Alex didn't sleep that night.
Magic existed. It wasn't some overused trope in a fantasy novel—it was real, tangible, and woven into daily life. His parents used it so casually, like it was as normal as breathing.
He had spent hours staring at his hands in the dim light, willing something—anything—to happen. But reality was cruel. Nothing. No flicker of flame, no shift in air, not even a pathetic spark.
That was fine. It was expected.
Power never came for free.
Still, he needed more information. If magic was real, how did it work? Were there rules, like in Reverend Insanity, where precise control determined success? Or was it more like Lord of the Mysteries, where understanding deeper truths led to greater power?
The answer wasn't coming to him in bed.
He got up, careful not to wake anyone, and slipped out of his room. The wooden floor was cold under his feet as he padded toward the hallway. He moved by instinct, not fully sure where he was going, until—
Voices.
Low. Serious. His parents were talking in the other room.
Alex pressed himself against the wall, listening.
"…are you sure? He's still too young."
"It doesn't matter. Every child takes the test. If he has talent, they'll know."
"But what if he doesn't? What if he—"
A pause. Then a sigh. "Then he'll have to live like the rest of them."
The rest of them?
A test. To determine magical talent. And if he failed…
He didn't need to hear more. He slipped away before they could notice him, his mind racing.
Magic wasn't freely given. There was a system in place. If he wanted power, he needed to understand it.
His family didn't have much, but they had one thing that might help—a small bookshelf, tucked away in the corner of the house, filled with dusty old books. Mostly history and geography, but there had to be something useful in there.
Alex made his way to it, fingers trailing along the spines of the books until he found what he needed.
"Introduction to the Natural Forces."
That sounded promising. He pulled it out, sat down, and flipped it open.
The first few pages were useless, just the usual philosophical garbage about how magic was the "breath of the world" or whatever poetic nonsense people liked to say. He skimmed through until something caught his attention.
Magic is the natural force that exists in all things, but only those with sufficient talent can shape it.
To wield magic, one must possess the ability to sense it and the imagination to command it.
Talent varies, but without understanding, talent alone is meaningless.
Alex stared at the words.
Imagination?
Not spells. Not rituals. Not divine blessings.
It was about understanding and creating.
His lips curled into a grin.
He wasn't some clueless village kid fumbling in the dark. He had read Reverend Insanity. He had read Lord of the Mysteries. He had studied how true monsters rose to power.
If this world's magic required imagination?
Then he would push imagination to its very limits.