After an entire day of struggling with cards and using his newfound skill, Aldrich decided to take a break.
Exhausted, he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as frustration bubbled inside him. The shattered remains of a porcelain vase on the floor caught his eye, their jagged edges gleaming faintly in the moonlight.
As his gaze lingered on the jagged shards, a realization began to form, quick and insistent, like a spark igniting dry tinder. The pieces of porcelain were more than debris—they were potential tools.
His breath caught, and his pulse quickened as an idea crystallized in his mind. What if his skill wasn't limited to specific objects? What if anything could work as a conduit?
He extended his hand toward a shard, mentally casting the skill: "Pick a card!" His mana depleted slightly as the shard began to blink with alternating hues of blue, red, and gold.
Seizing the moment, he hurled it when the glow turned blue. Relief flooded him as his mana instantly replenished.
He stared at the shard now buried in the wall, a realization dawning on him.
He smacked his forehead. "I'm such an idiot! Of course, I can use any object as a projectile. Why am I limiting myself to the rules of that game?"
Determined to test his theory further, he grabbed a pen from his desk but decided against using the skill immediately.
"I need to practice my aim first," he mused. "If I can add enough force, the impact will be much stronger." Resolving to refine his abilities, Aldrich set a new plan into motion.
In Magnus's room, the atmosphere was heavy with unspoken words.
The room, though similar to Aldrich's, was significantly larger, its grandiosity doing little to ease the tension. Magnus, wiry and pale, stood by the window, his hands gripping the sill as he gazed at the cold night sky.
The faint light from the moon illuminated his sharp features, casting long shadows across the room. He finally turned, his voice low but cutting. "What do you think we should do about him, William?"
William sat slouched in a chair, his broad shoulders hunched under the weight of their predicament. His expression was grim, his usually steady demeanor cracking. "We could… just let him be. As long as he doesn't endanger the family, there's no reason to act rashly." His voice faltered, betraying a deep uncertainty.
Magnus's knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip on the windowsill, the cold seeping into his skin as his mind churned with conflicting thoughts.
Every instinct screamed at him to act, to protect his family from the looming uncertainty Aldrich represented, but doubt clung to him like a shadow. His grip tightened further, the pain a small relief from the storm raging within—a storm of fear, guilt, and helplessness.
His breath shuddered, fogging the glass, as he whispered to himself, "How can we keep standing still when danger stares us in the face?" "You think that's enough? Ignoring him? We're playing with fire, William."
William rose from his chair abruptly, his towering frame casting a shadow over Magnus. "And what do you propose? That we confront him without proof? That we cast out a child without cause?" His voice broke, frustration mingling with sorrow.
"I don't like this any more than you do, Magnus. But what choice do we have?"
Magnus turned back to the window, his breath fogging the glass. "He's a threat to everything we know. And yet, we're paralyzed. It's pathetic." His voice was barely a whisper, thick with despair.
William took a step toward the door, his shoulders slumping. "We're doing what we can," he muttered before leaving the room. The door closed softly behind him, leaving Magnus alone in the suffocating silence.
The following day, Aldrich adhered to his usual training routine with his wooden greatsword.
Afterward, he ventured to the manor's backyard, where an ancient oak tree stood, its age surpassing even his father's.
The winter air was sharp, each breath a plume of mist that dissolved into the cold. Snow blanketed the ground in pristine white, untouched and glistening like a field of diamonds under the pale morning sun.
Each step Aldrich took was accompanied by the soft crunch of snow compacting beneath his boots, the sound sharp and satisfying in the otherwise silent expanse.
The cold air nipped at his cheeks, filling his lungs with a crisp, biting freshness. Around him, frost clung to the skeletal branches of trees, shimmering faintly as a gentle breeze stirred, carrying the faint scent of pine and earth.
The air carried a faint metallic tang, a reminder of the season's relentless grip. Branches, heavy with frost, groaned softly in the breeze, and the crunch of Aldrich's boots against the snow echoed in the stillness.
He gathered several fallen branches, their surfaces rough and brittle from the cold, and stuck them upright in the snow, forming a row of ten makeshift targets.
Taking ten paces back, he scooped up some snow, packing it into a tight ball. With enhanced agility far beyond that of a typical child, he hurled the snowball with precision and strength.
Though it missed the intended target, it flew far beyond, demonstrating the force behind his throw.
Determined to improve, he practiced relentlessly, throwing snowball after snowball.
An hour later, Aldrich's hands were numb from the cold, and his mother's voice called out to him from the house.
Glancing at the fallen sticks, he nodded in satisfaction—his aim was improving. He headed back inside, eager to warm up.
Three months passed in quiet routine, during which Aldrich's relentless training paid off.
He honed his aim to near perfection, achieving a 90% accuracy rate and the ability to hit targets as far as 20 meters away. His body grew significantly, now standing at 4 feet 3 inches—a height that hinted at the rapid pace of his development.
These months also solidified his plans, as he patiently refined his skills and strategy, preparing for the moment when he could take the next step in his journey. Aldrich dedicated himself to training, honing his accuracy to an impressive 90%. He could now hit targets from 20 meters away.
Gazing at his reflection in the mirror, he chuckled. "You're one monstrous baby," he muttered, half-amused and half-astonished by his rapid growth.
Yet beneath the humor, a flicker of unease stirred within him. Was this rapid development a blessing, or would it mark him as something unnatural?
The disparity between his body and his age left him with a strange disconnection, as though he were a spectator to his own transformation. Still, he pushed the doubt aside, focusing on the opportunities his growth would afford him.
Despite his progress, Aldrich felt restless. He longed to be 5 feet tall—a milestone he believed necessary before embarking on his escape plan. Acting like a baby had been draining, but he endured, knowing it was temporary. The Gathering the Storm rune had significantly bolstered his strength, though he refrained from leveling up, saving it for his future journey.
One evening, Aldrich joined his family for dinner. His mother, Eleanor, was leaning forward slightly, her tone conspiratorial as she spoke with his sister, Marion.
"Marion," Eleanor began, a knowing smile playing on her lips, "I've heard whispers that a certain young noble from the neighboring province has been asking about you. He seems quite taken."
Marion's eyes widened momentarily before she schooled her features into feigned indifference. "Really, Mother? And who might this admirer be? Or are we playing a guessing game tonight?" Her voice carried an air of practiced nonchalance, but the faint pink tinge on her cheeks betrayed her interest.
Eleanor chuckled softly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, don't play coy, dear. You know exactly who I mean. Lord Eryndor's youngest son, Edwin. Handsome, well-mannered, and from an excellent family. Need I say more?"
Marion picked at her food, trying to hide her growing smile. "Well, he's certainly... agreeable," she admitted, her tone light but edged with a shy vulnerability.
"But is this really the time to discuss such things?"
"When isn't it?" Eleanor countered, her laughter warm. "A match like this doesn't come around often. Imagine the advantages, the connections. And if I may say so, the two of you would make such a striking couple."
Aldrich, listening to the exchange, smirked into his plate. "Mother, you sound like you've already planned their wedding," he teased, earning an affectionate glare from Eleanor.
"Hush, Aldrich," Marion said, throwing him a mock scowl. "This is serious business."
Eleanor leaned back, her smile softening. "Well, Marion? Should I arrange an introduction? Something casual, perhaps a dinner here at the manor?"
Marion hesitated, her heart racing. She stole a glance at Aldrich, who was watching her with a raised eyebrow, clearly amused. Finally, she nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "Alright, Mother. But please, nothing too obvious."
Eleanor beamed, reaching over to squeeze Marion's hand. "Don't worry, darling. Subtlety is my specialty."
Aldrich smirked at their exchange, focusing on the meal Bea served.
Little Anna, still resembling a typical two-year-old, waved at him.
"Hi, Anna!" he greeted, waving back. Anna giggled, her smile brightening the room.
As Bea left the dining area, Aldrich turned to Eleanor. "Mom! Can I start going to school now? I look older than my age, so no one will question it."
Eleanor's expression turned to concern. "Are you sure? I can refer you to a suitable academy. Your brothers can accompany you for registration this summer."
Under the table, Aldrich clenched his fist in triumph. "Finally," he thought. Outwardly, he nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, Mama! I'll be a good boy."
Eleanor sighed. "I'll prepare the necessary documents, but you'll need your father's blessing before enrolling in another province."
Marion, observing her "not-so-baby" brother, poked his cheek playfully. "You're growing so fast! What are you eating? Share your secret with me!" She pouted, her petite frame making her envy Aldrich's rapid growth.
Aldrich chuckled, savoring the moment. His plans were falling into place, and he felt a renewed sense of determination for the road ahead.