. The wind spell brushed past his chest, missing by inches, and struck a nearby tree with a sharp crack.


    Time resumed its normal flow.


    "Whoa," Sam breathed.


    His heart was pounding - when had that started? Adom panted, still bent at an awkward angle, and from this position he could see the damage on the tree. His eyes widened.


    <div>


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    "Were you trying to actually kill me?"


    "Huh?"


    A piece of bark fell from the deep gouge in the trunk. Sam gasped, his face draining of color.


    "Oh gods- I''m sorry, I''m so sorry!" He rushed to Adom, hands trembling as they checked for injuries. "I lost control, I didn''t mean to- I got carried away with the theoretics of wind compression and- are you hurt? I should''ve been more careful, I-"


    Adom started laughing.


    Sam stopped mid-panic, staring at his friend. "Did I... did I do something to your head too? Are you alright?"


    Trying and failing to contain his laughter, Adom straightened up. "Yeah," he managed between chuckles. "Actually, I''m more than alright."


    [New Skill Acquired: Flowing Perception (Uncommon) (Active)]


    [Ability: Enhanced prediction and analysis of movement patterns]


    [Current Level: 01]


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    "Let''s go home, Sam."

 Chapter 31. Blacksmith

    Adom''s smile grew increasingly strained as Miss Grimclaw examined Professor Mirwen''s card for what must have been the eighth time. The goblin librarian held it up to the light, squinted at it, turned it over, and then fixed Adom with another piercing stare from behind her tiny silver spectacles.


    He refused to fidget. Or blink. Though his face was starting to hurt.


    The great archivist of Xerkes'' library sat perched on her elevated chair, which still left her at eye level with most humans'' chests. Today she wore her usual severe gray dress, complete with a chain of brass keys that clinked softly whenever she moved.


    "Curious," she said finally. "Most curious."


    Five thousand years ago, her ancestors had communicated primarily through grunts and aggressive gestures.


    Like most goblins, they''d lived in warrens deep underground, raiding surface settlements for food and shiny trinkets. This wasn''t even prejudice - it was simple historical fact. Before the Great Integration, goblins and orcs hadn''t even possessed written languages of their own. Even now, most of her kind preferred the simplicity of tribal life, viewing reading as suspicious magic and formal education as a waste of perfectly good raiding time. The few goblins who ventured into human cities usually worked as craftsmen or merchants, their natural cunning turned to trade rather than academics.


    Yet here was Miss Grimclaw, not just literate but probably the most educated person in the building - and everyone knew it.


    She''d become something of a celebrity in academic circles, her papers on magical theory cited in universities across three continents, despite her never casting a single spell herself.


    The running joke was that she''d memorized every book in the library just by glaring at them long enough. She''d earned her position through decades of ruthless dedication, proving that a goblin could not only match human scholars but surpass them. Her existence was considered a fascinating anomaly by many researchers - though none dared suggest such a thing to her face.


    "Professor Mirwen was quite clear about-" Adom began.


    "I can read," Miss Grimclaw cut him off, tapping one long green finger against the card. "The question, Mr. Sylla, is why a second-year student requires access to fourth-year restricted materials." Her eyes narrowed. "Particularly one with your... attendance record of late."


    Adom''s smile threatened to crack. Of course she''d know about his missed classes. Miss Grimclaw knew everything that happened in Xerkes. Some students swore she had a network of mice spies. Others insisted she could read minds.


    The truth was probably worse: she just paid attention.


    Adom cleared his throat. "Actually, I was thinking of switching to battle magic."


    Miss Grimclaw looked him up and down with the sort of careful assessment usually reserved for particularly dubious ancient texts. "Is that so? Mr. Harbinski will miss you terribly in the theoretical studies section. You two were quite the fixture here." She adjusted her spectacles. "Until recently."


    "Sam will adapt," Adom said, trying to keep his voice light. "He''s got a new theory about elemental resonance to keep him company."


    Something flickered across Miss Grimclaw''s sharp features - not quite a smile, but perhaps its scholarly cousin. She finally handed the card back, her brass keys jingling. "Fourth-year battle magic materials are in Section R, third floor, east wing. And naturally, this grants you access to third-year materials as well."


    "Thank you, Miss Grimclaw."


    "Good to see you back in the library, Mr. Sylla." She paused, then added with brutal frankness, "Though I must say, you don''t strike me as particularly suited for combat magic. You seem more the type to get a paper cut and require immediate medical attention."


    "Ouch."


    "Off you go then," she said, already turning back to her work. "Try not to bleed on any of the books."


    Adom climbed the stairs to the third floor, joining the steady stream of students heading to their favorite study spots.


    The Library of Xerkes wasn''t the biggest in the world - not even close, really. The elves had their crystal archives, and the dwarves their endless underground vaults. But for humans? This was as good as it got.


    Eleven million books, scrolls, and manuscripts, give or take.


    Not bad for a species that only really got into proper magic a few thousand years ago. While other human schools had risen and fallen throughout the ages, Xerkes kept standing, kept collecting. These days, every graduating mage worth their salt added at least one book to the collection. Some obligation about "continuing knowledge" or whatever.


    He passed the first-year section, where kids still struggled with basic theory. The usual crowd hunched over their texts, looking appropriately miserable. A few older students floated near the ceiling on platforms of air, browsing the higher shelves.


    The alchemy section was tucked away in the east wing. Fewer students here - most preferred their magic theoretical and explosion-free. The books looked more worn too, like they''d seen some action themselves.


    "''Paracelsus''s Incomplete Works,''" Adom muttered, remembering Mia''s words. The search runes carved into the shelves flickered to life - one of Xerkes'' better ideas for managing eleven million books. No one had time to dig through endless shelves like some kind of literary archaeologist.


    The runes pulsed once, twice, then a soft blue glow appeared several shelves away. Third-year section.


    He reached up and pulled down the glowing volume. The leather binding was worn smooth by countless hands before his, and something about it felt... heavy.


    "Right then," he muttered. "Let''s see what you''re hiding."


    Adom found a quiet corner and set the book down on a reading desk. Page 394. He opened it carefully, the aged paper crackling slightly under his fingers. The page looked ordinary enough - just another dense block of alchemical theory that made his eyes want to glaze over.


    Right. Mana weaving. He took a slow breath, gathering his magic.


    First, a thin stream through the page''s core. He channeled his mana carefully, like threading a needle. Too much force and he''d probably set the thing on fire. Not exactly the way to stay on Miss Grimclaw''s good side.


    The mana sank into the page, and he felt a slight... resonance?


    Now for the tricky part.


    Spread it like a web. He extended his magic outward from the center in delicate strands, counting under his breath. One-two-three, pulse. One-two-three, pulse. The rhythm had to be exact, Mia had said.


    For a moment, nothing happened. Then, like water seeping through paper, text began appearing in the margins. Cramped, careful handwriting filled every available space, diagrams squeezed between paragraphs, arrows connecting concepts.


    "Well," Adom whispered, leaning forward with growing excitement, "hello there."


    Hours slipped by as Adom lost himself in the hidden notes. Whoever had written them wasn''t just explaining concepts - they were connecting them, showing how different aspects of alchemy flowed into each other. Things he''d struggled with for months suddenly clicked into place.


    The anonymous annotator moved far beyond fourth-year material. Their explanations touched on advanced theory Adom had only glimpsed in passing references, but somehow made it feel accessible. Like building blocks, each concept supporting the next.


    He scribbled his own notes frantically, mind racing with possibilities. The section on resonance frequencies in transformation arrays alone would revolutionize his approach to several experiments he''d been stuck on.


    When his pocket watch chimed the hour, Adom blinked in surprise. The library had grown quieter, afternoon sunlight slanting through the high windows. His neck ached from hunching over the book.


    Miss Grimclaw looked up as he approached her desk, the book clutched carefully in his hands.


    "I''d like to borrow this one, please." He placed ''Paracelsus''s Incomplete Works'' on her desk.


    She adjusted her spectacles, examining the spine. "Interesting choice, Mr. Sylla. Most students find Paracelsus rather... dense."


    "It''s surprisingly clear once you get into it," he said carefully.


    Something flickered in her eyes - knowledge, perhaps? - but she simply nodded and reached for her ledger. "One month, as usual. Do try to return it in the same condition, unlike that unfortunate incident with ''Basic Botanical Brewing'' last term."


    "The..." Adom blinked, momentarily confused. What incident was she talking about...?


    Then it hit him. "Oh! Right, that." The mushrooms. How could he forget? The book''s diagrams sprouting actual glowing fungi right there in the library, Miss Grimclaw''s face turning an impressive shade of purple. He''d spent weeks'' worth of allowance paying for the cleanup and restoration.


    In another life.


    "I''ll take excellent care of it," Adom assured Miss Grimclaw, securing the book in his bag. He glanced at his pocket watch again and winced slightly. He still needed to get to the Club before their session ended - Hugo would be there, and he needed to arrange a meeting with Professor Kim.


    *****


    Adom walked through the school corridors, dodging students and floating equipment. His mind kept circling back to the same problems: How to convince Hugo? When could he see Kim again? And the bigger question that made his stomach turn - what if the professor already knew about the weapon potential and didn''t care?


    He almost walked into a first year, mumbling something about Tuesday''s notes, and kept moving.


    Even if Kim refused to listen, even if Adom somehow managed to destroy the prototype... well, Kim was still Kim. The same brilliant mind that created it once could just create it again. How do you stop something like that?


    "Watch it!" someone yelped as Adom nearly collided with them at the corner.


    "Sorry, sorry," he mumbled, sidestepping. His reflection in a passing window looked pale. The professor had to listen. He had to. The alternative was...


    He shook his head. One thing at a time. First, he needed to find Hugo.


    Adom pushed open the door and stepped into the Combat Athletics Club. The sharp smell of sweat, leather, and polish hit him - and he realized, with mild concern, that he was actually starting to like it. When had that happened?


    "Hey Adom!" called Petra, towel around her neck, heading for the showers.


    "Later, Adom," nodded Kaius, packing up his gear.


    He spotted Phil by the weapon racks, pulling on his jacket. "Phil, have you seen Hugo?"


    "Yeah, he''s over there," Phil pointed toward the practice mats. "Helping the new one with his form."


    "Thanks."


    Stepping around a pair of exhausted-looking third-years, Adom headed for the mats. The sound of someone being thrown onto them, followed by Hugo''s patient "No, like this," drifted over.


    Adom watched Hugo spot Damus on the bench press. The new kid was pushing way more than Adom expected - and when Damus noticed him watching, he somehow managed to push even harder, face turning red with effort.


    "Eight... nine..." Hugo counted steadily. "Last one. Make it count."


    Is he trying to prove something? Adom shifted his weight, deciding to let them finish. No point interrupting Hugo mid-training - especially when he needed a favor.


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    Since Damus had joined the club, they hadn''t exchanged a single word. It worked well enough - an unspoken agreement to stay out of each other''s way, stick to their own corners of the club. Simple. Clean. No need to complicate things.


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    "What was wrong with it?"


    Hugo wiped his face, glancing toward the showers where Damus had disappeared. "Common thing with swordsmen. They''re used to keeping their shoulders tight, blade up. Makes sense in a fight. But that same tension screws up their bench form - they end up loading the anterior delts instead of letting the chest do the work. Had to get him to relax the shoulders, keep them pinned back."


    "Huh."


    "Anyway," Hugo turned to him, "you looked like you needed to talk about something?"


    "Yeah, about that-" Adom''s stomach chose that exact moment to let out an embarrassingly loud growl.


    Hugo''s laugh boomed across the training area. Adom felt his face heat up as he pressed a hand against his traitorous stomach.


    "Come on," Hugo said, landing a heavy pat on Adom''s back that nearly knocked him forward. "I know this place in the city - best eastern meals in the isles. We''ll talk over proper food." He was already standing, gathering his things. "My treat."


    Adom opened his mouth to refuse - this was urgent, they needed to talk now - but his stomach growled again, softer this time, like it was making its final argument. When was the last time he''d eaten? The library hours had blurred together, and before that...


    He sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. "Fine. But it better be as good as you say."


    "Trust me," Hugo grinned, shouldering his bag. "You''ll thank me when you taste their flat bread."


    The boys were halfway to their destination when Hugo collided with what felt like a walking wall of metal.


    "Sorry!" Hugo stumbled back, catching himself. "I wasn''t-"


    The figure didn''t respond. Didn''t even pause. Just kept walking, cloak billowing behind them, elaborate armor gleaming under the imperial sigils.


    Wait. Imperial?


    "Please make way," a guard approached them, his own armor less ornate but bearing the same markings. "Clear the street."


    More armored figures emerged from the crowd, forming a loose perimeter. Adom frowned. Imperial guards? In Arkhos?


    "Excuse me," he called out to the guard. "I thought imperial forces didn''t operate in the isles. What''s going on?"


    The guard glanced down at him, expression professionally neutral. "We''re accompanying His Highness, Crown Prince Kalyion Vi Savarnis, on his visit to the city."


    "Oh right, the prince''s visit," Hugo nodded, like this was perfectly normal. "Heard about that."


    The guard moved on, shepherding other pedestrians aside.


    Adom''s frown deepened. The crown prince? Here? That... that hadn''t happened last time. He would have remembered something like that - royal visits weren''t exactly subtle affairs. In his past life, Kalyion had never visited Arkhos during this season.


    What changed?


    The thought nagged at him as he watched the armored figures disappear into the crowd. Small changes in the timeline by some sort of ripple effect were expected but a royal visit? That suggested something bigger had shifted. Something-


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    "Hey." Hugo''s voice snapped him back. "You coming? Wei''s flatbread waits for no man."


    "Right." Adom shook off the unsettling feeling. "Lead the way."


    They finally reached the small restaurant around two, the autumn chill making the warmth seeping from under the door even more inviting. Yellow light spilled onto the street through fogged-up windows, and Adom caught himself sniffing the air - spices, grilled meat, fresh bread. His stomach twisted painfully.


    "See?" Hugo''s grin widened. "And that''s just what makes it past the door."


    Before Adom could respond, Hugo''s hand landed between his shoulder blades, shoving him forward. Adom stumbled, catching his balance.


    "Could you maybe not throw people around with those bear arms of yours?"


    Hugo''s laugh echoed in the street, inviting some glares from passerby. "Please. You train with us now - you can handle a little push." He stepped past Adom, reaching for the door. "Come on, the others are waiting."


    "The others?"


    "It''s cheat day," Hugo said, like that explained everything. "Some of us like to come here, stuff our faces properly." The door chimed as he pulled it open. "After you."


    Inside, wooden tables filled the small space, worn smooth from years of use. Steam rose from bowls, mingling with conversation and laughter. Phil, Petra, and Kaius occupied a corner table, cups of hot tea already in front of them.


    "Adom?" Petra brightened. "Didn''t expect to see you here!"


    Kaius pulled out a chair. "Come on, sit. You''re just in time."


    Phil leaned back, grinning. "First timer? Oh, this''ll be good."


    Hugo dropped into the seat next to Phil. "Told him my treat. His stomach was making more noise than Phil during warmups."


    "That''s not tr-"


    "Don''t even try to deny it," Petra grinned. "We all hear you counting under your breath."


    "Well," Kaius rubbed his hands together, "guess we''ll have to get you through the menu. It''s not huge-"


    "Six dishes," Phil cut in. "Seven if you count the flatbread separately."


    "Which you should," Hugo insisted.


    The old chef appeared from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. His weathered face crinkled as he recognized the group. "Ah, the hungry fighters. And a new face!"


    "Give him the special, Master Wei," Hugo called out. "He hasn''t eaten since the ancestors were young."


    "Such disrespect," the chef clicked his tongue, but his eyes sparkled. "The young think they can joke about age." He turned to Adom. "But they always come back to old Wei''s cooking, don''t they?"


    A few minutes later, a steaming bowl appeared in front of Adom - rich broth, thick noodles, tender meat, and vegetables he didn''t recognize. The aroma alone made his mouth water.


    "Watch this," Hugo nudged him, tearing off a piece of flatbread. "When you''re done with the noodles, dip the bread in the broth. Trust me."


    "Master Wei''s been making this since before the city had walls," Petra said, stealing a piece of Phil''s bread.


    "Hey!"


    "That''s why it''s so good," Kaius nodded. "Old people cook with their soul."


    "I heard that!" Wei called from the kitchen. "Keep talking and see if I make extra bread for you lot!"


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    Adom felt a surge of solidarity with the old man.


    "Sorry, Master Wei!" they chorused, not looking sorry at all.


    The steam rose from Adom''s bowl in lazy swirls. Everyone at the table had gone quiet, watching him expectantly. Even Master Wei had paused in the kitchen doorway, cloth in hand. Adom felt his neck heat up under their intense scrutiny - eating while being watched wasn''t exactly comfortable. The act of chewing wasn''t exactly anyone''s most dignified moment.


    "Go on," Petra urged, leaning forward.


    Adom stared at the chopsticks beside his bowl, trying to remember how he''d seen others use them. His fingers felt clumsy as he attempted to position them.


    Kaius noticed his hesitation. "Here," he said quietly, demonstrating with his own pair. "Hold the bottom one like this, against your ring finger. The top one moves, like a pencil."


    After a few awkward attempts and some gentle corrections from Kaius, Adom managed to get a somewhat stable grip.


    "No, no, you have to get the noodles and the meat in the same bite," Phil instructed. "Here, like this-" He demonstrated with his own chopsticks.


    "And make sure you get some broth," Hugo added. "That''s where all the magic is."


    Kaius rolled his eyes. "Just let him eat, you vultures."


    Adom wished they''d look anywhere else - preferably at their own bowls - but their eager faces made it clear that wasn''t happening. Fighting down his self-consciousness, he gathered the noodles, making sure to catch a piece of meat and some vegetables. His chopsticks wobbled slightly, but he managed to keep the food from falling. He was acutely aware of every movement, trying not to look too awkward or slurp too loudly.


    The first bite pushed all those thoughts away. His mouth filled with warmth - tender noodles, perfectly cooked meat that nearly melted on his tongue. The broth was rich and complex, spices he recognized dancing with ones he didn''t, and underneath it all was a depth of flavor that spoke of hours of careful preparation. His eyes widened before he could help it, completely forgetting his audience.


    "There it is," Hugo laughed, nudging Phil. "That''s the look everyone gets their first time."


    Master Wei''s satisfied nod was barely visible before he disappeared back into the kitchen. Around the table, the others wore knowing grins, like they''d just inducted him into a secret club.


    <section>The Wei Club.</section>


    *****


    After the meal, they lingered at Wei''s for a while, trading stories and laughter. Adom made a mental note to bring Sam and Eren here sometime - they''d love the cooking just as much. One by one, they started heading back to Xerkes, until only Hugo and Adom remained.


    Hugo fell into step beside him on the walk back. After a few moments of companionable silence, he cleared his throat. "Alright, out with it."


    "What?"


    "Something''s been on your mind. You kept glancing at me all through dinner like you wanted to say something." Hugo''s expression grew serious. "Listen, if those kids from before are giving you trouble again-"


    Ah.


    Adom couldn''t help but chuckle. "No one''s bullying me, Hugo."


    "You sure? Because lately you''ve seemed... I don''t know, overwhelmed? Even during training." Hugo ran a hand through his hair. "Kaius told me to give you space, said you might be going through something, but..." He stopped walking, turning to face Adom. "Look, I know I''m not exactly the wise sage type, but if you need someone to talk to, I''m here. We all are."


    The sincerity in Hugo''s voice caught Adom off guard. It was touching, really - this teenager trying his best to be a supportive older brother figure. The irony of the situation wasn''t lost on him; here was Hugo, probably seventeen or eighteen, worried about someone who had lived through nearly eight decades in another life. But he couldn''t exactly explain that, could he?


    "I appreciate it," Adom said carefully, fighting back an amused smile. "Really. But I promise, I''m okay."


    He wasn''t. Not really. But he hoped to be.


    Hugo studied his face for a moment longer, clearly not entirely convinced. "If you say so. Just... remember what I said, alright? You don''t have to deal with everything alone."


    In the city''s central district, the afternoon crowds flowed around them - merchants calling their wares, children chasing each other between market stalls, the distant sound of a street musician''s flute.


    "So what was it you wanted to tell me?" Hugo asked, sidestepping a cart loaded with vegetables.


    Adom watched a couple of pigeons fighting over a dropped piece of bread while he gathered his thoughts. A group of students passed by, their voices mixing with the general bustle of the street.


    He took a breath. No point in overthinking it. "Could you arrange a meeting with Professor Kim for me?"


    Hugo blinked. Blinked again. Then burst out laughing, drawing curious glances from passersby.


    "Sorry, sorry!" He wiped his eyes, still chuckling. "Whew. And here I thought you were dying or something." He adjusted his glasses, grinning. "Of course you can meet the professor. Actually, I knew you''d want to be his assistant eventually. I''m in my sixth year now, and I''m planning to spend next year dungeon raiding, so he''ll need someone to replace me anyway." He nudged Adom with his elbow. "We both think you''d be perfect for it. No need to be so anxious about asking to meet him - he''s been wanting to talk to you too."


    Ah.


    Adom kept quiet as Hugo rambled on. He was completely wrong about Adom''s motivations, but he''d achieved his goal anyway.


    Maybe he needed to stop making everything so complicated when it could be as simple as just asking.


    "So, when do you want me to set up the meeting? Professor Kim usually has time in the mornings, before his first class-" Hugo paused mid-sentence when he realized Adom had stopped walking.


    "You''re not coming?"


    "Just remembered something I need to deal with," Adom said, already turning in the opposite direction.


    "Oh. Well, I''ll let you know about the meeting then?"


    "Thanks, Hugo."


    They parted ways at the crossroads, Hugo''s footsteps fading into the crowd while Adom headed down the side street.


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    There really was something he needed to do - something that had been nagging at him since that night.


    It wasn''t just the explosion, or the fight itself. It was Gale''s smile.


    The way the man had looked at him through the flames, completely at ease, like they were sharing some private joke instead of trying to kill each other. There had been no malice in that smile, and somehow that made it worse. Like Adom was just... entertainment. A particularly interesting game piece that had caught his attention.


    Even if they managed to take down the Children of the Moon - and that was a big if - something told Adom that Gale wouldn''t stop. Not really. That smile said it all: "I found you, and now the game begins."


    Adom flexed his fingers, still feeling the morning''s workout in his muscles. Getting stronger physically was just the start. He needed every advantage he could get, and right now, his biggest asset was incomplete, stored away in his inventory like a broken toy.


    He''d spent hours studying the Golem Knight''s specifications, taking notes of every detail he could remember about it. The way the stone and metal had been perfectly integrated, how each joint moved with impossible precision. Whoever built it understood materials in a way that made his academic knowledge feel like a child playing with blocks.


    He needed an armor. A proper armor, that he could fully integrate for the golem.


    The Undertow wasn''t an option this time.


    The black market was great if you wanted something that "fell off a wagon" or "got lost in transit," but actual craftsmen? The closest thing you''d find there were thieves bragging about which master''s workshop they''d robbed last week.


    No, for this kind of work, he''d need to find a real artisan, right here in the city. Someone who could actually create and help craft an armor a knight would wear, not just fence other people''s creations. Someone skilled enough to work with both stone and metal at this level of precision and more importantly, someone who wouldn''t ask too many questions.


    "Right," he muttered, pulling out the city map he''d marked with potential craftsmen earlier in the morning. "Time to find a blacksmith who won''t think I''m completely insane."


    He paused.


    "A blacksmith who won''t think I''m completely insane, in a city of magic users."


    When he put it that way, maybe this wouldn''t be so hard after all.


    Blacksmith visits in the Scholar''s District started promisingly, at least. Master Vallens'' workshop was immaculate, his credentials impressive, and his work displayed in neat rows that would make any merchant proud. The problem became apparent when he opened his mouth.


    "I don''t do business with children," said Vallens, barely glancing up from his ledger.


    "I''m a Xerkes student-"


    "Playing with your father''s money, no doubt." He finally looked at Adom, his expression somewhere between bored and contemptuous. "Come back when you''re old enough to appreciate real craftsmanship."


    Adom could have mentioned that price wasn''t an issue. Could have pulled out as much money as necessary, or explained the situation. But something about the man''s dismissive tone made him turn around without another word.


    There were other smiths in the city. No need to waste time on someone who couldn''t see past his age.


    The second shop was its polar opposite. Tools scattered everywhere, the smell of beer competing with forge smoke, and the blacksmith - who introduced himself as "just Pete" - couldn''t stop talking.


    "Knight armor for a golem? Sure, sure, made plenty! Well, one. Maybe two? There was this thing last year, might''ve been a golem. Or a very large cat. Had metal bits though!"


    Adom left before Pete could finish his story about the maybe-golem-maybe-cat.


    Madame Laurent''s Precision Engineering looked promising from the outside. The displays showed delicate mechanical works, tiny gears meshed perfectly. But something felt off about her too-wide smile, the way her eyes lingered on his student robes.


    "Of course I can help! And for a student..." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "I might even offer a discount. Just need to see the original piece first. For reference."


    The gleam in her eyes reminded him too much of certain Undertow merchants. Hard pass.


    The fourth shop had actual armor and golem parts in the window. Unfortunately, they looked like they''d been assembled by someone whose understanding of anatomy came from abstract art.


    "It''s a stylistic choice," the smith insisted, gesturing to what might have been an arm. Or possibly a very confused snake.


    The fifth blacksmith, an elderly man who seemed more interested in his lunch than potential customers, barely looked up from his sandwich.


    "Golems? Too much hassle. Try the Engineering District."


    The sixth, in said Engineering District, had the skills but also had a six-month waiting list.


    "Could bump you up to four months if it''s urgent," the apprentice offered, flipping through an overstuffed ledger. "Master Brandon is very popular these days."


    The seventh shop was tucked away in a side street, so modest Adom almost missed it. No displays, just a simple sign: "Kern''s Metalworks." The sound of hammering drew him in.


    An older woman was working at the forge, her movements precise and methodical. She didn''t stop when he entered, just held up one finger in a "wait" gesture while she finished whatever she was working on.


    What was it with Blacksmiths in this city?!


    Three minutes later, she dunked the piece in water, steam hissing.


    When she turned, Adom noticed her arms were well-muscled probably from years of smithing.


    The workshop itself was modest but organized, with racks of weapons that made him pause. His father being a knight meant he''d grown up around quality arms and armor - he might not be a fighter himself (yet), but he knew good work when he saw it.


    And this was the real deal.


    Every piece in the shop screamed master craftsmanship.


    "Welcome. What can I help you with?" she asked, wiping her hands on her apron.


    Adom pulled out the detailed drawings he''d made of the armor. "I was wondering if you could craft something like this."


    She took the papers, studying them with increasing interest. Her eyebrows rose slightly as she flipped through the pages of specifications and measurements.


    "This is... unique," she said finally. "The integration of stone and metal, these joint designs... I''ve never seen anything quite like it." She looked up at him. "Where did you get these specifications?"


    "Can you make it?"


    She set the drawings down carefully. "I''m not specialized in armors, especially not ones this advanced."


    "Oh." Adom''s shoulders slumped. He''d thought... well, with the quality of work he''d seen, he''d hoped he''d finally found one of those legendary craftsmen from the stories - the mysterious masters who signed their work with secret marks and created impossible things.


    He was already turning to leave when her voice stopped him.


    "However," she said, "my apprentice has quite a talent for armor work."


    Adom turned back, skeptical. "If you can''t do it, what could an apprentice manage?"


    A small smile crossed her face. "The kid''s good. Very good. Especially with unusual projects like this." She tapped the drawings. "Sometimes fresh eyes see solutions old hands miss."


    Adom hesitated. An apprentice? Then again, after a day of dead ends...


    "Sure," he said finally. "I''d like to meet them."


    The woman''s smile widened slightly. "Fili!" she called out. No response. She sighed, shaking her head. "FILI!"


    The back door of the smithy creaked open, and Adom found himself staring at what appeared to be a moving pile of metal scraps. Two legs shuffled beneath the precarious tower of parts, inching forward carefully.


    "I got the pieces you asked for, Master! I think I found all the- oh no, oh no, oh no-"


    The tower swayed. A piece slipped, then another, and suddenly the whole collection was tipping forward.


    Adom''s hands moved before he could think. [Levitate].


    Dozens of metal pieces froze mid-fall, hanging in the air like a strange metal constellation.


    The blacksmith and the young apprentice both looked at him.


    "Where would you like these?" Adom asked, glancing at the woman.


    "The sorting table, if you don''t mind. The one by the wall."


    He guided the pieces over, setting them down carefully. "There you go."


    "A-are you a mage?" said the younger voice.


    Didn''t the uniform give it away?


    "Uh... yes?"


    Behind the now-sorted pile stood a young man about Adom''s age, fidgeting with his apron strings. The apprentice was shorter than him, with rich brown skin and a shock of vivid red curly hair above bright green eyes - unmistakable features of dwarf-human heritage. A Halfdwarf, though that term had fallen out of favor decades ago.


    Most people called them Stonebloods now, though they were rare enough that most citizens only knew them from stories. The dwarven kingdoms beyond the mountains had always been more welcoming of mixed heritage than humans or elves, taking in children of such unions and raising them as their own. Unlike the rigid social structures of human nobles or the infamous "purity" obsession of elven houses, dwarven culture celebrated the strength that came from diversity.


    But what was one doing here?


    Stonebloods weren''t common in Arkhos - Adom had only seen a handful in his life, mostly merchants or craftsmen passing through. The isles'' predominantly human population meant most Stonebloods preferred the more diverse mainland cities or their ancestral mountain kingdoms. To find one as a permanent resident, especially as a smith''s apprentice, was unusual but not unheard of.


    He found himself wondering what series of events had led Fili from the dwarven kingdoms to this modest smithy in a human city.


    "A mage..."


    The woman raised an eyebrow. "Fili, you just watched him use magic."


    "I know, Master, but you said to start conversations with questions, and that was the first thing that came to mind, like in chapter three of-"


    "You little bookworm," she said. "What''s the first rule of the shop?"


    "Oh! Right!" He turned to Adom, straightening his back like a soldier at attention. "Welcome to Kern''s Metalworks, where quality meets craftsmanship! We offer competitive prices and satisfaction guaranteed! Our current special promotion includes-"


    Master Kern placed a hand on his shoulder. "Fili."


    "Yes?"


    "Your own words. Not the merchant''s guidebook."


    "But the book said-"


    "The book is a guide, not a script. Remember what we talked about?"


    Fili deflated slightly. "That people want to talk to people, not books."


    "Exactly." She squeezed his shoulder. "Now, why don''t you look at what this young man brought us? I think you''ll find it interesting."


    Master Kern pushed the drawings toward Fili, and Adom found himself holding his breath. After a day of rejections and silly people, he was suddenly very invested in what this awkward, earnest apprentice might say about his project.


    Fili leaned over the drawings, his previous awkwardness melting away as his eyes darted across the pages. His fingers traced the lines without touching them, hovering just above the surface.


    Adom leaned forward too, watching the transformation. Maybe this was it - not the gruff, legendary master smith from the stories, but something potentially better.


    A young Stoneblood apprentice with that particular intensity he''d seen in truly gifted craftsmen. Sure, there were plenty of jokes about dwarves and their smithing abilities, but stereotypes aside, there was a reason people sought out dwarven-trained smiths for the really impossible projects.


    "These joint mechanisms..." he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "The way the stone interfaces with... Master, look at this integration point here." He pointed to a specific detail, entirely focused now, his earlier social stumbling forgotten. "It''s not just layered, it''s... braided? I''ve never seen anything like this."


    Master Kern leaned in, nodding slightly. "That''s what caught my eye too."


    Fili pulled one page closer, squinting. "The tolerances would have to be perfect. We''d need to..." He trailed off, reaching for a piece of charcoal and a scrap of paper, making quick calculations. His hand moved with none of the hesitation that had marked his earlier movements.


    He looked up suddenly, as if remembering he wasn''t alone. "Oh! Sorry, I..." He glanced at Master Kern, who gave him an encouraging nod. "I mean... these are fascinating. Where did you... um... if you don''t mind me asking, where did you learn to design like this?"


    "I specialized in runicology," Adom said, trying to keep his voice casual. "Drawing precise concepts like this becomes second nature after a while."


    Fili''s eyes lit up like a forge fire. "Then you have the model? The actual golem the armor will be made for? The way these mechanisms interlock, it must be incredible to see in motion-"


    "It''s, ah, at the Academy," Adom lied, feeling a twinge of guilt at the apprentice''s genuine enthusiasm. "Can''t really show it to anyone. Secret project, you understand."


    "Oh! Of course, of course!" Fili nodded vigorously, clearly impressed by the implied importance. "That makes perfect sense. The applications of this design..." His hands moved as he spoke, sketching shapes in the air. " The way the armor would fusion with the golem..."


    "So... can you do it?" Adom asked hesitantly, watching Fili''s face.


    "With these notes?" The young smith looked up from the drawings, a quiet confidence in his eyes that hadn''t been there before. "Yes. Yes, I can."


    Adom smiled, finally letting out a breath he''d been holding. "Perfect. How much will it-"


    "Oh!" Fili glanced at Master Kern. "The pricing is usually her decision, since I''m still an appren-"


    "This one''s yours, Fili." Master Kern''s voice was firm but gentle. "I don''t know enough about armor-work to price it properly."


    Fili froze, his mouth slightly open, eyes darting between his master and the drawings. The charcoal piece in his hand trembled slightly. For a moment, he seemed to have forgotten how to speak - a different kind of speechlessness than his earlier social awkwardness. His free hand gripped the edge of the workbench, as if to steady himself.


    Master Kern pretended not to notice her apprentice''s reaction, busying herself with organizing some tools on a nearby shelf, giving him space to process what this meant.


    Finally, Fili swallowed hard and turned back to Adom, his voice barely above a whisper. "My first..." He cleared his throat, trying to sound more professional. "I mean, let me calculate the materials and time required."

 Chapter 32. Getting Ready

    "One week. That''s what it should take, sir!"


    "That''s it?" Adom looked at Master Kern.


    "If Fili says one week, then one week it is." She nodded, and Fili let out a small, excited giggle before catching himself.


    Adom couldn''t help but smile at the apprentice''s enthusiasm. "Then I''ll trust you with it. I''ll come back in a week." He shifted his weight, reaching for his coin purse. "Now, about the cost-"


    "Oh! Well, um, aside from the materials..." Fili''s fingers twisted together. "Since you''re my first customer ever, there''s no service charge."


    "Really? That''s not necessary, I can pay-"


    "No, no!" Fili''s awkwardness gave way to unexpected firmness. "It''s tradition. I couldn''t possibly take service money from my first customer."


    "Oh." Adom blinked. "Well, what will the materials cost then?"


    "Ah, one minute!" Fili darted toward the back of the shop. There was an immediate crash, followed by the sound of shuffling papers and sliding metal.


    "Everything alright there?" Adom called out.


    "Uh, yes!" More crashing sounds. Then, "Master...?"


    Master Kern sighed. "Top shelf, right side, Fili."


    "Thank you!"


    A moment later: "Master...?"


    She looked at Adom apologetically. "Excuse me for a moment."


    "Oh, no worries."


    Master Kern disappeared into the back room. Her voice carried clearly: "Three years, Fili. You''ve been working in this smithy for three years, and you still can''t remember where I keep the price book?"


    "I know, I know, but you keep moving it-"


    "I haven''t moved it in six months."


    "Oh. Really?"


    Adom heard more shuffling, followed by what sounded like a heavy thud and Fili''s muffled "Found it!"


    The apprentice emerged carrying an enormous leather-bound book, its corners worn smooth with age. He heaved it onto the counter in front of Adom, their eyes meeting briefly before Fili offered an awkward smile and a mumbled "Sorry."


    He opened the book, fingers trailing down columns of numbers. "Let''s see... premium-grade iron for the core structure... enhancement-grade steel for the joint mechanisms... specialized binding materials..." He muttered to himself, making quick calculations on a scrap of paper. "The crystalline components for the runic interfaces... That''s going to be... yes..." More scratching of charcoal. "And the stabilizing elements..."


    Finally, he looked up. "For all the materials, it comes to one thousand and fifty-eight gold pieces, and thirty silvers." He paused, then added quickly, "But that includes the highest grade materials! We could potentially use lower grades for some components, but I wouldn''t recommend it!"


    Adom reached for his coin purse, counting out the gold and silver pieces, then added a small stack of extra coins. "For any unexpected price changes," he explained, sliding them across the counter.


    "Thank you for your trust, sir!"


    The word hit Adom oddly. In his previous life, he''d grown used to being called ''sir'' - expected it, even. But somewhere in the past few days, he''d unconsciously started thinking of himself as young again. Hearing it from someone who looked barely older than his current physical age felt... wrong.


    "Just Adom is fine," he said, extending his hand. "Nice to meet you, by the way."


    Fili''s eyes widened as if Adom had just offered him a precious gift. His face broke into a broad grin, and before Adom could react, both of Fili''s hands engulfed his in a grip that made him suddenly, acutely aware of what it meant to be a blacksmith''s apprentice.


    "Nice to meet you too, Adom! I promise you won''t regret this! I''ll start working on it right away - well, after I clean up the workshop, and finish Master Kern''s current projects, of course, but I could stay late, or come in early, or both! I''ve never worked on anything this complex before, but I''ve been studying similar mechanisms for years, and-"


    Adom''s fingers were starting to go numb. He tried to subtly extract his hand, but Fili''s enthusiasm translated into a grip that could probably bend iron. The apprentice kept talking, apparently oblivious to Adom''s increasing discomfort.


    "Fili." Master Kern''s voice cut through the stream of words. "I think Adom would like his hand back."


    "Oh!" Fili dropped Adom''s hand as if it had suddenly turned red-hot. "I''m so sorry! Sometimes I forget my own strength, and then Master Kern has to remind me, and- oh, I''m doing it again, aren''t I?"


    Adom flexed his fingers, trying to restore circulation.


    [+1 White Wyrm''s Body]


    "It''s fine," he said quickly, taking a prudent half-step back while trying to make it look casual. "Strong grip. That''s... probably good for a blacksmith."


    Fili''s shoulders visibly relaxed, though his cheeks remained flushed. "Really good for hammering metal," he said with a small, self-deprecating laugh, then immediately winced at his own words. "Not that I''d- I mean, your armor won''t be- I''ll be very careful with the delicate parts!"


    He started reaching for something on the workbench, presumably to demonstrate his capacity for gentleness, but Master Kern cleared her throat softly. Fili''s hand froze mid-motion, then slowly retreated to his side.


    "Right," he said, taking a deep breath and obviously trying to contain his excitement to more manageable levels. "One week. I''ll have everything ready." He managed to maintain his composure for about three seconds before adding, "Would you like to see the workshop where I''ll be working on it? I''ve already got some ideas about how to approach the joint mechanisms, and-"


    Master Kern coughed.


    "Or... maybe next time? When you come to pick it up?" Fili offered hopefully, bouncing slightly on his toes despite his evident attempt to stay still.


    Adom glanced around the smithy, taking in the organized rows of weapons. Swords of various lengths hung on the walls, their polished surfaces catching the forge light. Spears and lances stood in racks, their points gleaming. War hammers and maces rested on sturdy shelves.


    Again, beautiful craftsmanship, all of it. And now that he was training regularly, the idea of learning to use them held a certain... appeal. But something told him that wasn''t his path. The golem would handle the heavy weapons - that''s what it was designed for. As for himself...


    His eyes caught on a pair of thick leather smithing gloves lying on the workbench, their palms and fingers reinforced for handling hot metal. Something clicked in his mind - an idea starting to form.


    "Actually..." He turned back to them, flexing his fingers unconsciously. "How are you with gauntlets? Something like knuckle bracers, but designed for combat?"


    "For the golem, I presume?" Master Kern stepped forward this time.


    "Ah, additional armor pieces for the golem I presume?" Master Kern nodded approvingly. "Smart thinking. The joints are always-"


    "No, these would be for me."


    Fili''s eyes darted to his master. Master Kern''s eyes flickered to her apprentice. The exchange lasted less than a heartbeat, but Adom knew exactly what passed through their minds. At least they had the decency not to voice their thoughts about a scrawny teenager wanting combat gauntlets.


    Master Kern grunted, her calloused fingers drumming once on the workbench. "In that case, I''ll handle that part myself."


    "So," she pulled a worn notebook from her apron pocket, "what exactly are you looking for in these gauntlets? Weight preference? Material flexibility? Protection coverage?"


    Adom considered for a moment. "I need them to be durable enough to withstand repeated impact, but light enough that they don''t slow down my movements. The knuckles should be reinforced - maybe with a shock-absorbing mechanism? Something that would distribute the force of impact so I don''t shatter my own bones when striking."


    She nodded, charcoal scratching against paper. "Smart. Joint mobility range?"


    "Full range of motion in the fingers and wrist. I need to be able to form specific hand positions quickly." He traced a few spell-casting gestures in the air. "And I''ll need spaces for mana crystals - three, maybe four anchor points? Plus surface area for runic inscriptions. The runes would need to be positioned so I can chain them together for quick spell weaving."


    Kern''s eyebrows rose slightly as she continued writing. "Spell weaving configurations with impact resistance..." She tapped her charcoal against the page. "We could use a layered design. Enhancement-grade steel for the outer shell, spelled leather inner lining for flexibility. Crystalline anchor points here, here, and here-" she sketched quick marks, "with runic channels connecting them. Shock absorption through spelled spring mechanisms in the knuckle plates..."


    She looked up. "The crystal placement would affect the balance. Any preference for positioning?"


    "One on each palm for channeling, one on each forearm for storage. If you could work in a fifth one, maybe between the knuckles...?"


    More scratching on paper. "Doable. We''ll need to adjust the weight distribution, but..." She held up the sketch, showing a complex network of interlocking plates and runic patterns. "Something like this?"


    Adom leaned in, studying the design. The technical aspects were well beyond his expertise, but even he could see how the various elements would work together. "Can you really make something like this?"


    Master Kern''s stern face cracked into a smile. "Of course."


    "What specific fighting style are you planning to use with these gauntlets?" Master Kern asked, adding more details to her sketch.


    "Something that allows for quick strikes and fluid movement, but strong enough to punch through..." Adom paused. "...tough opponents."


    "Tough opponents?" Fili piped up, eyes wide with curiosity. "What kind of practice involves punching through tough things?"


    "Ah, yeah... practice." Adom laughed awkwardly, the sound hollow even to his own ears. "You know how it is... better safe than sorry?"


    Fili opened his mouth to ask more, but Master Kern''s eyes met Adom''s, and in that brief moment of eye contact, he knew she saw right through his flimsy excuse. Thankfully, she simply turned back to her sketch.


    "The knuckle joints here and here," she gestured with her charcoal, while Fili leaned in to watch, "will need reinforcement without restricting finger movement."


    "Like the articulation system you showed me last month?" Fili asked eagerly. "The one with the overlapping plates?"


    "Similar principle, yes." She continued sketching. "But we''ll need something more sophisticated for this, especially with the runic integrations."


    Fili bounced on his toes. "Will you be using the new metal-folding technique you''ve been developing?"


    "Fili," she said gently, and he immediately fell silent, though his eyes remained bright with interest.


    Master Kern turned the sketch toward Adom. "Given your requirements, I''d recommend Tungstral metal. It''s second only to star-fallen steel in terms of durability, but it has good flexibility for what you need. Most Imperial Knights prefer it for exactly these properties."


    "Oh." Adom said.


    He reached into his inventory and pulled out an ornate box. Both smiths fell silent as he opened it, revealing the rings nestled inside.


    Fili''s breath caught. "Is that... I''ve never seen so much star-fallen steel in one place before."


    "You''ve never seen star-fallen steel at all, boy," Kern corrected quietly, her eyes not leaving the box.


    "Right," Fili whispered, transfixed.


    "Could you use this to make the gauntlets instead?" Adom asked.


    Kern didn''t ask where he got it from, which made him like her even more. She simply nodded and carefully took the box. "The cost for crafting would be five thousand gold coins. The gauntlets can be ready in a week, along with the golem''s armor."


    "That''s fine."


    "GREAT!" Fili burst out, then immediately covered his mouth with both hands, glancing apologetically at his master. "I..."


    Master Kern''s lips twitched slightly. "Yes, Fili?"


    "I just... I was thinking about how the gauntlets and the golem''s armor could share some design elements, and maybe we could..." He trailed off, looking between them uncertainly.


    "Go on," Master Kern encouraged.


    "Maybe we could coordinate some of the runic patterns? Make them more efficient?" His words tumbled out faster. "Since I''ll be working on the golem''s armor anyway, and if Master Kern doesn''t mind me observing the gauntlet construction, I could make sure the runes complement each other perfectly!"


    "That''s actually a good idea," Adom said, and Fili''s face lit up. "But would coordinating both projects affect the timeline?"


    "No, no!" Fili started, then caught himself and glanced at Master Kern.


    She nodded slightly. "The timeline remains the same. I''ll focus on the gauntlets while Fili works on the armor." She gave her apprentice a meaningful look. "As long as he stays organized."


    "I will!" Fili promised, then turned to Adom. "I''ve already got some ideas. See, if we align the structural support here-" He reached for the sketches, then froze mid-motion. "Um, may I, Master?"


    "Go ahead."


    Fili carefully moved Master Kern''s armor sketch next to his own preliminary drawings for the armor. His earlier excitement had transformed into focused intensity as he pointed out various technical details. "If we adjust these connection points, and maybe incorporate a similar material grade at the interface..."


    "Of course," Fili added quickly, straightening up, "that''s just a suggestion. We can do it however you prefer."


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    "I trust your judgment," Adom said, and immediately regretted it as Fili''s eyes began to shine dangerously. He took a preventive step back, adding, "Both of your judgments."


    Master Kern smoothly stepped in before Fili could respond. "Then we''ll see you in a week. Same time?"


    "Yes, same time works perfectly," Adom said, reaching for his coin purse.


    Master Kern held up a hand. "The payment can wait until you''ve seen and approved the finished work." Her eyes held a glimmer of professional pride. "I prefer my clients to be fully satisfied before any coins change hands."


    Adom smiled. "Thank you. I appreciate that."


    "See you in a week!" Fili called out as Adom turned to leave. "I''ll make sure everything is perfect! The joints will be smooth as silk, and the mechanisms will be- ow!" He rubbed his arm where Master Kern had gently nudged him.


    "Let the poor boy leave, Fili."


    "Right, sorry!" Fili waved, somehow managing to put his entire body into the gesture. "Goodbye! Thank you for trusting us!"


    "Bye!" Adom waved back.


    *****


    Adom finally made his way toward the Academy - he couldn''t afford to be late at another, not with people now starting to notice so often.


    As he approached the Academy gates, a familiar figure came into view. Eren stood with his arms crossed, leaning against one of the stone pillars in a pose that was probably meant to look casual but betrayed nervous energy in every line.


    "Hey," Adom called out.


    Eren straightened. "Hey. I sent a raven earlier, but it didn''t come back."


    "Yeah, they just deliver the message and leave. If you''re not there to receive it, that''s it."


    "Huh." Eren''s face scrunched up slightly, then quickly shifted to something more animated. "So... your name''s getting pretty popular in the undertow. Or well, not your name exactly, but everyone''s talking about the warrior who blew up the Children''s shipment." His voice dropped to an excited whisper. "How did you even manage that? They say the Children have gone practically rabid looking for-"


    "Did Cisco send you with something?" Adom cut in, glancing at the stream of students flowing through the gates.


    "Oh. Right." Eren glanced around. "Maybe we should find somewhere quieter?"


    "It''s fine. Just need to touch it."


    Eren reached into his jacket, barely exposing what looked like a sealed envelope. Adom''s fingers brushed against it, and it vanished instantly.


    "That''s so cool," Eren breathed. "Will you teach me how to do that?"


    "Sure, as long as you promise not to use it for pickpocketing."


    "I don''t pickpocket."


    "Our first meeting was literally you trying to pickpocket me."


    Eren''s face settled into an expression of dignified calm. "That was in my younger days."


    "That was about one month ago."


    "Well-"


    "Actually," Adom cut in, checking his pocket watch, "I''ve been meaning to talk to you about life in the undertow, and how it might conflict with your future at Xerkes." He adjusted his glasses. "But I need to get to class - attendance is mandatory. The pie place, later?"


    "Sure." Eren nodded, trying and failing to hide his obvious disappointment at the conversation being cut short. "The pie place."


    The day passed in a blur of lectures and assignments, but Adom''s mind was elsewhere, turning over problems like puzzle pieces that refused to fit together. His notes were sparse, his participation minimal - just enough to avoid drawing attention. The professors'' voices faded into background noise as he wrestled with the implications of what he had to do next.


    The proof about Mr. Fox sat in his inventory like a loaded weapon. The smart move, the obvious move, would be to anonymously deliver it to both the headmaster and Professor Kim. Let the system work as intended. The Academy had protocols for dealing with corrupt sponsors, after all. It was one of the oldest and most respected institutions in the capital.


    And yet...


    Adom absently drew circles in his notebook, his mind racing. In his previous life, he''d learned the hard way that corruption rarely traveled alone. It bred in networks, in carefully cultivated relationships. Mr. Fox hadn''t chosen this Academy by chance - someone had to have vouched for him, introduced him, smoothed his way through the bureaucracy.


    The question was: how deep did those connections go?


    He thought about Professor Kim''s enthusiasm, his brilliant mind focused on pushing the boundaries of what was possible, never questioning who was funding that pursuit or why. But was that simple academic naivety, or something else?


    The headmaster''s office would be the logical place to deliver the evidence. Adom had known Merris well in his past life - worked with him, trusted him implicitly. The man''s integrity was beyond question, his dedication to the Academy absolute.


    But that was exactly the problem. Merris was just a man - a good one, yes, but still bound by the limitations of his position and perspective. In Adom''s previous life, despite all of Merris''s experience and wisdom, he had missed the warning signs about Dragon''s Breath. Not through any fault of his own - he simply hadn''t been in a position to see the whole picture, to connect dots that were deliberately kept separate.


    How much could be happening right under Merris''s nose even now, carefully arranged to seem innocent when viewed through the lens of academic administration? In his previous life, hadn''t the Dragon''s Breath project continued despite numerous red flags that should have raised alarms at the highest levels?


    The smart play would be to trust the system, yes. The safe play would be to assume the system was compromised. And the right play... well, that''s what he needed to figure out.


    "-dom? Adom!"


    He blinked, focusing on Sam''s concerned face across the table.


    Ah. Right. It was dinner time. He had not seen the day go by.


    Steam rose from the meat pies at Old Mari''s stand, mixing with the evening air. The three of them - Adom, Sam, and Eren - sat at one of the worn wooden tables, the streets busy with the usual dinner crowd. Someone knocked into their table as they passed, making their cups rattle.


    "Watch it," Sam muttered, then turned back to his pie. "Adom, you haven''t touched yours at all. Mari''s outdone herself today - the meat''s perfect."


    Adom poked at his pie with a fork, breaking the crust. More steam escaped.


    "He''s right," Eren said through a mouthful. "Better than usual."


    Adom set his fork down and leaned back, watching people move through the streets. A cart rolled by, wheels clattering on the cobblestones.


    "You''ve been quiet all evening," Sam said, wiping his mouth. "Actually, you''ve been different lately. More... I don''t know. Distant?" He looked at Eren. "You''ve noticed it too, right?"


    Eren shrugged, suddenly very interested in his pie. "People get like that sometimes."


    "See?" Sam pointed his fork at Eren. "Even he''s noticed, and he barely knows you."


    Adom pushed his chair back slowly. The wood scraped against stone.


    "I need to walk."


    "Come on, you haven''t eaten anything," Sam protested. "At least finish half-"


    "You can have it," Adom said, already standing. "I just need to think."


    Sam started to rise. "I''ll come with-"


    "No." Adom''s voice was quiet but firm. "Finish your food. We''ll talk at the dorm later."


    "You''re worrying me, you know that?" Sam frowned. "Whatever''s going on-"


    "It''s fine." Adom managed a small smile. "Everything''s fine."


    He turned and walked away, weaving between the tables and crowds. Behind him, he heard Sam ask Eren, "He tells you stuff sometimes, right? Is he okay?"


    Eren''s response was lost in the street noise.


    Adom found a quiet corner in the rose garden and took out the envellope Eren gave him. Two sealed packages, two anonymous messages - one for Kim, one for the headmaster. Simple, clean, and hopefully effective.


    But his mind kept circling back to Gale. A Star Knight-level threat on his trail. The kind of opponent Adom had no business facing.


    No amount of preparation would make a fight with that guy winnable. Not with his current capabilities, not with any amount of tricks or planning.


    The police weren''t an option either. Not with what Cisco had told him about the criminal factions'' reach into law enforcement.


    Walking into a station to report this would be like painting a target on his back - he''d have no way of knowing which officers were clean and which were on someone''s payroll. But then again, what was the best counter to someone operating at Star Knight level?


    <div>


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    <div>


    And as it happened, Adom knew one very well. One who would definitely come if he knew his son was in real trouble.


    Father would be at the Twin Peaks right now, holding the line against Dastonian empire''s forces.


    A letter could be sent, but... Adom''s fingers drummed against his leg. Gale and his people were looking for him now. The clock was ticking, and he had no idea when they''d make their move. Would they strike tomorrow? Next week? They clearly weren''t the type to give up easily, and they had the resources to keep the pressure on.


    A normal letter would take days to reach the front lines, if it reached Father at all. The battles had made communication channels unreliable - messengers were being intercepted, supply lines disrupted. Even if the letter made it through, how long would it take Father to secure permission to leave his post? The bureaucracy alone could take weeks.


    No, he needed something faster. Something immediate. Something that would cut through all the red tape and get Father moving right away.


    His hand brushed against his pocket as he sat up straight.


    Oh.


    The whistle!


    A solution so obvious he''d nearly missed it, hidden right there in plain sight all along.


    Finding an empty classroom wasn''t difficult at this hour. Adom slipped inside, his footsteps echoing in the silence.


    He settled into a chair near the back, the wood creaking softly under his weight. For a moment, he just sat there, letting the quiet settle around him like a familiar blanket. Then, reaching into his inventory, he withdrew the small wooden whistle.


    Adom turned it over in his hands, examining every nick and scratch. Then, bringing it to his lips, he took a deep breath and blew.


    Nothing. No sound emerged.


    Frowning, he channeled mana into the whistle, watching as the barely visible runes etched into its surface flickered faintly in response. He knew the enchantment was still there - it had only been weeks since his last encounter with Bob, and magical items like this didn''t just stop working.


    He tried again, this time maintaining a steady flow of mana as he blew. Still nothing. Not even a whisper of sound.


    ...Okay. Third time''s the charm, he thought, gathering his mana once more. But before the whistle could touch his lips, a familiar voice cut through the silence, thick with an accent and more than a little irritation:


    "You better not blow it again, lad."


    Adom''s lips curved into a smile.


    "Hello, Bob."


    *****


    At the same moment, in the dregs...


    The market crawled with vermin pretending to be people. Helios could smell their fear, hear their hearts racing whenever he passed. Like mice spotting a cat. They''d glance his way, then quickly look down, suddenly fascinated by their shoes or the grimy cobblestones.


    Their whispers followed him like insects.


    "Don''t look, don''t look."


    "Is that...?"


    "Shh!"


    He wanted to tear their tongues out. The hood of his cloak felt like it was strangling him, but he couldn''t show his face. Not after what happened last week. Or the week before that. Or the one before that.


    The bodies were probably still floating in the river.


    A child started crying as he passed. The mother quickly hushed it, hurrying away. Smart woman. Helios'' fingers twitched. His fangs ached.


    Then he heard it.


    "That''s him! Helios, the vampire from the children."


    His ear twitched. Three men, near the tanner''s stall. About forty paces behind him.


    "The one who got his ass handed to him by that kid mage?"


    Laughter. Low, trying to be quiet. As if that mattered.


    "Yeah, heard he went full naked too. Got himself kebab''d by the Silver Circlers..."


    More laughter.


    Helios stopped walking.


    The market went silent. Even the rats in the walls held their breath.


    "Oh shit, did he-"


    Helios moved. One moment he was standing in the middle of the street, the next he had the loudmouth by the throat, slamming him against the nearest wall.


    "Are you actually stupid?" Helios growled, punctuating each word with another slam. The man''s head left wet marks on the stone. "Did you think I couldn''t hear you?" Slam. "Did you think these ears were just for show?" Slam. "Did you think vampires have selective hearing?!"


    The man tried to speak. Probably to beg. Blood was running down his face, getting in his mouth.


    "Because that would be really fucking convenient, wouldn''t it?" Slam. "To only hear what we want to hear?" Slam. "To not have to listen to every single" - slam - "stupid" - slam - "worthless" - slam - "WORD!"


    The final impact did it. The man''s head came apart like rotten fruit, painting the wall red. The body slumped, twitching.


    Helios turned to the other two men. They were frozen, faces pale as milk.


    "Anyone else want to share some funny stories?"


    They ran. Smart choice.


    Helios looked down at his hands, now covered in blood and... other things. Great. Another cloak ruined. Another market he couldn''t come back to.


    And they were still whispering. Always whispering.


    All of this was because of that fucking little mage. He''d humiliated him. Made him look weak in front of every single bastard present that day.


    "Sir."


    A grunt from behind him. Helios turned around, blood still dripping from his fingers. "What?"


    The messenger - some low-level grunt in cheap clothes - kept glancing at the twitching body, throat working like he was trying not to vomit. "Mr. Fox... he wants to see you."


    "Fine." Helios wiped his hands on his ruined cloak. The messenger was still staring at the corpse, face green. "Oh, stop looking like you''ve never seen a dead body before. Clean this up." He kicked the corpse. "And don''t worry about drinking it. I''m tired of human blood today."


    The messenger nodded frantically, probably grateful to still have his head attached.


    Helios walked away, boots leaving red prints that quickly faded to brown. His mind wandered to that little brat, that insufferable child. He imagined catching him alone, somewhere quiet. No witnesses. No rescue this time.


    He''d take his time. Make the boy understand true fear, not that cocky bravado he''d shown before. He''d watch those eyes widen as realization set in - no escape, no help coming. Then he''d feed. Slowly. Savor every drop, every scream.


    The fantasy carried him through the winding streets until he reached Fox''s building. The guards straightened when they saw him, trying to hide their trembling. Smart boys.


    "Evening, sir."


    "Mr. Helios."


    He ignored them, climbing the stairs to Fox''s office. The wood creaked under his feet, complaining about his weight. Everything in this dump was cheap, falling apart. Fox could afford better, but he liked to keep up appearances.


    Helios didn''t bother knocking. He pushed the door open - and stopped.


    Fox was there, sitting behind his desk like always. But next to him stood Gale, that pompous bastard, looking as smug as ever.


    "You called, sir?" Helios kept his voice neutral, but his fangs ached. Two people he wanted to kill, in one convenient location. Shame he couldn''t. Yet.


    "Ah, Helios." Fox gestured to the chair. "Sit."


    Helios glanced at Gale, who smiled and gave him a little wave. Pretentious prick in his thousand-gold coin armor.


    "Whatever you just thought about me," Gale said casually, "right back at you."


    Helios'' smile was all teeth. No warmth.


    "Calm down, both of you," Fox said, standing up and reaching for his coat. "This isn''t helping."


    "What''s going on?" Helios asked, not sitting.


    "You''re being reckless. Killing everyone who looks at you funny isn''t exactly keeping a low profile."


    "They disrespected me."


    Gale chuckled. Helios turned towards him, but Fox cut in before things could escalate.


    "We''re fighting on too many fronts already. The last thing we need is you leaving bodies all over the city because someone whispered about you." Fox straightened his collar. "Take a break. Cool off."


    "That''s it? That''s why you called me here?"


    "Mainly." Fox adjusted his cuffs. "Also, stay ready. We''re need to finding the one who destroyed our cargo. Lost a fortune in crystals that night."


    Helios turned to Gale. "You were there, weren''t you? How''d that bastard get away from you?"


    "Magic," Gale said, examining his nails.


    "But how?"


    "Am I talking to a magician?"


    "No."


    "Then why ask me to explain magic?" Gale''s smile was infuriating. "Would you understand if I did?"


    Helios opened his mouth to respond, but footsteps in the hallway made them all turn. Someone was coming.


    A knock at the door. Fox''s ears perked up - his actual fox beastkin ears, because apparently this idiot thought being subtle meant using your species as a code name. Who does that? Helios had hated him for it since day one. Just one more reason to want to tear his throat out.


    "He says he wants to talk to you, sir," came a voice from outside.


    "Enter," Fox called. "And who might you be?"


    A man stumbled in, practically reeking of fear. Helios could hear his heart hammering, smell the sweat beading on his forehead.


    Pathetic.


    "D-Devon, sir. I''m so sorry to come this late, I know it''s terribly inconvenient, and I wouldn''t dare impose if it wasn''t important, but I thought you should know-"


    "I have places to be," Fox cut in. "Stop wasting my time."


    Devon''s eyes darted to Gale, who smiled and wiggled his fingers. "Hello there."


    The man actually squeaked. Like a mouse. Helios'' fangs itched - he hated weak people, hated how they cowered and stammered and-


    "If you don''t start talking," Helios growled, "I''m going to tear you apart. Slowly."


    Devon was trying to steady himself, but his heart was still going crazy. Helios just wanted to rip it out, watch it beat its last in his palm.


    "I-I''m one of the men you put a bounty on," Devon managed.


    Oh?


    Helios laughed, crossing the room in a blur. His hand wrapped around Devon''s throat. "Is that so? Which group are you from? Silver Circle? The Klan?" He squeezed slightly. "Not that it matters, but I''d like to know who''s about to lose a member-"


    His arm stopped mid-motion. Just... stopped. Like hitting a wall of steel.


    Helios looked up. Gale had his hand wrapped around Helios'' wrist, that infuriating smile still on his face. Helios tried to pull free. Nothing. Not even a twitch. How the fuck was this bastard so strong?


    "Now, now," Gale said, casual as discussing the weather. "It''s not very smart to kill someone before they tell us why they''re here, is it?"


    "Let. Go."


    "Sure thing." Gale released him. "Have a chocolate or something. Chill out."


    Devon was frozen in place, so terrified he''d actually pissed himself. The smell hit Helios'' nose, making him tsking in disgust.


    "P-please," Devon sobbed, tears running down his face. "Don''t kill me. I-I''m one of Cisco''s men."


    "Cisco?" Fox''s ears perked up again. "Well, well, well."


    Helios'' attention snapped back to Devon. Now this was interesting.


    "Oh, did Marco send you?" Gale asked, lounging against Fox''s desk.


    Devon nodded frantically.


    "Marco?" Helios turned to Gale. "That piece of shit?"


    "What?" Gale spread his hands, grinning. "Being feared is useless if you can''t leverage it properly."


    He pushed off the desk, walking in a circle around Devon like he was giving a lecture. "See, while you were out there turning everything that moved into paste, some of us were actually working. Little Marco figured out they''d get caught eventually." He stopped, gesturing at Devon. "So he came to me with a deal - he''d give us the mage who started all this mess, in exchange for their lives." His smile widened. "Work smarter, not bloodier."


    Fucking arrogant piece of shit showboating cocksucker-


    "Right back at ya, sunshine," Gale sang.


    Fox watched them both, ears twitching in annoyance. He cleared his throat. "If we could focus on the matter at hand?"


    "Marco''s setting up a meeting with the mage," Devon stammered.


    "Wonderful," Gale purred.


    Fox nodded. "Good, good."


    Helios grabbed Devon by the collar, yanking him close. "The mage? Which mage?"


    "L-Law," Devon squeaked.


    Helios froze. Then laughed, the sound sharp and wild. "Law? That''s his name? Law?" His grin stretched wider. Finally. A fucking lead.


    "Where? When?"


    "Marco s-said they''re deciding soon! The mage placed an order with Cisco. He''ll come collect it when it arrives-"


    "Wait." Helios shook him. "Are we talking about the little mage? From that day?"


    Devon hesitated.


    "Yes," he whispered.


    "LOUDER!"


    "Yes!"


    "Law," Helios savored the name. "Law, Law, Law."


    Gale''s hand appeared on his shoulder, forcing him to release Devon. "Thank you so much. Tell Marco we''ll be in touch."


    "Th-thank you," Devon practically ran out the door.


    Fox wrinkled his nose. "It reeks of piss in here now."


    Helios didn''t care. He couldn''t stop grinning. Best news he''d had in weeks. That little bastard had a name now. Law. He could taste it already-


    "Ugh. Freak," Gale muttered.


    Helios'' joy curdled. One of these days, he was going to find a way to kill that smug bastard. One of these days.


    "That''s one problem dealt with," Fox said, straightening his coat. "Now we just need to find whoever destroyed our cargo. The boss came all the way to Arkhos just for this mess."


    "You know," Gale tapped his chin, "I have a feeling our mage friend and our cargo problem might be connected."


    "Don''t know, don''t care. That''s your job to figure out." Fox turned to Helios, his expression hardening. "And you - don''t move until you get orders. I''ve got enough problems with the boss already."


    He headed for the door, pausing. "I''m counting on you, Gale. And Helios?" He stressed each word. "Don''t. Act. Rashly."


    "Say hi to His Highness the Prince for me!" Gale called after Fox''s retreating back.


    The door clicked shut, leaving behind only the lingering smell of fear and urine.

 Chapter 33. The Greater Good

    Adom smiled as Bob materialized in the empty classroom. The old leprechaun''s white beard was neatly trimmed now, his new emerald coat adorned with golden threads that caught the lamplight. Even his boots gleamed, polished to mirror shine.


    "You clean up nice, Bob. Business must be good."


    "Aye, and you''ve put on some proper muscle since I last saw you." Bob circled him once, nodding in approval. "About time too. You were skinny as a twig."


    "Wait, really?" Adom flexed his arm, squinting at it. "You can tell?"


    "Course I can tell. Who do you think I am?" Bob snorted, reaching up to pat Adom''s head. "Still got that smart head on your shoulders though. Good lad."


    "These boots are incredible," Adom said, gesturing at Bob''s footwear. "Drake leather?"


    Bob''s chest puffed up. "Finest craftsmanship north of the Silver Mountains. Tell you what - I''ll make you a pair once you grow into them proper." He eyed Adom''s current shoes with clear disapproval. "Can''t have you running around in those shabby things."


    "They''re not that bad-"


    "They''re an insult to me professional pride is what they are." Bob shook his head, then looked up at Adom with narrowed eyes. "Now, what sort of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?"


    Adom told Bob everything.


    Well... almost everything.


    He started with his first time in the undertow - the pickpocket who became an ally, the vampire who nearly killed him, the fight that followed. Bob''s eyebrows climbed higher with each detail, his fingers drumming against his knee as he perched on a nearby desk.


    The story spilled out faster after that. The Children of the Moon''s shipment, the explosion, the way the criminal underground erupted into chaos. Bob''s drumming fingers went still when Adom described the aftermath - how the Children had responded by hiring someone who could go toe-to-toe with Star Knights.


    Throughout the telling, Bob''s face shifted between emotions like clouds across the sun. He scowled at the mention of the vampire, nodded grimly at the description of the fight, and actually grinned when Adom detailed how he''d blown up the shipment. But that grin vanished when Adom explained about Gale, replaced by something harder.


    When Adom finally finished, silence filled the classroom. Bob stared at the floor for a long moment, then looked up at Adom.


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    "Bloody fucking hell," he spat, then switched to his own tongue. Adom didn''t understand the words, but the venom in Bob''s voice made it clear they weren''t blessings.


    Bob sighed, running a hand through his beard. "A Star Knight''s no joke, lad. Then again, you did take down a sphinx."


    "The sphinx underestimated me," Adom said. "This one won''t make the same mistake."


    "Smart one." Bob nodded, then straightened. "So, you want me to take a message to your father?"


    Adom pulled out the sealed letter. "If possible. At the Twin Peaks."


    "The Twin Peaks? Border of the Empire?" Bob scratched his chin. "No problem. I''ll be there by tomorrow morning. Give it to Commander... Sylla, was it? Tall fellow, blue eyes like yours, got that scar running across his right eye?"


    "That''s him."


    "Aye." Bob tucked the letter into his coat. "I''ll head out now, get there faster." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a four-leafed clover, holding it out to Adom. "Here. Enchanted for luck."


    Adom stared at the clover. As a mage, he found the concept of luck magic rather absurd - probability was a mathematical constant, not something you could bend with a plant, enchanted or otherwise. Even accounting for magical theory, ''luck'' was too vague a concept to properly channel energy through.


    Still, he took the clover from Bob''s hand. The old leprechaun had saved his life too many times to refuse such a gift, dubious magical theory aside.


    <section>


    "I''ll try not to," Adom replied. "And... thanks, Bob. For everything."


    Again.. There was that bells chiming underwater sound, a shimmer of green and gold, and Bob was gone just like before, leaving nothing but the scent of clover in the classroom.


    </section>


    Adom sighed as the scent of clover faded, his heart beating a little faster at the thought of seeing his father again.


    He''d imagined their reunion differently - around a dinner table perhaps, sharing a meal and stories, his father''s rare laugh filling their home. Instead, he was sending a warning about a Star Knight. Time wasn''t on his side with someone like Gale involved, and he couldn''t risk telling everyone directly.


    Speaking of which...


    He reached into his inventory and pulled out the golem. The construct stood silently beside his desk as he sat down, closing his eyes. He visualized Headmaster Merris''s office - the heavy oak door, the worn stone walls, the ever-present stack of papers threatening to avalanche off his desk.


    The talisman felt cool against his skin as he slipped it on. His consciousness shifted, that familiar disorienting lurch as-


    Blip.


    The golem materialized in the corridor outside Merris''s office. Empty. Good.


    Blip.


    The next jump landed him - well, the golem - right into one of Merris''s paper towers. Documents scattered everywhere like startled pigeons.


    "Shit, sorry, sorry, sorry," Adom muttered from his classroom chair, making the golem scramble to gather the fallen papers. The metal and stone made hands weren''t exactly made for delicate paper-sorting. After three attempts to create a neat stack, he settled for "mostly not on the floor" and placed the envelope prominently on the center of the desk. Merris couldn''t miss it unless he was actively trying to.


    Blip.


    Back in his body, Adom rubbed his temples. The motion sickness from jumping with the golem was getting better - he no longer felt like his stomach was trying to escape through his nose - but it still wasn''t pleasant. Like reading a book in a carriage on a bumpy road. He''d take regular teleportation over golem-jumping any day.


    Next up, Professor Kim.


    Adom handed the remaining envelope to the golem and focused on the professor''s laboratory. The familiar walls, the perpetual smell of burning something, the countless experiments laid out on every available surface...


    Blip.


    "WAUGH-" Adom''s cry cut off as the golem materialized a foot off the ground, gravity doing what gravity does best. The construct crashed down onto its metallic behind, right into a desk covered in what looked like very delicate glassware.


    The resulting chaos sounded expensive.


    "MERCIFUL HEAVENS! BANDITS! HOOLIGANS! SCIENTIFIC SABOTEURS!" Professor Kim''s voice hit a pitch usually reserved for opera. A fireball whooshed past the golem''s head, singing the wall behind it.


    From his classroom, Adom winced. "Professor, wait-"


    Another fireball caught the golem square in the face. The construct stumbled backward, knocking over what appeared to be a very intricate system of tubes and beakers. Liquid of various colors began mixing in ways that probably weren''t meant to mix.


    "MISCREANT! VANDAL! DESTROYER OF CAREFULLY CALIBRATED EQUIPMENT!" Kim was backing away, hurling both fireballs and increasingly creative insults. His robes were askew, his glasses crooked on his nose. "BACK, YOU METALLIC DEMON!"


    "Professor, stop!" he called uselessly from his classroom chair, forgetting in his panic that the golem couldn''t speak. He made the construct raise its hands in surrender and point to where its mouth would be, trying to mime that it meant no harm.


    This only seemed to terrify Kim more. "IT''S MAKING ARCANE GESTURES! HEAVENS PRESERVE US!"


    What was this man doing here at this time anyway?


    The golem slowly lowered itself to one knee, deliberately moving to pick up a fallen beaker. It carefully placed the glassware back on a nearby table.


    Professor Kim''s next fireball faltered slightly. "What in the..."


    The construct continued methodically cleaning, stacking papers that had scattered, righting an overturned chair. Each movement was precise, careful, almost apologetic.


    "You''re... not here to destroy my life''s work?" Kim''s grip on his spell remained firm, but his voice had dropped from panic to cautious curiosity.


    The golem shook its head, the metal joints in its neck moving with surprising fluidity.


    "Fascinating." Kim took a tentative step forward, squinting through his crooked glasses. "The articulation in those joints... and is that enchanted metal in the core structure? The craftsmanship is remarkable." Another step. "There''s someone controlling you, isn''t there? This isn''t autonomous behavior."


    The golem nodded.


    "Extraordinary. The control mechanism must be..." Kim was fully in academic mode now, though the fireball still flickered in his palm. "The response time is nearly instantaneous. How did you even get in here? The wards should have-"


    The golem raised a single finger in a ''wait'' gesture, reaching slowly into a compartment in its chest. Kim tensed, but his academic curiosity seemed to be winning over his fear.


    The construct withdrew the envelope with deliberate care.


    "For... me?" Kim''s eyebrows rose as the golem nodded. "Well. You could have knocked, you know. Instead of..." He gestured at the still-considerable mess with his free hand. "Though I suppose this is more dramatic. And infinitely more interesting from an arcane engineering perspective."


    The golem extended its arm, envelope held carefully between stone fingers. Kim darted forward like a sparrow snatching bread, backing away just as quickly.


    "What is this? What game are you playing?" The fireball in his palm pulsed brighter. "Don''t move. Not a single joint, or I''ll melt you down to scrap."


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    The golem nodded slowly, standing perfectly still.


    In his classroom, Adom''s fingers drummed nervously on his desk. He''d originally planned to deliver this himself, but... what if Kim panicked and gave names to those people? No. Better to watch the professor''s reaction from afar, through the golem''s eyes.


    Kim tore open the envelope with his free hand, adjusting his glasses with a knuckle. His eyes darted across the first lines, then stopped. Started again. The color drained from his face like water from a broken vessel.


    He looked up at the golem, mouth working silently for a moment. "This... this can''t be true?"


    The construct nodded once.


    Kim''s eyes dropped back to the paper. The fireball in his palm flickered, forgotten, as he continued reading. His legs seemed to give out halfway through, and he groped blindly behind him for his chair, missing twice before finally finding it.


    "Stars above," he whispered. "Stars and void above..."


    The paper crumpled in Kim''s shaking hands. His eyes darted across the lines again and again, as if hoping the words would rearrange themselves into something less devastating.


    "No." It came out as a whisper. Then louder: "No. These are LIES!" He surged to his feet, the forgotten fireball flaring dangerously bright. "Twenty-three years! Twenty-three years of research, of breakthroughs, of... of..." His voice cracked. "Do you have ANY idea what this project means? The lives it could change?!"


    The golem stood silent, immobile.


    "This is... this is SLANDER! FABRICATION! MALICIOUS LUNACY!" Kim''s free hand slashed through the air, the paper crinkling further in his grip. But his eyes kept returning to certain lines, certain names, certain documented transactions that explained too much. Cisco had done an excellent job at tracking all of this.


    The professor''s shoulders slumped, then straightened again in denial.


    In his classroom, Adom''s knuckles were white on his desk edge. He could see it in Kim''s face - the desperate need to reject what he was reading warring with his methodical researcher''s mind connecting dots he''d never wanted to see.


    "I won''t believe it. I CAN''T believe it. Not from some... some animated STATUE that crashes into my laboratory in the dead of night!" Kim''s voice rose again, but the tremor in it betrayed him. "These people... they''ve funded hospitals. Orphanages. They''ve..." He trailed off, the paper shaking harder. "Under my nose. All this time. Using my work to... to..."


    He collapsed back into his chair, the fireball finally guttering out. "Everything I''ve done. Everything I was going to... Oh stars. Oh void. The implications..." His head dropped into his hands, the paper falling to the floor. "If I stop now... if I... twenty-three years. My life''s work. But if they... if they''re really..."


    Silence.


    A broken sound escaped him, something between a laugh and a sob. "A good man''s work in evil hands is still evil, isn''t it? Even if... even if he didn''t know. Even if he didn''t want to know."


    The golem stood motionless as Kim wrestled with his thoughts, the only sound in the laboratory being his ragged breathing and the occasional clink of disturbed glassware settling.


    Finally, he looked up, eyes red-rimmed behind his glasses. "These documents... the connections they show..." He swallowed hard. "Even if half of this is true, I need to stop. At least until..." His hands clenched. "The Empire needs to know. The Academy board. Someone has to investigate this properly."


    The golem moved suddenly, making Kim flinch. But it only reached for a piece of chalk on the nearest desk. Its fingers wrote in precise strokes:


    HEADMASTER MERRIS HAS BEEN INFORMED.


    Kim stared at the words. "Merris knows? When did he..." He trailed off, then his eyes narrowed. "Who are you? Really? How do you know all of this?"


    More chalk scratches: WHO I AM DOESN''T MATTER. THE EVIDENCE DOES.


    "Evidence that appeared out of nowhere, delivered by a golem that broke into my lab in the middle of the night," Kim said, but his voice lacked conviction. His eyes kept drifting to his prototype. "If you''re right about any of this... if they''re really using my work for..."


    The golem wrote: DESTROY THE PROTOTYPE. GO TO MERRIS. THE EMPIRE NEEDS TO KNOW EVERYTHING.


    Kim stared at the prototype - his life''s work, countless breakthroughs, years of dedication. "Destroy it? But..." He ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe we could secure it somewhere. In a vault, or..."


    THEY HAVE PEOPLE EVERYWHERE, the golem wrote. NOT WORTH THE RISK.


    "Twenty-three years," Kim whispered. He looked sick. "All those advancements, the possibilities..." His voice hardened. "But if they''re using it for... No. You''re right."


    Kim''s breath hitched. Silence stretched for what felt like hours before he whispered, "Take it." His voice broke. "D-do it. I... I can''t. I can''t do it myself. Twenty-three years and I... just do it. Please."


    The golem moved forward with measured steps, carefully lifting the prototype. It turned back to Kim, who couldn''t meet its gaze, his head bowed as if the weight of his decision was physically pressing him down.


    Through the golem, Adom stared at the device, turning it slowly in his fingers. Such a small thing, to have caused so much death in his timeline. Would cause. Should have caused.


    The original intelligence had been wrong. He''d thought it was simple - murderers stealing research from Kim''s corpse, fumbling their way to apocalypse. But this? Quite possibly foreign money. Criminal organizations. A web of corruption spreading through multiple empires. It made things more complicated, but also made more sense. The weapon''s rapid deployment in his timeline hadn''t been luck. They''d been ready. Waiting.


    At least now Kim wouldn''t develop it. That would buy time. Months, maybe years before they found someone else who could piece it together. Time enough to get to the Crown Prince, currently visiting Arkhos. Time to show him the same documents that had broken Kim''s resolve. Time to start dismantling the networks that had nearly ended the world.


    Mr. Fox would need dealing with. Gale too. The whole rotten structure needed to face Imperial justice, not just disappear into shadows to try again.


    Adom began methodically dismantling the prototype on Kim''s workbench. One fire put out. Bigger ones still burning. But for the first time since he''d returned, he could see a path forward that didn''t end in ashes.


    The professor stood with his back turned, but his shoulders twitched at every snap of metal, every crack of crystal components being separated.


    "Forgive me," Adom whispered from his classroom, though Kim couldn''t hear him.


    Crystalline matrices were crushed to powder. Delicate enchantment lattices unwoven thread by thread. Retention coils snapped. Each piece of Kim''s life''s work coming apart.


    The professor''s hands were white-knuckled on the edge of a nearby table. His breathing was uneven, but he didn''t look. Not once. Though his trembling got worse when the distinctive sound of the primary core being crushed filled the silent lab.


    "Safer this way," Kim mumbled, almost to himself. "Safer. Had to be done. Had to..."


    When the last piece lay in ruins, the golem picked up the chalk again:


    GO TO MERRIS TONIGHT. THESE PEOPLE ARE POWERFUL. YOU NEED PROTECTION.


    Kim let out a shaky breath. "No. I... I know someone better." He straightened slightly. "Prince Kalyon is in the city. He''s been a friend for years. He''ll..." A weak smile. "He''ll listen. He has to listen."


    The golem nodded slowly, then wrote: BE CAREFUL. TRUST NO ONE ELSE.


    "My life," Kim whispered again, finally turning to look at the scattered remains of his work. "But better this than..." He couldn''t finish.


    Blip.


    The golem materialized in front of Adom''s desk. This should have felt triumphant. He''d succeeded - shown a good man the truth, prevented something terrible. And yet...


    Adom felt a deep ache in his chest.


    As a researcher himself, he understood. The countless nights of work, the breakthroughs, the setbacks, the moments of inspiration - all of it sacrificed in an instant of painful clarity.


    One problem partially handled - though ''handled'' felt like too clean a word for what had just happened.


    These people wouldn''t simply accept their investment vanishing into thin air. They''d come for Kim, and soon. He needed a way to make them back off, something that would keep the professor safe. Another problem to solve, another fire to put out.


    But this one... significantly less apocalyptic.


    He glanced at the timepiece hovering in the corner of his vision: [1 month, 19 days, 23 hours, 45 minutes]


    The numbers pulsed gently as a constant reminder of the other crisis looming over him. The Dragon''s Breath situation might be partially defused, but the cure... that couldn''t wait. Not with that clock ticking down.


    Time to shift focus. Though the weight of Kim''s sacrifice made it hard to simply move on to the next task, the merciless march of those numbers demanded his attention.


    *****


    Morning.


    Adom sat cross-legged in classroom 3B, early morning sun hitting the glass vials arranged around him. It smelled of chalk dust and old wood and milk that turned bad weeks ago.


    ...Maybe months ago.


    Failed alchemical arrays covered the floor, their runic patterns half-erased but still visible in the dusty stone.


    "For God''s sake" Adom muttered as he adjusted his glasses, activating Riddler''s Bane as he studied the open grimoire. The hidden notes shimmered into view - cramped handwriting filling the margins with observations and corrections.


    "Water, fat, protein," he muttered, checking the mixture in the nearest vial. "Simple components, complex arrangement."


    His first attempt went exactly as expected - the liquid turned an unpleasant shade of yellow and started smoking. The second wasn''t much better, though at least nothing curdled this time.


    By the fifth try, he was beginning to see the pattern. Through Riddler''s Bane, he could track how the components moved and interacted. The fat molecules didn''t just need to be distributed - they needed to form specific structures. The proteins had to fold in particular ways.


    "It''s not about forcing the change," he realized, watching another failed attempt swirl in its vial. "It''s about... guiding it."


    The next hour passed in a blur of attempts and adjustments. Each failure taught him something new. Too much fire destabilized the proteins. Too little left the fat improperly distributed. The balance had to be perfect.


    On his twelfth try, something clicked. He could see exactly where he''d been going wrong. It wasn''t about power at all - it was about precision. Understanding. Working with the substance''s nature rather than against it.


    He drew the circle again, more carefully this time. Five smaller circles around the edge, each with its rune precisely placed. The vial of water-fat-protein mixture went in the center.


    This time, when he activated the circles, everything flowed naturally. Fire separated the components without breaking them. Water maintained the right consistency. Air distributed everything evenly. Earth stabilized the new structures. Mana bound it all together.


    The liquid turned white, then thickened slightly. No smoke. No odd smells. Just... milk.


    Adom picked up the vial, holding it to the light. Perfect consistency. He uncorked it and took a cautious sniff. Then a small sip.


    It tasted like milk. Actual, proper milk.


    He set the vial down among its failed predecessors, a small smile tugging at his lips. One tiny step closer to understanding the principles he''d need for the cure.


    The clock in his vision pulsed: [1 month, 19 days, 11 hours, 32 minutes]


    Time to clean up and get to his next class. But first, he carefully copied the successful circle configuration into his notebook. He had a feeling he''d need it again soon.


    Adom trudged through the academy grounds, mind heavy with yesterday''s mess.


    By now, Bob should be halfway to his father''s position. Adom checked his timepiece - if the leprechaun kept the pace he promised, he''d arrive soon enough. Just had to trust he''d make it in time.


    Then there was the Professor''s disappearance.


    Hugo had caught Adom at dawn, outside the club. The young man''s usual smirk was gone, replaced by genuine concern. "He''s not in his lab," Hugo had said, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Always there when I check in the morning. Always. But today? Nothing. No notes, no signs of work, just... empty."


    Adom rubbed his temples. The Professor wouldn''t just vanish, not with everything at stake. Not when they were so close to-


    A scream ripped through the morning air.


    Then another.


    Students were rushing toward the eastern gate, a crowd forming faster than morning dew. Adom felt his stomach drop. Something was wrong. Very wrong.


    "Holy shit!" Someone yelled from ahead.


    "Don''t get closer-"


    "Is that blood?"


    "Someone call a professor!"


    Adom shoved his way through the growing mass of bodies, dread building with each step.


    Through the wall of uniforms and morning robes, he caught a glimpse of someone crouched at the gates. His heart stopped. Gus. The usually cheerful second-year was hunched over something, his shoulders shaking. Blood stained his academy robe.


    "Gus?" Adom pushed forward, but a hand grabbed his shoulder.


    "Stay back!" Crowley''s voice cut through the chaos. The professor strode through the parting crowd. "Everyone back to your classes. Now!"


    Nobody moved.


    "I said NOW!" Crowley''s mana crackled around him, making the air heavy. That got them moving.


    Then Crowley saw who was at the gate. "Mr. Howl?"


    Gus looked up, face streaked with tears and dirt, lips trembling as he tried to form words. His hands shook as they cradled Gizmo''s body, fingers running over and over the salamander''s dulled scales like he could somehow bring back their shine.


    "Giz... Gizmo..." His voice cracked. Fresh tears spilled down his cheeks as he hugged the familiar closer, rocking slightly. "He was just... he was just trying to..."


    "Easy, son." Crowley knelt beside him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Take your time. What happened exactly?"


    "We... we were coming out of the guild." Gus drew several shaky breaths, trying to steady himself. "Late night research. Gizmo was... was playing with the light crystals like always..." A sob caught in his throat. "Four men. Didn''t see their faces. Dark robes, with masks. They surrounded us and started asking about some student. A Law. Said they needed to find him."


    Murmurs rippled through the remaining students. Adom''s heart pounded against his ribs. Law. The name he''d given when he first introduced himself to Cisco.


    "I told them I didn''t know any Law," Gus continued, his words coming faster now, more desperate. "Said there were hundreds of students here. They got angry. Started shouting. Said they knew he was here. When I couldn''t... when I wouldn''t..." He clutched Gizmo closer, his whole body trembling. "They were Fluid users. Gizmo sensed them getting angry first. He always knew... always protected me... he tried... breathed fire at them, but they just... they just..."


    His voice dissolved into broken sobs, burying his face against Gizmo''s cold scales. The familiar that had been his constant companion for three years, that small warm presence that would curl around his neck during lectures, now lay lifeless in his arms.


    "Professor," one of the teachers stepped forward. "Should we alert-"


    "Get a raven and inform the headmaster." Crowley''s eyes never left Gus. "Now."


    Adom watched as Crowley helped Gus up, the boy still cradling his dead familiar. The morning sun caught the tears on Gus''s face, the blood on his hands, the terrible stillness of what had been, just yesterday, a mischievous little salamander that would warm up students'' hands and leave scorch marks on classroom ceilings.


    They were looking for him. And they were willing to kill to find him.