[Xander – 12 years]

"Xaaaaaaandeeeeeeeeeeer!" Greyson whines when we arrive in the parking lot of the Wolf's Dragon.

That's his annoyed voice and face, but I know that when it's him, it's never anything too big. I used to get really nervous whenever he started getting annoyed, but he's never hurt me (on purpose), and never out of annoyance at me.

"What?" I ask.

"I told you to keep your mouth closed while we were teleporting!"

"I didn't mean to open it," I look down. "Sorry. I don't know why I did. Or even that I did. Um… why did you want me to keep my mouth closed, though?"

"Because you were eating the leaking mana," he says. "But the spell was designed to pull it back in. Sort of. To reuse it and reduce the cost. The teleport gate you used yesterday does the same thing."

"I… eat mana?"

"You didn't know?"

"Let's just establish that if you think I know something and it relates to magic, I probably don't."

"You eat a certain type of active magic," he says. "A lot of magics leak out mana when cast, including devices. A lot of the more mana-intensive ones are also designed to pull it back in and reuse it, especially on the bigger spells and setups. That's why the teleport gate had a weird drain on both trips you were on but not others – because you were eating some of the mana that leaked out before it could be sucked back in, which resulted in it needing more mana. Before, you were probably using the consumed mana to support other spells or energize yourself or something. Now that you've got plenty of mana left, it's just being kept stored in reserve."

"Is that… is that bad?" I ask. "The bit about me eating mana?"

"Nah," he says. "It just means I had to send more mana on the teleport. It was just annoying. But since it's you, it's okay. It's not like you're a malicious mana-eater. And you assimilate it into your own mana just fine. You've already converted more than half of it. For someone who's not a mana-eater… yeah, it could be difficult. Could adversely affect your own mana."

"Luke eats lightning," I say. "And lightning magic. Is that the same thing?"

"Sort of," Greyson nods as we start walking to the path leading up to the Wolf's Dragon. "But it's not quite the same. Think of him more like a lightning-eater. With the lightning he eats, there's very little mana left in it. Most of the mana's already been converted into something else. What little bit left isn't enough to affect him and his body purges it from him since he's not really built for assimilating external mana. There would really only be a problem if he was trying to eat and convert lightning that was made of mana rather than formed by it, but he's too smart to try something like that. He knows it would mess up with his body and magic."

"Are you sure he's that smart?" I ask. "I know everyone says he's a magitech genius, sort of like, you but he doesn't seem that bright. I know it's really mean to say, but while he's good with the classes… I dunno. He doesn't really seem that intelligent. I think that's the right one."

"His abilities with magitech are respectable," Greyson states. "As is his knowledge and skill with magic. Trust me, he's smart enough to not eat lightning made out of mana rather than lightning formed from it."

I don't really know the difference but am too nervous to ask. My brain my be fixed, but the explanation is probably too much for my stupid self to understand.

"Okay," I look down at Trenton, who I'm carrying in my arms. "Trenton's still doubting, though."

"Trenton's just a teddy bear," Greyson says. "He can't doubt."

"Don't listen to him," I whisper to Trenton. "He just can't hear you because you're too quiet."

"Well, anyway," Greyson says. "That's why I keep asking you to close your mouth whenever I'm doing big magics. Because I can't help but leak mana in them, so I design the spells to draw back in some of that leaked mana to reuse. I can't get it to draw it all back in, but drawing back in as much as possible saves me mana."

"You teleported thousands of miles to rob a mob," I say. "Then teleported thousands of miles back. And you're worried about mana loss in a teleport that's only a few miles?"

"Exactly!" He nods. "I need to save my mana for when I do the bigger teleports. Or when I slip out of the perception of others, or when I manipulate my own time-"

"You do what?"

"It helps me get places faster."

Anytime I learn something more ridiculous about him, it makes me wonder if he is a god. He can manipulate time, and it sounds like he does it regularly.

I'm not really sure how to respond to that, and Greyson doesn't say anything else, so the rest of the walk to the Wolf's Dragon happens in silence. When we enter, Emily and someone unfamiliar to me are serving customers and Cal is doing something behind the counter.

"Well that's an interesting sight," Cal says. "Xander, here this late? And Greyson, setting foot in here? Please tell me he's not bothering you, Xander."

"You know him?" I ask.

"I would hope so," Cal chuckles. "He's one of my younger brothers that I've told you about."

I look at Greyson, who's giving me an innocent look.

"You never told me you were Cal's brother."

"It must have never come up."

That means he deliberately avoided telling me.

"So you two know each other?" Cal asks. "I hope he doesn't bother you, Xander. He's quite the problem when his mind gets set on something."

"He's never bothered me," I say. "He's very nice."

"I distracted him for awhile," Greyson tells Cal. "I'm buying him dinner. His foster dad's going to be here soon to join us."

I texted Mr. Trey after Greyson agreed to dinner and told him I was almost ready to get picked up, though I left out that we were teleporting here. He's apparently nearby and will be here soon, too.

"Wait," I say. "I didn't agree to you paying for dinner. I can do it. I've got some of my allowance left."

"Do you want to pay?" Greyson asks. "Because I'd like to pay. You helped me out a lot and I distracted you and nearly made you late."

"But I'm not really worth paying for," I say. "I can pay for myself."

"You owe me for the help I provided you," Greyson says. "Therefore, you will allow me to cover the cost of your meal."

"That's not how owing people works," I say.

"Boys," Cal says. "Stop. Let me finish putting in this note, then I'll seat you in my section. And neither of you are paying. I'll ask Dad to just comp the meal. Greyson's allowance doesn't even cover half of what he'd eat."

"But-"

"Xander," Cal fixes his gaze on me. "No. Don't worry about it."

Oh no! He told me no! I don't think I was being clear enough and that's all my fault! How do I explain what I was trying to say? Maybe he won't be mad at me, then?

"Cal," I say. "Greyson just used a lot of magic. He's gonna want to eat a lot of food. A lot more food."

"Magic?" Cal raises an eyebrow as he looks at Greyson. "What did you do this time? Papa's not going to get a call from the cops again, is he?"

Dad? Papa? This is confusing. Wait. The cops have gotten involved with Greyson? I did recently learn that he's broken some bigger laws than I knew about, like him stealing the bomb rather than paying for it, but I didn't know the cops have actually caught him a few times.

"I teleported us here so that Xander wouldn't be late," Greyson says.

"Teleporting again?" Cal groans. "Please at least tell me you weren't in the view of others when you arrived."

Is this a regular occurrence?

"I surrounded us with a perception filter so we wouldn't be noticed."

"If you'd rather be seated separately from him, you can," Cal says, then looks behind us. "Hello, Mr. Caldwell."

"Good evening, Cal," Mr. Trey says as I look at him. "Hello, Xander. And you must be Greyson? Henry's not as fit as you."

"I am Greyson," Greyson says. "You've met Henry?"

"I've seen him here a few times," Mr. Trey says.

"He's the dork," I whisper to Mr. Trey. "I didn't know he was one of Cal's younger brothers."

"Greyson is the dork?" Mr. Trey asks. "Seriously?"

"Yes."

"I really should have seen that coming," he mutters.

"That does not sound good," Cal says.

"Xander's been mostly positive about him," Mr. Trey says. "Mostly finds him a dork and couldn't remember his name. Xander, is Greyson sitting with us?"

"Yeah," I nod. "He said he wants to pay for me, but I said-"

"And I said," Cal interrupts. "Don't worry about. Let me finish putting this note in and I'll seat you guys. If you want, just sit at the table there by the door and I'll bring your menus and silverware after."

We sit down at that table, with Greyson on the same seat bench as me but on the inside, with me on the aisle, and Mr. Trey sitting across from us and our backpacks between him and the wall. After a minute, Cal brings us menus and rolls of silverware. He takes drink orders from us, then checks a couple of his other tables before getting our drinks. After that, he heads to the back, returning a few minutes later.

"Dad cleared it," Cal tells me. "So don't worry about the cost, Xander. Dad's exact words – and I'm quoting here – were 'if Xander is able to tolerate Greyson enough that they're friends, then he deserves a free meal from us; tell him to order as much as he wants'. And Dad would pay for Greyson's meal regardless. His kids eat free here."

"Xander eats a lot as well," Mr. Trey tells Cal. "If he eats more than David's willing to pay, I'll cover the cost. Don't worry about it."

"You just-barely missed it," Cal tells Mr. Trey. "But Greyson's a very powerful mage who wields potent magics. He teleports around like some kids eat candy. We're lucky that he usually only uses it to get around. Honestly, the most trouble he gets into is when he trespasses to search for magic insects."

"Right," Mr. Trey stares at Greyson, probably remembering that he somehow knows about "the dork" being the one who teleports to the Gates' company and takes power cores from there. Or how I accidentally let slip that he breaks the law regularly. Or any number of other things that I've probably forgotten. "That's the most trouble he gets up to."

"Dammit, Greyson," Cal mutters.

"I'm innocent of all claims against me," Greyson states.

"Including being innocent?" Cal asks.

"That is not a claim, that is a fact."

"But that's a lie."

"Xandeeeeeeeer!" Greyson whines as Cal snorts.

"Anyway," Cal looks at Mr. Trey. "If Xander out-eats Greyson, I'd be impressed, especially since the brat teleported them here."

"I'm not a brat, you are."

"That wasn't planned," I tell Mr. Trey. "Things took longer than expected and then we got distracted with something. Then because the dork was going to teleport us here, he wanted to talk some more about some stuff."

There's silence between us for several seconds.

"Would you guys like to order your appetizers?" Cal asks.

To Cal's surprise, I do end up eating more than Greyson does. Now that I know what sort of spells I have running at all times, I'm not too surprised by my massive appetite. Cal really doesn't charge us for any of the food – not even for what Mr. Trey eats.

"Okay," Greyson says once we're all done eating and we're getting out of the booth. "Now it's time to go play with the laser cars, Xander."

"Mr. Trey only let me go to your workshop as long as I was picked up by seven," I tell him. "And it's past that now. So I can't go. But… maybe next time?" I hesitate before looking at Mr. Trey. "If… it's okay to go again sometime?"

"Hold on," Cal says. "Greyson, did you say 'laser cars'? What did we tell you about making weapons?"

"The spell formulas are designed to be low-power and to come undone after a certain distance," Greyson says. "Only about four feet. As long as they work properly, they aren't useful as weapons. It's like the robotics club at school: I made them to fight each other. Only with magitech instead of scientech."

"Halve the range," Cal tells him.

"You can't make me," Greyson's backpack appears in his hands, and he pulls it on. "I'll see you next time, Xander!"

"Greyson-" Cal reaches for Greyson's backpack, but Greyson vanishes before his brother can succeed.

That boy is gone.

"I'm going to have to talk with Dad and Papa about this," Cal sighs. "We keep telling him not to make weapons, but he doesn't listen."

Mr. Trey gives me a strange look, then snorts and looks at Cal.

"Earlier this year," Mr. Trey says. "Did Greyson vanish for a few days?"

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

"A couple, yeah," Cal nods. "Why?"

"According to what Xander told me," Mr. Trey says. "He made muffins using explosive powder and the one he bit into exploded when he did. He's not just making weapons."

Oops. Me and my stupid, formerly-broke brain probably just caused Greyson problems. Though I don't think his brother and his dads are really going to be able to do anything about it. Greyson can teleport and manipulate time and people's perception. It would probably take Adrian King to put a leash on him.

"Argh!" Cal throws his hands up into the air.

"Everything alright?" Emily walks over.

"Greyson's apparently making bombs again," Cal says. "At least he doesn't have them in the house anymore… I hope. The last thing we would need is Henry finding muffins sitting around, taking a bite, and then exploding. I swear, that boy's ability to heal himself pretty fast is the only reason he's still alive. And his ability to make shields in an instant. Did I tell you about that time he got hit by a car because he wasn't paying attention?"

They think Greyson heals himself, not that he's got a really good regeneration? Does that mean they don't? Should I say something? No, I shouldn't. Maybe? But Greyson would be really upset with me. I'm so confused!

"You guys have a good night," Mr. Trey chuckles. "Xander and I should be heading home now."

"Have a good night," Emily says.

"See you next time," Cal says.

Mr. Trey and I head to his car and get in, and once we're both buckled, he starts driving.

"Did you have fun while hanging out with Greyson?" Mr. Trey asks. "Get the answers you wanted? You don't need to tell me what your questions were, don't worry."

"I did," I tell him. "Um… I know it was really wrong and I'm really sorry for being bad, but I heard you and Ms. Katie talking earlier, and-"

"What?" Mr. Trey whips his head around to look at me, then quickly looks back at the road. "Dammit. That's our fault, Xander. You normally take two-hour naps so we didn't expect you to come down. Do not worry about what you heard. It's not your concern. I can afford the extra money for feeding you. It's not a problem. I promise."

"But-"

"No," Mr. Trey interrupts me. "Don't worry about how much you eat. It's okay. Family comes first and that's what you are, Xander – you're my son. I'd rather make sure you get fed than donate to charity. And it won't be a problem once-anyway. My company is working on a project and once it releases, how much extra I'll earn per month will more than cover how much it's costing to feed you. Until then, I have plenty of money I can use. I've honestly been donating more to charity than someone of my financial status normally does simply because I didn't see the point in having too much just sitting there. So seriously, don't worry about it. Just focus on being you, okay? If you need to eat a lot of food, then you need to eat a lot of food, alright?"

That still doesn't make me fell good. He's taking money away from people in need just to feed me and then doesn't want me to stop eating this much? It's so confusing. Why would he do that for someone who's worthless?

"Okay," I say. "But, um… can we not worry about my brain anymore?"

"Why?"

"Um… it's not important."

"Xander," Mr. Trey sighs. "I know you suffer from depression and being suicidal and while I really wish you'd agree to talk with a therapist-"

"That's not it!" I exclaim. "Um… sorry for interrupting. But it's not important. He said… stuff… and there was stuff… and, um… stuff and… stuff… and Lumaria King stuff… and stuff… and blah blah blah… and stuff… and now it's not important anymore."

Mr. Trey is quiet for a few seconds and that makes me really nervous because it's probably obvious I was trying to not explain.

"Does that mean Greyson knew why you were still alive despite your brain's state meaning you shouldn't have been?" Mr. Trey finally asks.

"He thought I was casting the spells on purpose," I say. "And messing them up on purpose so that they needed more mana to work. He's really smart… but he can be a bit stupid sometimes. I know it's wrong to call people stupid, but… why would I want to live with a broken brain? And bad memory? And problems gripping things?"

"It was your own magic?" Mr. Trey asks.

"Yeah," I nod. "I was subconsciously casting spells. Including a magic brain to act like my real brain. But it wasn't cast properly so it wasn't working right."

Mr. Trey is quiet for a few seconds.

"You just don't want to go to the doctor's again, am I right?"

"I don't want to go to the doctor's again," I confirm. "But I'm not sure why that matters? My brain doesn't need fixing anymore so it's okay."

Mr. Trey taps a thumb on the steering wheel a few times.

"I've attempted to reach out to Adrian King," Mr. Trey tells me. "To see if there's something we can work out for treating your brain… just in case I can't find another method. The treatment is far too expensive and you're only alive by a miracle-"

"By my magic, apparently."

"-and if Adrian King is feeling generous enough towards a boy in your situation," Mr. Trey continues without acknowledging my interruption. Bad Xander! "Then he may be willing to work out something that's within my means. And again, don't worry about my finances, Xander. I've got plenty of money."

"Oh, um… speaking of money," I remember something. "How much are the mana crystals for the car?"

"What did I just say?"

"Greyson said you use more expensive-"

"More expensive vehicles, yes," Mr. Trey interrupts. "It's a choice that I, an adult, made. Mana crystals cost more than gas for fueling a vehicle, but they're renewable and cleaner. It doesn't produce any pollution like a gas-guzzler does or require harsh mining methods to make things like the systems needed for electric cars. I prefer it. And again, I'm not worried about how much it costs to feed you. Katie's just concerned that I won't be able to continue to feed you at this rate. It really isn't a problem, okay? I promise, Xander."

That first bit sounded like I did something wrong, but I don't know what and I'm scared to ask because I'm probably supposed to know it already. Stupid me!

"Okay…"

"To answer your question, though," Mr. Trey says. "A 'good' gas-powered SUV can get about thirty miles per gallon. With gas at two-forty a gallon, that's around eight cents per mile. This SUV gets around eighty miles per unit of magic in the crystals, and those cost twenty dollars per unit, or twenty-five cents. So a little bit more than three times the price. I keep all four slots filled, and I buy ones with ten units of mana in them, or two hundred dollars per crystal. Each crystal typically lasts me three or four weeks, depending on how much driving I do."

"So it takes four crystals with ten units of mana?" I ask.

"It has slots for four," he says. "But it only needs one to have something in it, and the mana amount can vary. The car will just not work if there isn't any mana going into it through there. I keep extras in just in case one runs out while I'm driving and I'm not able to replace it right away. Why are you interested in this?"

"I whacked the dork on the head and he gave me a crystal with five hundred units of mana."

"You did what?"

"I whacked the dork on the head," I repeat. "Then he gave me a crystal with five hundred units of mana. Well, he made it first and said 'here, this can go in the SUV' and I got really confused."

"He made the crystal?" Mr. Trey asks.

"Yeah," I open up my backpack and pull out the crystal, which is about the size of my fist. "I whacked him on the head because he'd just made another that had five thousand units of magical energy just to demonstrate it to me again. Making the crystals, I mean. It's apparently just manipulating and condensating your mana in a specific way."

It's okay to whack the dork on the head, and he even tells me that I should when he does something really ridiculous. I used to get nervous about doing it, but I've learned it's okay to whack him on the head as long as I don't touch his ears when doing so.

"Condensing?" Mr. Trey says.

"Probably."

Mr. Trey is quiet for a few moments.

"Mr. Trey?"

"Hold on," he taps something on the screen for the car's menu, then makes a call.

"Hello?" That voice sounds familiar, and they picked up rather fast.

"Sorry for calling so late in the evening," Mr. Trey says. "But I have a question, Melody. Do you have a minute?"

That's… Luke's mom, right?

"I'm just watching Luke use our mana-reader," Mrs. Gates responds. "What's going on?"

"How feasible is making mana crystals out of your own mana?"

"Depends on your skill," she answers. "It requires constantly infusing the entire spot with an amount of mana in a quantity that increases quickly but steadily. We utilize a similar principle to create the power cores. For most people, it's not something they could ever hope to have enough mana to do, though Tristan and I both know how and Lucas learned last year. It saves us quite a bit on fuel since we can make our own for our cars and generators. Lucas-"

"Mooooooooooooom!" I can hear Luke protesting in the background.

"Sorry," Mrs. Gates says. "Luke wants us to make a car that can run by infusing mana directly into it by the time he's old enough to drive… sometimes, he forgets that we're a power company, not a car company."

"So it's possible to just make a mana crystal?" Mr. Trey asks.

"Yes," Mrs. Gates answers. "However, there's a significant amount of mana loss during the process. How much is lost depends on the skill level of the mage. I have excellent control over my mana and still need to spend around fifty percent extra to produce a crystal. Some of the ones you'll find in the legal market are from people with more mana than normal who'll use up most of their mana to make a crystal to earn some extra cash. A few days of recovery, and they can do it again. Though we with enough to produce stronger ones don't often do so, as we have other things to focus our efforts on. We would also prefer to not be used as batteries for others."

"An understandable concern," Mr. Trey says. "Xander was hanging out with the 'dork' again today and it's come up as part of a discussion about what they did."

"If we're right about him being the boy who teleports in here to get power cores," Melody says. "He has more than enough mana to produce his own power cores, and I know he's smart enough."

"He kept getting shocked when trying and gave up," I say. "And said that having to deal with a generator is troublesome. That's why he wants power cores for now."

"Oh, hello, Xander."

"Hello, Mrs. Gates."

"Xander?" I hear Luke ask. "He's there, too? Can I-"

"Focus on the scan, Luke," Mrs. Gates says. "He showed up at the office this morning."

That second part sounded like it was directed to us, not Luke.

"I told him to stop doing that," I tell Mrs. Gates. "But I don't think he's going to listen to me. Oh! Can you tell Luke that I'm apparently the reason there was a weird power drain on the teleport gates yesterday? I apparently eat leaking mana without realizing it and the gates are apparently designed to suck back in the mana they leak to recycle and use to lessen how much energy they cost… sorry… I didn't know I did that."

----------------------------------------

[Greyson – 10 years]

It is a good thing Papa purchased a new suit for me when he went shopping for other clothes for me to wear. The suit looks good on me, and while I really want to go with my grey tie with griffins on it, this is a more formal meeting I am going to. A plain black tie will go with the suit… though I'm still going to wear my sneakers because I don't like dress shoes. Also my griffin cufflinks.

After examining my reflection to make sure I look good (and use a little bit of magic to style my hair), I give myself an approving nod. It's time to go. I have business to attend to.

"PAPA!" Henry yells as I start to leave the house. "GREYSON'S LEAVING AND WEARING A SUIT!"

"Stop yelling," Cal whacks him on the head. "Greyson, where are you going at this hour? And in a suit?"

"A very most important meeting that will affect the future of this world," I answer. "I will be back at some point and-"

"It is far too late for you to be leaving," Cal says. "You-"

"Bedtime has no say on the future of the world," I say as I escape the house before Cal can grab me.

Once I'm a safe distance away from the house, I teleport to my destination. To my surprise, the teleport is interrupted and I'm shunted not to my destination but outside the front gate of the mansion. Interesting. I've never encountered any form of dimensional barrier which could stop me before, and I even made sure to top myself up on mana specifically for this visit.

It's not as if the potions were being used for anything else.

Interesting. I suppose my great-grandfather would be capable of producing an actual barrier against teleportation. Perhaps if I opened a dimensional gate? Or is his barrier a shield against dimensional magics in general? That's unlikely as it would affect dimensional storage spaces as well, and I doubt my great-grandfather would affect those.

Though he may have a way to get around an anti-dimensional barrier, so I suppose it is a possibility.

"Greyson has arrived," a voice draws me out of my examination of the barrier and I look over to the guardhouse beside the gates. "He mostly seems shocked he was redirected to the gate. Understood, sir. I'll let him in," the guard hangs up the phone, then looks directly at me. "Adrian says to go straight inside and wait to be collected. Do not make detours. Do not attempt to crack the barrier. Do not cause problems. Otherwise, he will seal your magic for a week. Understand?"

Whoa. My great-grandfather is a lot more frightening than I realized. Sealing my magic? I didn't even know that was possible. Researching countermeasures to that is added to my list of things to put on my digital and physical lists once I return home.

"Yes," I answer.

The gate opens up a little bit and I walk through, then straight to the house. A butler answers the door when I knock, then I wait in the foyer as per the guard's directions. After about thirty seconds, I get bored of waiting and teleport my backpack to me and pull out a device to work on, sitting down and unscrewing the bottom of it to fiddle with the magics.

Hm… why did the teleport for my backpack work? I did it out of habit, without thinking about it, but I was able to do it just fine. I should investigate that later, but for now, I'll work on something else. This will help me stay calm more than attempting to dissect the barrier's nature.

"Where did this child come from?" A woman asks as she descends the stairs. "I do not recognize him and he's unaccompanied."

I glance at her. Hm. Yeah. I don't know who she is so she can't be important. Probably just one of the relatives who live in the mansion with my great-grandfather.

"This is Greyson," the butler answers. "He's currently waiting for Mr. King."

"And he was allowed in here unaccompanied by an adult why?" She asks. "There are very strict rules regarding who may enter this house. And why is he sitting on the ground? That is only dirtying his suit. Have his parents taught him nothing? That suit is rather cheap as well. What branch is he from? What is that he is playing with?"

I summon my laptop from my backpack and start typing. First, I need to look up who she is. Then-

"Do not drain her bank account, Greyson," a deep voice startles me and I nearly drop the laptop.

I look over to find my great-grandfather standing only a couple of feet away, dressed in a sharp, all-black suit, his platinum-blond hair only lightly styled while showing not a trace of his ancient age. To someone who didn't know his true age, he would likely appear to be a man in his fifties, maybe sixties.

"You snuck up on me."

"I do that," my great-grandfather says. "Stop the hack you were performing, put your laptop and the bomb away-"

"I'm sorry, Grandfather," the self-important family member says. "But did you just say bomb?"

"And come with me," my great-grandfather finishes, then looks at her. "We will be discussing your attempt at being in charge in my house later. This is not the first time, so there will be more severe consequences. Greyson? Let's get moving."

I put my laptop and the bomb back into my backpack, then stand and follow my great-grandfather through the mansion to a conference room on the second floor. Several platters and bowls of food, including sandwiches and desserts, are spread out on it, along with pitchers of various drinks.

"Something severe must have happened," my great-grandfather says as he takes a seat at one end of the table, gesturing for me to sit at the other. "For you to decide to visit me after all these years of doing your best to prevent me from reaching out to your family. I was considering going in person for the next visit. You and your ninja would not be able to interfere, then."

"Unfortunately," I say. "A god told me to stop acquiring power cores the way that I do and to acquire them through legitimate methods. While I could simply ignore a god, I have no intention of disobeying that particular god. He's too important."

I was originally planning on ignoring Xander's request, but realized that he would get upset with me if I did that. Upsetting Xander is one of the last things I would ever want to do. Not seeing him in more than a month was already difficult enough but if he deliberately stopped speaking with me… I'm not sure I could handle it.

He is one of the few beings I can actually converse with magic about and be understood by, and his presence is kind, not just tolerable. It's comforting, like being wrapped up in a blanket on a cold winter day with a mug of hot apple cider in one hand and another of hot cocoa in the other.

As long as I have his support, I know I can finish my mega computer and change the world in a reasonable amount of time. Without it… my project is doomed to take decades.

"You are not in contact with any gods," my great-grandfather says. "I would know it if you were."

"He has masked himself as a mortal," I reach forward and some sandwiches float onto a waiting plate, which then slides over to me. "I will not be revealing his identity as I do not wish to anger him. That is why there will be terms to my agreement to having oversight, as I wish to protect his mortal identity. While I know you will not reveal it to others, there are those who serve the evil god who interfered with his reincarnation as a mortal and I do not wish to let them have any more leads on him than they already do."

The pitcher of lemonade floats over to a cup which pulled itself from a tray, then fills the cup before returning to its spot as the cup floats over to me.

"Oh," I say after taking a sip. "It's from magic lemons."

My great-grandfather stares at me for several very long moments, no doubt using his own psychic powers to think about things.

"So you made a friend," he says as I eat. "You view him as the big brother that Cal could never be because of the differences in the way your minds work, and he found out that you were not acquiring the cores in entirely-legal manners and asked you to stop, so you've decided to stop?"

"He doesn't mind me breaking the law as long as I do not convince him to break them," I clarify. "Oh! Is the roast beef on these sandwiches from mindwave cows?"

"Yes," my great-grandfather answers. "So you'll finally agree to acquire materials through me? Rather than robbing mobs and swapping their money for the cores? Or scavenging waste yards from major companies?"

"Perhaps," I say. "It depends on whether or not you agree to the terms of my oversight."

"And what terms are those?" His amusement is palpable.

"First," I say. "I do not reveal the location of my secret base-"

"It's located at the old factory just outside of Lakeview and Dragon Falls," my great-grandfather says. "You moved in there about three years ago."

"Get out of my head!"

Extra defenses! Extra mental shields! Extra psychic energy fields! All barriers up!

"I've known that you were there since the day you claimed the lot as yours," he snorts. "I didn't do anything about it because after researching you to find out who you were, I realized that as long as you kept your projects to there, then there should be minimal problems. So far, you've mostly kept to that."

He's known that long and kept me from finding out? My great-grandfather is truly impressive.

"The second term of my agreement to oversight," I say. "Is that all materials I request will arrive at a predetermined location in a reasonable amount of time. The deliveries will not be to the secret base directly so as to minimize the number of people who know of its location."

"You will put in a petition for materials," my great-grandfather counters. "And after I assess the requests and the reasons for them, any which are approved will be delivered. You will agree to stop stealing restricted materials, and I will acquire them for you if I determine it to be necessary. I will also set up a proper explosion-proof zone, and any explosives which you create must be able to be contained within that. If they are not, then you will not make them. If you do and wish to use them, then they must be used at a designated location with bomb squad oversight."

My great-grandfather is a formidable opponent. Negotiations will be more difficult than I anticipated. It's a good thing he prepared lots of food.