Build a bridge the day you use it, and you may survive the crossing.
Build a bridge and return tomorrow, and your bridge will die with you.
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Time travel was an imprecise art. Jair had gone back more times than he could properly recall and still he had only the most general level of control over his destination.
Temporal Reversion felt something like falling down a cliff. At any moment you could reach out and snatch at a handhold; some would crumble and you’d fall to the next, others remained sturdy. Then there were a few solid shelves that you’d land on every time unless you shoved yourself away from them.
Jair knew the metaphorical shape of his timeline intimately. His recent past held several shelves and countless handholds, but this time he didn’t reach out to grasp any of them.
He fell past the second portal incursion with a feeling of intense relief at no longer being trapped in its shadow, shoved himself back from the sorcerer-king’s final stand at Meliarn, and dropped past years of training with Aethron. He bypassed a dozen battles, the first incursion, meeting Celanie, the expeditions north.
Letting himself continue to fall felt oddly freeing, like shedding decades of weight. He hadn’t gone this far back in relative centuries. For so long he’d been rerunning each section in sequence, trying to optimize each week, each month, each year, all in service of changing the things he’d never been able to before.
Now he fell past things he’d long ago forgotten: the plague, the assassination, the kidnapped princess.
He passed things he could never forget: his parents’ murder, his sister’s disappearance, his best friend’s death.
And then he landed, hard and immutable, at the very bottom: the moment he received his class and unlocked his soulspell. This was the hard stop, the point where it all began.
Jair once again stood in a world frozen still.
Bright sunlight shone down through the Astralla Institute central amphitheatre’s crystal dome far above. Around the advancement stage exotic vines and rare flowers grew in proliferation, vivid contrast to the dusty browns outside, protected from the harsh desert heat and tended by a constant rotation of groundskeepers and advanced students.
As far as Jair could tell, the display served no purpose but to flaunt the Institute’s wealth and power.
He stood on the same initiation platform where he’d first received the Mageblade class all those years ago, one hand reaching out to touch the hilt of his sword - the same sword he’d just finished ascending.
Last time he'd stood here, he'd been a very different person.
The initiation took place roughly halfway through the six-year training cycle for mageblade specialists, once you met the class prerequisites: full mana saturation, no spell imprints, and the ability to create and utilize a soulspace. Sometimes as soon as a year and a half, or as late as four. (If you didn't meet the prerequisites after four years, then you weren't ever going to.) As a third-year advancee, Jair would be considered entirely average.
Directly in front of him, Headmaster Larenok held the soulsword in one jewel-gloved hand, extended toward the ‘new’ mageblade-initiate Jair.
Years of scowling left the man’s face permanently etched with an expression of disdain that his short beard did nothing to soften, and he was as corrupt and greedy a bastard as anyone Jair had ever met. He wore the usual flowing white layered robes of the Institute, sleeveless to show off his six imprinted spells tracing up and around his arms.
Seeing Larenok again brought back memories he’d long cast aside. The headmaster’s casual belittlement and snide asides, constant reminders that Jair was an inherently lesser being who didn’t deserve to breathe the academy’s air.
Scholarship student.
As if hard work could ever make up for not being born to wealthy parents.
The headmaster’s disdainful attitude alone was bad enough, but it also spilled over into most of the teachers and a good chunk of the student body. Jair’s early loops at the academy had not been pleasant. Even in later loops, once he learned how to mitigate the worst of it, he had no happy memories after this initiation.
If not for one very important thing, he’d gladly have never set foot in this place again.
He instinctively tried to turn his head to search out Ran, but for as long as the world remained frozen, Jair was frozen with it.
Only one thing moved: his soulsword’s silver glow danced down Jair’s arm, flickering in eagerness to reunite with its physical form.
Sound and movement resumed the moment they touched. Silver light flared blindingly bright as the ascended spark within his soul rejoined the mundane blade from which it had been born, merging the sword's past and future together.
Headmaster Larenok’s eyebrows furrowed and he took a quick step back, his hand reflexively tilting the still-glowing sword back toward himself.
Jair moved with him, unwilling to let his newly ascended sword out of reach, his hand tightening to hold. He didn’t trust Larenok for a moment.
Ordinarily, Jair would take the sword, say some words of ritual acceptance, and go stand with the others who’d already received their class. But ordinarily, he didn’t set off a lightshow that surpassed even the headmaster’s power.
“You?” Larenok hissed, his scowl more pronounced than ever.
For a long awkward moment they simply stared at each other, neither relinquishing their hold on Jair’s soulblade as its light slowly died down.
One of the other teachers cleared her throat at the interruption to the ceremony. Headmaster Larenok gave a little start, drew himself up, and grudgingly proffered the sword's hilt toward Jair once more.
“Having received the class of Mageblade, now take your weapon and stand as one of us.” Larenok spoke in the same practiced tone he'd used for all the others, but his eyes burned with hatred, envy, and poorly-concealed greed.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Jair accepted the sword, slipping it into the ceremonial sheath at his waist, and bowed. “I gladly accept your greeting, honored master.”
He spoke the ritual response without inflection, though he could have goaded the man further. He'd once spent a great deal of time replaying this day to figure out how best to get under the headmaster’s skin. It had been a game he reveled in at the time, making his greatest foe lose his temper in front of everyone without technically breaking any rules.
But time had dulled the sharp edges of their animosity, the lingering bitterness missing its bite. Jair had been through a lot in the intervening years, and he'd faced far worse evils than one unfair taskmaster.
The man was simply no longer relevant. Jair had too many important things to do.
The moment the pompous exchange of phrases was finished, before he even reached his place among the other new advancees, Jair turned to scan the crowd. A moment’s searching and he locked eyes with his one friend and faithful companion from those early years.
Ran Serin, despite being one of those who attended due to ridiculously wealthy parents, was the kindest and most compassionate person in the entire school. He’d befriended Jair almost from the start, even though everyone else’s reactions ranged from ‘ignore the loser’ to ‘ah, a perfect target for whatever pain or humiliation we can invent today’. After the first semester he’d even bribed his way into switching roommates so he and Jair could share living quarters.
Now, Ran was smiling ear to ear, leaning forward eagerly, his untidy gold hair falling across his face, firegold eyes flitting between Jair and the contained glow of his sword. Seeing his face again stirred up long-buried grief so strongly Jair had to look away.
Familiar dread seeped into him and his stomach knotted painfully as he thought ahead to the coming week.
Unless he successfully intervened, Ran Serin had four more days to live.
Jair’s hand tightened on his sword as he walked across the platform to join the others in the year-three advancement group, a tangible reminder that things could change.
Ran, being rich and intelligent both, advanced in the year-two initiation some months prior. Ran’s first spells should be finished imprinting soon, but it wouldn’t be soon enough.
Jair had run through this scenario hundreds of times in his early days, some voluntary, many not. He’d never managed to save Ran. Eventually, when every possible avenue available to him had been explored and failed, he'd been forced to accept the outcome and move on.
But in all the countless years since, he'd never forgotten.
This time would be different. He wouldn't be helpless. He had something now he never had in the past.
His fingers twitched on his sword's hilt as he struggled with the temptation to pull it out and run an inspection on it immediately. A basic soulsword wouldn’t do much against a dragon. A reforged one could probably scratch it, but the second form wasn’t secure enough to retain across timefalls. It never survived the transition into the past, leaving him no better off. Ascended, he had high hopes.
But he wouldn’t know until he got away and examined it properly. He couldn't risk flashing his sword with so many people watching. The display on the platform was bad enough. Drawing any more attention would be unwise. Jair unconsciously rubbed at his chin as he thought, feeling the sparse fuzz that had yet to require more than occasional maintenance.
Until he fully imprinted his standard complement of spells, he’d be magically no stronger than any other academy student who’d just received their class.
More importantly, he couldn’t afford to get caught up in petty infighting. Worrying about any of this felt alien and almost unreal. The one drawback of time travel. It didn’t matter that he’d outgrown this academy with its pettiness long ago. Until he regained his full strength, he’d have to play by the rules at least enough to get what he needed.
His eyes drifted back to Ran’s. Only one thing mattered here any more.
Jair needed to think. He needed a plan. For so long the desperate hope of ascending his blade had been the sole focus of his existence, he hardly knew what to do with it now he had accomplished the impossible.
Well. Figure out how to do another impossible thing, obviously.
But first, he had to stand through two more hours of initiations, class unlocks, sword distribution, ritual greetings, and interminable speeches he could recite from memory.
He’d rather be anywhere else right now than standing in the group of transition students. Whenever he tried walking out in the past, though, it only wasted more time in the long run. Meetings with teachers, a lengthy lecture from the headmaster, extra homework and cleaning duties assigned… more trouble than it was worth.
It felt strange being back here again, after so long. Stranger still to be without even a single spell at his disposal.
His mana felt soft and fluffy, a cloud rather than rivers, permeating his body but directionless and unfocused. Any attempt to activate it only stirred the energy uselessly around inside him, no way to build up enough pressure to force it out into the world.
Jair absently began tracing his usual spell paths across the back of his hand with one finger, more from habit than anything. One day would barely leave an imprint. Even the simplest of spells took months to set in to usable condition. Much like building up physical muscle, some things could only be rushed to a point.
At least listening to the endless background sound of monotonous repetition forced him to mentally settle himself back into this time.
It was hard to stay lost in the failures of the future with waves of polite applause interrupting every few minutes.
By the time the ceremony finally reached its end, Jair had scanned and sorted every student, teacher, and relevant visitor by their present and future abilities, attitude, and value.
He met Ran’s eyes and gestured subtly with his head to indicate he’d meet him in their rooms later, receiving a look of betrayal and impatience in return. Jair rolled his eyes and gestured to the crowd in dramatic indication of his preferences, which seemed to mollify Ran at least somewhat.
They’d both rather run to the apartment immediately to assess his sword, but there were a few things to take care of that could only be done now.
Fixing a polite smile on his face, Jair moved away from the students as quickly as dignity allowed, and strode toward the parents. Only a few headed straight for their children. Most lingered in small clusters to continue gossiping, turning the graduation into something of an impromptu social event.
As much as Jair despised the nobility as a whole, he couldn’t do everything alone. It took a particular strategy to become someone they’d respect despite not being wealthy himself. He surreptitiously ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it out a bit. The air of self-confidence required no pretense. He’d lived longer than many of these people’s entire family line could boast, even if most of it was repeats of a month or two at a time.
Most of the upper nobility would have had children advancing in the first and second initiation groups, those whose training had been augmented since their youth. Those in attendance today would primarily be lower nobility. They couldn’t rely on overwhelming wealth and had to network and scheme to maintain their social status - the sort who could be convinced to take a risk on an outsider if it seemed likely to benefit them.
Jair prepared himself to play through familiar patterns, project just the right combination of ambitious and gullible, hard-working and desperate. Exactly the sort of potential pawn that would entice his targets to include him in their plans.
But this time, something about the atmosphere felt different. People turned to look at him before he reached them; conversations trailed off as eyes followed him, whispers shifting in tone. Faces that had only ever shown disdain broke into smiles.
“Hello, young man, I don’t think we’ve been introduced yet.” Matricia Eldren took the first move, stepping forward to offer her hand.
Jair struggled to keep his smile restrained to politeness as he went through the pleasantries, holding back deeper glee. Madame Eldren, though not the highest among the current group, was one of those whose attention he’d never managed to attract before, whatever he’d tried.
He’d known that having an Ascended soulblade from day one would be a major game-changer, but even his expectations had paled against reality.
All his plans may be obsolete now, but that only made him happier.
So what if it might be more dangerous being known as a prodigy? This was a chance to live something new.
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