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?"
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
"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.
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."