Sleep eluded me for hours after Vance's unexpected visit. My mind raced through possibilities, each more concerning than the last. Kidnapping attempts? Secret goals? The Nexus?

I'd researched the Nexus concept before—every serious magical theory student had. According to traditional texts, it was the theoretical source point of all magical energy in Evranth—the wellspring from which the seven systems flowed before diverging into their distinct manifestations. Most scholars considered it a convenient metaphor rather than a physical place.

But Vance had spoken about it as something tangible. Something the Archmage wanted access to.

When morning finally came, I felt like I'd been trampled by a herd of crystal boars. My muscles ached from magical exhaustion, and the strange warmth beneath my skin had faded to a barely perceptible background sensation. I couldn't access it even if I wanted to—whatever had happened during the demonstration was clearly temporary.

The mirror revealed the red streaks in my eyes had faded significantly overnight. Still visible if you knew to look for them, but no longer immediately obvious. Small mercies.

A knock interrupted my preparations. Magister Elwin entered without waiting for a response, her expression uncharacteristically tense.

"New security protocols," she announced, casting a sweeping glance around my quarters. "You'll be escorted between locations from now on."

"Because of the prophecy?" I asked, testing her reaction.

"Because of politics," she corrected. "The demonstration has attracted... attention. Not all of it welcome."

So Vance wasn't exaggerating about the kidnapping risk.

"I've been thinking," I said carefully. "My studies have focused almost exclusively on theoretical applications. Given recent developments, perhaps I should expand into more practical areas."

Her eyebrow lifted slightly. "Practical areas?"

"Defensive applications," I clarified. "Combat-oriented spells. If I'm to be the focus of political interest, I should be prepared to protect myself."

Magister Elwin studied me with new consideration. "A reasonable request, though unusual for one so young." She paused, weighing her response. "The Academy curriculum typically introduces combat applications in the fourth year."

"I am in my fourth year," I reminded her, watching realization dawn on her face.

She blinked, momentarily caught off-guard. "Of course. Sometimes I forget, given your... physical development." A polite way of saying I looked like a child because I was one. "Most fourth-years are thirteen or fourteen."

I was used to it by now. The disconnect between my academic progress and physical age had been the source of endless confusion and occasionally useful underestimation since I'd started at the Academy. People would read my case file, meet me in person, and still somehow expect someone older.

"So there shouldn't be any issue with my request," I pressed, seizing the advantage while she was off-balance.

Magister Elwin's composure returned quickly. "No issue with combat theory, certainly." Her sharp eyes narrowed slightly. "Though practical application will require special consideration due to your—"

"Unique circumstances," I finished for her. Another phrase I'd grown tired of hearing.

A hint of amusement crossed her face. "Precisely. Unique circumstances indeed." She straightened her robes. "I'll arrange appropriate instruction."

As we walked to breakfast, two senior apprentices flanked us—guards disguised as academic escorts. News of my changed status had clearly spread quickly. Students and instructors alike tracked our progress through the corridors, conversations falling silent as we passed.

The Scholar's Dining Hall buzzed with speculation that silenced briefly upon my entrance. Phrases like "prophecy child" and "system manifestation" reached my ears before conversations resumed at lower volumes.

Magister Elwin directed me to a secluded table. "The Archmage will join us shortly. Until then, eat. You need to rebuild your energy reserves."

I focused on my food—mana-infused porridge that tasted like ozone and honey, crusty bread still warm from the ovens, and a strange blue fruit that hummed faintly when touched. Academy fare had improved dramatically since my relocation to the Scholar's Wing.

While I ate, my mind ran through calculations. If Vance was right, I had three days at most before someone attempted to kidnap me. The Archmage's "protection" involved keeping me under constant surveillance and control—which might prevent a kidnapping but created its own form of captivity.

I need options. Knowledge. Something beyond the Archmage's careful management.

I spotted the Archmage entering the hall, his crystal-embedded robes catching the morning light. The ambient mana in the hall shifted, currents of energy redistributing themselves around his considerable power. Conversations faltered as he crossed the chamber.

"Good morning, Initiate Thorne," he said, taking a seat across from me. "How are you feeling after yesterday's excitement?"

"Recovering, Archmage," I replied neutrally.

"Excellent." He gestured, and a servant appeared with a small crystal vial containing glowing blue liquid. "A specialty of the alchemists—mana restoration accelerant. It should expedite your recovery."

I accepted the vial but didn't immediately drink. "Thank you for your concern."

His eyes narrowed slightly at my hesitation. "You seem... cautious this morning."

"Recent events have given me much to consider," I said carefully.

"Indeed." The Archmage steepled his fingers. "Magister Elwin informs me you've requested combat training."

"Defensive applications," I corrected. "Given the attention I seem to be attracting."

"A prudent precaution." He nodded approvingly. "I've taken the liberty of arranging a special instructor. Lord Commander Darius has assigned his second-in-command, Commander Lyra, to monitor your development. She can integrate defensive training into her evaluation sessions."

My heart sank. Not only would I be learning combat magic, but I'd be doing it under the watchful eye of a Dragonkin commander. More observation, more surveillance, more control.

"When do these sessions begin?" I asked, keeping my voice steady.

"This afternoon," the Archmage replied. "In the Eastern Practice Yard—more space for physical applications." He gestured toward the untouched vial. "The accelerant will help prepare you."

Recognizing the command beneath the suggestion, I uncorked the vial and drank. The liquid burned like liquid lightning, racing through my system and igniting my depleted mana channels. For a brief, horrifying moment, I thought my heart might explode from the sudden energy influx.

Then, blessed calm. My reserves filled rapidly, the familiar network of Arcane pathways pulsing with renewed power.

"Better?" the Archmage asked, watching my reaction closely.

"Much," I admitted truthfully. The exhaustion had vanished, replaced by humming vitality.

"Good. Now, regarding your public appearances—"

"Public appearances?" I interrupted, unable to hide my dismay.

"Nothing immediate," he assured me. "But word of your demonstration has spread beyond the Academy. Noble families, magical institutions, even merchant guilds have requested audiences." His thin smile never reached his eyes. "Your position requires careful management of such requests."

My position as a political pawn, he means.

"Of course," I said, adopting the agreeable tone I'd perfected over four years of managing adults' expectations. "I defer to your wisdom in these matters."

This seemed to satisfy him. The conversation turned to scheduling—morning theoretical studies with Magister Elwin, afternoon evaluations with Commander Lyra, evening meditation to stabilize my energy. My time would be carefully structured, monitored, and controlled.

Perfect prison disguised as privilege.

"The afternoon session with Commander Lyra will be primarily observational," he continued. "She'll assess your physical condition and energy pathways before developing a specialized training regime."

I nodded agreeably while making my decision. I wouldn't be attending that session.

After breakfast, I followed Magister Elwin to a private study chamber for my theoretical lessons. Unlike previous sessions, today's focus was system interaction theory—the forbidden knowledge typically reserved for seventh-year research specialists.

"The traditional view," she explained, activating a crystalline display that showed seven distinct energy patterns, "holds that these systems are fundamentally incompatible. This belief is supported by consistent observation—practitioners who attempt to use multiple systems simultaneously suffer cascade failures in their energy pathways."

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

The display shifted to show anatomical diagrams of energy channels throughout a human body—all blue, representing standard Arcane pathways.

"In human physiology, these channels develop along neural structures from birth, becoming increasingly fixed as the practitioner ages. By adolescence, the patterns are essentially permanent."

That matches my observations of mana circulation within my own body.

"However," she continued, her voice dropping as if sharing a secret, "some theoretical models suggest this incompatibility isn't absolute, but rather a limitation of conventional development sequences."

The display shifted again, showing multiple overlapping channel systems—blue Arcane pathways intertwined with red Aura channels, though carefully separate, never touching.

"The Convergence Theory, largely dismissed by mainstream scholarship, proposes that early practitioners of magic could access multiple systems before physiological specialization became the norm."

"If that's true," I asked, genuinely curious, "what changed?"

Magister Elwin's expression turned thoughtful. "That's where scholarly consensus breaks down. Some believe evolutionary specialization naturally occurred for efficiency. Others suggest deliberate separation through ancient rituals. A few fringe theories even propose divine intervention."

Or maybe it's a brain development issue related to belief systems and cultural conditioning.

"And the Tellian Prophecy?" I prompted, watching her reaction.

"Suggests a return to original convergence," she replied carefully. "Though its authenticity is contested."

"By everyone except the Archmage," I noted.

Her eyes snapped to mine, suddenly wary. "You've become quite politically astute for one so young."

I shrugged. "Observation and adaptation."

The lesson continued for another hour, covering increasingly complex theoretical models of cross-system interaction. When we paused for a brief refreshment break, I saw my opportunity.

"Magister, might I visit the library during the break? There's a text on energy pathway theory I'd like to reference."

She hesitated briefly. "The new security protocols—"

"I'll take an escort, of course," I added quickly. "I simply want to make the most efficient use of our time."

After a moment's consideration, she nodded. "Very well. Apprentice Morden will accompany you. You have twenty minutes."

I followed the guard to the library, my mind calculating timing and routes. We had to pass near the restricted combat magic section to reach the theoretical texts. If I could create a distraction...

Fortune favored me in the form of Sentor, one of the library's more accident-prone assistants, struggling with a hovering cart of books nearby. As we passed, I flicked the smallest pulse of mana toward a particularly unstable stack.

The resulting cascade was magnificent. Books tumbled in every direction, several unleashing minor defensive wards as they fell. One particularly truculent tome began shrieking in an ancient language.

"Help him," I suggested to my guard as the chaos unfolded. "I'll wait right here."

Apprentice Morden, clearly uncertain whether to stay with me or assist with the growing disaster, made his choice when a book snapped at Sentor's fingers with animated pages.

The moment his back turned, I slipped into the adjacent aisle—the restricted combat magic section. Working quickly, I selected three slim volumes: Defensive Applications of Arcane Energy, Combat Theory for Theoretical Practitioners, and most importantly, Emergency Magical Defense: When Calculation Time Is Limited.

I tucked them inside my robes just as Morden returned, looking harried. "Sorry about that. Let's find your theoretical text quickly."

I selected a harmless volume on standard circulation patterns, then allowed myself to be escorted back to the study chamber. Magister Elwin remained unaware of my acquisitions, hidden beneath my academic robes.

The remainder of the morning passed without incident, though my mind was elsewhere—planning, calculating, preparing. When our session concluded, Magister Elwin escorted me to my quarters where lunch awaited.

"You have one hour before Commander Lyra's evaluation," she informed me. "Rest, prepare, and I'll return to escort you to the Eastern Practice Yard."

The moment she departed, I moved with purpose. I gathered essential items: my journal, the stolen books, a change of clothes, and a small pouch of preserved food I'd been gradually accumulating.

I need a way out of the Academy grounds. Guards at every exit, wards on all windows, monitoring charms throughout the corridors.

I remembered something I'd discovered by accident two years ago while conducting independent research in the Academy archives. Hidden in the binding of a crumbling maintenance ledger from over three centuries ago, I'd found a faded schematic of the original Academy foundations. What had caught my attention was a narrow drainage channel that didn't appear on any modern maps - one that connected the underworks beneath the alchemy laboratories to an outflow point on the eastern wall.

The Academy had undergone seventeen major renovations since then, each adding new layers of wards and security. But underground drainage systems were rarely checked - why would they be? Most were too small for anything larger than a cat to navigate, and the powerful wards protecting the Academy's perimeter made them redundant as security concerns.

But I wasn't most people, and my nine-year-old body might just fit through a channel designed for water runoff.

It was an uncertain gamble, but better than remaining a political pawn under constant surveillance.

I waited until the guards outside my door changed shifts, timing the moment when one departed and the other hadn't yet arrived. Slipping into the corridor, I moved quickly toward the servant stairwell at the far end—rarely used by anyone of rank, and therefore less likely to be heavily monitored.

The stairs descended five levels, past the ground floor into the Academy's foundations. The air grew damp and cool, stone walls glistening with condensation. Occasionally, distant clangs and hisses indicated alchemical experiments above, but the underworks themselves were eerily quiet.

I navigated by memory, recalling architectural diagrams studied years ago for a historical research project. The lower levels formed a maze of supporting structures, storage chambers, and forgotten rooms from earlier iterations of the Academy.

After twenty minutes of careful navigation, I located the maintenance passage—a narrow tunnel barely four feet high, its entrance partially concealed behind discarded equipment. The ancient doorway bore traces of wardcraft, but the spells had degraded centuries ago, leaving only faint magical residue.

I hesitated briefly, glancing back the way I'd come. Magister Elwin would be arriving at my quarters soon, discovering my absence. The search would begin immediately. My family would be notified—they'd think I was kidnapped, just as Vance had warned. Mother would be devastated, Father would leverage every diplomatic connection to find me.

The guilt twisted in my stomach. They'd suffered enough when I was sent to the Academy at such a young age. This would be infinitely worse.

I'll return to them, I promised myself. Once I understand what's happening, once I have some leverage of my own. I'll find a way back, perhaps in disguise, just to let them know I'm alive.

But for now, if I didn't find freedom from the Archmage's machinations, I might never get another chance. Sometimes the necessary path isn't the kindest one.

Decision made, I crawled into the passage, pushing my small pack ahead of me. The tunnel extended for what seemed an eternity, occasionally branching or intersecting with other passages. I followed the subtle upward slope, reasoning it would eventually reach the outer wall.

Finally, I spotted light ahead—thin streams penetrating from outside. The passage ended in a rusted grate partially obscured by vegetation on the exterior side. I examined it carefully, noting the weak points where metal had corroded over centuries.

A focused application of Arcane energy—a cutting spell I'd learned years ago for laboratory sample preparation—weakened the grate sufficiently for me to push it outward. Sunlight momentarily blinded me as I emerged into dense undergrowth at the Academy's eastern perimeter.

I'd done it. I was outside the Academy walls.

In the distance, I could hear commotion—shouts and the crystalline chime of alarm wards. My absence had been discovered.

Where to go? Not home—that would be the first place they'd look. Not any public location in the city, where a child alone would attract attention. The forests to the east offered isolation but little protection from the creatures that roamed there.

I recalled a place from Liam's childhood memories—a small hunting cabin his father occasionally used, located in the forest outskirts three hours' journey on foot. Remote, stocked with basic supplies, and unknown to most people.

Perfect.

I turned east, staying within the treeline to avoid being spotted from the Academy towers. The forest would provide cover while I studied the combat magic texts and planned my next move. Whatever the Archmage wanted from me, whatever the prophecy supposedly meant, I needed to understand it on my own terms—not as a captive specimen under observation.

The afternoon sun filtered through the canopy as I made my way deeper into the forest, Arcane energy circulating through my pathways with each cautious step. I would need to be vigilant. The forests contained mana beasts and other dangers a child alone would normally avoid.

But I wasn't a normal child. I was Dr. Adrian Shaw, physicist from Earth with four years of magical training, currently inhabiting the body of a nine-year-old boy who apparently fulfilled some ancient prophecy.

And if someone comes after me, I thought, patting the stolen combat magic books in my pack, I'll finally have a practical application for all that theoretical knowledge.

As I hiked through the increasingly dense foliage, the strange warmth beneath my skin—the dormant Aura energy—remained silent. Whatever had happened during the demonstration seemed to have receded completely. Just as well; one magical system was complicated enough to manage without adding a second one I couldn't control.

Night was falling when I reached the hunting cabin—a simple wooden structure nestled against a rocky outcropping. It looked abandoned, exactly as I'd hoped. I approached cautiously, checking for signs of recent occupation before trying the door. Locked, but the key remained in its hiding place beneath a loose stone by the entrance, just as Liam's memories indicated.

The cabin interior was dusty but intact. A small hearth, simple furniture, shelves with preserved supplies. After securing the door and windows, I lit a single candle and removed one of the stolen books—Emergency Magical Defense.

The introduction was promising:

"While traditional Arcane application favors precise calculation and complex formation, circumstances may arise where such luxury is unavailable. This text presents simplified defensive methodologies for urgent scenarios where survival, not elegance, is the paramount consideration."

Perfect. I began to read, absorbing the condensed combat techniques with keen interest. If someone came looking for me, I'd be ready.

Hours later, as I practiced a simplified barrier formation that sacrificed durability for deployment speed, a sound outside the cabin froze me mid-gesture. Something moved in the undergrowth—too deliberate for wildlife, too cautious for an innocent traveler.

I extinguished the candle with a thought, plunging the cabin into darkness. Pressing myself against the wall beside the window, I peered through a crack in the shutters.

A shadowy figure approached the cabin, moving with unnatural silence. Moonlight briefly illuminated features that weren't entirely human—skin too smooth, eyes reflecting light like a predator's. The figure paused, head tilting as if sensing something, then continued toward the door.

They found me. Already.

I readied the fastest offensive spell I'd learned from the stolen texts—a simple concussive blast designed to disorient rather than damage. Not particularly powerful, but it might buy me seconds to escape.

The door handle turned slowly, testing the lock. When it didn't yield, there was a moment of stillness. Then, a soft rhythmic humming began—someone systematically disabling the simple wardwork inscribed on the cabin's entrance.

I held my breath, spell poised, as the lock clicked open.

The door swung inward.