Knowing there were people following him wherever he went didn’t exactly do wonders for Alan’s self esteem. Though he didn’t actually know if they were following him all the time, or simply had been lucky finding out about the blacksmith visit. Still, his nerves were slightly on edge on his walk home from school after the impromptu interrogation Catherine had put him through.

He didn’t know what to make of the threat against Marissa either. Was she serious? Would she actually have someone hurt her, abduct her, or anything worse? Alan couldn’t get a read on the girl, but he could acquire armaments to defend himself, so that was his first goal. He supposed he could come up with some sort of explanation for what he used the metal pieces for, but the prospect of accidentally giving away vital information about advanced weapons technology was not exactly tempting.

His first stop on his way home had almost been the blacksmith, until he remembered that he had gone there directly from school last time, and that was by far the easiest route to shadow him, should anyone wish to do that. Therefore, he went home, and decided to draw up some simple schematics for his first prototype. He knew the theory, but turning it into something usable in practice was always a more complex matter than it appeared. Luckily for him, he didn’t need to consider either power requirements or power storage, which lowered the difficulty of the project from highly classified military grade, to high-school physics class.

What he needed was actually not much more than a few parallel iron rods, connected together at one end. The projectile would sit on top of both, and preferably being pushed down into them slightly in order to avoid it falling off as it accelerated. Or, it could be situated between, if the projectile was custom made for the purpose. That would make the projectiles harder to replace, but a lot easier to fire. He could even have several armed at the same time…

Alan quickly sketched down an arms length iron rod bent 180 degrees at the center point, making two parallel rods about the same length as his forearm. The projectiles would be formed like long arrowheads, except they would be about the same width as the distance between the two iron rods, and with long grooves on either side, so they could slot nicely in between the rods. He could use a piece of wood and two belts to strap the contraption to his arm, and voilá! A homemade railgun. In theory. The arrowheads were the biggest issue at the moment, but he’d figure something out.

Alan left home a short while before dinner, making his way back to the local blacksmith, which was luckily still open. Surprisingly, the iron rod was actually the bigger problem, according to the experienced blacksmith Brandon Almer, who owned the shop. He decided trying to retrofit a completely useless sword one of his apprentices had made, which seemed as good an idea as any, to Alan. Brandon had a good idea about the projectiles too, planning to fashion them out of the heavier ballista bolt tips, and then grind down each side so they’d fit into the contraption. He seemed very confused as to what this thing was supposed to achieve, though the arrowheads probably gave him some idea, but he didn’t dig deeper. The entire thing, together with 10 projectiles, would cost Alan about ten silver pieces, which wasn’t all that much considering a good sword often cost twice that. His family wasn’t exactly overflowing in money, but his mostly saved up personal allowance over the years gave him some leeway. Brandon told him to come back and pick it up in a few days, so Alan paid a small sum up front, with the promise of paying the rest when he got his items.

The practicing sessions with Marissa had, to Alan’s surprise, continued as usual. That said, there was less chatting and more practicing magic, but that didn’t bother him much. The fact that she had shown up at his family’s doorstep on their usual day, with her usual smile, warmed Alan’s heart. Neither of them managed to bring up the conversation that just sat there waiting, though, so it was still a bit of awkwardness between the two.

Alan had thought about how to approach the issue, but felt like suddenly stating that he liked her as a sibling, and not in any romantic way, wouldn’t exactly make the situation better. But perhaps he was just overthinking things. Marissa seemed to be in a really good mood lately, so Alan just went with it for the time being.

A couple of days after placing his order at the blacksmith, he went by to pick up the finished weapon. He used the same tactic as last time, leaving home just before dinner, stating that he just had to run a quick errand. Brandon Almer was testing the device as he came through the entrance, looking confused as he pushed the projectiles up and down on the short track.

“Ah, Alan, I was just inspecting your contraption here. I’ve managed to make it function more or less the way you wanted, but I still don’t understand what this thing is supposed to do. Is it a calculation device for babies?”

“Ahm.. not exactly. I don’t really want to explain in detail, if it’s all the same to you..” Alan responded a bit hesitantly. He didn’t want to anger the man, as he had been nothing but nice to Alan, listening to his requests like they weren’t just crazy ideas from a child, even if he probably thought they were.

“Tell you what, kid, I’ll knock two silver off the price if you give me a demonstration of how this works,” Brandon said with clear curiosity.

“Ehh… do you have anything I could use as target practice?” Alan relented, deciding to give him a small hint at the very least.

“Should be able to whip something up in the backyard, follow me”.

Brandon took him out through to the backyard, where they stacked ore, coal, lumber, and a lot of other things that hadn’t been sorted through in a while.

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Brandon picked up a few pieces of wood, and placed them at different lengths away from the wall. “All right, show me what it does”.

Alan strapped it to his arm, and slotted a projectile into the rail. He felt the charges in the iron through his mana senses, and started circulating them slowly through the iron rod and the arrowhead. The connection was good enough that there wasn’t any significant resistance at the two contact points of the arrowhead, so Alan decided to go ahead with the test.

He first pointed the contraption straight upwards, and slowly increased the current until he saw the projectile start moving upwards. Brandon was watching intently at this point, but it was difficult to say if he understood anything beyond the fact that magic was involved. When Alan got a good feeling at regulating the current to control the arrowhead, he pointed the weapon towards the furthest target and increased his output by about ten times. The arrowhead shot away at a very slow speed compared to actual arrows, but fast enough to just about reach the target, though his aim was off by at least a meter.

“Well now, I can’t say I’ve ever seen anything quite like that, is it a magical training device then? Perhaps for small competitions?” The blacksmith asked, having apparently sated most of his curiosity.

“Yes, that is the general idea.” Alan decided a small white lie probably wouldn’t cause him too many problems down the line. “It’s also a tool for practicing a kind of magic that’s not easily practiced otherwise.”

“Really now? What kind of magic would that be, if I may ask?” Brandom roumbled, clearly intrigued.

“Family secret, sorry” Alan answered, not in the least bit sorry. And it was even true, as it was his secret, and he was part of a family, though the rest didn’t know yet..

Having finally acquired his weapon, and at a reduced price at that, Alan ventured out into the Rosewoods to do a small field test. He had shown the basic principle to Brandon, who could probably guess that with decent magical ability, it could actually be used as a weapon on par with a regular bow and arrow, but nothing more impressive. What Alan knew, was that the limitations of bows and crossbows didn’t apply to the railgun, not in the same way anyways. The only limitation on how fast the projectile could leave the gun, was how large a current the iron rods and the arrowhead could survive. Well, that and the recoil. He hadn’t really thought about the recoil yet, and figured he would just test it out to the best of his ability.

Alan didn’t choose the usual hiding spot, opting instead to go deeper into the park to find a less traveled area. The park was actually quite big, and Alan guessed it was because the nobles liked to have a decent amount of green area within the safety of the city. Alan found a fitting spot, and took aim at a tree about 10 meters away from him.

Before firing his first real shot, he did some quick calculations. According to momentum conservation, the momentum before and after an incident should be conserved, as long as no other acceleration affected the system. The relatively heavy arrowheads weighed in at about 100 grams, Alan guessed, having been ground down a lot from the larger ballista arrowheads. He guessed that his own weight was somewhere around 50 kg, making him about 500 times heavier than the projectile. So if he recoiled at about a half meter per second speed, the projectile should reach a stunningly 250 meters per second, which was nothing to scoff at. With that in mind, Alan decided it was time for a live fire exercise.

Power surged through the iron contraption, creating a strong magnetic field circulating the iron rods. The charges moving through the arrowhead were accelerated away from the contraption by the magnetic field, pushing the arrowhead up to a quite impressive speed. And from there on, the first shot was a complete miss. Alan was in no way ready for the recoil force. His arm twisted painfully backward, as the arrowhead accelerated quite a lot faster than he expected. The projectile hit the ground bare five meters in front of him, throwing up grass and dirt in the process.

Apart from the throbbing arm, and the unexpected hole in the ground, it was a major success. Alan would have to be careful about the amount of force he’d subject his arm to, but he now had a working weapon. Next on his list was to learn how to use it, which would probably take him a while, if he had to be honest. So, with nothing else to do for the rest of the evening, Alan practiced until there was barely enough light to locate his projectiles.

As Alan finally entered his home late in the evening, he was met by two intense glares in the entry hall, and he suddenly remembered he had left just before dinner, stating that he’d be right back, several hours ago.

“Where in the seven Hells have you been, Alexander?!” His father’s voice boomed through the house, and Alan was pretty sure the neighbours might have heard as well, but that wasn’t what had him recoiling. Anger, he could manage, anger was so easy to dismiss as an overreaction, but he had mistaken the intense glare from his mother for anger as well, which it at a second glance distinctly wasn’t. There was definitely anger mixed in, but she had clearly been crying, and her expression was full of worry.

Alan took a few seconds to get an overview of the situation. His parents still had their coats on, and he deduced that they had walked in just a few moments before him. They’d probably been to Marissa’s house, looking for him. They might have been out searching for him for a while, it was hard to say. The fact was that he had never given them much reason to worry before, so suddenly disappearing might have frightened them a bit, understandably. He slowly took off his jacket, and thus made his second mistake of the evening.

“Answer me, son! How could you go and worry your-- What is that?” Yep, he had forgotten about his armament, still strapped to his arm. It had been difficult to make out under the jacket, but that was hanging on the wall now.

“Look, I’m really sorry about missing dinner and making you worry about me. I just lost track of time completely, and I’ll make sure that it doesn’t happen again.” His father looked like he wanted to continue the interrogation, especially about a certain contraption, but Naida put a stop to that for the time being by running over and embracing Alan in a tight hug. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t need to. Naida had lost her sister to bandits, that much Alan had gathered, but he’d never gotten any specifics. He could only imagine all the horrible scenarios that could have wreaked havoc on her mind in the hours he’d been away, and he definitely felt the small sobs she couldn’t hold back.

Alexar didn’t follow up on the discussion that evening, though his eyes clearly hinted to the fact that Alan’s improvised armament hadn’t been forgotten. A cold, untouched dinner awaited them in the common room, but none of them managed to eat much. Naida had quickly excused herself, stating that she didn’t feel well and wanted to get some sleep in. Alan couldn’t stop beating himself up over the no doubt horrible memories he’d probably stirred up, and Alexar shared the sentiment it seemed, from the dark look he gave his son before following his wife.

Alan was left sitting at the dinner table, contemplating. He was a father himself, he could understand the worry his parents had shown. He needed to find out what had happened to Naida, so he could avoid stirring up those memories again. But honestly, this really was a job for a therapist. Not for the first time, Alan lamented the fact that this world didn’t have any profession for dealing with mental issues. He also berated himself for not looking more into the profession when he had the chance, but how could he have known? This wasn’t his world, how the hell did he even end up here? He desperately wanted to go back. He’d give anything to go back. He still remembered everything so vividly, even after twelve years.

Alan finally managed to drag himself to bed, still flooded by memories of a different world. It hurt to remember, it hurt to know what he’d lost. But worst of all was the fear of forgetting. He hadn’t forgotten much yet, at least he thought he hadn’t, but how could he know? Alan lay huddled beneath the covers for what felt like hours, before sleep finally took hold of him.