Zack jerked awake, a violent jolt surged through him like lightning through copper wire. The shock completely drained his muscles of strength, leaving him feeling as though someone had indiscriminately attacked him with a taser. His limbs lay indolent against the sheets, and despite persistent efforts, he could barely move.
Sleep paralysis?
Though he was trapped in his bed, he was fully conscious. He could speak, could think clearly; this wasn't a hallucination. Some peculiar phenomenon had just coursed through his body, rendering him utterly slothful.
Zack chose not to raise his voice, unwilling to alarm anyone. If Sophie discovered his condition, it would cause unnecessary concern and potentially expose his magical experiments.
Haah...
His eyelids felt impossibly heavy despite having just awakened, drowsiness threatening to claim him again.
It took every ounce of will to resist the sweet pull of sleep. Unable to move and fighting unconsciousness, he instead chose to maintain awareness through meditation techniques.
He drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled. The exercise provided little relief, but after several minutes, he felt his magic responding once again.
Immediately, he understood the source of his distress.
The pulse of magic flowing through him had become completely unnatural. Where before it had been controlled and rhythmic, now it felt bizarre and utterly wild. He could sense no order in its flow; his magic was disorganised, chaotic, and he couldn't tame it.
His immediate assessment suggested some magical maturity, a milestone of development.
Two days of intensive meditation had undoubtedly drawn him closer to his magical core. Yesterday's experience of the pulse "skipping beats" had likely been a precursor to this dramatic event.
In hindsight, I should have noticed that pattern.
After confirming that he was experiencing a natural magical process rather than some external attack, Zack felt relatively calm. If this was merely a massive flare-up that he needed to survive, then so be it.
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
That was the philosophy he followed. The common saying really had taken on a literal meaning in this scenario. Having his body stripped of all strength and energy wasn't pleasant, but if he endured it, the benefits might prove extraordinary.
Every breath made his heart grow colder. Any semblance of vitality was slowly being erased from his body. The magical flare-up was practically draining his energy reserves completely.
His lips turned a faint shade of purple, his eyes dried out, and his fingers curled inward as his hands could no longer maintain an open palm. Slowly, he watched his veins turn blue as blood chilled to near-stillness in his body.
He gasped for air, but his lungs betrayed him. A faint, intangible wisp began fading from within him.
Is this the end?
Then, the magic suddenly focused itself near his chest.
The energy gathered within him and filled his body with vitality once more, squeezing through to his core. A wheeze escaped his lungs as breathing resumed. A blue aura had forcefully restarted his heart, continuing to flush through him with a sudden flux of power.
This time, he was truly in sync with his magic.
He felt different. Powerful. Finally connected.
However, his happiness didn't last long. Sudden pangs of hunger struck with vengeance.
I basically died and came to life; it's reasonable to be hungry.
Zack sighed as sensation slowly returned to his body.
The exact mechanics remained unclear, but he was undeniably more attuned to his powers now. The magic followed his commands to a measurable degree.
His control wasn't refined, but he was certain he'd awakened something fundamental. The life-threatening aspect made sense in retrospect. He was far too young for such forced development. His meditation had likely aggressively influenced his body toward premature awakening, nearly draining him of all vigour.
In the end, his own magic had pulled him back from death's threshold.
Perhaps sensing mortal danger, his subconscious had forced the energy to intervene.
This served as a stark reminder: everything had its proper time, and forcing premature development carried serious risks.
I'll try not to rush into things next time.
He possessed unusual vitality, yet even that had been instantly depleted.
His magic was clearly quite demanding. He'd struck a chord and nearly achieved complete awakening, but his lack of energy reserves had forced the process to abort, pushing him away from the brink.
Reasonable enough.
He'd essentially tried to burden his young body with loads that only adults could bear. At eighteen, wizards typically completed their flux period, solidifying their powers.
What he'd done was force his magic to flow faster, perhaps triggering pseudo-flux that normally occurred between ages twelve and eighteen.
Starting at only eight was unprecedented.
He was fortunate that his subconscious could still control his power, the benefits of being a natural Legilimens, he supposed. His mind had adapted to magical control; he simply couldn't perform it consciously yet.
To satiate his hunger, he slipped out of bed and walked downstairs.
Shuffling down the stairs, he heard someone working with glassware and peered toward the counter. Sophie was brewing something he couldn't quite identify, though it emanated a putrid stench that made his eyes water.
Curiosity overcoming revulsion, he called out and approached, nearly gagging from the smell.
"Good morning."
She looked up and set down the bottle she'd been working with, appearing perfectly calm.
Fortunately, his earlier incident hadn't caused any disturbance; nobody was aware of his near-death experience.
"Hello Zack, up early are we?" She pushed her hands under the sink, washing away the lingering odour.
Early?
Zack glanced toward the windows where the sun shone brightly through a blanketed sky, casting faint shadows across the horizon.
Damn, it's only six in the morning.
His rest had been cut short by the incident, but he could definitely appreciate this refreshing air flowing through the windows.
He looked toward the flask Sophie held, genuinely intrigued by her brewing project.
"So what were you making?" His eyes indicated the potion she'd just bottled.
"Oh, I made something new today. It's a growing potion supposed to help young children develop healthy bodies. It's super nutritious." She patted his head and ruffled his hair
"Perfect timing, Zack. I was waiting to give it to you when you woke up, but it seems you can have it fresh from the cauldron." She seemed excited about the prospect.
"T-To me?"
He was instantly sweating bullets as he inspected the bottle more closely. This vile liquid was dark green, completely opaque, and absolutely not something he'd consider for human consumption.
He couldn't help but gag in disgust.
"No need to be such a baby, Zack. It's good for you. Besides, you barely eat anything. You should drink this to help you grow." Noticing his incoming resistance, Sophie had preemptively countered every excuse in his arsenal.
Is this what getting nagged by a mother feels like? Forced to consume healthy garbage?
He stared at her face in disbelief, eyes pleading for mercy.
But she ruthlessly returned a stern glare—apparently, his puppy-dog expression had lost its effectiveness.
Sensing his fate was sealed, he gripped the flask and opened it with a pop. Instantly, his nose was assaulted by the vehement smell that climbed up his sinuses.
He looked toward Sophie, but she was also busy restraining tears behind a stiff smile.
"Come on, Zack, it's good for you, I promis—ugh." She cupped her mouth with her hands.
I swear I almost heard you gagging just now.
Having no choice, he pinched his nose with one hand and gulped down the green concoction. It felt like melted gelatin sliding down his throat—lukewarm and tasting like sour cucumbers. Definitely not pleasant.
Once it settled in his stomach, he could barely restrain himself from vomiting.
Sophie saw him consume everything and gave him a thumbs up, then produced a small notebook and scribbled observations while studying him.
Guess I'm being treated like a lab rat now.
Still, he was certain it wasn't harmful. He actually felt reinvigorated and strangely satisfied after drinking the sludge.
Seeing Sophie busy with her scribbling, he decided to return upstairs and restart his training.
Since he wasn't allowed outside, his room served as a sanctuary. Everything he practised had to remain within these walls to preserve his secrets.
He was excited about today's session. This would be the day he finally began practising real magic—at least he hoped so.
Since his last meditation had nearly killed him, he decided to abandon that approach for something more practical.
From the films, the most basic magic was typically performed by children unconsciously.
"Accidental magic": moving objects spontaneously, making them disappear, changing their colours. He'd done it once, too, but now that he'd established a connection with his magical core, he wanted to advance and master these fundamental abilities.
It was called accidental magic because it defied explanation. Magic depended on intentions, and children were naturally pure and curious. Occasionally, their emotions would take control, and magic would respond instinctively.
However, Zack wanted to claim this power deliberately, so he searched for something easy to experiment with.
Rummaging around the room, he found nothing suitable for easy control, so he decided to pluck some petals from the dandelions on his bedside table.
Three would suffice for initial testing.
He sat on his bed and arranged the petals in a line. Starting with one seemed logical. If he could control a single petal, the remaining two wouldn't present insurmountable challenges.
Focusing his intentions on movement, he willed it to spin.
Several minutes later, nothing had happened. Twenty minutes of concentration had produced zero visible results.
Heaving a lethargic sigh, he decided to try a different approach. He cupped his hands around the petal.
His logic was simple: perhaps magic would respond more easily with closer proximity?
Normally, wands served to extend magical range by channelling energy flow. Their pointed tips and elongated forms—sticks or canes—allowed magic to focus on single points. At least, that's what he'd learned from Fables of a Wandering Mage.
Since he lacked a wand, he intended to emulate this feature using his fingers.
Placing the petal between his palms with fingers wrapped around it, he focused again with complete intention to move the object.
A few minutes later, the petal nudged itself an inch to the right.
What!
Paranoid that he was experiencing delusions, he locked his eyes on the target and pictured it moving. Sure enough, the petal began spinning, leaving him flustered at his own success.
This felt incredible. The satisfaction of achievement was marvellous. Afraid of forgetting this sensation, he repeated the motion with two petals, then progressed to three.
This was amazing, he'd always imagined how magic would feel after watching the films, but actually performing it deliberately exceeded every expectation. It felt fulfilling beyond anything he'd previously experienced.
Soon, three yellow petals spun simultaneously in his hands. He maintained the exercise and experimented with variations—different speeds, opposing directions, irregular intervals. Everything was possible. His control was gradually improving.
He decided to add more petals and plucked out the remaining petals on the flower.
Setting the stem in the vase, he worked with the scattered yellow petals across his bed.
As if conducting an orchestra, he waved his fingers. Following Zacks thoughts, the petals lifted themselves and juggled harmoniously through the air.
When he imagined a ball, they crunched together forming a round yellow sphere. Picturing a flat sheet, they rearranged into a rectangular formation. He continued experimenting to discover the extent of his abilities.
Several hours later, he'd practically exhausted his imagination, from making petals float to complex aerial choreography, nothing seemed beyond his reach.
The possibilities feel limitless.
Feeling fatigue finally catching up, he gathered all the petals with a finger flick and placed them neatly in the vase.
He'd drained his reserves for the day.
Tucking himself into bed, he reflected on several observations. Despite waking at 6 AM, he still hadn't encountered Dalton. The man was essentially impossible to catch, which warranted future investigation.
For now, exhaustion claimed priority. His eyes grew heavy, and with a deep yawn, he drifted off to well-deserved sleep.
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A/N: Throw some STONES AND REVIEWS!! If we get like three reviews, I'll release another chapter today.