The hospital air tasted like copper and antiseptic. I sat by my father's bed, staring at the empty space where his right arm used to be. The protector of our village, the man who seemed invincible, was now a fraction of himself. My mother was recovering, and Florida was stable, but the silence in the room was louder than any explosion.
"Name?"
I looked up. A man stood there, the silver sheriff's star on his chest catching the light.
"Lance," I said, my voice rasping. I told him everything. The cult, the sky-fire, the way the dirt felt under my fingernails when I tried to fight back.
"I'm Neville," he said, his eyes softening. "Are you alright, kid?"
"I don't know," I admitted. I was running a thousand simulations in my head, and in all of them, we were weak. "We're saved, but my father... he can't protect the village anymore. He was our shield."
Neville leaned against the wall. "Arthur? Trust me, kid, your father is more dangerous than you think. Even with one arm, he's a man you don't want to wake up angry. We were colleagues in Xeo City back in the day. He chose the quiet life; I chose the star."
"Promise?" I asked, needing a solid fact to hold onto.
"Promise," he said.
A few days later, the "quiet life" returned. My father was discharged, his face pale but his eyes as sharp as ever when he met Neville in the hallway.
"Long time, buddy," my father rasped.
They talked for hours about a past I never knew existed. Then, Neville dropped the question that changed everything. "So, Arthur? Are you sending the boy to the same school as Florida, or are you going to keep trying to hide him?"
My father looked at me. "It's his choice. I won't force him to live inside my shadows."
"School?" I interrupted. "Florida goes to a normal academy in the city."
Florida, sitting up with a wince, shook her head. "No, Lance. I'm at the School of Magic in Vermilion. It's called Xernes."
"Xernes? That's... a weird name," I muttered.
"It's more than a name," Florida said, clutching her side. "How are you feeling, Dad?"
"I'm fine," my father said. "But what about you?"
"Pain in my spine. My core feels empty," she admitted.
My father turned back to me. "What is your decision, Lance? You have a few months to decide."
But I couldn't wait months. Every night, while the village slept, I went into the woods. I needed to understand the "System" inside me. I practiced shifting the earth, trying to feel the vibration of the soil, but I kept hitting a wall. I was exhausted in minutes.
"You won't last a week like that."
I spun around. Neville was watching from the shadows.
"Magic is two variables, Lance: Raw Power and Control," he said, walking toward me. "You can't change your Raw Power—that's the battery you were born with. But Control? That's the wiring. If your wiring is bad, you waste half your energy before the spell even hits. You're trying to break the world, but you haven't learned how to hold the hammer."
"How do I learn it without using it?" I asked.
"You can't. But you also can't learn it by only using it for damage. You need to learn how to manage the flow so you don't exhaust yourself."
From that night on, my training shifted. I stopped trying to cause damage and started trying to conserve. I practiced the "Logic of Defense"—how to move just enough earth to stop a blow without draining my core.
Then, the simulation became real.
Deep in the forest, I spotted them: two Night Cult members. I pressed my back against a tree, slowing my breathing to a rhythmic crawl.
"Twelve of our guys taken out by two adults and two kids?" one hissed. "You serious?"
"Arthur was there," the other replied. "And that teenager has sky-affinity. But look at them now—they're all broken. We finish the job tonight."
Panic flared in my chest. If they reached the house, my father couldn't stop them. Not yet. I couldn't run back in time, but I could delay them. I sent a frantic, messy communication spell toward Neville—a desperate burst of static energy—and then I moved.
I didn't fight fair. I used "Hit and Run" tactics. A spike of rock from the left, a tremor from the right. I was a ghost in the trees, chipping away at their patience. But I was an amateur playing against pros.
They pinned me. My mana was flashing red in my mind. I was on my knees, the earth refusing to obey my exhausted commands. As the cultist raised his blade, a massive wave of water slammed into them, pinning them against the trees.
Neville stepped out, looking at his watch. "Xeo City is twenty-five minutes away. It took me five just to decode your terrible spelling in that message."
With a flick of his wrist, he whispered: "Aqua Prison."
The water surged, forming perfect, pressurized spheres around the cultists. They were trapped, suspended in a liquid cage.
Later, when the dust settled, my father looked at me with a mix of pride and frustration. "I'm proud, Lance. But put a little more faith in me. I'm not as helpless as I look."
Neville just grinned. "Well, that's Arthur for you."
I looked at my shaking hands. My logic had saved us time, but my lack of power almost got me killed. I needed the system. I needed the rules.
"I'm going," I said, looking my father in the eye. "I'm going to Xernes."