Kel rested a hand on Kiana’s shoulder. That was the name of his newly found little sister. Even beneath the oversized, obviously borrowed clothing, he could feel how sharp and thin she was. The girl hadn’t been eating properly for some time. Then again, where would she have gotten food?

  Kel didn’t dare touch her memories. Even with light magic, meddling in someone’s mind could leave lasting damage – he could easily injure her. The Archmage’s limitations were clear: he was best at destruction, not subtlety.

  Luckily, Kiana, burning with righteous indignation, had already spilled everything to Captain Almas herself.

  The story was as old as time. Their names were Kiana and Kelmir. Their parents had died when Kel was just a teenager, leaving him to care for his sister alone. The town they lived in was small and poor, with barely enough work for the adults – let alone a young orphan. But Kelmir didn’t give up.

  He had been born with magical talent, shining enough that he had a real chance to enter the Tower of Mages – the place of the strongest spells, the rarest books, and the purest sources of magic. In his free time, he studied under the medicaster. The man had failed the Tower’s entrance exams years ago but saw in Kel a chance to live out his own unrealized ambitions – and get a free apprentice while he was at it.

  Kiana remembered the glow on her brother’s face when he received the invitation to the Tower entrance exams. Everything had fallen into place perfectly. For most, studying at the Tower required payment, but exceptional talent could earn free admission. In return, graduates were expected to stay in service – but it came with housing, food, and a future. Fortunately, the rules didn’t forbid Kel from bringing his sister along. He refused to go without her.

  To Kiana, it felt like stepping into a fairy tale. She had never seen such luxury. She especially loved the baths. She couldn’t imagine not having to carry water from a well and heat it in a wooden tub. Here, a simple twist of a handle filled the tub with hot water automatically. And the food – so delicious! And the people so kind. Back home, poor orphans were treated with little care, but here even a powerful mage spoke gently to her. Kel had explained that he was very influential. The mage had even approached her a few times while she played in the Tower gardens and had given her a piece of chocolate.

  Kiana had never tasted anything so sweet in her life. She tried to share it with Kel, but he insisted he didn’t like sweets. She believed him. So Kiana put some aside for him and some for Uncle Otti, so that the old healer could also try this miracle called chocolate.

  Kel’s future mentors praised him; he passed all the exams with flying colors. All except the final one. He failed that one spectacularly and left the Tower.

  “My brother is very, very smart,” Kiana said quietly. “I don’t understand how this happened… and he doesn’t tell me anything.”

  After that, they returned to their hometown. Kel spent a long time talking with Uncle Otti before announcing that he had decided to become an Adventurer. But for that, they needed to move to a larger city. Over the past four years, they had moved through a dozen towns while Kel took on various assignments. Money had been tight, but it was enough to get by.

  Then, two months ago, their town had been attacked by the minions of the Dark Archmage. Kel had used his magic to protect his sister and the townsfolk, but the battle had been uneven.

  “They wounded him and took him away… and I went to look for him,” Kiana whispered.

  She buried her face in Kel’s chest and began to cry.

  He stroked her tangled hair. He didn’t want to think about all she had endured in that time. He wondered – was it pity for her, or echoes of her brother’s own feelings?

  “Now, we’re going to see someone,” the captain said. “Try to behave, Kelmir.”

  Almas removed his hand from the hilt. Kel knew it wasn’t out of sudden trust. The captain was a skilled warrior – he could draw his sword in an instant. Let him think he was in control.

  They crossed the castle courtyard and reached the edge of the magical barrier. The entire way, Kiana didn’t let go of his hand, as if afraid her brother might vanish again. At the barrier stood a small, yet lavishly decorated tent. Guards with crimson plumes on their helmets flanked the entrance.

  “The Tower Guards,” Kel realized immediately. “So we’re being led to some high-ranking mage.”

  The guards let them pass without question. That meant Almas had already sent word of his visit via magical communication.

  Inside, the tent was far larger than it appeared from the outside. A common trick of higher magic – manipulating space. Once, Aigon had hidden an entire greenhouse in a tiny little chest, just to delight Elga.

  “Standard tricks for high mages,” Kel reminded himself. Clearly, none of this would have been possible for Kelmir.

  On one of the couches in the tent, a man of about thirty reclined lazily. A heavy smoke rose from the incense burner on the small table in front of him. He wore a traveling mage’s suit. Instead of a long, cumbersome robe, he had a special cloak draped over his shoulders that barely reached his waist. Underneath it, he wore the regular attire of an aristocrat.

  “My head is killing me,” the man complained confidentially. “That bastard put up shields so strong even I had trouble with them.”

  “Typical situation,” Kel thought. “Channeling too much mana at once can have side effects – headaches, fatigue, even physical strain.” Of course, what counted as ‘too much’ varied depending on the mage’s level. That explained why Kel had felt dizzy. He had plenty of mana, and his core was powerful – but his new body wasn’t yet accustomed to its newfound capabilities. His skill far outpaced the physical conditioning of this vessel. Catastrophically so.

  The complaint came from Magister Targis, one of the four heads of the Tower and among the continent’s strongest mages. Kel felt a surge of pride, almost as if he had placed those shields himself.

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  Now the key was to remain inconspicuous. Kel knew Captain Almas personally –his strengths and weaknesses. Ayigon had never met this man. The Dark Archmage had. In eleven years, the archmage would defeat the Magister in battle and feed him to his monsters… or he would have, if Kеl hadn’t taken the archmage’s place. Lucky for the Magister, Kеl now occupied that role.

  Kel carefully tested how well his powers were restrained.

  The archmage’s true abilities were securely hidden. Only someone like the Moon Maiden – or someone of equivalent strength–could detect them. To the world, only Kelmir’s abilities were visible. Against the archmage’s power, they were barely noticeable at first. Comparing them was like comparing a candle to the sun. But in truth, Kel’s abilities were excellent – enough to easily pass all the Tower exams. A shame things hadn’t worked out that way. His life might have been completely different.

  “And I wouldn’t be in his body,” Kel finished, reflecting.

  Kiana squeezed his hand even tighter, her worry evident.

  “Almas, did he cause that show with the tower?” the Magister asked, cutting straight to the point.

  “Yes. I detected no trace of dark mana in him, but something feels off. This boy was captured in the castle, claiming to be just a simple adventurer… and then he casually stopped a falling tower. You don’t expect that from someone who failed the Tower’s entrance exam.”

  The Magister rose and stepped closer. Kiana released Kel’s hand and stood in front of him. It was clear she would fight for her brother to the very end.

  From an outside perspective, it might have seemed as if Magister Targis was simply studying Kel. But he knew better – he was being carefully scanned. Not like in a “System,” but mages had countless ways to gather information about each other and the world around them.

  “Strong boy. Very strong,” the Magister finally broke the silence. “Most importantly, he was able to channel a large amount of mana. And mana, as we know…”

  “Forgive me, Magister, but I studied at the Tower and attended your lectures. I know what mana is,” Almas interrupted.

  “Oh?” Targis raised an eyebrow. “I thought you slept through all of them.”

  Though the mage looked younger than Almas, he was significantly older. Magic could extend a practitioner’s life for centuries.

  “Just tell me whether he has any connection to the Archmage or not,” Almas said, pretending not to notice the jab.

  “That depends on his answer. Boy, what has happened to you lately? Aside from your imprisonment, of course.”

  Finally. Kel was growing tired of the whole situation and wanted nothing more than to get away–away from the Magister, the captain, the castle, and preferably, to lands where no one would care about him.

  He feigned confusion, his voice laced with uncertainty as he began listing events.

  “I tried to protect the city. Fought the Archmage’s minions. I was wounded… and then I died.”

  Kiana whirled to him, terror frozen on her face.

  “Don’t joke like that!”

  Almas stared at the Magister in bewilderment, but the mage merely nodded with a faint smile.

  Kel did his best to sound completely flustered:

  “Did… that affect me somehow?”

  He had prepared his answer on the way here. Once again, his love for hidden lore came in handy.

  A mage was a person who could control mana – store it within themselves and shape it into spells using their core. Mana could also be gathered slowly, drop by drop, through meditation and training. A long and inefficient process, producing just enough for minor spells. But pass the Trials of the Mage Tower, and the door to an infinite source of magic would open. Every mage connected to the Tower could draw from the Source as much mana as needed for the most powerful spells. Everyone else had to make do with scraps.

  Yet at the moment of a mage’s death, something strange occurred: an enormous amount of mana would spontaneously appear in their body. Scholars had tried to study and even exploit this phenomenon. Kel had found records of these experiments while exploring an abandoned library. For reasons unknown, the research had ceased hundreds of years ago. The data was classified and stored in the Tower’s most secret chambers, known only to the Magisters.

  Kelmir had survived clinical death. His body had been flooded with excess mana, which could remain for up to six months if unused. While imprisoned by the Archmage, he could not wield magic, and he released it all at once to stop the falling tower – without fully understanding what he had done. How could a boy from a backwater village possibly know about the “death mana,” the secret knowledge of the highest mages?

  Only the Archmage might have known–but no one would mistake him for that. Most likely, they saw him as just a minion trying to avoid punishment. And servants were never given access to such knowledge.

  “Let him go, Almas. The boy is fine,” the Magister decided.

  “Hooray. It worked!”

  “Don’t you want to explain anything to me?” the captain asked, clearly annoyed. He got only a curt, “I don’t want to.”

  Almas wasn’t satisfied.

  “Then I’ll ask another question. Why, when you were captured, didn’t you say you were a prisoner? Why lie about being an adventurer?”

  Kel had an answer ready.

  “I really am an adventurer! But I was afraid you’d think the Archmage had recruited me while I was in captivity.”

  “And don’t even try to tell me Almas that those fears were unfounded,” the magister added with a cutting remark.

  Almas stayed silent. It all made sense. To face the hero squad, the Archmage had needed every last ounce of his strength. He’d stopped wasting mana on the prison’s magical defenses, and some prisoners had managed to escape during the battle.

  “Targis! Targis! Tell your ruffians to let me through!” a woman shouted at the tent entrance.

  The Magister grimaced.

  “Almas, I think that’s enough. I would have loved to continue this conversation with you and these lovely children, but this lady is unstoppable.”

  “Let’s go,” Almas commanded, stepping out of the tent first.

  “Goodbye,” Kiana said shyly.

  “Wait,” the Magister said unexpectedly. “You could truly become a powerful mage. Come to the Tower. I’ll make sure your exams go properly.” He conjured a small, circular sigil out of thin air and handed it to Kel.

  “This is my insignia, my mark. Show it to any mage of the Tower, and they will help you. Make sure you come.”

  Kel slipped the sigil into his pocket, determined to throw it in the nearest bush at the first opportunity.

  Almas stood by the tent entrance. And so did that woman. Spotting Kel and his sister, she wrinkled her nose in disdain.

  “Marquis, are you telling me they wouldn’t let me inside because of these ragamuffins? Targis has completely lost it.”

  Kiana’s cheeks flushed as she tried to cover herself behind the tent flap.

  Kel felt irritation rising in his chest. He recognized the woman. Elf, Inessa. Beautiful Inessa. In real life, she was even more stunning than in the game–pale, flawless skin, silver hair, and enormous violet eyes. A heroine who had sacrificed herself for a great victory. She had become the Archmage’s lover and smuggled a crucial artifact into his castle – without it, the shields would not have fallen. Familiar trick, of course.

  The thing was, in the game, Inessa always spoke softly, with that languid, sultry voice – not yelling like a market vendor. And in the hero squad meeting, she admired their hardships instead of insulting commoners. One thing to praise heroes, another to berate peasants.

  Kel hated that hypocrisy.

  The guards had apparently received new orders. One lifted the tent flap and gestured for her to enter. Inessa stepped inside.

  “It’s time for me to return to my duties. Beyond the gates, a special camp has been set up to help former prisoners. There, you can rest and decide your next steps. Farewell.”

  Captain Almas strode forward without looking back.

  Kel had no intention of going to any camp. He needed to get out of this place as quickly as possible – to gather his thoughts and properly study the Archmage’s “inheritance.” In the past few hours, too many questions had piled up.

  He needed to figure out what had happened with the source of power and the Archmage’s core. He had to make sure it wasn’t temporary and that the dark mana wouldn’t return. He needed to determine the exact limits of this body’s abilities and begin training. And there was the mystery of the altered timeline–after the battle, Aigon should have come out unscathed.

  But first… he had one small, green-eyed problem to deal with.