Now I had two choices in front of me. Both perilous.
If I didn't confess about my already existing core and the fact that I was an undisputed prodigy at the tender age of five, I'd be dragged away to the priest. If the priest used some weird method to gauge my aptitude—which probably existed—I'd be utterly screwed. My entire cover would be blown. Not just to my family but potentially to the entire world. A genius of this caliber would attract attention I couldn't afford, and with it, trouble I didn't want.
The second choice was equally risky: confess now, prove my abilities to my parents and Sir John, and beg them to keep it a secret. At least this way, the exposure would be contained to these three people. But how was I going to explain how I managed to pull this off without anyone knowing?
"Tie him up!"
I bolted. But the two adults cornered me in no time.
"Son, you'll be fine. Just give in now," my father said, his hands reaching out to grab me.
"Wait!" I yelled. "Give me a chance to explain why I won't go through the ritual."
They hesitated, exchanging a glance.
"Fine," Sir John said, his tone skeptical. "Explain yourself."
I took a deep breath, stalling for a moment. "Okay… I don't need the ritual because… I already have a mana core."
The room fell silent. Then, as if on cue, both men burst into laughter.
"Alfred," Sir John said between chuckles, "not just the priest—we need to schedule an appointment with the town psychiatrist."
"It's just a kid's rambling," my father said, shaking his head. "They come up with stupid lies like this all the time. I swear, he's just trying to weasel his way out of this." He advanced toward me again. "Son, come up with believable lies next time."
I was out of time. Words wouldn't save me now.
"Give me one minute," I blurted, desperation creeping into my voice. "I'll cast a spell! Just watch!"
My father groaned. "Do we look like fools, son?"
I ignored him, stalling for time with some nonsensical chatter while focusing inward, channeling mana from my core to my fingertips. Sweat trickled down my temple. Finally, I felt the familiar surge.
"Ascento!"
The rope flew out of his hands and landed several feet away.
The room fell eerily silent. The only sound was the rope hitting the floor.
"Eh… Alfred," Sir John muttered, blinking rapidly. "I think I need a new pair of glasses. I'm seeing things now."
My father scratched his head. "You're not the only one. I think all that dust from the fields is getting to my eyes. Must be why I'm hallucinating too."
I groaned inwardly. You nincompoops! How does poor vision make you hallucinate?
"Fine, watch this!" I shouted, and this time, I didn't wait.
"Aquarto!"
A small splash of water spilled onto the floor, spreading in a shallow puddle.
For a moment, Sir John stared at the puddle in confusion. Then he laughed nervously. "Ha! That kid Arthur's still wetting his pants at this age? What a disaster. How's he supposed to survive a hostel in the capital if he's peeing on the floor?"
My eye twitched. "That's not a kid's piss! It's my spell!"
The two men turned to me in unison, their faces a perfect mix of disbelief and confusion.
"Wait… what the… fuck?" they said in unison.
I crossed my arms, feeling a mix of triumph and dread. "Believe me now?"
The following hour was spent sitting the three of them down and spinning a very creative tale—a tale of a little boy genius.
I heavily altered the details and cobbled together a story on the spot:
"So, on my fourth birthday, after hearing Sir John talk about mana, I got curious. I started looking for ways to build a core and learn magic myself."
"When I came to Sir John's house last summer, I stumbled upon a book on the subject. It had the basics in it, and I spent months figuring things out. And here I am."
"I recently built a dark red core, and I can cast some spells, though it takes me about five minutes per cast."
"But how did you sense mana in the first place?" Sir John asked, skeptical but intrigued.
"When I was two," I explained, "I begged Mom and Dad to help me feel mana. They channeled small bits into me—just enough for me to sense it. I even asked some older kids who already had cores to do the same. Over time, I got better at it."
"And where exactly did you find that book?"
"In your study, Sir John," I said quickly, pointing at him. "Arthur gave it to me! I didn't steal it, okay?"
I wove a patchwork of lies and half-truths, piecing together a narrative that was just convincing enough to keep them from questioning too much. My story painted me as a curious, determined child—not a prodigy doing something impossible.
Before I even had the chance to ask for discretion, my mother spoke up.
"Alfred, Sir John, we have to keep this a secret," she said firmly. "We'll homeschool him. It's too much of a risk to send him to school and have this discovered."
"Yes, I agree," Sir John added, nodding. "We have to protect him. No one can know. If he goes to some school and brags about this..."
"Mom, why do we have to keep it a secret?" I asked, feigning innocence. "Isn't it a good thing that I'm a genius like Arthur?"
My father, who had been silent, finally spoke. His voice was heavy with a seriousness I didn't fully understand.
"Son, Arthur's talent is impressive, but it's nothing unusual. There have been children like him before—children whose talent went beyond the normal level. But you are different"
"What do you mean?"
He hesitated, his eyes dark and somber. "People like you don't usually end up well, they are killed."
"Honey, you can't tell him that! He's a kid!" My mother yelled at him.
The word sent a shiver down my spine. I stared at him, wide-eyed, as he continued.
"There are people in this world who don't tolerate the risk of losing their power, they will eliminate any threat to their hegemony. Exceptional talent draws attention—attention from the nobles. They are the ruling class and they eliminate any unusual talents like you who might pose a risk in the future."
I swallowed hard, the weight of their words sinking in. "So… what do we do?"
"For now, you stay quiet," my mother said, her voice trembling. "We'll keep you safe."
"Son," my father said, his tone soft but firm, "Don't worry, there are survivors who managed to live by hiding their talent until they were strong enough to face those nobles head on."
I nodded slowly, the reality of my situation finally settling in.
The room fell silent, heavy with unspoken fears and uncertain futures. I didn't like it. I didn't like any of it. But for now, I didn't have a choice.
From further digging, I uncovered a chilling truth: the nobility in this empire ruled with an iron grip, their tyranny masked as divine right. They systematically ensured that no exceptional talents could bloom among the commoners—no one who might rise to challenge their power or ignite a revolution. Such individuals were extinguished before they could even cast a shadow.
The nobility maintained their dominance by awakening magic in their children far earlier than commoners, pouring obscene fortunes into their development. Noble-born mages had an insurmountable head start. It wasn't just about keeping the lead—it was about ensuring the common folk could never catch up.
Even the laws favored them, skewed so grotesquely in their favor that justice for a commoner was little more than a farce.
I asked my father why we didn't fight back. After all, we had the numbers. Surely, together, we could overthrow them.
His answer was simple and terrifying.
"In this world, numbers mean nothing."
He explained that most commoners barely managed chore magic—simple spells to make life marginally easier. Even a thousand of them, armed with their feeble abilities, would be no match for a single noble-born mage. These mages could wield destructive advanced spells capable of wiping out entire villages with a flick of their wrist.
The nobility didn't rule because they were chosen by divine will or because they were smarter. They ruled because they held the reins of power and magic, and they ensured no one else could ever take them.
"Sir John, will Arthur also be taken away?" I asked, the concern evident in my voice.
He shook his head. "No, dear. Arthur's a genius by our standards, but he'll likely place in one of the lower sections at an average institute in the capital. Among the nobles, he's no threat."
"But, Sir John," I persisted, "what could a single person like me do? Why are they so afraid?"
He sighed, his expression darkening as he met my gaze. "Numbers mean nothing to mages. There have been individuals, singular mages, who could bring entire kingdoms to their knees."